Chapter Twenty‒Four

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"Hang on; can we go over that last bit again?"

It had been six days since John had first woken from his unconscious state, and he now sat up in his bed in the hospital wing while Sherlock went over History of Magic notes with him. Finals were less than a week away and the two best friends concentrated on studying the subject John struggled most with. Ever since he'd roused, Watson had refused to talk about his injury on the night of the dementor attack to anyone but the Ravenclaw, so whenever someone mentioned it he simply remained silent.

"What don't you understand?" Sherlock sighed, and John could tell he was beginning to get frustrated inside.

"It's just...the part when he discovered the tomb, I don't get it. It seems like it's irrelevant."

"Yes, it is irrelevant, but it's important." Holmes, being a master in all school subjects, had improved on his teaching skills, especially when it came to explaining theories.

"How is it important? If it doesn't have anything to do with the history of magic, then why do we have to study it? Irrelevant statements should not be bothered to be memorized."

"John, you know Professor Binns. He teaches the most boring subject on the face of this earth. The way he teaches it is...horrendous."

"Sherlock!"

"What? I'm sure most people in this school, dumb or smart —" John gave him a warning look before he concluded his sentence, "would agree with me."

"I mean, yeah he's probably the worst teacher we have, but who knows? There could be more professors in our futures that are just as bad."

They were disturbed from their studying when Mary Morstan tiptoed into the ward, looking like she might faint if she broke the two kids apart in their conversation. John saw her first and tapped Sherlock on the shoulder, nodding his head in her direction. "Hey," she squeaked, nervously crushing on John and drawing attention to it. "Um, just so you know, when —" she swallowed after her first fluid line of speech, "when John is recovered enough to leave the hospital wing, Professor Dumbledore would like to see you both in his office." John gulped as he had not been told the news. He assumed by her shaking tone that he and Sherlock were in a serious predicament.

Mary shuffled her feet along the floor as she fumbled with her hands. She was bashful and avoided eye contact with both the Ravenclaw and her fellow housemate and briefly glanced up before scooting backwards to leave. "Oh," she paused, turning back to them as they began to study once more. Sherlock had to hold in a snort as she almost ran into the wall, clearly so embarrassed in the presence of the injured blond sitting up in the bed. "The headmaster would preferably like to see you today." And without another tremble to spare, she slipped around the edge of the doorway as close to the hinges as she could, flattening her short hair and criticizing herself as she vanished.

Sherlock swerved around on the mattress, fixing his attention on his Gryffindor. "Well? What do you say? Think you can head up to Dumbledore's office?"

"I‒I thought we were studying..." The lion looked hurt and placed his textbook on the bedside table, swapping it out for the mirror so he could stare at his reflection. "I look rotten and bashed up," he insulted himself.

"No you don't!" Holmes found the blond's lack of interest to be disturbing. "Besides," he carried on, "we can put it off for a bit, don't you think?" he asked, patting the younger kid on his head full of fluffy locks and staring at his purple bruise below his eye. "We still have a week anyway. If we just work on each subject a little bit a day, you'll be fine. Don't work yourself up over something so simple."

"Simple?" John disagreed, cocking his eyebrow at Holmes.

"Yeah. Believe me, Mycroft let it slip that finals are really easy. You're smart anyway. You'll ace them with ease." John's cheeks felt hot. "It's only when you're fifteen that you have to worry about big exams that count and depend on your future, such as O.W.L.s, and then N.E.W.T.s the next year. Mycroft has to take those next year. Such a perfect son trying to get a highly appreciated job at the Ministry of Magic," he mocked.

John laughed as he took a bite of chocolate and felt discharged. "I can't see why he'd want to work there," he offered his opinion.

"It's rubbish if you ask me," Holmes scorned.

John sighed as he reached over to put the mirror back down, cringing a little at the cramp forming around his wounded side. "Alright," he managed, after the pain had subsided, "help me get up will you?"

"Anything for you little buddy." Sherlock beamed, jumping up enthusiastically from the bed like flailing kernels in a popcorn machine. His arm extended almost exactly as it had during the night of the winter dance, and John used the platform to push off into a standing position. "You doing okay?" Sherlock wondered, placing his free hand on John's collar to stabilize his friend.

"Yep," he determined, not feeling dizzy or receiving a pain in the process of bouncing on the pads of his feet. "You might have to persuade Madam Pomfrey though to let me leave..."

Sherlock gave his only friend a smirk, and Watson knew what his cleverness was up to. "You can count me in," he cheekily responded, all the while his grin elongating.

