Sherlock lay there on the branch for a few moments, allowing himself a few moments to recover. He murmured a healing spell to mend the worst few cuts, but only managed to stop the bleeding. Medical magic was much more John's specialty than his own.

As he sat up, he found that his head wouldn't stop spinning, and his brain was rather fuzzy. The fact that he was having trouble thinking unnerved him greatly. Forget his wand, his mind was his best weapon in this game. Closing his eyes, he focused until he reached the hallway of mirrors. It took him longer than usual, due to the fact that he was having rather a hard time tuning out his surroundings.

He stood there in the glimmering hall, almost blinded by the light after being in a forest of darkness. Sherlock walked to the end of the hallway, not sparing a glance to any of the doors on either side. What he needed was someplace else.

He pushed open the double doors at the opposite end of the corridor, and stepped into another hallway. This one, however, was much shorter, and was filled with a bright white light. Stepping into a room on his left, Sherlock now found himself standing in what looked like an empty science lab.

Picking up a piece of chalk, he stepped up to the blackboard that covered the wall opposite him, and began writing.

- Know Positions of Opponents

- Move Down and Towards Center

- Be Aware of Any and All Obstacles and Enchantments

- "Don't be an Idiot" –John

Sherlock smiled at the quote from John, and underlined it just so he wouldn't forget. Despite his intelligence, he was frequently an idiot. And he just couldn't afford that right now.

'I wish John was here' was Sherlock's first coherent thought as he returned to reality. Then, turning his attention to things that would help him best, he raised his wand.

"I need to know where they are," Sherlock said to himself, sighing. "I really should have practiced this spell more."

He closed his eyes, and immediately the night under the stars sprang before his eyes. Sherlock allowed it to fill his mind, and focused solely on his happiness, and the smile he could feel on John's mouth whenever he kissed him, and how he always tasted like sunshine.

Expecto Patronum, he thought, not daring to speak it aloud lest it break his concentration.

He opened his eyes in time to see something silver streak from the tip of his wand, lithely moving across the branches before it faded into the darkness.

If I could move like that, I'd have this done in no time.

John waited a few moments for the crowd to become distracted again-with all the winds that kept whipping and odd noises the maze emitted, this did not take too long. Once he was sure only Mycroft was watching him, he slipped away and clambered down from the wooden bleachers and noiselessly as possible.

Once he had the ground below his feet again, he didn't need to worry about being seen. The sky was almost completely dark, and it would have been very difficult for anyone to see him. The only danger was someone noticing the moonlight on his blonde hair, but he doubted anyone would be looking someplace other than the site of the task.

John's sense of direction was never that great, but you'd think moving in just an overly large circle around the perimeter of the arena wouldn't have been very difficult for him. But it was dark, and before long he had lost track of how far he had walked and if he was at the right stand or not. He couldn't see the faces of a single person in the stands above him, let alone identify if Nevamann was there at all.

Damn damn damn, he cursed to himself as he tried to think of something to do. Trust me to screw up something this important. Sherlock could be in danger right now!

The thought set his heart skipping, and he racked his brains desperately. The only thing he could think of was summoning a Patronus Charm to go look for Nevamann, but even the small form it took would be easily noticed as it shined brightly in the dark.

I'm just going to keep walking, he told himself. I'll find someone I know, and I can figure this out. Hang in there, Sherlock.

It was only a few minutes before the otter returned to Sherlock, sitting on its silvery haunches and twitching its nose. It informed him that Irene was the closest to him-only about twenty meters to his north. Moriarty was much deeper into the darkness and Jack was nowhere to be seen. Sherlock's stomach squirmed uncomfortably. Had Moriarty already gotten Jack? He felt at least reassured knowing that Moriarty was a decent ways away from him, even it meant he was probably closer to the end. Sherlock had a nasty feeling that the cup was in the darkest, most secluded part of the maze.

I should find Irene. Stick close to her without giving myself away. I can see if she's up to something, or in danger.

He had assumed that she would have been on Moriarty's side, but from her comment at the Ball about being afraid of him, he wasn't so sure anymore.

As he scrambled north through the branches, he frowned, remembering their exact conversation from that night.

She had asked him if he was afraid of what was to come in the tournament. He had said he was simply nervous, not afraid. Then he had asked her the same.

"Yes."

"Are you afraid of him?"

"I'm afraid of both of them."

Both of them...could it be that she too suspected Nevamann of treachery as well? Did she maybe know something from Moriarty about an alliance of some form between the two of them?

