Very sorry for the long wait on this! I blame my beta. Really.

Chapter 5

"How was your summer, John?"

"Oh, it was fine. Nothing special, but it was kinda nice," John answered. "How about yours?"

"Oh, can't complain," said Mike, shrugging. "You know. It was nice and all, but…to tell you the truth, my parents were pretty stressed, what with the war and everything. I started to just wish I could get back here, to get away from that…is that wrong?"

John shrugged. Honestly, yes, he did think that was wrong, but he couldn't pretend to himself that he hadn't started to feel the same way over the summer. He'd wished his parents would at least try for a bit more cheer, especially when Harry had Clara around and it was obvious that she was thirsting for their approval. Whenever Clara had come over for dinner with them, Harry had alternated between staring intently at her girlfriend with her hand clasped in hers under the table and glancing back at their parents nervously. John could tell that their parents didn't at all care that Clara was a girl; they were just tense from work at the Auror office and adjusting to the fact that she was the first significant other that either of their children had ever brought home. He didn't think that Harry would want him to talk to her about it, though, her being the solitary (except for Clara) and angsty teenage girl she was. Walls had gone up between the two of them this summer, and John had soon been wishing to be back at Hogwarts, where he could distract himself with his challenging studies, roaming around the castle grounds in good weather, and flying around the Quidditch pitch on a school broom when the house teams weren't using it for practice. Maybe he'd go out for the Gryffindor team this year.

All he said to Mike, however, was "I guess I can see what you mean."

"Mike, you coming?" called a voice. Mike turned to answer his Hufflepuff friend, calling back a reply, and then turned to face John again. "Looks like I have to go. I'll see you in class tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, we've probably still got Herbology together," said John.

"Right," said Mike. "See you then."

"Yeah, see you," said John, as Mike left to join his table. He crossed to the Gryffindor table and sat down next to Sarah. They had talked about meeting up over the summer, but as John's parents were almost always working he had soon realized they wouldn't be able to take him anywhere and Sarah had found herself similarly constrained. They talked easily, though, and caught up quickly. Soon they were joined by Anisha and some of the other older students from her year.

John couldn't help but notice that the entire hall of students seemed to be in a darker mood than normal, much more than at the end of the previous year, and it seemed to be from something more than the heavy storm clouds that were swirling above, visible through the enchanted ceiling. The summer had brought them out of their isolated bubble of Hogwarts and caused many of the students to face how grim the war really was. Here and there were the empty seats of students whose parents hadn't let them return after break, places where others should be sitting. No one said anything about these empty seats.

Soon John realized that someone else was missing, too. The throne-like chair at the staff table where Dumbledore usually sat was conspicuously empty, and Professor McGonagall was sitting in her seat next to it, in deep conversation with a man John didn't recognize.

"Who do you think that is, up at the staff table?" he asked, pointing.

"I don't know," said Sarah. "I haven't seen them before."

Anisha glanced up, swallowing before saying nonchalantly, "Must be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"Wait, what happened to Professor Baird?" asked John.

"Haven't you heard?" asked Anisha. "About how we need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor every year?"

"Well, yeah," said John. "But I always thought that was a joke."

Andrew, one of the older students, laughed. "We tell the first years some crazy things, yeah, but that one's actually true."

"What do you mean?" asked Sarah. "There's really a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher every year?"

"Yeah," said Reg, another one of Anisha's friends. "It's been like that since…well, before we got here. I remember how I didn't really believe it at first, either."

"Yeah, the guy before Baird got taken down by Death Eaters some time in June two years ago," said Anisha.

Sarah and John shared a look. It was evident that they both found this much more disturbing than the older students seemed too. John decided to take a brave stab at lightening the mood. "So…are there any other things you've been telling us that are or aren't true and we should know about? Like…bubotubers still aren't filled with tasty honey, right?"

Anisha burst out laughing. "No, they most certainly are not, John, don't try that one."

"Ten points to whoever came up with that one, though," said Reg, nodding at him and spearing a potato on his fork.

"Is there anything we're missing, though?" asked Sarah apprehensively.

Once the older students had assured them that there wasn't anything else important about the school that they needed to know, Professor McGonagall stood up to make the start of term announcements. She introduced the wizard she'd been speaking to as Professor Whittlebee, and did indeed say that he would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. She seemed slightly harassed herself, though, and did not make any allusion to Dumbledore's empty chair before dismissing them.

John and Sarah walked back to the common room together, parting as they went to their separate dormitories. John smiled at the small sign reading "second years" that had been attached to his old dorm before entering. After he had changed into pajamas and the other boys had stopped talking, feeling the soporific effects of a huge feast, he lay stretched out on his bed, thinking. It was amazing how much more the castle felt like home than his own house did anymore, how natural being in the castle felt. John felt as if he'd spent half his life here, even though that night only marked a full year since he'd first arrived there. Times change, however, as was certainly evidenced by everything he had thought about in the Great Hall that night.