As long as Sherlock remained by John's side at all times for their 'personal matters' as the Ravenclaw had put it, he was allowed to walk up to Professor Dumbledore's office. They took things as slowly as they needed and stopped whenever the Gryffindor's side cramped up again. All the way up to the headmaster's office they only had to pause twice, and John did remarkably well on his own. He was able to trudge up and down staircases without the aid of Sherlock, and you couldn't even tell that he'd received quite a shock less than a week ago. The only bandages visible were the ones curled around his neck, and ever since he'd woke up John showed no sign of his neck hurting him at all.

Professor Dumbledore's office was located at the end of Gargoyle Corridor up in the Headmaster's Tower, and a great statue of a bronze phoenix stood with its wings spread out wide. The closer the boys got to the entrance, the more details they could spot around the bird's wings. Its beak was positioned so it looked ready to attack any intruder, and John stared into the hard eyes that gave him the death glare.

"Oh, shoot. What's the password?"

"What do you mean 'what's the password'?" John asked, hunching over in his black robes.

"Well you can't just expect to be able to walk on into the headmaster's office without permission, do you?"

"Well, we're screwed then, right? I mean, we're not going to enter if we don't say the right words."

"Hang on," Sherlock halted him, holding a finger up so he could concentrate. He paced back and forth in the corridor a few times, mumbling to himself with his hands pressed to his lips. John heard him say something along the lines of 'candy' and 'wizard shops' and some random place called Hogsmede, but nothing came to his own mind.

"Ha!" Sherlock shouted, making John jump at his sudden outburst. He rotated to face the towering statue and held his hands out in front of him, like he was going to hypnotize someone. "Drooble's Best Blowing Gum!" he spoke in a confident tone, and John waited for something to happen.

Possessed by magic, the bronze animal cracked on its pinpoint and shifted in place a couple times before rotating on an invisible axis. Originating out of the floor, a grand staircase twisted around the center of the phoenix's tail, and Watson watched as it twirled up to the top of a hidden hallway from his viewpoint.

The statue came to a rickety and rusty stop, and the Gryffindor turned slowly in amazement at the brunette. All he got in return was a smirk. "After you," the Ravenclaw responded, flattening his arms to let his friend pass.

John went first up the stone steps, bracing one hand against the wall for support. Halfway up he could see a new door that was the entrance to the office, and the soft thumping sound of Sherlock's footsteps rebounded around in the cylinder space around him in his ears.

When the black door was a few yards from his grasp, John pressed himself against the wall to let Holmes join him in the tiny area. He gave a little nervous shrug of his shoulders, which indicated for the older boy to knock three times lightly on the door. The brunette was sure not to knock four times, for various reasons.

From behind the barrier there came a soft voice, allowing the two first years to enter the headmaster's office. "Come in," was all the professor said. Sherlock, finding it most logical, clicked the doorknob and swung the wall open, stepping back to let John into the large room.

It was remarkable to see such a sight even though he'd only just then got to step foot into Dumbledore's study. John could've easily visited the headmaster earlier in their opening year at Hogwarts, such as when Sherlock had his problem with shouting at people, but he hadn't taken things that far. Being in the hospital wing for nearly a week made John bored of the same sights and sounds every day, and now coming into this room was like being greeted to a marvelous wedding banquet.

Maybe a few hundred bewitched portraits covered the stone walls, all moving and carrying a previous headmaster of Hogwarts. Some were much older than others, but they varied in all shapes and sizes. Some of the moving pictures snored loudly in their chairs, and others passed to fellow frames to whisper to one another about the newcomers. A cabinet was closed to their right, and a bowl of wizard sweets sat on a table for guests. The place looked like a dream library just fancier, columns lining the staircase the led to a high platform and Dumbledore's desk.

"Ah. Sherlock. John. I do believe you got my message from Mary. Please, come take a seat."

Professor Dumbledore's voice was so soothing and relaxing that no one would've ever known if they were in trouble, unless the headmaster was to his boiling point with anger. One could definitely mistake his voice for a wise adult though, not an old man. John turned to see the elder sitting in a golden throne, perched on the stage slightly higher than the bottom floor they were standing on, and a balcony to an upper level with two curved staircases on both sides was just above his head. A long table for work and books was in front of him, and he motioned with a swift hand for them to take a seat in two chairs before him.

John went up the steps to come within ten feet of one of the greatest wizards of all time, holding a hand firmly against one of the polls so he could ascend the stairs. Dumbledore watched him to get a sense of his injury, and Sherlock tapped the Gryffindor on the back before they took a seat to have a chat.

"Now, I suppose both of you are wondering why I brought you here," Albus spoke, watching them both with piercing blue eyes behind his half‒moon spectacles. John slouched so his neck almost dug into the upper part of the chair's back, and Sherlock glanced at him out of his peripheral vision.

It was the eagle who responded before the lion could. "I may already have a suspicion as to why we're here, sir." He told the truth, unfolding his hands in his lap. John was mildly shocked. He almost croaked there, he observed, staring down at his thighs.

