"Two more muggle families found dead in their homes," John said a bit harshly, throwing The Daily Prophet down on the table and causing a bit of Sherlock's pumpkin juice to splash out of the glass. "You'd think the ministry could actually do something about all this."
Sherlock glanced up from spreading butter on his toast. "Well it's a bit difficult to prevent it all from happening. I mean, how many people are there in the country? Voldemort's followers could be going after any of them, just for fun."
"Don't say that," the Gryffindor responded wearily, slumping down next to his friend.
"But it's-"
"Just don't."
"Right," Sherlock said, remembering. "John, I'm sure-"
"No you're not. It's like you said. No one knows who they're going to target next."
"Have you warned them?"
"I've been trying. They just don't seem to understand exactly how big the threat is."
"That's not surprising. Even most wizards don't."
John sighed, and glanced out the towering windows of the great hall. Storm clouds were gathering over the castle, and the boys could hear thunder rumbling in the distance. Running a hand through his blonde hair, John found himself wondering when he'd actually see blue skies and sunshine again.
As much as Sherlock actively disliked the stuffiness of the Gryffindor common room, there was something about the warm colors and abundance of pillows that somehow made the room itself seem warmer. And as March came around and the weather remained as cold as ever, the young Ravenclaw found himself spending more and more time there with John.
The view wasn't as nice as it was from Ravenclaw tower, either, but it's not like the boys were staring out the window the whole time-they were studying for their O.W.L.s, which would be taking place the first week of June, the very week before the Third Task.
It was irritating, Sherlock thought, that of all the years for this to happen, it had to be his fifth. As a champion, he was exempt from all exams, and every other year that would allow him to relax and focus on preparing himself for the final task.
But instead of regular finals, the fifth years had standardized testing, which Sherlock was certainly not allowed to skip, as his results would affect what classes he continued with the following year.
"I don't see why it matters to them," John had said, rolling his eyes. "I mean, you're going to get an "Outstanding" on everything anyways so they may as well just write that down and be done with it."
Unfortunately, the examiners wouldn't see it that way. And while Sherlock had complete confidence in his ability to excel in the testing, he wasn't taking any chances. The exams would determine his future, after all. Besides, studying the textbooks and practicing magic were helping him to prepare for the Third Task. He occasionally taught himself new spells, particularly of the dueling variety-he had a bad feeling he would be facing Moriarty before the year was over.
He didn't really know the details of the task, except that the champions would be receiving them beforehand for once. In the beginning of May, all four of them would be informed of precisely what the task would be, giving them a little more than a month to prepare their spellwork and strategy.
Although, in Sherlock's case, he hoped to have all of his spellwork ready by that time, allowing him to focus on his strategy.
"Sherlock," came an annoyed voice from behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he was not pleased to see Sally Donovan standing there with her arms crossed.
"Can I help you?"
She scowled at him, clearly wishing she was doing something else-as long as it was away from him. "No. But Molly said Jack was looking for you in the library. He figured you'd be here."
Sherlock leaned his head back and sighed. Whatever Collins wanted, he had a nasty feeling it would cut into his studying time. "Wonderful."
"I can't believe you don't know how to do a simple summoning charm," Sherlock said once again in disbelief.
"Shut it," growled Jack. "I'm trying to focus."
Due to his frankly dismal performance in the Second Task, when Sherlock met him in the library the Hufflepuff boy had practically begged him for help with his spellwork. Sherlock had been hesitant, but had finally agreed-despite his general dislike for the boy, and the fact that they were competing against one another, he didn't like the idea of Collins running into Moriarty without knowing some good magic.
John was lounging by the window of the empty classroom, looking out onto the grounds. "Well, I for one don't think they're very useful," he supplied, not sparing the two a glance.
"Not very-really! What happens if you drop something valuable? Or need to make an escape? That spell is what got us out of the First Task alive," Sherlock reminded Jack, still looking at John in horror. "If I hadn't summoned the Portkey, they'd still be scraping us off the ground."
Jack put his hands up, as if surrendering. "He said it, not me."
Sherlock gave John another annoyed look, then turned back to the other boy.
"Another useful way to use this spell," said Sherlock, remembering something he had been planning. "If you're up against a wizard, and catch them unawares, you can summon their wand. It's much more difficult to summon a magical object, but it can certainly be done. You also need to be fast, though, or your opponent will block it. It's better if you can do it nonverbally, but I'm guessing you haven't learned that yet…"
Jack shook his head, but looked amazed at the prospect of summoning a wizard's wand.
"It would be a bit difficult in a duel," the Ravenclaw continued, "but if you were to see, for example, Moriarty up to no good during the Third Task, it wouldn't be a bad idea at all to separate him from his wand-as long as you book it out of there."
"I don't fancy meeting him at all during the task, really," Jack muttered.
"Me neither," Sherlock admitted.
"Well," he said, a while later, "You seem to have basically mastered it."
Jack had been successfully summoning various objects across the room to him for a good twenty minbutes. Granted, he had to dodge a vase that came flying at his head at an alarming speed (it crashed against the wall), but all in all the boy had the spell down.
Jack smiled. "Can I try summoning your wand now?"
Sherlock was about to respond, when John (whom he thought had been sleeping) suddenly cut in.
"Sherlock."
Something in the tone of his voice made the dark-haired boy's head snap up. "What is it?"
John was still sitting at the desk, staring out the window in awe and curiosity. "It's Nevamann," he said. "He just went into the Forbidden Forest."
"What? Why now? Wouldn't he be worried people would see?"
"Well, it is getting late…"
Sherlock looked at his watch. "Blimey…it's already seven o'clock," he informed Jack in surprise. Neither of them had realized exactly how long they'd been practicing, or that there was barely any sunlight left in the room.