"Alright, chaps, today we'll be working with Snarfalumps," said Professor Sprout, addressing the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs in Greenhouse Two. She gestured to the bush-like plants that were laid out in pots all along the long, center table of the greenhouse. Each had dozens of waving tentacles that looked like they were part vine and part octopus, looking thick and succulent as if they were filled with some sort of liquid.

"Now, who knows how we can tell the difference between a Snarfalump and Venomous Tentacula?" she asked.

Several people put their hands in the air, but Professor Sprout called on Sarah. "Snarfalumps have much longer branches and are normally moving, but Venomous Tentacula will only move when they're trying to catch prey. Venomous Tentacula also have a sort of mouth on the trunk, which Snarfalumps don't." She said this last part with a bit of uncertainty, trying to surreptitiously peer under the waving tentacles of the nearest Snarfalump while the whole class watched her.

"Ten points to Gryffindor," said Professor Sprout. "Now, Snarfalumps can have up to forty tentacles on one bush, and, like Ms. Sawyer said, they are normally mobile," she continued, holding up her own Snarfalump by the pot so they could all see how mobile it was. "They have even been known to switch beds in gardens. Snarfalump juice has interesting healing properties as well, and it's often used to help settle the stomach. It isn't normally effective against anything serious, but Snarfalump juice can be found in a lot of basic healing potions. So, today, we're going to juice them."

John wasn't sure how he liked the idea of spending a class period juicing the twisting tentacles, even if it was for medicinal purposes. All the same, he watched as Professor Sprout demonstrated how to properly juice a Snarfalump at the front of the class.

"I want all of you to put on your dragon-hide gloves, and then begin," she announced once she'd finished.

About halfway through the lesson, John was peacefully working on the Snarfalump in front of him with Sarah and chatting unconcernedly with her and Mike. Earlier, Professor Sprout had warned them how Snarfalumps didn't always like to be juiced, and how sometimes they would use their tentacles to bind the hands of would-be harvesters or even, in extreme cases, attempt to asphyxiate them. When John felt something prod him in the back, however, he merely thought that one of his classmates was passing behind him and had accidentally bumped him. It was only when the prodding became more insistent that he looked down and saw the Snarfalump tentacles wrapping around his torso from behind.

John yelled and was jerked backwards by the plant—as this happened, he became careless with the first Snarfalump he had been working on with Sarah, and the plant took this opportunity to wrap its tentacles around his wrists, gripping them together tightly. Sarah sprung into action and hacked at the plant with her trowel, slicing through the vines, severed plant appendages falling to the floor and juice spraying everywhere.

Without this tug in the front, however, John was jerked backwards by the force of the second Snarfalump, and he fell backwards on top of it as it pulled more tightly around his body. He tore at the tentacles that were wrapping more securely around his middle, but even more tentacles started to snake around his neck. John yelled again, grabbing at them frantically.

"Diffindo!" shouted Sarah. She hit the plant underneath him, cutting it into three pieces and effectively stunning it. John gasped as he threw the tentacles from around his throat and stomach. He was lying on the ground, and Sarah was leaning over him, looking concerned. John was too overcome by shock at what had just happened to feel much more than his racing heart, but he thought he felt a lurch in his stomach that might have been unrelated to the attack of the surprisingly vicious plant.

"You're covered in juice," said Sarah.

"Yeah," said John, noting to orange liquid that was gushing out all over the floor from the mutilated Snarfalump and dampening his robes. "Great."

"Careful over there, you two!" called Professor Sprout from the front of the greenhouse where she was rapidly filling a bucket with the juice. John became painfully aware that the entire class was staring at them. He accepted Sarah's hand up, and he was the first one out of the greenhouse when the bell for the end of Herbology sounded, immediately running off to the common room to change clothes.

As October finished out, chilly air began to settle around Hogwarts and John finally started to feel like he hadn't forgotten everything over the summer; the pace of his classes was able to pick up some as they introduced new material. He had learned that all the Gryffindor Quidditch team members from last year had returned, and the captain decided to keep her old team instead of holding tryouts. He was a little disappointed, but he didn't even have his own broom, after all, and soon schoolwork was leaving him less and less time for leisure.

Grim news from the war continued to spiral in with the owls, each week bringing new deaths and disappearances, and John felt that the fear had never been more palpable inside the school. Was it the way two new security trolls had been stationed by the school gates, how closely supervised the older students' trips into Hogmeade were planned to be, how the teachers gathered outside each others' classes to whisper to each other furtively? Or was most of it his imagination? Had this all been here last year, John only remaining oblivious because of the wonder of being a first year student at Hogwarts?

