"I never thought the day would come when I'd be teaching you something," John said, sounding gleeful, for what Sherlock was convinced for the hundredth time.

"I swear, if you say that one more time," he retorted threateningly.

"Sorry, sorry. It's just a nice change for once."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Just-remind me what I'm supposed to be doing again?"

"Focusing on something happy."

"Happy…"

Sherlock cast his gaze around the Room of Requirement, searching for something, anything, for inspiration. There were piles and piles of books on Defense Against the Dark Arts, as well as an impressive display of Dark Detectors. The curtains were drawn over the windows of the room, but some of the warm afternoon sunlight was peeking through, splashing across the walls.

He could practically hear John rolling his eyes at him. "It's not that hard, Sherlock. Just think of something that makes you happy, or a memory where you were happy. The best you can possibly think of."

Closing his eyes in concentration, the dark-haired wizard skimmed through his mind palace, searching for any stored memory of happiness. A variety of scenes flashed through his mind, and he finally settled on the day he came to Hogwarts-particularly, the moment he stepped into the Ravenclaw common room and truly felt at home.

Trying to keep the memory fixed in his mind as vividly as possible, he raised his wand and muttered, "Expecto Patronum."

A silver vapor burst from the tip of his wand; it was no small amount, but vapor was all it was. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Sherlock tried again, with the same results.

John frowned, watching the boy. "I think you need something happier."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not saying whatever you're thinking of isn't happy…it's just you need the happiest thing you can think of. You hear Nevamann-the happier the memory, the stronger the Patronus. If you want to be able to cast a corporeal Patronus, you're going to need something happier."

Sighing, he scanned his mind again. Before his eyes he saw a beautiful dog with long, red hair that jogged towards him; his long ears flapped around his narrow face and he seemed to be smiling. Redbeard. Now smiling himself, Sherlock again raised his wand. "Expecto Patronum!" He said it more forcefully this time, as though it would help to fuel the charm.

But this time the vapor was even fainter than before, because as soon as Sherlock had cast it the pain of losing the dog crashed upon him in waves, and the silver flickered feebly and then vanished.

"Damn," Sherlock cursed, gritting his teeth in frustration.

"Sherlock," John said, glancing out one of the windows. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. There's Quidditch practice in ten minutes and we have a game this weekend."

"Right," Sherlock said, nodding, but only half paying attention.

"See you at dinner?"

"Mmm."

For some reason, the lack of anyone else being in the room made it much easier for Sherlock to concentrate. He figured this would be a problem-if he actually needed to cast a Patronus, he certainly wouldn't be alone, especially once you take the dementor into account-but for now, at least, it was a start.

After a significant number of more failed attempts, Sherlock was pretty much ready to quit for the day; he couldn't remember the last time it had taken him this long to master a spell, and the thought did nothing to cheer him up. He wanted to stay and work at it, but it had been dark outside for a while now, and he had told John he'd see him at dinner…

John. His friend. Sometimes, he still found it hard to believe he had a friend. Not only someone he considered to be one, but someone who reciprocated the feeling. He had always been so jealous, watching groups of students studying, walking, laughing together in the grounds during the nice weather. But now he had that. He had someone he could talk to, tell dumb jokes and funny stories to…

Thinking about it, thinking about John, a smile lit up Sherlock's face, reaching all the way to his eyes. He hardly recognized the feeling until it was overwhelming him, and the realization of it shocked him so much he almost forgot to raise his wand.

He was happy.

"Expecto Patronum!" The force of the charm very nearly knocked Sherlock over, and he caught only a glimpse of something sleek, something fairly small, but silver and with definite form, bound across the room before vanishing.

Still smiling, Sherlock tucked away his wand, slung his bag over his shoulder, and headed down to the Great Hall to meet his friend for what he expected would be a wonderful dinner.

Except it wasn't. When Sherlock sat down beside John at the Gryffindor table, it was to find him covered in mud and in an abysmal mood. At first, Sherlock thought this was just because of how badly the practice went-John had said it was dreadful, and the rest of the team looked upset, too.

But then, looking around, Sherlock quickly noticed that everyone in the general vicinity looked bothered by something. He figured that something had occurred, or some news had been shared, while he had been in the Room of Requirement.