"We should go back to our dormitories…" Jack said nervously.
"Go ahead," Sherlock replied, waving a hand dismissively.
"Huh? Where are you two going?"
Sherlock looked at his friend, who nodded in agreement.
"We're going to follow Nevamann."
"I'm coming," Jack said immediately, stowing his wand in his back pocket and following the two boys out the door.
Once they were a few feet into the Dark Forest, and the three boys couldn't see the twinkling lights of the castle through the trees behind them, Sherlock lit his wand. The other two followed his example, and carefully stepped over all the twisted roots and thorny plants.
"I've never been in here before," Jack said in interest, looking a bit nervous.
"He'll hear us before he sees our wands and this rate," John hissed irritably, as another fallen branch cracked beneath his foot.
Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. "I doubt it. The forest makes all kinds of queer noises-especially at night."
"You'd know this how?" John asked, raising an eyebrow, as they continued picking their way farther into the darkness.
"I get bored," he shrugged.
"Sherlock Holmes, breaking the rules…unthinkable," John teased.
Snorting, the curly-haired boy replied, "I'm a Ravenclaw, not a Hufflepuff."
Jack blushed indignantly at this comment. "We still don't know where he went from here," he said uncertainly. "Maybe we should go back."
"You insisted on coming, we didn't drag you anywhere-so follow through," Sherlock snapped.
"He does have a point," John murmured. "He could have gone anywhere, so unless you know some tracking spell…"
"I'm sure Jack can figure out where he is."
"Huh?" Collins looked positively alarmed.
Sherlock sniggered. "I heard that Hufflepuffs are supposed to be good finders…"
"Shut up," Jack hissed back, looking a bit relieved all the same.
Sherlock's ankles were covered in scratches and his sweater in tears after another ten minutes of wandering. He was actually considering Jack's suggestion of giving up for the night, when-
"Sh," he whispered suddenly, pulling the boys behind an old oak tree so large it could have hidden a good ten students.
There was a rustling coming from somewhere ahead of them, and Sherlock swore he could hear footsteps. The three darkened their wands, and Sherlock stuck his into the pocket of his pants-the boys hadn't had any classes that evening, and weren't wearing their school robes.
"What are you doing?" John asked quietly, as Sherlock grabbed onto the lowest branch and swung himself up.
But the boy just put a finger to his lips and winked, as he continued lithely climbing the tree until he was a good twenty feet above his friend's head. Sherlock moved as far as he dared along the branch, and peered into the darkness.
Some distance away, two dark figures were standing together among the trees; from what Sherlock could see, they were hooded and cloaked. It was impossible to make out anything else about them, though-they were simply two slightly darker blotches in the shadows.
Being sure to keep utterly still, Sherlock closed his eyes in an attempt to heighten his hearing. The trick never worked too well for him, though, and try as he might he could only make out whispers.
Sherlock was beginning to get quite sore, and really wished the pair would disappear soon-he didn't want to risk turning his back on them, or walking through the forest knowing they were still there.
Just when the boy was finally convinced that he'd have to sleep there, silence fell, and the hooded figures vanished into the night. Sherlock waited another minute or so to be safe, and then lithely slipped back down the tree, landing on his feet with catlike agility.
"Took you long enough," muttered John, looking at his friend and rubbing his eyes sleepily.
"Did you hear anything?" Collins asked in a fascinated whisper.
"Just a few words here and there. For the most part, though, no." Sherlock glanced down at his watch. "It's already eight thirty. If we want to get back to our common rooms without getting in trouble, we should hurry back."
The three boys walked as quickly as they dared through the forest, afraid to make too much noise with the twigs crackling under foot, and the creatures that squealed and scurried at their approach. Sherlock couldn't help but feel that the whole excursion was a waste of time, and if they got in trouble for it it would be for nothing.
He checked his watch at constant intervals, unnerved that the time seemed to be passing so quickly. 25 minutes left…
22 minutes left…
18 minutes left…
14 minutes left….
Suddenly, Sherlock felt as though his heart and seized up in his chest. Breathing was much more difficult, and there was this odd sensation in his stomach as though it was missing. The air was suddenly bitterly cold, even for an early Spring night, and Sherlock couldn't search for a single reason to smile.
Panicking, and wondering what was wrong with him, Sherlock turned to the others in desperation. His companions looked as horrified as he felt, and looking up, he saw why-Silhouetted above them, gliding in the air, were two large figures, wearing long, black, torn cloaks. But they weren't the people they had seen in the woods. These were dementors, and in place of words, foul rattling hisses left their mouths as they swooped toward the boys.
Sherlock scrambled for his wand and took a step back, but he fell over a gnarled root and hit the ground hard, his wand rolling away into the darkness.
Cursing under his breath, he scrambled forward on his knees, desperately trying to find it, when something silver erupted around them in a brilliant flash of light. Suddenly, warmth seemed to be returning to Sherlock again, and when the light faded away, the dementors were gone.
"What the bloody hell was that?" Sherlock asked shakily, accepting John's outstretched hand and allowing him to be pulled to his feet.
"A dementor," John said, looking at Sherlock in surprise. "Haven't you heard of them?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I know it was a dementor, thank you. I mean that silver light."
His friend was looking at him with the same expression of surprise on his face. "That was a Patronus Charm."
"Really?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "I've read about them, but never seen one before."
"You can't do one?"
"I-"
"Guys, I hate to interrupt this, but we have less than ten minutes to get back to the castle," Collins said sharply. "Here, Sherlock."
Sherlock wearily accepted his wand from the boy with a nod of thanks, too tired to form any more words.
"When I get back to the common room," John said with a sigh, "I'm eating so much chocolate I'll be in the hospital wing for a month."