Everyone was looking forward to the Halloween feast. For the younger students, it was a chance to experience the full culinary delights of the school, and a light at the end of a particularly nasty week of difficult potioneering set by Professor Hadaway, the Potions teacher. For the older students, it would be welcome chance to rest after traipsing about Hogsmeade all day on the first visit to the village of the school year.

When John arrived at the Great Hall that night with Sarah, it was decked out in all of its macabre finery. There were jack-o-lanterns hanging in the air above the house tables, thick cobwebs draping from the walls, and the suits of armor in the hall each seemed to creak ominously at odd intervals. Sir Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, was becoming more and more irritated as students continued to request recounts of his own botched beheading over and over again. About halfway through the meal his mood became yet surlier as the Headless Hunt arrived, charging straight through the heavy oaken doors with raucous yells.

John laughed with everyone else as he watched the cavalrymen play head-polo, his eyes following their progress. From his angle, a particularly soaring shot of one of the knights' heads made him glance up at the staff table again. John noticed, with slight surprise, that Professor McGonagall wasn't there, and Hagrid, the gamekeeper, was leaning over her empty chair to speak intently with Professor Dumbledore. Dumbledore looked startled, and, in fact, the least calm John had ever seen him. John frowned up at this scene, and just then Dumbledore suddenly got to his feet and walked through a door connecting to a back room behind the staff table with Hagrid, a room John had never been in before.

"Sarah," he said, pulling at her sleeve to get her attention. "Dumbledore just left."

"What?" she asked, tearing her gaze away from the Headless Hunt.

"Dumbledore just left. He and Hagrid went into that side room over there," said John, pointing.

"Okay…" she said, looking at him questioningly.

"Dumbledore looked kind of upset…you don't think anything's happened, do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, with the war. You know how often he isn't here," John said.

"Yeah, but there could be any number of reasons why he would leave," reasoned

Sarah. "That doesn't have to be it, John."

Something was still making John uneasy, however. He thought it must be the look he had seen on Dumbledore's face, just the pure un-Dumbledore-ness of it, when the headmaster was normally so composed.

"I don't know," said John uncertainly. "It seems like something's wrong."

"You're being paranoid, John," said Sarah, now turning away again. "I'm sure it's no big deal."

John couldn't make himself believe the same thing. For some time, his eyes kept wandering to the staff table, where neither Dumbledore nor Hagrid reappeared.

Sherlock was passing through the Entrance Hall when he began to hear the slight murmur of low voices, something distinct and separate from the babble that was coming from the Great Hall where all the students were amassed. He quickly raised his wand to cast his Disillusionment Charm over himself, concealing his body to some extent, even though he still had yet to achieve perfection with the charm. Sherlock didn't suspect that he was doing anything wrong by wandering through the castle like this in the early evening, but he didn't want to be found lurking outside the Great Hall when the rest of the school was expected to be inside it eating together.

"And you're quite sure that's what Mad-Eye said, Hagrid?" Sherlock recognized Dumbledore's voice, much more terse than he had ever heard it before, although the only times when he had heard the headmaster speak were when he had been addressing the entire school.

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore, sir," answered Hagrid, his voice slightly choked, apprehensive. "Like I said, I was jus' comin' out o' the forest from feedin' the thestrals when I saw the Patronus, professor, comin' up to'ard the castle. It jus' stopped when it got near me, though, and gave me Mad-Eye's message."

"Yes, if he wanted to send word to me at the castle he would have made his Patronus deliver the message to you or another teacher if it met them first," said Dumbledore. "So if the Death Eaters are gathering in Sheffield, they could be planning an attack there…that's where Benjy Fenwick's family is from, they could be after his relatives as well."

"An'…you think Mad-Eye thinks they're planning something? For sure, professor?" asked Hagrid. The voices were getting much closer now, and Sherlock pressed himself up against the wall on the other side of a small archway that would conceal him from view. Peering around the edge, he could see Dumbledore's silver beard shining in the moonlight now that the sun had set as he answered.

"I cannot say yes whole-heartedly, Hagrid," said Dumbledore broodingly. "So many Death Eaters going to one place like that, when it has such weak ties with the Order…it is suspicious, certainly. I will alert the Fenwicks, but we should stay in touch with the rest of the Order, keep them vigilant. We'll go to my office now, Hagrid, and wait for Mad-Eye to contact us again, I am sure he will send word as soon as he can."

Dumbledore began to walk briskly in the direction the marble staircase with Hagrid at his side. Sherlock followed, having to walk rapidly to keep up with both of the older men's much longer strides. The two men walked without speaking, but Hagrid was beginning to cry softly into his beard, giving the occasional trumpet-like sound of a sniff. Once they reached the stone gargoyle outside the headmaster's office, however, it became clear that there would be no way for Sherlock to sneak in along with them without Hagrid or Dumbledore realizing he was there. A little ways down the hallway he found another alcove shielded by a small arch where he could watch the door. He was sure that unless they were looking for him, no one was going to notice that he was there.