When I find her, maybe I SHOULD talk to her, he considered. If she knows anything...it could mean the difference between life and death for all of them. Maybe even the people of Hogwarts too. He seriously doubted Moriarty's ambition was so limited that he only wanted to hurt Sherlock and the other champions. He probably had something much more deadly on his mind.

Once he could hear soft rustling not far ahead, Sherlock paused and slowed his pace. He kept his wand raised, in case Irene had things other than an alliance on her mind-the possibilities of glory and victory could easily hold sway over the mind, forcing it to abandon the ideas of common sense.

A shadow flickered ahead of him, and Sherlock squinted, trying to make out the figure. "Irene?" he whispered.

The figure froze, but before Sherlock could say anything else, something slammed into him from the side, knocking him off the branch and slamming him into another tree. His back throbbing with pain, he found a foothold and looked up to see-nothing.

That wasn't a spell, he thought. Thought was something extremely solid.

Staying very still, he looked around, scanning for any signs of movement, but there were none. And then there was an unbearable pain across his chest as a deep gash appeared there, blood soaking through his shirt. Crying out, Sherlock barely managed not to fall into the darkness.

But it hardly mattered-his worst fears were confirmed. He was fighting something-or someone-invisible.

John, having finally forced himself to calm down, drew his wand from his pocket, finally having had a stroke of inspiration. There were two spells he needed to use, but he hadn't mastered either of them. Another pro of dating a prodigy, however, was that you learned quite a bit of magic significantly quicker than you would under normal friendship circumstances. John had learned a few handy spells, but his opportunities to practice them had been limited of late-or rather, their "practice sessions" didn't usually end up involving magic.

"Well, first things first," John muttered to himself, and pointed his wand toward the castle. "Accio broomstick!" He waited with baited breath as a small shadow glided towards him through the night. He sighed in relief-that was one down. Assuming, of course, it was his broom he had summoned. Luckily, it was-and thanks to the cover of darkness, and the attention drawn by the task, he doubted that a single person noticed the anomaly.

The next spell would be significantly harder, but it didn't need it to be perfect-John only needed it to work a little.

Gently laying the tip of his wand on the top of his head, he murmured, "Disillusio." He knew the spell had been at least partially successful when he felt a slight warm trickle spread down the rest of his body. It was a bit disorienting to mount his broom barely able to see his hands or the rest of his body.

Kicking off from the ground, he did a quick lap around the perimeter of the arena, enjoying the sense of calm and freedom that came with flying, and so he could adjust to flying while more or less invisible. He circled around a few times, moving lower with each lap, until he could scan some of the faces as he went by. When he found the stands where many of the staff was seated, he braked his broom to a stop and hovered as close as he dared above the heads the spectators, scanning the faces.

With a jolt of surprise, John saw that Nevamann was indeed seated there in the stands, his gaze intently focused on the maze below. Frowning in confusion, he was about to fly away and find Mycroft to inform him, but something in his gut told him to stay put for a moment-and he was glad he did. After another moment of nothing, Nevamann whispered something to Professor Slughorn, who was seated next to him. The man frowned, then nodded, and Nevamann got to his feet and started down the stairs of the stands.

Frowning himself, John followed slowly about ten feet above the man's head, and watched as he met with Professor McGonagall at the edge of the pit. They exchanged a few words, and then McGonagall went back up into the stands, while Nevamann continued walking into the darkness.

"Shit," John muttered under his breath, realizing the impact of what was going on. Accelerating, it took him only a few minutes to return to where he was seated before-and just in time, as he felt the charm wearing off. When he landed at the base of the stands, he was completely visible again.

Clutching his broom in one hand and his wand in the other, he hurried up the stands until he reached the row where Molly was seated. She looked up in surprise when he sat down next to her.

"Where were you?" she hissed.

"…doing…things…can you watch this for me?" he asked, handing her his broom.

"What were you doing with your broom?"

"No time," he said, turning to Mycroft, who was watching him fixatedly.

"Well?" said the older Holmes, raising an eyebrow.

"Nevamann just took over patrol for McGonagall."

He nodded, as though not surprised. "Let's go."

Molly watched the two boys vanish into the darkness, clutching the broomstick in her hand. She stared at it nervously. She might not be in Ravenclaw, but she was far from an idiot. She knew that something was going on, and she knew it was bad.

It has something to do with Sherlock, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. And she knew it was true. She also knew that she cared about Sherlock more than he knew, and that she wasn't going to stand around and let something happen to him.

"Screw it," she muttered, dropping the broom. She pulled out her wand, and followed John and Mycroft into the night.

So so sorry this took so long. But writer's block and college are a terrible combination. Hope you enjoy! Please review/let me know what you think.