"Then I presume you're correct, Mr. Holmes," the headmaster stated, but the smart Ravenclaw didn't comprehend.

"I'm sorry, Professor...?" He asked just to check and make sure he was right, to clarify the weird condition.

"Your friend Molly Hooper has told me a lot about you. She's a bright young witch for her age." Since when has Molly visited Dumbledore? And frequently too by the sound of it?

"Oh —" Sherlock paused to readjust his fix on the old man. "Well, I wouldn't really consider her my friend, yet. I‒I've only got one of those."

Sherlock swore he could've seen John tilt his head to the side to almost stare at him, knowing perfectly well where his comment was heading. The Gryffindor scanned the room from the limited vision he could see from his seat, and from up on one of the bookshelves he spotted the school's ancient Sorting Hat. Its rim was closed and it was moving, patches bold and peeling from the sewn thread that held them together.

"Do you boys recall what happened on the night that the dementors of Azkaban advanced on you both in the Forbidden Forest?" Professor Dumbledore liked to announce as much detail as he could in one sentence so he didn't have to repeat himself later. Oh joy, he knows what we were up to, Sherlock found out.

"Um...yes sir. I remember it as if it were yesterday. How could I not?" Sherlock was undoubtedly trying to do his best to be polite to the leader of the school.

"Indeed. And what about you, Mr. Watson?"

John did not move. He knew it was rude to reject the headmaster, but he didn't want to talk about it. His eyes flickered a few times to and from the edge of Dumbledore's desk, just above his stomach area, but no words escaped his lips. Sherlock gave a frightened and disappointed look at his friend, considering he was being a bit disrespectful to the professor. But he knew about John's pain and answered for the lion.

"Sorry Professor, but he doesn't really want to talk about it."

"I suspect why," Albus nodded, resting his elbows on the arms of his high‒backed seat. "I have been informed that Mr. Watson had quite a scare a week ago as Professor McGonagall so kindly informed me." The old man turned back to the blond, who remained staring at the floor, lips almost glued together permanently. "Have you fully recovered from your injury, John?"

The use if his first name made the youngest wizard unable to stay quiet for any longer, so he slowly raised his head to look into matching blue eyes like his own.
"No sir," he let out, barely in a hearable voice. Sherlock was watching him with determination now, never removing his vision from the blond's irises.

"I see," Dumbledore said, lengthening his back out a little longer. "I apologize if this conversation makes you feel uncomfortable —"

"No. It's fine," John lied, blinking and stretching the frown on his face. Sherlock could see his hesitation in his complexion easily, but he said nothing to the headmaster.

"So, are you both aware that your actions a week ago violated about a dozen school rules?"

"Yes sir," they both muttered, ashamed while Sherlock turned his head back to face the oldest person in the room.

"May I be so polite to ask what possessed you two to enter the Forbidden Forest after hours?" Sherlock heard John gulp and knew he'd have to be the one to reveal most of the tale, up until the part where he'd passed out.

But the brunette couldn't get the story started before John butted into the discussion. "It was curiosity, sir," he told the man with the white beard.

"Curiosity?" the headmaster wondered, leaning in closer to John's hunched body. "About what?"

John twisted his head to ask Sherlock for help without words, and the Ravenclaw nodded his head up and down. "You have to tell him, John. Don't be afraid to spit out the truth."

And so Watson proceeded with telling the whole event out to the headmaster, adding more details in for Dumbledore to get the feeling of how both boys had felt that night. He switched the story over to Sherlock after he'd explained being kidnapped, and Dumbledore remained silent for the entire time. He didn't ask questions till both boys were finished with telling their parts of the story. The only time the headmaster spoke was to be informed of who'd lured them both to the lake's shore.

"It was Jim Moriarty, sir," Sherlock explained, eyes flashing with disgust when his mind flickered to focus on the serpent. "You know, the Slytherin who is also in our year..." He wasn't entirely sure why he addressed the manner in such a way, since without a doubt Dumbledore knew all the students in the castle.

"I see. And you're sure that's who took you away from your friend, John?" The blond shivered a little bit while he tilted his head to stare at the man, taking in the various features on his face, such as his crooked nose which had clearly been broken before.

"Yes," he said in a shaky response, feeling the bruise on his face throb a bit from the flashback to the violence he was exposed to.

"And you said Mr. Moriarty hurt you in a physical way?" I think it's pretty obvious, John said in his mind.

"Professor, I think he did more than just beat John up," Sherlock inquired, raising his tone and fighting for his point. "The state of John when I found him made me shake, and even though he was stabbed in the stomach by a twig earlier, I still believe he would've died if I hadn't been there to save him."

The Gryffindor shifted his gaze to stare at Sherlock, a destroyed look on his face while his arms rested on the supports of his chair. His cheeks burned a little and he could tell they were becoming white in color, but he dared not move his skull or act as if he didn't care what the brunette was saying.