The two older wizards were inside the office for several minutes before the gargoyle leapt aside again, Dumbledore stepping out from the doorway, his features set in a determined expression. He began to walk briskly away from the office, a noticeable urgency in his gait, and Sherlock followed carefully. He had to stay much further behind than before to make sure his footsteps weren't heard in the absence of Hagrid's sobs.

Dumbledore went the same way they had come, casting the castle doors open with a flick of his wand and starting out across the darkened grounds. Sherlock didn't have to stay quite so close now to keep him in view, and he trotted behind the tall wizard as he made his way to the school's gates.

When they got there, Sherlock saw that the two security trolls stationed just outside the school had detained a man, one holding him still while the other stood in front of him, slapping his club against his hand threateningly. After a few gestures and grunts from Dumbledore, however, they released him. The headmaster waved his hand in front of the gates, murmuring incantations. The iron bars parted, opening slowly, and the man darted between them and onto the school grounds. Dumbledore sealed the gates once more before turning to the man and leading him away wordlessly.

He took them to the outer shell of the Forbidden Forest's trees, Sherlock drifting near them and watching from behind one of the thicker trunks slightly deeper in. The young Ravenclaw found it obvious this man was some sort of spy, and it was clear this was not the way he normally reported: Dumbledore had summoned him here specially.

"What news?" asked Dumbledore.

"What news?" repeated the man. "You stand there and ask me 'what news', you…who said she would be safe…," The man was obviously overcome by grief, and he grasped a tree near him for support as he sputtered at Dumbledore.

"Severus, it will do you little good to get angry with me, when—"

"Angry with you? You promised me you would protect her!"

"Sheffield was a ruse, wasn't it." Dumbledore stated the question rather than asking it. "It has happened, hasn't it," he said, his voice deep and heavy. "The Potters are dead."

"Yes," spat the other man. "A spy from your side defected, I don't have a name, and they rushed to the Dark Lord tonight to tell him where they were hiding. Their house in Godric's Hollow is destroyed. Both Lily and…James are dead." When he said the name of the woman, Lily, the spy slumped against the tree behind it and slid down against the rough bark some ways, his shoulders caving in upon himself.

"The parents?" said Dumbledore sharply. "What about the son?"

"He survived. Somehow. He's still there, in the rubble of the house."

Sherlock could tell that Dumbledore was shocked, his features clearly revealed as much in the moonlight filtering through the grounds. The headmaster spoke again to the other man, as if asking confirmation of something he had already been told or suspected himself. "And Voldemort has fallen?" Sherlock's heart fluttered at these words. Why would Dumbledore think that? He must have received more Patronuses in his office before heading out to meet this man named Severus…the members of his Order must have been keeping him informed. Sherlock's breath caught and he listened in rapt attention for the reply.

"Yes," whispered the man named Severus. "He couldn't kill the Potter boy. Of course he would have tried to. That was the only reason he went at all," the last words were nothing more than a faint whisper.

Dumbledore was silent for several moments. Then, he said to the man, his voice not unkind, but not gentle, either, "Go wait in my office, Severus. Hagrid is there now, but I will call him out, I have a task for him."

"What? Dumbledore, no, I—"

"We have more to discuss, Severus, but I also have much to attend to if this is true." He stepped towards him reached down to rap the wizard on the head with his wand, a wave of invisibility washing over him. Sherlock could recognize a Disillusionment Charm powerful to the point of perfect concealment. Once the man had vanished, Sherlock didn't know if he had left for Dumbledore's office, but the headmaster seemed confident that he had.

Dumbledore stepped away from the trees and raised his wand, a silver phoenix blooming from its tip as he cast the first Patronus Sherlock had ever seen in person. The phoenix soared rapidly away from Dumbledore and up to the castle, and Sherlock watched as he cast several others, each obviously bearing messages for members of the secret society, this Order. Even under the circumstances, while he was shaken by all that he had just heard, Sherlock couldn't help but admire Dumbledore's magnificent spellwork and how he was able to cast such powerful spells perfectly and nonverbally.

Sherlock whipped his head upwards as a he saw a huge silver form appear out of the corner of his eye. It was a large dog, another Patronus, and it swooped down to Dumbledore before giving him a brief message and dissolving into the air. Another came not long after, a lynx, and after that another animal that Sherlock couldn't recognize before it dissolved into the October air.

Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for something even after these Patronuses arrived, and he soon began to walk towards the castle. Sherlock saw Hagrid's large form and two other silhouettes making their way down towards them from the school. They all met halfway.

"Albus, is it true?" asked Professor Sprout. "Has he really gone?"