"What did I miss?" Sherlock asked, sounding completely unconcerned despite the unease that was crawling its way up his back.

John simply handed him a copy of the Evening Prophet, one of many that was lying abandoned all along the table.

Massive Death Eater Attack in London

Three Wizards, Eleven Muggles Killed

Shortly after five o'clock this evening, a group of Aurors attempted to apprehend known Death Eaters in the city of London. It was believed that the Death Eaters were attempting to carry out acts of Muggle terrorism-whether on the orders of You-Know-Who, or simply for sport, the Ministry remains unsure. The fight that ensued resulted in the deaths of three of the Aurors, and eleven muggles that had been drawn to the scene by the commotion. Only one Death Eater of the suspected four was successfully apprehended. The name of this Death Eater has not yet been disclosed. "The Ministry will be putting in all efforts to identify and capture the other three Death Eaters, all of whom will be held accused for the killings. In the meanwhile, we advise that everyone be extra cautious, especially in the London area, as the Ministry has reason to suspect the remaining Death Eaters still intend to carry out the task they were there to perform," the Minister of Magic warned. He refused, however, to release the names of any persons involved, including the deceased. We can only hope that the Death Eaters are convicted, and soon brought to justice, for the good of the wizarding world. For now- (story continued on page 18).

Sherlock folded the paper back up, and threw it down on the table. "Wonderful," he said. "Just great. Three crazed Death Eaters on the loose in London, with murder on their minds."

When John said nothing, Sherlock glanced at him-he was extremely pale, and hadn't touched the turkey that was on his plate.

"Sherlock," he said quietly.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, getting genuinely concerned now. "John, what's wrong?"

"My parents live in London."

"Write to them. Tell them what happened, and that they need to get out, now. They might already know something is going on-I'm sure the Muggle Prime Minister has been warned."

John looked at his friend incredulously. "I thought you were supposed to be a bloody genius?! It's not just that, Sherlock! Eleven Muggles were killed! Eleven! UNNAMED Muggles!"

"Did I hear that right, Watson?" sneered a voice from behind them. Sherlock whipped his head around to see a large Hufflepuff boy standing there, looking smug. "You're Muggle-born? Blimey, no wonder you're bottom of the class!"

Before either boy could open his mouth to let out an angry retort, another voice said, "Piss off, Aubrey."

The boy scowled, but moved aside as Molly shoved past him, dropping into a seat beside John. "What do you want?"

Molly raised her eyebrows. "You know, a "thank you" never went amiss. What's got your wand in a knot?"

John just glared at her. "You know."

"Ah," Molly said, glancing at the paper.

"Why aren't you sitting with your boyfriend, anyway?" John inquired, in a forcibly more casual voice.

"We broke up."

John at least had the empathy to look concerned. "Why?"

"He's a git."

"Hear, hear," said Sherlock enthusiastically, helping himself to some of the chocolate pudding that had just replaced the turkey.

John rolled his eyes, but the hint of a smile crossed his features too, and he actually grabbed a treacle tart.

"I forgot to ask you last night," John said, flipping through Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five. "How did you make out with that spell?"

Molly looked between them curiously, her quill stopping halfway through writing a sentence. Sherlock had allowed her to join them studying in the library due to the fact that her presence was likely to keep Collins at bay for a while.

"It actually….took form on my last attempt, but it faded pretty quickly."

John nodded appreciatively. "It's progress."

"So, game tomorrow?" Sherlock hastened to change the subject, so Molly would stop looking so interested. It wasn't that he wasn't allowed to learn the Patronus charm, it was more that he didn't want everyone knowing he wanted to-or that he was having such a hard time with it.

"Mhm. We're playing Hufflepuff. Should be interesting."

Molly smiled wryly. "Sorry, John, but it looks like I won't be cheering for you this time."

"Oh, come on," he insisted. "You don't want to support your team, that Aubrey bloke is on it."

"Fair point," Molly acknowledged. "In that case, I guess I'm neutral."

"Does he play keeper?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah," said John, biting his lip. "And as you'd expect, he'd bloody great at it."

Sherlock pictured the boy, and decided that if it was a question of how many goals Gryffindor was able to score during the match the next day, they were doomed.