"So —"

"It's true, sir," John cut into the conversation, and Dumbledore pressed a free hand against his cheekbone. "Moriarty smacked me several times, abused me even, and I tried to fight back, even though it was wrong," he quickly added, making sure he didn't upset the headmaster, "and I don't know how he was stronger than me. But the devilish cold the dementors gave off prevented me from protecting myself."

"Well thank you John for sharing this news with me. I'm proud of you for being able to get it out of your system after such a short time of recovery." Sherlock pushed his wand deeper into the pocket of his pants, even though he knew he wouldn't be needing it much longer in their first year at Hogwarts. "Mr. Holmes, would you mind continuing with your part of the tale?" Sherlock nodded, taking in a large breath before concluding his speech.

Sherlock finished when he had described his experience of fainting for the first time, which he truly didn't want to talk about, and a strong silence followed before anyone said a word. The twelve‒year‒old was shocked when a question wasn't directly fired back at him when he'd stopped speaking. In fact, Professor Dumbledore turned to the other boy instead.

"John," the man whispered, indicating for the boy to listen closely to his question, "would you mind telling me what it felt like when you were on the rocks when Sherlock came to kneel by your side?"

John's mouth opened and closed a few times without sound escaping, and he struggled to recall how Moriarty had tortured him so much. After a long while, he let some random words spill from his lips. "I‒I dunno. All I remember is that it was horrible. The screaming got so intense in my ears I thought I was going to go mad pretty soon. I couldn't hear anything else and I thought my head had split open for a moment before I was able to come back to real life."

"That's when he shouted out and, to be honest…it scared me. And I never get scared, unless the situation is serious," Holmes added, seeing John shift backwards as he moved in his throwback of the lake event.

"God," John mumbled, picking at his fingernails and easing one hand up to clasp his forehead, "I don't even remember shouting out."

"Hmm..." Dumbledore hummed, hands pressed together in front of his neckline.

The smallest kid took another large gulp in his throat. "What did I yell?" he asked in a regretting way.

"It was just, 'no' and 'please' a bunch of times." John sniffed in his nose and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his robes, making sure he didn't suddenly burst out crying.

"Well, despite your rule‒breaking actions, you both no doubt showed signs of great courage and persistence that night. For showing bravery, and talent, I am rewarding you both with twenty house points apiece."

Both first years seemed to perk up a bit at the mention of a heroic stunt they did for their houses, but their moods sank back down as the headmaster pushed them to their limits and begged for them to finish the story. Dumbledore didn't even start back up on a happy note after giving out house points, and John had to dig in his mind for depressing thoughts for an answer to the headmaster's next wonder.

"Do you remember what the shouts in your head said, Mr. Watson?" Again, the calm voice filled his ears.

"A little. Not entirely though...I seem to think that I heard Sherlock calling for me. Almost the same as it had been all those other times before, only worse. I‒I heard slashing noises and only could imagine what those were, because next second his cry rang in my hearing and I just wanted to help him but I couldn't..." The blond ducked his head down to pull his face into a saddened expression, hiding it from the other two people sitting around him.

"Shh..." It was a big surprise to Watson as he felt Sherlock's arm wrap around his shoulders, and the Ravenclaw had reached in to calm his shaking thoughts. "It's fine, John. Nothing happened to me, and nothing ever will. I'm right here by your side and I'm not going anywhere. I assure you that I'll never be tortured any time soon. Even better, I'll never be pained like that in all my lifetime."

Professor Dumbledore smiled as he watched the two boys' friendship develop right before him, and the brunette looked back at the headmaster to show he would sacrifice his soul for the blond.

"Mr. Holmes, would you mind leaving John and I alone for a few minutes? It won't take very long."

Sherlock obeyed the request and left his best friend sitting in the squishy chair, brushing the surface of his robes as he exited from the study. There was a click as the door closed behind the twelve‒year‒old, and Dumbledore came around the side of the desk to stand by the side of John, who was curled in a heap.

A wrinkly hand was placed on his shoulder, and John looked up as the headmaster suggested that he stand up. The lion did so, lifting his head up so he could look into the old man's pupils. "John," Albus whispered calmly, rubbing his upper back, "you know what you did that night was wrong, but also right. If you hadn't performed half your actions, Sherlock no doubt wouldn't be alive."

"Neither would I"" Watson said shakily. "He saved my life too though," he squeaked, telling him the statement and putting himself down. "He had no right to go through such torment that night. He shouldn't have been exposed to the danger we put ourselves in."

"Of course. Both of you should never have had to experience what you did last week."

"He still saved my life..."

"Then you two are even, are you not?"