"It would appear so," said Dumbledore. "Whether this is permanent, I cannot now say, but it seems that the war against Voldemort will soon be over."

"But what happened?" asked Professor Flitwick, the third shadow.

"He just was at the Potters' house. Lily and James went into hiding some time ago, they knew he was after them." At the sound of Lily and James' names, Hagrid let out a huge sob and Dumbledore had to pause so that he could be heard by the other teachers as he talked. "They used the Fidelius Charm, and I offered to be their Secret-Keeper, but they decided to use an older, closer friend. It seems that he turned traitor against them, however, and Voldemort found their house in Godric's Hollow—the charm has broken now, and I can talk to you about it freely."

Both Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick clapped their hands to their mouths.

"Voldemort killed both Lily and James. Their son, Harry, survived, however. Somehow, Voldemort couldn't kill him. His power has broken; he is gone."

"But, Albus…do you have any idea how it happened? Such a thing is unheard of…," said Professor Sprout.

"Oh, several, but as of now none of them are anything more than pure speculation. I will need a few minutes to think it over myself. I have no doubt, however, that by tomorrow night I will have some idea of how Harry survived, at which point it will be vital that he is given protection. In fact, I suspect that the way he survived the killing curse, as none before him have ever done, will be linked to the protection I decide to give him."

It was clear to Sherlock that the others had barely followed this vague and simplified explanation, and it left them with more questions than they had begun with.

"Even with the loss of Lily and James, however, this is surely the happiest night to have fallen on the Wizarding World in eleven years," said Dumbledore. He did not look happy as he said it. "The students have a right to know as soon as is possible. This means a great deal to many of their families…not to mention their rather extraordinary party-making abilities…."

"Of course," said Professor Flitwick. "They were just leaving the Great Hall for their dormitories as we left. Perhaps we should have each of the heads of houses tell their students."

"Certainly," said Dumbledore.

"An' me, Professor?" asked Hagrid, wiping his eyes with an enormous handkerchief that he had produced from some voluminous pocket.

"There is something else I need from you, Hagrid," said Dumbledore. "Perhaps you would stay here to discuss it with me."

The other two teachers took this as their obvious dismissal, and together they turned and left for the castle again. Once they were out of earshot, Dumbledore turned to Hagrid.

"Hagrid, with Voldemort's downfall, there will be celebration, but there will also be mayhem in other ways. The Ministry will be in disarray. The Death Eaters will be trying to regroup, others of them attempting to flee. We will need to mobilize the Order, to have them convene at Headquarters."

Hagrid nodded, his beard glistening with tears in the pale light. "An' you wan' me to go to 'eadqua'ters, Professor?" he asked.

"No, Mad-Eye is already assembling everyone that he can. Now, I need you to go and fetch Harry for me," he said.

Hagrid burst into renewed sobs, burying his face in his handkerchief and permitting Dumbledore to reach up and pat his shoulder consolingly. Once he had recovered somewhat, he raised his head and said "You…you wan' me to do tha', sir?"

"Why, Hagrid, I can think of no better man," said Dumbledore kindly.

"Where should I take 'im, Professor?"

"I am not sure, yet," said Dumbledore. "However, I will contact you immediately as soon as I have some clear idea myself."

"Alrigh'," said Hagrid bracingly. "The house's in Godric's Hollow?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore.

"I 'spose I'll go now, then," said Hagrid, turning to walk towards the forest.

"Thank you, Hagrid," said Dumbledore. The gamekeeper nodded and retreated into the trees. Hippogriffs, thought Sherlock to himself. Not thestrals, they're not strong enough. He'll have to get there by one of the school hippogriffs.

Dumbledore sighed into the night air, evidently thinking himself alone. He looked down at the ground, clearly thinking hard, before bringing his gaze up again. As he did so, Sherlock thought that the older wizard focused in on him, and he froze. The last thing Sherlock needed was for Dumbledore to realize that he was here now, for the headmaster to find Sherlock watching him and eavesdropping as he prepared to react to what was surely one of the most important events in recent Wizarding history. It was only a brief moment, however, and then Dumbledore's electric blue eyes were roaming across the grounds again as he began to pace back and forth in the grass. The more Sherlock analyzed the moment, the more he thought that he must have imagined it, and that Dumbledore was sure to not have noticed him. Irrational, he chided himself. The chances of Dumbledore seeing him in this light and with a Disillusionment Charm were extremely small, especially when he was so intent upon other things.

Sherlock watched as Dumbledore paced around the grounds for several minutes, lost in thought. At one point he even sat down among the rutabaga in the vegetable patch, and Sherlock could see the form of Hagrid astride a hippogriff outlined against the sky as it rose up above the trees behind Dumbledore. A few minutes after that, however, the headmaster had apparently made up his mind about something, for he began to hike up to the castle again.

