* Chapter 18, here we go! Also, I just wanted to say, that without all the AN's, this story is about 21 000 words long!

John had finally pieced everything together. One, he, Ron, and Harry would sneak into the hospital wing tomorrow night. Two, Ron would stand guard. Three, Harry and John would look around Pomfrey's office, looking for Clara's record.

It came to John that this was the first time he had done anything, really. All his homework lay piled in a messy heap, forgotten. Perhaps John's should've dropped those classes. But, who cared? Homework was boring. Very boring. Really, John only kept up with astronomy classes, as it was much more fun standing in the cold night, at 12:00 AM, looking at stars that had quite possibly already burned out, but their light was only just reaching them. Yep, definitely more interesting that Goblin wars.

John was breaking about a dozen school rules, but he had never been one for rules, had he? Though, sometimes john did wonder to what lengths John would go to ensure Clara's safety… It was almost an unspoken obligation…

John was snapped out of his thoughts, when the door burst open. Harry was standing there, looking hellishly, and very tired.

"We need to call it off," he panted.

"Call what off?" John said, oblivious to it all.

Harry sighed, and gestured to John's scribbled writing on parchment. "The plan to find out what Clara was hiding… She already told someone…"

"Yeah, who?"

"Ginny."

John scoffed. "Ginger? Rule One: Never trust a red-head. They're useful in only one scenario: None."

Harry gave a puzzled look. "Isn't she your friend?"

"Just because she's my friend doesn't mean I don't dislike her hair."

"What?"

"Double negative."

"OK… Back to the point. Clara really does seem to be better now. If she was willing to tell someone… Has it occurred to you that maybe she just doesn't want to tell you?"

John rolled his eyes. "Now, why wouldn't she want to tell me?"

Harry grimaced. "The same reason she won't tell any of us, we tried to force it out of her."

"But-"

"No," Harry continued. "I think that whatever we do, it'll make Clara actually hate you."

"Actually hate me?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Clara is really angry with you right now… She's really conflicted as to whether or not she hates you."

"She's always like that," John said.

"This is different. She might truly come to hate you. You… we, actually, betrayed her trust in a way. We forced her into a corner, when she probably would've appreciate your, er our help anyway."

John fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Like Amelia Pond. John wrinkled his nose at his thought, because those were the last things he needed. Apalapachia. No. This had to stop…

"I'll do it myself then. Probably best, you'll just get in the way."

Harry sighed dramatically. "You really shouldn't! You're being stupid here, John. Just, let it go!"

John snickered. Harry gave him a cold stare.

"Can't you just accept the fact that we were wrong? Ron only went along with it, because that's what he does. You, you are so bent on supposedly helping Clara, you haven't realized that Clara is completely fine!"

John blinked. "So you finally accepted Ron's role as a friend. Good job!"

"Did you seriously just ignore me?"

"Well, I heard it, then my head was like, 'boring!' and I forgot it. Sorry, you were saying what now?"

"I'm seriously losing my patience here."

John clasped his hands together. "I am too! There are just some things that are too long! Les Miserables for starters…"

"Wait- You tried reading that thing?"

John scoffed. "I read the book in seconds. The film, I mean." John shuddered.

"We're really losing track here."

"No kidding. So plan: I sneak into the hospital wing my myself-"

"No!"

"Wait, we have another plan then? Mind you, I'm surprised you came up with one. Good for you, taking one for the team!"

Harry growled with frustration. "Sometimes I really don't know whether you're serious, or just trying to be funny."

"Both?"

Harry gave a hard look to John. It didn't work. Harry just didn't have the eyebrows for it.

"I'm going to say it one last time! You shouldn't go poking around where your head doesn't belong! Just, give it up!" Harry stormed out of the room, seething.

John frowned. He really didn't care what Harry had to say, so he got up from his bed and paced around the room. Glaring at the ground, John decided he would do it.

"Don't do it," a female's voice whispered. John instantly whipped out his wand.

"Who's there? Harry, this is a pretty awful method to convince me, just saying!"

