Hey there, everyone. Sorry this has been such a long time coming - first I was out for a few days with a nasty stomach bug, then Christmas while working in retail happened, so it's been a mad few weeks. Hopefully things will start to calm down and I can update properly. Anyway, I don't mind telling you that I'm not a super big fan of this chapter. Usually I edit each chapter threeish times, once while I'm transferring it from hand written to typed and at least two times in more detail. I think I went through this specific chapter a good five or six times, including sending it to a friend. I'm pretty sure that I've done what I can with it, so let me know what you think.

Chapter Four

John always kept a spare stash of Floo Powder buried away in a small metal box at the back of a closet, mostly in case of emergencies rather than any expectation that he might actually want to use it. Mary had gone out for a few drinks with friends at John's insistence twenty minutes earlier, finally leaving him and Cecelia alone for at least a few hours. Normally John would have waited until she fell asleep before even thinking of performing any sort of magic in the flat, but Cecelia was fussy and he had no clue as to when Mary might exactly return. He needed to contact McGonagall as soon as possible, and he was better off getting the call done with now than try and test fate.

John built up the fire a bit, thankful that he had thought to connect it to the Floo network when they moved into the flat, and brought Cecelia with him as he sat cross-legged before the flames. She rested propped up in her portable seat, close by so that John could reach her if necessary but far enough away that she wasn't too close to the fire. He carefully pried the lid off the box, wincing at the screech the rusted metal let off as it was released, and stared down at the bright green powder. He ran a single finger through it, reminding himself of the sandy grains' texture, before shaking off his sentimental silliness and snatching up a handful. He shot a glance at Cecelia to ensure that she was settled and safe before tossing the powder into the flames, eyes lighting up briefly as he watched them change from orange to green.

Taking a deep gulp, John sent Cecelia a last reassuring smile and shoved his head into the flames, giving a shout of, "Minerva McGonagall's office!" before holding his breath. The sensation of communicating via Floo Powder had always been an uncomfortable adventure for him; given the option, he preferred nearly every other wizarding method of contacting someone. He didn't have access to an owl, however, and he knew his best chance of contacting her quickly was by owl or this, leaving him with little choice. His eyes clenched shut tighter as he felt the sensation of his head transporting while his body remained still. Eventually the feeling stilled enough for him to peek through his lids slightly. The immaculate floor of the Hogwarts headmistress' office swam into view, the legs of McGonagall's desk just barely in sight. John blinked the green flames out of his eyes and called out, "Professor?"

Footsteps carried across the stone room and a chair scraped across the stones. At the same level as his eyes, the view of shifting robes and simple black shoes settled and McGonagall's stoic face peered down at him. Despite his discomfort and unease, John couldn't help but grin up at her. He hadn't been the best at Transfiguration back at school, but he found the subject fascinating and worked at it diligently until he gained the required proficiency. Though not typically one to be overly blunt in her praise, John sensed her pride and pleasure at his work throughout his years.

"John Watson," she greeted, the suggestion of a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. "You're looking well."

"Professor," John nodded back, smile still plastered to his face. "You are as well. I admit I'm a bit surprised to see you still at Hogwarts."

"Yes, well, things became shockingly more calm ever since Potter and his friends led the way in disposing of Lord Voldemort." Her casual tilt of the head as she spoke caused John to chuckle. "Are you free for a brief chat? I'm available to have you pass through here or, if you give me a moment to call someone, I might come to you."

"It'd be best if you came here, actually. Besides, there's someone you might be interested in meeting."

Rising to her feet, she replied, "Very well. I'll call Longbottom up from his post and be with you momentarily." As she left the office, John pulled himself back through the fire, blinking blue gaze instantly gravitating to where he left Cecelia. She sat peacefully in the same spot, her head cricked to the side as she watched him with a curious expression. He smiled and scooped her into his arms, listening to her babbling up at him as he set about in pulling out the things for tea and setting water in the kettle. He swayed on the floor of the kitchen, speaking quietly to her, when he heard the flames in the fireplace roar slightly and footsteps step into the living room.