Sherlock followed Dumbledore through the main doors, and once inside he trailed after the other wizard into the Great Hall and through a side door that lead to a back way to the headmaster's office, one that Sherlock had found before but never had occasion to use. The boisterous noises of the rest of the school were audible from the other side of the Entrance Hall, and clearly Dumbledore wished to avoid them. Sherlock shadowed Dumbledore up to his office, but he knew there was no way that he'd be able to follow him inside.

Sherlock leaned against the wall of the same alcove he had found before, then slid down the polished stone to sit on the floor inelegantly. He frowned to himself, thinking deeply. So Voldemort was gone. Sherlock didn't try to mask the feeling of joy in his chest. His own Muggle blood would have made him a target for Voldemort's regime, and as much as he hated other people, and as little as he could stand them and their frivolous lives, he detested Voldemort. He preyed upon people who were different, and this was what made him so deplorable to Sherlock.

And it hadn't been a team of well-trained Aurors, or even Dumbledore himself, who had finally taken Voldemort down, but a small boy? Sherlock tried to extrapolate the boy's age from what had been said about him…he couldn't be more than five. Someone so young may not have even had magic begin to manifest in them yet, it was possible they may not be aware of its presence, and they certainly wouldn't have any control over it. So why was it that Voldemort had been unable to kill him? Magical theory was a field unknown to Sherlock—he had had little use for it so far and had never pursued it. Perhaps this was a new realm to explore?

Sherlock had subconsciously decided to stay there until Dumbledore emerged again, waiting. He had decided to watch Dumbledore for the evening, and it was now clear that where the headmaster was would be where the most interesting and important things at the school would be happening. Sherlock didn't even spare a thought to the other students learning about Voldemort's downfall, the idea of them having this knowledge was so insignificant to him.

The first hour Sherlock's brain whirred around the things he had heard and observed, trying to piece together the facts, what he had tried to fill in as the teachers and the gamekeeper talked, and what he could try to incorporate from his previous knowledge. The fact was, unfortunately, that Sherlock was relatively isolated while at Hogwarts and he didn't get much opportunity to leave the school or connect with the outside Wizarding World. It was difficult for him to understand the whole context of the war against Voldemort from this position.

The second hour, Sherlock began to tire of his circular guessing games, and he slumped against the wall more dispassionately. The third hour, he was entering the Sherlock stage of boredom where his mind began to feel like it was thrusting itself against a wall of oppressive sedation, trying to escape but not having the force to do it. He sunk into lethargy and waited in the corridor silently, without moving. There was nothing for him to do, but he didn't want to leave and miss Dumbledore's return, should he emerge. Sometime during the fourth hour he admitted to himself that though it was unlikely Dumbledore would remain in his office for the rest of the night, it was most probably the case that he had already left by some other means. It was true that you couldn't Apparate or Disapparate inside the Hogwarts grounds, but Sherlock knew that Dumbledore would have easily been able to devise another means of departing, especially with his power as headmaster. Perhaps he had even lifted the enchantment for a few minutes so as to let himself Disapparate.

Sherlock stayed there like that for most of the night, waiting without any real expectation of seeing Dumbledore there again. Early in the morning, perhaps an hour before the sun would rise on the Hogwarts grounds again, he fell asleep against the stone wall.

John was finally beginning to forget Dumbledore's disquieted look, laughing with Sarah at the Headless Hunt as it was chased mercilessly around the Bloody Baron; the unwary ghosts had accidentally allowed one of their heads to soar through his bloodstained torso, and the Slytherin ghost had not taken to it kindly. After they had finally been chased from the hall and relative order restored, the desserts arrived, and John dug in with gusto.

The sun had long gone down by the time the school began to exit the hall, the students winding their ways back to their dormitories. John and Sarah followed the other Gryffindor first years, Sarah already yawning as she walked. They were quieter than the other students, who were still talking and laughing.

"I thought I saw a fleck of silver blood fly off with the head, too—"

"—I mean, really, they wouldn't pull a prank like that, even if it is called blood pudding—"

"D'you think we'll get to start classes late tomorrow? Everyone's always up later when there's the feast."

"—what he said, they said he was gone!"

"No way, he can't just vanish, not like that—"

"How can we be sure—?"

"Who told you that?"

"Wait, what? Who's missing?" asked John. He looked around, trying to find who was talking. A Ravenclaw girl he didn't know answered him.

"Someone's talking about You-Know-Who being gone, apparently, but—"

"What?" said John, stopping still and grabbing Sarah's sleeve, staring at the Ravenclaw girl.

"But I don't know where they heard it, it's got to be some stupid rumor—"

"Someone's saying You-Know-Who's gone?" asked Sarah.