The idea silenced John as he rolled the comment over in his brain multiple times. Dumbledore saw the frown that remained on the boy's face, and he pressed John's chin up to the ceiling so he could look at his student properly. The headmaster was reminded of a younger version of himself. After all, he had been sorted into Gryffindor in his days, and the boy that stood before him had so much more talent than he had at that age. But now, he was one of the most powerful wizards in the entire world. This boy can go a long way, he knew.

The headmaster's tone was so soft, like he was indicating a newborn infant. "What you did didn't come from your brain," he said, and John was even more mixed up. He paused to let the moment sink in. "It came from here."

And the hand that rested on his shoulder slid down the front of his black robes to stop in a convenient place. Directly over John's loving, selfless heart. Watson was forced him to take in the information, and it took him a while before the answer clicked in.

And now he knew. After all the times he'd said it to Sherlock back in the Room of Requirement, he never fully comprehended the statement himself. He even spoke the words to the Ravenclaw, but even the older boy didn't get it with his complex brain.

One strong memory which will serve as a shield against human or monster harm. Expecto patronum. I await my guardian.

After all this time...John just noticed, asking the headmaster with his wide eyes and open mouth, and Dumbledore recognized his student had solved the puzzle. He'd tried to convince Holmes to let out what the eagle's Patronus was, but it just unfolded in a jumbled way he never expected. And it came out better and more wrapped in their school year plans than John had anticipated for it to.

It was me. It might have been selfish at the time, but now that it came back to taunt him, the young Gryffindor understood.

"Fear can only be defeated by strength. And strength doesn't come from your brain, Sherlock. I'll give you a hint. You're looking right at a person who has one…"

The strength of a guardian. Of a boy with a big heart.

Since he'd already left the hospital wing anyway, John was released from the abandoned infirmary and joined Lestrade in the Gryffindor common room later that evening. A bunch of fellow housemates came to welcome him back to the Gryffindor Tower when he went up to bed that night, and Greg had bothered him to stubbornly ask to stay awake a little longer to study for exams. John requested they do it the night after since he was exhausted and needed his proper rest to return to classes the next day.

A delicious breakfast of bacon and bagels, and blueberry muffins satisfied his stomach the next morning, and he headed off to his first class wide awake. Most of his day was spent writing notes and answering review questions, but he found it helpful for the end of year tests.

It naturally became a daily routine for Watson with the little amount of days he had left before summer vacation, and he even found a bit of spare time to write a short note home, explaining how excited he was to see everyone again.

The practice group of friends had gathered together one last time to produce Patronuses the Saturday before exams, in which their lesson was a joyful success. All of the original members had been able to cast their corporeal Patronuses, and Henry Knight had managed to produce a shield the size of a Quidditch goal hoop.

Finals had passed easier than Watson expected them to be, and when he'd completed all of them in his last week of school he sat outside in the nice breeze under a large maple tree. He let the wind brush against his face and not surprisingly found Sherlock joining him from finishing his Charms exam.

"So, how'd it go?" Holmes asked, taking off his robes and sweater so only his white shirt remained.

"Piece of cake," John commented.

'Don't tell Mycroft that."

"Why?"

"He loves cake. He'll take it literally."

"Oh," John said, unable to bite back his laugh. The comment wasn't related to their discussion but it was funny anyway.

They sat together on the top of the hill, overlooking Hagrid's cabin and watching the smoke puff out in clumps from the stone chimney. As the hours drifted by, the sun collapsed and faded into a brilliant shade of orange, sinking into the distant waves of the river which flowed from the Black Lake into the rolling mountains. White lights ignited inside the castle's windows, and Sherlock checked the time on his watch.

"Come along," he said, tapping John on the shoulder, "we should get inside. Don't want to miss the end of the year ceremony!" John sprang to his feet and cleaned off the hem of his robes, collecting his books and following the Ravenclaw into the school's front doors.

The Great Hall was almost completely packed when they entered, but they made their way down the middle aisle without drawing attention to themselves. Just by luck, they found two seats back to back at their house tables, and John shifted his sitting position so he could face in a little to keep an eye on his friend.

No sooner after they sat down had the headmaster rose from his gold throne to look out over his students. Professor McGonagall clicked her glass goblet with a spoon, silencing the dining area so Dumbledore could make the last announcements of the year.

"Look at that!" he spoke happily, making little swift motions with his hands, "another year gone! Just in the mere blink of an eye." There were a few claps from various points in the crowd, clearly from the seventh year students who were graduating from their school studies forever.

"Before we conclude this successful school term with our tasty feast, I have a few facts to tell you. First, the dementors of Azkaban have been fully restored to their positions in the prison, and I'm pleased to tell you we'll no longer have them step on our grounds."

