When they got to John's house, he found the door locked. Professor Longbottom pursed his lips at this. Shrugging tiredly, John raised a hand, knocked, and waited. He was just getting ready to try again when he heard the bolt turn.

"John?" His mother peeked out. "Who are you with?"

"Mum, can we come in?" She hesitated just a fraction of a second, and that hurt John almost worse than anything. He could feel Professor Longbottom's concerned gaze, but he also knew he wouldn't be able to meet his eyes anytime soon. When they had stepped inside and the door was closed behind them, John spoke with his eyes still fixed on the ground. "Mum, this is Professor Neville Longbottom. He teaches Herb- well, he's a teacher at Hog- at my school." John wondered if he would talk like this for the rest of his life, second-guessing and going back to keep from scaring his mother.

Hesitantly, his mother took the professor's proffered hand to shake it. "But why are you..."

"May we talk privately, ma'am?" She shook her head, confused, but then agreed.

"John, wait in your room, won't you, dear?" He nodded silently and climbed the stairs. Once in his room, he looked around. Other than the glass from his broken window, it wasn't extremely messy, for once; he'd been so bored he'd actually cleaned. But now he scrambled around a bit, hastily making his bed and straightening some things on top of his bureau. He got a broom from the hall closet and swept up the glass, wishing there was something he could do to stop the cold wind blowing into the room. After tossing his potions text and Quidditch Through the Ages, along with the crumpled photograph of himself, into his trunk and closing the lid, John paused. Why was he up here in his room? Why shouldn't he hear what they were talking about downstairs? It concerned him, didn't it? He tiptoed his way down the stairs, stopping right outside the living room door. If he pressed his ear to the crack in the doorframe, he could just make out the muffled conversation.

"I don't know what you expect me to do." His mother sounded as though she were fighting back tears.

"Mrs. Watson, your son is under the impression that you hate him." His mother gave up trying to hold it in and started weeping.

"It's not that - it's not! You don't know what it's like for me! I won't have it - I can't have it. You have to understand..."

"Am I to understand you won't allow your son to live with you if he continues to study magic?" The professor's voice was even, but John's blood ran cold as he waited for his mother's answer.

"What? No - I'm not - I wouldn't kick him out! What kind of mother do you think I am?" John heaved a quiet sigh of relief. He'd had doubts for a moment there.

"So you will allow him to live with you - with all of his books, his wand, and everything."

"Well -" his mother sounded trapped. "Well you can't expect me to encourage it - I mean, it's not as though he's supposed to use those things outside of school, is it? Can't he - can't he just leave them there?"

"Mrs. Watson, your son is a wizard. He's going to live the rest of his life as a wizard - and he's a wizard even when he's here with you in the Mug - in the nonmagic world. You can't honestly expect him to pretend to be something he's not every time he comes home."

"Well, you can't expect me to welcome all this with open arms!" she exclaimed. "I will not pretend to be pleased about any of this, and I will not pretend to be interested in knowing any details of that part of his life."

"What other part of his life do you want to hear about, then?" For the first time, Professor Longbottom's voice sounded angry. "What other part is there? He can't talk about classes, he can't talk about recreation, he can't talk about his friends or even where he lives for nine months out of the year. Can he talk about how his train ride was, if he doesn't mention the name Hogwarts Express?" John's mother didn't reply, and when Professor Longbottom spoke again his voice was gentler. "Mrs. Watson, I urge you to reconsider. Don't ostracize your son."

"I can't - I won't have magic in this house. The day I see him with - with a wand in his hand, or flying on a bloody broomstick or some nonsense like that - that's the last day he's allowed in my home." A single sob escaped her. "Sir, you may think me heartless, but that is my stance and I will not reconsider. I won't have it." Her voice was pure steel. John breathed shakily, pressing a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet. His whole body was shaking. There was a long period of silence in the room, and then Professor Longbottom sighed.

"I am very sorry to hear that... And it makes my current position very unpleasant."

"What do you mean?" Her voice was suddenly laced with fear. "If you intend to - to put some sort of spell on me, I'm warning you now -"

"Of course I'm not! It would do you a lot of good, ma'am, to stop telling yourself that wizards are the enemy. I am merely considering whether, as a teacher at John's school, I feel that it is healthy for him to remain in this home for the remainder of this holiday, or whether he should return to Hogwarts now."

"So you'll just take him away, then?" She laughed bitterly. "You'll just take my son away. Very nice. Yes, that'll make me think so highly of you lot."