"Yeah, but—"

"YOU-KNOW-WHO'S GONE!" Shouted another voice from some other part of the crowd. For a moment—a brief sliver of time when all movement and thought in the castle momentarily froze—there was silence. If an owl had hooted outside, perhaps it would have been audible in the Entrance Hall where they all immediately stopped where they stood. Then—

Pandemonium. Half the people in the crowd screamed with joy—the other half immediately shouted, "WHAT?", setting aside the few people who just stood there, flabbergasted. There was an uproar of noise, louder than any Quidditch final had ever produced at the castle, and people began to run in every which way. Students wanted to find their friends, their siblings—a few even started looking for the nearest teacher to demand if it were true.

John grabbed hold of Sarah's hand without thinking to keep them from being separated as people near them screamed and started jumping up and down in the air, or else trying to reach each other. There were several minutes of mayhem, where John tried to hear himself think over the noise, daring to believe it before he could check himself. You-Know-Who gone! It was something he'd never thought of happening like this, not something a single phrase could describe…he'd lived almost his entire life under the shadow of the war, before he was even old enough to understand it was happening.

A huge, cacophonous BANG! sounded as a huge firecracker shot into the air—at first John thought it was a student celebrating, but then he saw that Professor Flitwick was standing at the top of the marble staircase, his wand in the air and smoking. Professor Sprout and Professor Vector, who John knew taught Arithmancy but whom he'd never met, were standing next to him.

The firecracker, though obviously intended to pacify the school in some way so the teachers could address them, was very ineffective in calming the students down. It took two more from the end of Professor Flitwick's wand, joined by others from the other two teachers', for most of the school to finally stop screaming and look up at them from below.

"Please!" boomed Professor Sprout's voice, magically magnified after she cast a quick spell to her throat. "Remain calm! Students are to be escorted to their common rooms by each house's head and prefects! There you will receive more information. For now, HOWEVER—" she now had to shout, even with the added charm, to make herself heard over the tumult, "—PLEASE REMAIN QUIET AS YOU MOVE TO YOUR COMMON ROOMS!"

Perhaps it was more effective than if the teachers had done nothing, but Professor Sprout's announcement did little to curb the students' excitement and noise-making. More information, thought John, that must mean that something happened! He grabbed Sarah in a hug, and she gripped him back firmly, laughing over his shoulder. He pulled back quickly and they beamed at each other before looking at the other Gryffindors and chanting, "He's gone! He's gone! He's gone!" Slowly other students began to take up the chant, soon it felt like the entire school had joined in, like a triumphant war hymn, and the Gryffindors kept it up all the way to the seventh floor, marching together to their common room, conducted from on high by Anisha and the other prefects, Professor Sinistra grinning alongside them, even though she wasn't singing.

The Fat Lady seemed to have already heard the news by the time that they got there, and she was giggling with two other witches who had run into her portrait with cheeks as pink as her dress. She didn't ask for a password, but just swung open to allow the entire house to clamber through the portrait hole, one after the other.

Understandably, this took some time. By the time John and Sarah were climbing through together, the war chant had died down and everyone was talking excitedly to each other, and when they made it to the other side John saw the common room more packed than he had ever seen it before. Students were sharing chairs, sitting on pillows, and some were bouncing up and down with energy, not even bothering to try to sit. Personal space was something long forgotten in the excitement, and no one seemed to care that they were squashed together as they waited for everyone to climb in so they could hear from Professor Sinistra.

John and Sarah couldn't find a chair to themselves, but they found a patch of carpet near the back where they sat, craning their necks every other second to watch the portrait hole, waiting for an end to the steady stream of students, grinning absurdly at each other in between. Finally, the last students climbed through, and the Fat Lady's portrait swung shut over the hole again.

"Alright, everyone, please quiet down!" called Professor Sinistra, standing on top of the stone edge around the fireplace. She was more successful than Professor Sprout had been before, now that the Gryffindors had blown off some steam and she had managed to shepherd them into their common room. John remembered how he hadn't seen Professor McGonagall at the feast, and wondered where she was so that Professor Sinistra was presiding over them instead.

"The castle received news tonight during the feast that You-Know-Who has vanished," she said, speaking louder and louder as the sentence went on so as to hold their attention. At these words, however, there was another great cheer, and Professor Sinistra beamed at them before making frantic shushing gestures with her arms to get them to settle down again. John's heart nearly stopped in his chest, hearing her speak the words, and Sarah's hand shot over to grip John's hand tightly.

"We don't know all the details yet, of course, but he does appear to really be gone," continued Professor Sinistra, seeming to be giddy with happiness herself. There was another cheer, but this one subsided relatively quickly. "Now, we ask you all to stay in your common room for the evening," she continued. "We don't need anyone to get lost now, and certainly no one is to leave the castle—even if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has disappeared, his supporters are still at large beyond the castle, and we don't know how long it will be before they're under control."