There was a loud agreement from the crowd as whistles and claps rang off the walls, and the noise died down swiftly so the headmaster could continue. "Secondly, I'd simply like to wish you all a happy summer holiday! You've all been working so hard and deserve a break."

Again, the hall clapped to the glorious thought of no school for almost three months. "And now," Albus said, raising his tone and hands so he could talk over the last cheers, "it's time to announce the winners of this year's House Cup!"

Everyone went dead silent and leaned in to listen for the news. "In fourth place, Hufflepuff with 342 points." The students clapped to show support for the team who placed last in the competition. No matter who won, everyone was equally polite with their manners. "Third place goes to Slytherin with 367 points."

Unsportsmanlike, the serpents grumbled even though they hadn't placed fourth. "And now, the winner of this year's Cup!" He clamped his hands together and lifted them to hold in front of his face, palms directed towards some blank banners that hung from the arched ceiling. As clever and unbelievably as he always produced magic, the flags began to sway without any wind to control them, twisting and almost writhing in their transformation. The plain black blended to slip into a new color. The black grew lighter and stopped in a knowledgeable shade of navy blue, and bronze strips lined the edge of the square pieces of fabric.

"Congratulations to Ravenclaw, winners of this year's House Cup with 481 house points!"

Instantaneously, hundreds of students rose up from the wooden benches, all from different houses, jumping up and down just to have fun in the celebration. John's mouth hung open with a smile as he swirled around to embrace his friend, enclosing the brunette in a hug.

"Ha! Lucky you!" he grinned, and Sherlock shook him up and down in his firm hold.

"Hey, we're even," the eagle told him, and the lion raised an eyebrow. "I won the House Cup and you won the Quidditch Cup."

"Gotcha." He made a clicking noise with his tongue and teeth to show he got the comment. The celebration was growing around them, and it actually took half an hour before Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and Molly had all managed to push their way out of the Great Hall.

"Well, see you all tomorrow!" Molly smiled, exhaling with little gasps as she was so pumped up from the feast. "Congrats to you all!"

"Thanks!" Lestrade waved as they peeled off, Sherlock heading to Ravenclaw Tower and Molly towards the kitchens, walking with John up to the seventh floor. On their way up to the Gryffindor common room, they discussed the crazy ceremony until Greg randomly changed the subject.

"Damn," he swore, just as the Fat Lady yelled at them for his language and passing through the portrait hole, "today's the last day here."

"Yeah. Boy am I going to miss it."

"No, it's not that," Lestrade shook his head, telling the blond he was missing the point. John was lost. "That means we have to pack all our crap tonight."

John thought the idea was so stupid he couldn't help but laugh foolishly.

The thought of leaving Hogwarts in just over twelve hours was almost heartbreaking to John, so he stayed up for most of the night, sitting by the luminous window and petting his owl. She nibbled gently on his fingernails and made low hooting noises while she was stroked just below her chin. Athiel's cream and white feathers absorbed some of the moonlight, giving her wingspan a silvery glow to them.

At last, at around 1:45 A.M., John's eyelids began to droop and he pushed up off the floor before he sank off into sleep on the wooden ground. He pulled back the duvet on his mattress for the last time during his first year at Hogwarts and he fell into a peaceful sleep under the warm covers, absolutely going to miss the way he could crawl into a warm and comfy bed every night.

In his final morning John woke to find that he was alone in the boys' dormitory, and it was slightly hilarious to see that Lestrade's trunk was lying open and not completely packed on his bed. The red curtains surrounding the beds were drawn back, and the sheets on top were crinkled in all different ways depending on which boy slept on each mattress.

John got up out of bed and dressed himself in a formed pair of jeans and a blue and black striped shirt, pulling dark red socks over his feet to feel the fuzziness. He too had not packed all his items he needed to take home, and he found a couple pairs of shoes hidden under the bedposts. There were three pairs of All Stars and two pairs of dress shoes, and he slid them out to get a look at them all.

His trunk was placed on the floor with the lid open, and there were already a few clothing fabrics he hadn't worn all year stuffed and thrown in. He casually put all his school shoes into the bottom of the luggage and stopped to select a pair of sneakers for the day.

The ones that stood out the most to him were his red ones, still splotched with patches of blood around the shoelaces and covering the All Star logo. He stared at them with depression, kneeling and sitting back on his heels with his head bowed down. He held them before his waist like a kid when presenting a broken toy to their parents, and the state of bringing back memories prevented him from slipping them over his socks. Sighing, he shoved them into the bottom corner of his luggage without another glance at the red stretchy fabric.

He slipped on the classic black sneakers and tied the white shoelaces into perfect bows, then stood up to head down to the Great Hall. Three older Gryffindor guys sat hunched in the corner as he came down the dormitory stairs, bending over a chessboard and having one last game before their depart from the school for summer.