"Not yet," the voice continued. It seemed to be coming from all over. As in, there was no actual direction in which the voice was coming from. "It's too soon, John Smith." The voice cackled, as John's name amused her-it.

"You'll find out about Clara… Don't worry. Your promise to yourself will still stand."

John stood there awkwardly for a few minutes. His head was still processing what had just occurred. Then, with great hesitance, John decided to call his plan off.

Classes continued for everyone else, except John. He seemed to be failing on all of his assignments, and his one potions quiz. Professor Snape gave him a look of disappointment, which were actually starting to become much more frequent. John could now tell why everyone despised their potions professor so much.

On top of it all, Hermione had seemed to be quite right. John got rid of the hourglass tool he had been using for half the year, and dropped some of the courses. Muggle Studies and Divination. John knew enough about Muggles, and Divination class was quite useless. Professor Trelawney had frowned and wrinkled her nose when John had told her it was his last day.

"Evidently I was incorrect about you." she rasped. "You do lack the Sight. However, I foresee-"

"Don't know, don't care," John snapped back.

Hermione still glared at John, but it was a weird look. It was as if to say, I'm smarter. I was able to do all the courses. Of course, Hermione was killing herself in the process. John wasn't that blind.

One day, John had been thinking about how to escape a black hole, (the answer was simple) when he heard a crowd of noise coming from downstairs in the common room. Sighing, he lifted himself out bed and made sure that he had his killer eyebrows on. They were the most important part to the criticizing ensemble.

At that moment, Ron burst through the door. A smile was literally etched on his face forever. He was holding something that looked suspiciously like Harry's confiscated Firebolt…

"Hiya," Ron said breathlessly. He tucked the broom under Harry's bed. Real secure.

"Is that-"

"Yeah," said Ron, still smiling. "It's a Firebolt! An actual, actual, actual Firebolt!" In two seconds, his smile faded. John didn't understand how he changed emotions so quickly. "W-what's that?" Ron pointed to his bed.

John turned to face a bed which sheets were covered in blood. John had his curtains closed the whole time while on his bed, which was apparently a bad idea. He didn't even notice what had occurred.

"What?" said Ron, still in a daze. "Sc-SCABBERS!" Ron quickly grabbed the red stained sheets, and was about to fly out the door when-

"Look," John said. "On the ground. Those look like-"

"Crookshank's fur," Ron finished, his voice squeaking. Then, his face went all red and John though that he was transfiguring himself into a balloon. John hastily grabbed the furs, and thrust them in his pocket.

"I'm going to kill that ruddy thing…" John followed Ron as he bolted down the stairs.

"LOOK! LOOK!"

"Ron, what?" Hermione asked.

"SCABBERS! LOOK! SCABBERS!"

The rest of the people downstairs glanced at the bloody sheet. They're eyes widened.

"BLOOD! HE'S GONE! AND YOU KNOW WHAT WAS ON THE FLOOR?" Ron gestured for John to bring out the spiky, ginger, cat fur.

Hermione looked appalled. "You seriously don't think that-"

"THEN WHO ELSE DID IT?"

"Ron, stop yelling!" Hermione scolded firmly, but her voice was squeaky. "Please," she added silently.

"NO!" SCABBERS IS DEAD BECAUSE YOUR BLOODY CAT ATE HIM!"

"Show me some proof, then."

John waved his hands, then pointed at the fur in his hands.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, of course you would side with him! Those could've been there since Christmas!"

"I'm not siding with anyone," John said defensively. John studied Hermione for a second. "Also, your eyes are very red you have dark bags under them? Are you sick?"

"Quit trying to change the subject!" Hermione shrieked. "I'm not sick, I'm fine. I don't know where Scabbers is, but Crookshanks definitely did not eat him!" Hermione stormed off with clenched hands.

Beside John, Ron panted. His face was all blotchy.

"You could do with some makeup," John suggested. This earned him a hard glare from Ron. John thouht of Hermione's discoloured face as well. "Everyone here could to with some makeup," he muttered.