"Quite honestly, Mrs. Watson, this is no longer about you. I am here to look after John's wellbeing, and I feel quite sure that he is not well. I'm sure you realize, knowing John as well as you do," and here his voice was inundated with sarcasm, "that he is probably listening to every word we're saying right now, especially since you rejected my offer to make this room soundproof." John let himself slide to the floor as footsteps approached him, knowing there was no way to make it back upstairs before being spotted.

As Professor Longbottom opened the door, John pulled himself to his feet and entered the room without a word, without even wiping the tears away from his face. He faced his mother, his whole body shaking with a tangle of emotions he couldn't even begin to describe. "Mum?" She refused to meet his eyes, and John nodded, swallowing hard and biting his lip. "My stuff's already packed," he said, glancing over to Neville. "It's all still in my trunk. So, er, yeah, I'm - I'm ready to go whenever you are."

His mother sank down into a chair and put her head in her hands. John waited for a moment, and when she didn't speak he turned and climbed upstairs to gather his things. On second thought, he opened his bureau and threw a few extra items into his trunk, and then gazed around the room one last time.

"Are you leaving then?" Harry stood watching him in the hallway. "Who's downstairs?"

"A professor," John answered. "I'm - I'm going back to school early."

"You've been crying," Harry accused, stepping into his room. "What's the matter? Finally realized it's all a mistake? You're a mistake?"

John closed his eyes. "Harry, did you hear what Mum said before? About - about our dad?" He hadn't seen his sister in the hallway, but she was very good at hearing things she wasn't supposed to, and their mother had been speaking rather loudly.

"Yeah, I heard." Harry's gaze got even steelier. "And it just confirms things, doesn't it? Lying scumbag's no better than run-off scumbag if you ask me. You must take after him, I reckon. I'm glad you're going."

"John?" Harry whirled around as Neville spoke very close behind her. "Ready?" He stepped past Harry to grab one end of John's trunk. Harry fled, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

"Ready." John grabbed the other side of the trunk and helped haul it downstairs. His mother was waiting at the front door.

"Goodbye, then," she said after a pause. "I - I'll see you in the summer, I expect." John nodded wordlessly. Hesitantly, his mother reached out and pulled him in for a hug, then pressed some money into his palm. "John," she murmured, leaning down to his eye-level. "I still love you. You know that." He nodded tersely, thinking some not-so-sure thoughts. "Well.. goodbye."

"Bye, Mum." John stood there but had no idea what else to say, so he nodded a bit, bit his lip, and picked up his trunk again to help carry it out onto the street.

A short while later, Professor Longbottom - "please, John, I've told you - call me Neville. It's only natural by this point." - had given him a brief explanation of Side-Along Apparition, and John closed his eyes and braced himself until, with a horrible squelching, twisting feeling and a loud bang he opened them again to see a quaint little village.

"Hogsmeade," Neville explained. "Feeling all right? Come along this way." He pulled open the door of a nearby shop and placed John's trunk next to a table in a warm, cozy pub. "Have a seat, there. I'll be right back." He returned very quickly and placed a frothy, steaming mug in front of John. "Cheers."

It was like nothing John had ever tasted, sweet and bubbly yet warm and refreshing at the same time. "Butterbeer," the professor said to his questioning look. They sipped from their tankards in silence, and somehow, as John glanced around the pub - at the lit candles, a portrait whose subject was propped against the side of his frame and snoring quietly, at the bundles of magical herbs dangling from the ceiling - he started to feel a little better. He managed a small, half-embarrassed smile for Neville.

"Thanks," he muttered, sliding his empty tankard back. A middle-aged woman with a heavily painted face swooped in to gather it, along with his companion's, and they rose to haul the trunk back out onto the street. It was late evening, and there were very few people out and about in the small village. "Um, where are we?"

"Hogsmeade," Neville explained, flicking his wand so that John's trunk floated along behind them. "I forgot, you've only been to the train station. Third-years can visit the village, so you have that to look forward to. See?" He pointed out several of the shops as they passed. "Honeydukes - that was always a favorite in my day. The real place to go now is Weasley's." He nodded at a huge building painted in all shades of garish greens and purples. "Best joke shop on the planet. Run by good people, too; it's a family thing." And now he pointed out a small, winding road. "Hogwarts is this way. See, you can glimpse the castle right there?"

It wasn't as long a walk as John was expecting, but he was very glad when they stepped inside the huge front doors. He didn't think he'd ever been so ready to fall into bed. Professor Longbottom waved his wand again and the trunk vanished. "That should be in your dormitory," he said tiredly. "As I'm sure you'd like to be soon."

John nodded. "Thank you, um, Neville - or, Professor now?" The man laughed.