John passed a few clumps of students wandering about on his way down to the ground floor, and once he ran into Professor Flitwick and wished him a happy vacation. The sun was shining freely through the panes in the windows, and a clear blue sky rushed over the far horizon line outside.

The only person who was seated at the Gryffindor table when he arrived was Molly Hooper, and he nevertheless took a seat across from her, open in the presence of her. "Hey," he said, swinging his legs over the bench for the last time that year.

"Hi John!" Her cheeks puffed out as she smiled, showing a sliver of her teeth behind her lips.

"Where's Sherlock and Lestrade?" he asked, milk appearing magically in his golden goblet.

"Oh! Well, Professor McGonagall wanted to speak with Sherlock, and I think Lestrade went back upstairs to the library to return some overdue books..." Molly made an 'uh oh' expression on her face and the blond laughed, taking a bite out of a fresh strawberry and swallowing the fruit.

Neither of the missing boys showed up while they ate, so John offered to take a walk with Molly around the castle for a final time before they needed to head down to Hogsmede station. They ended up strolling down a few corridors they didn't even know existed, but then again Hogwarts was always full of crazy surprises and mysterious corridors.

Molly shrieked loudly as a ghost floated straight through her chest, sending a shivery feeling through her blood. The mist didn't even turn back around to apologize afterwards, and Hooper muttered some harsh words under her breath, which John never thought he'd hear her say.

At ten o'clock, teachers ran around the school and informed the students it was time to head down to the Hogwarts Express, so John grabbed Molly's arm and led her outside onto the grounds. The two developing friends linked their elbows together, looking like a happy and high‒spirited couple, skipping gleefully. They met up with Lestrade in the crowd somehow, but the only Ravenclaw was still missing.

The walk down to their mode of transportation took some minutes, and as the three friends stood on the platform, they got a clear view of their school off in the distance, perched undisturbed on top of a sloping, green hill. It was such a beautiful sight it almost resembled a painting, with the grass melting down to leave tracks and stains on their way to the bottom of the lumps.

John was about to step on board the train, handing his owl delicately over to Lestrade when he noticed Hagrid standing farther down the cement landing. He turned to the two first years, telling them to wait a moment with his set face. He dashed down the platform, running past the scarlet engine and dodging students of all ages.

"Hey Hagrid!" he yelled, beaming up at the Gamekeeper. It took a couple seconds for the half‒giant to hear the young boy, but soon he bent over to look down upon Watson.

"John!" he grinned, messing up his blond locks. "Consid'r'd leaving without sayin' goodbye, did yeh?" John had to smile at the thought of Hagrid feeling joyous in his presence.

"Nah," he disagreed, shrugging his shoulders and tilting his head a little. "I had to say goodbye."

"Come here," Hagrid beckoned, and John's head was pressed up and buried against his moleskin coat he always wore, no matter what season. Watson felt like he was hugging a tree trunk, and Hagrid's pink umbrella was poking him in his ticklish spot.

"Alright," the taller man said, breaking away from the tiny boy's squeeze, "on with yeh. And don't forget ter have a great summer holiday!"

"I won't!" John promised, smiling and running back to his friends who stood waiting for him.

"Feels strange going home, doesn't it?" Molly asked when John huffed and puffed at her side once more. Lestrade stood slouching in the doorway, his hand inches from the door lock that snapped shut.

All the departing lion did was let a sigh escape from his nostrils. Not a disapproving sigh, but an accomplished one. "No," he let out, letting his eyes find the castle over the view of everything. "I may be leaving the place where I belong, but I deserve to return back to my family. My real family. Because you all are my second family."

Greg grinned in an honored way. "It's a pleasure mate," he shared, his hand moving to stop over the center of his chest.

Molly's ginger ponytail swished in the light wind as she waved at the Gamekeeper, allowing John to pass her and step onto the train. A whistle blew off near the front engine, and soon a lurch announced that they were on their way.

John waved at Hagrid all the way until he was blocked by a large chunk of the bridge crossing over Hogsmede station, and he didn't let his eyes peel away from Hogwarts till they turned the corner and it vanished from sight.

Until it was time to return for more adventures.

Sherlock had managed to save a compartment for them all. As they walked down the hallway Greg found him sitting alone, watching a river flowing between valleys they were chugging over. He offered them seats and wizard sweets for later, but he mainly stayed slouched in the corner, tapping his hand on his thigh.

Molly and Lestrade's card game of solitaire was interrupted by the sound of John's Pocket Sneakoscope lighting up and whirling rapidly on its point, bewildering them all. Their question was answered almost immediately when Jim Moriarty passed by in the corridor outside, Irene Adler closely following. Sherlock's knuckles contracted as he grew angry at the Slytherin, and he saw the Gryffindor sink away from harm out of the corner of his eye. Because of the abuse, John had lost some faith in himself. Holmes kept his focus glued on the Pureblood, tightening the grip on his wand just in case. Moriarty blew on the glass door and drew the letters I.O.U. on the fogged‒up surface, and then he drifted off smoothly like a balloon. Sherlock was on his feet moments after they'd left, and he unlocked the door and erased the message infected with fingerprints hastily, using the sleeve of his blazer as a cloth.