"Without You-Know-Who, they'll all be rounded up soon enough," whispered John to Sarah. "He'd the one who holds the whole thing together." She nodded, staring at Professor Sinistra intently.

"I'm sure that we'll tell you more when we know more ourselves, but it's only just happened this evening," said Professor Sinistra. She beamed at them once again. "I have to go talk to the other teachers now, but I trust your prefects can watch you all, and remember, don't leave the common room. And I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but…I would hazard a guess that classes will be cancelled tomorrow."

There was yet more cheering as Professor Sinistra left the common room, and as soon as the portrait hole had swung shut yet again, Anisha replaced her at the front of the room and shouted "HE'S GONE!" pumping her fist in the air.

"HE'S GONE!" the other Gryffindors repeated, everyone getting to their feet and jumping up in the air with joy. Sarah hugged John again, then pulled back and danced on the tips of her toes, laughing madly.

What followed was the best party John had ever witnessed in his life. Someone pulled the old wireless out of the corner, and soon music was blasting through the common room. Someone else let off a box of Filibuster fireworks that they watched fizzle across the ceiling together, and after about an hour, some of the older students turned up with butterbeer, apparently having sneaked out of the castle despite Professor Sinistra's warning. When John asked, he got a long explanation from Reg and Andrew about a secret passage behind a mirror on the fourth floor, but as soon as they started talking about it, Anisha excused herself, blushing. John was sure he had seen her leave the common room with the two boys some time ago, and he had a suspicion that her hasty departure had something to do with the large crates of butterbeer now being cracked open and her status as prefect.

Everyone at Hogwarts had long known that Gryffindors threw the best parties. No one was paying attention to the rule about staying in there own common room; there had been a steady stream of Gryffindors leaving to see siblings, friends, and significant others and revel in the news together, as well as a steady stream of students from other houses coming to do the same thing. So, of course, once the students started to realize that the real party was in Gryffindor tower, they invited their friends, too. The party grew to be at least five times the size and magnitude of anything John had been to after a Quidditch game. They hadn't won the cup the year before, but he doubted that even if they had that the post-match game would have been anything like this.

John was a lousy dancer, but so was the rest of Gryffindor, and so some Ravenclaws led them from about one o'clock to two in the morning as the wireless pumped out upbeat music. One of them cast a tricky little spell so that the torches in the brackets near the ceiling flashed different colors, and they hurriedly turned off all the other lights. No one was getting tired, and as John danced horribly alongside Sarah, he couldn't help but think that she kept edging closer and closer to him throughout the night. He dismissed this, however; the common room was packed with rowdy, euphoric teenagers, and free space to breathe was scarce.

Of course, in the early hours of the party, owls kept arriving, sent by parents, and beating their talons against the windows, demanding to be let in. A small alcove in the circular room was left free for students to read and respond to letters, but John wasn't sure how they were able to think anything more coherent than "HE'S GONE!" above the din.

All in all, John couldn't believe that no teachers were coming to bust them and confiscate the butterbeer, making them all go up to bed. When he shouted this to Anisha around four in the morning, however, she yelled back, "It's because they're all off having their own wild party, half of them are probably drunk anyway!" John just shook his head and laughed, but he couldn't help an image of the teachers partying uncontrollably in Dumbledore's study from popping up inside his head.

Once the sun rose outside, students from other houses finally began to trickle out, and a few people started to climb the stairs to the dormitories, having to pause every few steps because of the exhaustion they'd been ignoring the whole time. John realized, coming back to reality, that he was probably going to get something like two or three hours of sleep that night (morning) and then have to be up for demanding teachers. If Professor McGonagall was back from wherever she'd gone, he wouldn't put it past her to hold class at the normal time, and give them detention if they didn't bring homework to hand in.

When he'd finally settled down in his four-poster, John fell asleep with surprising ease. His dreams were frenzied, confused: full of faceless wizards who disappeared in sparks, parents who picked off Death Eaters and then stood over Harry, giving her their blessing, and then Sarah, edging closer and closer under the mask of the loud and energetic party, the torches flashing different colors over her face as they laughed together….

A/N: Okay! So, hopefully it's fairly easy to see where that all fits in with the book. Sherlock doesn't see everything that happens that night, obviously, so there are some gaps that we can fill in with Harry Potter canon. The conversation between Snape and Dumbledore that Harry sees in the Penseive in the seventh book takes place later. Also, remember that Harry gets delivered to the Dursleys' on November 1, because McGonagall has been watching them all day after Hagrid told her that Dumbledore would be there. I made her missing from Hogwarts Halloween night because in the book she needs confirmation from Dumbledore about Voldemort having fallen, so if the news was spread around Hogwarts she would have had to be somewhere else not to hear it.

Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoyed it!