"Neville will do," he said pleasantly. "Like I said, we're still on break." He walked with John until they came to the Hufflepuff staircase, and then Neville nodded goodnight to him and set off towards his office. John trudged up through the common room and straight to his dormitory. Sure enough, his trunk was there, right where it belonged, but he didn't even pause to open it and pull out pajamas before falling into bed. Surprisingly - and happily - he fell very quickly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

There were very few students remaining at the school over break. There was only one other Hufflepuff, which meant that all of the softest chairs were available in the common room but it was also very lonely. And John wanted to be distracted. He didn't see Sherlock at all, even at meals, the first two days, so he set off to look for him.

Even though their last interaction had been less than pleasant, you can't be friends - or at least friendly - with Sherlock Holmes without forgiving and forgetting an awful lot. And honestly - although John would never tell him - he had been right. But Sherlock wasn't in the library or any of his usual study rooms. John rolled his eyes, having suspected this might be the case, and made his way to the third floor. He found the stretch of hallway where the Room of Requirement was hidden and set to pacing, setting his mind to Sherlock and his room full of scrolls.

To his surprise, the doorway appeared. Sherlock must have decided he wasn't useless after all. But when he opened the door, there were no scrolls or shelves or tables, and no Sherlock. It was just a small closet.

"John?" He spun about, suddenly wondering whether this Room was even supposed to be accessed by students.

"Prof - er, Neville," John stammered. "Sorry, you surprised me."

"Looking for something?" John winced.

"Um, someone. Sherlock Holmes. He - he spends a lot of time here. But it's just a closet. I mean -" he corrected himself, "it's just a closet now. I know it's not always a closet."

"Ah, the mysteries of Hogwarts," Neville sighed, leaning against the doorframe. He glanced into the closet with a wistful grin. "I spent a lot of time in this room when I was a student. But I'm not surprised it didn't give you what you wanted. Sherlock Holmes, ah, went home for Christmas." He cleared his throat as John looked confused. "He planned to stay, I understand, but his parents showed up at the beginning of the holidays and... Well, they rather dragged him away." Neville couldn't quite hide a small smile. "I shouldn't laugh, but - well, it was quite a scene, let's just say."

Despite himself, John grinned a bit. "I imagine it was."

"The thing is," Neville continued, "the Room doesn't usually appear as anything except what you're looking for. So what's happening here? Did you go inside?" John frowned.

"It's - er, it's just a closet. There's some stuff in there - a lot of dust." Feeling foolish, he stepped into the small room. "Empty shelves, a few glass bottles - not sure what's in those - a pair of nasty old shoes..." his voice trailed off as something propped against the wall caught his eye. "Someone's left a broom in here." And he could tell at a glance, by the shape of the handle and the carefully groomed bristles at the end, that this was not a broom meant for cleaning. He grabbed it and stepped into the hallway, wiping dust away to reveal stamped letters.

"Nimbus 2001," Neville said appreciatively. "That was s a good broom. It's old, for sure - dates to my childhood - but when those came out, you'd have thought people were flying for the first time. They were quite the rage."

"Well, why would it be in here?" The professor shrugged. John hesitated, running a hand over the smooth polished wood, then shook off a cobweb and a stray spider. "Do you think it still flies?"

"Even if the charm's worn off, it's easy enough to reapply." John stood there, debating with himself. He should put it back into the closet - but what good was it doing anybody in there? "John, I doubt anyone will be looking for that broom. I doubt anyone has laid eyes on it in decades." He raised his eyebrows. "Take it."

John's heart leapt. He was no great flyer, that was sure, but to have a broomstick of his own... "You think it's all right?" Neville waved a hand dismissively. "Take it to Professor Adler. She was quite the Quidditch player in her day; it'll be no trouble for her to check and renew that charm. Don't try to fly it before she's done that, though. It'd be a shame to have it give out while you're a few hundred feet above the ground." John winced, nodding his assent.

"Sadly, I've just seen Irene making her way down to the village," Neville continued. "But what can you do? However, unless you're busy -" John shook his head "- we - Professor McGonagall and I - have been meaning to have a word with you." John frowned; what did the severe-looking headmistress want with him? It had to be his abrupt and early return to school.

John followed his professor through the halls until they reached a set of macabre gargoyles. Neville gestured for him to step back, then leaned in to whisper something into one of the gargoyles' ears. The statues sprung apart to reveal a door and a winding staircase, up which Neville gestured for John to go after leaving the broomstick at the bottom. They emerged into a spacious office, where the headmistress sat behind a grand and rather intimidating desk.