"What was that?" Lestrade asked, dropping the Ace of Spades onto the carpet.

"Nothing," Holmes lied, settling back into his comfy position. "Just a stupid joke."

But John perfectly knew well it would bother the eagle for weeks to come. He kept his mouth sewn shut about the situation all the way on the ride home to London. He didn't want to add to Sherlock's sadness about leaving the school and learning magic to give it up for summer.

Just after five o'clock in the afternoon, the Hogwarts Express chugged into King's Cross Station to settle on Platform 9 ¾. Hundreds of families were gathered at the edge of the train tracks, dying to get a first glimpse of their beloved children after some long months away from home. John looked out the window in hope to see his mum, dad, and Harriet, but there was no sign of them hidden in the mobbed crowd.

"Alright." The four friends' luggage were scattered over the carpeted floor, and Greg had clumps of clothing sticking out of his trunk. Sherlock had stood up first before the engine came to a squeaking halt, informing the rest of his schoolmates that they should start their goodbyes. "I suppose this is farewell..."

"Not forever of course," Lestrade reminded, extending out his arm as the scene of their first meeting was almost played out before John and Molly. The larger Gryffindor slapped Holmes on the back, running a hand through his short hair so it stuck up in ruffles in the back.

"Come here you!" Lestrade beckoned, turning to his roommate and asking with his arms for a hug. The tiny blond almost vanished under the height of the boy with the thick British accent, and Sherlock and Molly both giggled as they came to say goodbye awkwardly.

Molly was debating about leaning in to give Sherlock a hug farewell, but she still was too shy to show her full affections for the curly‒haired brunette. "Well, bye!" She nervously smiled, waving strangely with the ends of her fingers. Both Molly and Lestrade left the two boys on their own, and they went in search for their families.

"Be sure to write this summer," Molly added, and they all decided before departing that they would keep in touch during their months off.

"Maybe they're waiting outside?" John suggested after they'd looked for over five minutes on the platform for their parents. Mycroft hadn't even appeared in the time span.

"Let's check," the brunette concluded, heading back over to Platform 9 ¾'s entrance. "Ready?" he asked, pushing his luggage cart in front of him with John by his side, bracing his legs to start running.

"Yep."

"Okay, go!" He sped up at a dead sprint, heading straight for the brick barrier while his pet made screeching noises as he went. John allowed a ten second time difference before taking off after Holmes, feeling the rushing sensation of wind as he passed through the transparent boundary.

He stopped a good distance from the wall from which he'd exited from, and Sherlock had vanished somewhere. Two second later, the Ravenclaw's curly head was seen peeking around another brick archway, and Watson followed him in excitement.

Standing near another black train was his mother and father. Harriet stood by the female's side and had changed a lot in the small amount of months he'd been away from home. Her face was less round and she had developed more muscle in her upper arms, but John bet she still couldn't beat him in a wrestling match.

"Hey Mum!" he shouted, jumping into her arms as she kneeled down to greet him. Her warmth was glorious, and Sherlock was saying hello to his family a few meters away. "Dad!" he greeted secondly, allowing the retired soldier to enclose him into a hug.

It didn't take long before Mycroft showed himself, and Sherlock automatically offered the idea of leaving the train station as soon as possible. John followed next to him, pushing his cart so their trunks were in two parallel lines. They heard their parents communicating over their backs, and Mycroft was busy blabbing away about how he thought his schedule would work out next year when he had to take N.E.W.T.s.

"I can tell this is going to be one awesome summer." Watson nearly giggled so hard he almost keeled over with a stomach cramp from the lack of air. After he regained his composure, he turned back to his friend, pushing the cart in front of his body. He was careful not to trip over his own feet this time, and what was new and different this time than his first appearance at King's Cross was the relief instead of the overpowering way it was before.

"And why's that?" he asked, giving Holmes a smirk to show off his curiosity. The boy who was still dressed in his Ravenclaw cloak and made sure the lingering silence was long enough, just so it molded perfectly into their discussion.

He reached over to place a pale hand on top of John's, which made him blush a little with embarrassment. Blue and green irises collided, and Sherlock's lips curled into the brightest smile John had ever seen him show before. Watson even thought he might have heard a snicker from Harriet over his shoulder, but he really didn't think adults or anyone in general should get ideas about two friends walking through a train station, clasping hands at the ages of eleven and twelve.

What could go wrong between best friends after all?

"Because you're here with me."