"Mr. Watson," she said, rising. She nodded to a set of four armchairs near the fireplace "Please, have a seat. Biscuit and tea?" She waved her wand and a kettle on the coffee table began to whistle. She conjured three cups and poured for them, pushing a tin of shortbread towards John, who took one and passed it along. When everyone had a steaming cup of tea, she eased herself into a chair and stared long and hard at John over her eyeglasses. "How are you, John?"

John, unfortunately, had just taken a good-sized bite of shortbread and had to choke down the dry crumbs before answering. "I - I'm all right," he managed with a cough.

"Professor Longbottom told me about the conversation with your mother," she continued, still piercing him with her stare. "I won't presume to imagine how that felt." John shrugged uncomfortably, placing his cup and saucer on the table. "Just know, John, any of the professors here would be willing to talk about anything you may wish to discuss. I am, of course, and I'm sure Professor Longbottom as well." She glanced at Neville, who nodded once. They looked expectantly at John.

"I - er - thanks," he said quickly. "I mean, thank you for letting me come back early, as well. And I was glad Neville - er, Professor Longbottom," he stammered, blushing fiercely as the headmistress shot him a look, "I was glad he spoke to my mother. At least now I know for sure where... where I stand." He finished with a shrug, frustrated at his lack of eloquence.

"Well," Professor McGonagall said sharply. "As long as you're doing all right... that's what matters." She smiled thinly as she stood up, and John thought privately that that was almost as frightening as her frown.

"There is something I was wondering," John burst out as he and Neville rose from their chairs. Both adults turned to him encouragingly. "I mean - I just wondered - will I go back home this summer? I mean, what if she..." he flushed red again, kicking at the carpet beneath his feet, then glanced up. "What if she won't let me back? She said she wouldn't tolerate magic anything. She'd have me burn all my books if she could."

Professor McGonagall shook her head, looking grave. "This isn't the first time students' Muggle parents have reacted badly to the thought of their children using magic," she told him. "I won't say it isn't a very extreme case... But we'll just have to wait and see. Hopefully by summer she'll have rethought it. If not," she sighed. "We'll help you make arrangements, John. No," she added as he opened his mouth, "nobody stays at Hogwarts all summer. But perhaps some of your friends could host you for a few weeks at a time. Like I said, that'll be a last resort. For now we'll hope for the best." She nodded firmly and returned to sit behind her desk. "Good day, John, Neville."

"Thank you, Professor," John answered as he and Neville started down the stairs. At the bottom, he retrieved the broomstick from the closet, clutching it as the gargoyles sprung back into place. He glanced at Neville, unsure of what came next. He liked the professor, but he also hated being fawned over and pitied, and he was still wary that that was what was coming.

"Any time, John," Neville said with a smile. "And as I'm sure you know, my door is always open." John smiled back, nodding once. "Good luck with that broom!" And with a jaunty wave, he strode off towards the Great Hall.

John hesitated for a moment, then turned towards Ravenclaw Tower and Professor Adler's office. He might as well swing by and see if she'd returned. To his delight, her door swung open almost instantly at his knock.

"Mr. Watson," she said in her peculiar lilting way. "To what do I owe the honor?" She pulled the door open, bowing him into the room, and he entered a little stiffly. He'd always found the Charms teacher a little off-putting. She was a very young witch, for a teacher, and much more relaxed with her students. Most of the students liked her approach, but it struck John as odd.

He showed her the broom and gave a brief explanation of how he'd happened across it. "Professor Longbottom said he thought it'd be all right for me to take it," he explained nervously. She nodded, raising an eyebrow. "And he said you might be able to repair the charm on it? Or check it over, at least. If you've got time, of course," he added. She hefted the Nimbus 2001 in her hands, checking its balance.

"Of course," she purred. "Not bad, not bad. I'll check it over," she told him, placing the broom carefully on a table and dusting off her hands. "Those were good brooms, very well-made. I doubt it'll take any time at all to have it ready to go." She smiled as she walked him back towards the door. "I learned to fly on one of these, a hand-me-down. Maybe you'll let me take yours out for a spin sometime." John frowned a bit, but shrugged.

"I mean, I guess. Professor Longbottom mentioned you used to play Quidditch."

"Oh yes," she sighed happily. "Those were the days. I was Ravenclaw's Seeker for five of my years at Hogwarts. We took the Quidditch Cup thrice. Do you play?" John shook his head. "Pity. Well, good luck, John. I'll have it back to you in no time. For now, you might want to order some polish and things to care for it. It'll need some trimming and a good scrub-down for sure." He nodded eagerly, thanking her again, and turned to practically skip his way back up to his common room. At least something was going right.