"Make yourself comfortable," John called out, finishing off the tea preparations and adjusting it all on a tray to carry out on a single arm. Before rejoining his former professor, he spared a glance down at the cooing round face in the crook of his arm. "Time to charm the robes off another family friend, my wee one. Be on your best behavior now, Síleas." John pushed off the counter, tray carefully balanced on his hip, and caught another great smile crossing his face as he joined McGonagall.

"Your friend was correct, then," she commented smoothly, a lilt of amusement in her voice. "You've done well for yourself, Dr. Watson. Who is this, then?"

"Minerva McGonagall, allow me to introduce Cecelia Gabrielle Watson. Cecy, say hello to your da's old professor."

Cecelia simply blinked at her in slight confusion, taking in the woman in strange clothes in their home. McGonagall leaned towards her, causing Cecelia's eyes to widen and a chubby fist to reach out towards her. With a soft smile, McGonagall offered her hand and Cecelia's curiosity beat out her uncertainty as they met in the middle. Automatically, Cecelia's smooth fingers grasped one wrinkled one of McGonagall's, fighting to bring it closer and examine it properly.

"She's a thoughtful little lass already," McGonagall commented in a low voice, studying Cecelia as Cecelia studied her. "She takes after that friend of yours in that regard."

John chuckled and set the tea tray aside. "Oh, I know. You'd think she was Sherlock's, the way she acts sometimes. At least we know what we're getting into, given how long Sherlock and I have been friends."

"Sherlock Holmes is a rather…unusual man, from the little I met of him." Cecelia released her grip, allowing McGonagall to return to her seat. "He seemed to take quite a bit of pleasure from his attempts to deduce me."

John groaned and chose a spot across from his professor, easing the dull ache in his bad shoulder by shifting Cecelia to the opposite arm. "I'm so sorry, Professor. God, if I'd have known you were looking for me, I could have saved you the trouble. Did he bother you terribly?"

"Not at all. I found him a rather interesting young man, I admit. Does he happen to know what you are, if you don't mind my asking?"

With an awkward shift in his seat, John grimaced. "Well, er, no, actually, he doesn't. I was in a bit of a bad spot when I met Sherlock, and had basically decided I was done with magic. The topic hasn't had a reason to come up until recently."

"Hopefully I haven't made matters problematic between the two of you. That certainly was not my intention by paying you that call. It would seem that the two of you get on quite extraordinarily, from what I have read of your many misadventures together."

He was able to keep the threat of a blush down to nothing more than a slight pink twinge high on his cheeks, but John felt certain McGonagall noticed it regardless. "Oh no, no need to apologize," he continued quickly. "I'm sure he would have figured it out eventually – honestly, I'm surprised it took this long. Actually, it was more something that happened today…I take it you know I help him consult on criminal cases?"

"Of course. You may have returned to the Muggle world, John, but that certainly doesn't mean I haven't kept track of you, though I may have had to call in a few favours from Mr. Potter and Miss Granger for help in perusing this Internet Muggles seem so fond of. From what I've gathered, you've been fairly successful since returning to London, despite the various hardships you've undergone. But what happened today?"

John explained the crime scene from that afternoon in a clinical tone, attempting to cover his feelings over their discoveries with his straightforward analysis of the facts. McGonagall listened without interruption, expression thoughtful. Despite his best attempts otherwise, John felt his throat catch as he described the word etched into the victims' foreheads, causing a concerned furrow to develop between Cecelia's dusting of brown eyebrows. She cooed up at him in worry, fingers grasping out at him in a bid for comfort. John shot her a tentative grin and moved a hand to pass through her soft hair, bringing comfort to both and allowing him to continue. The only sign he had that McGonagall was even listening came when he mentioned Sherlock following John into the Leaky Cauldron.

"That is, to put it simply, utterly impossible," she stated with a jerking shake of her head. "A Muggle would be unable to even see the Leaky, let alone enter it properly unescorted. He ought to have only had the view of an empty abandoned building, even if he entered it with your encouragement. The Muggle Repelling Charms simply wouldn't allow such a thing."

"That's what I thought," John replied with enthusiasm. "Honestly, it's a miracle the place was that empty at that time of day so he didn't see anything off. Besides, he was on a case, so most of his focus was on that. But what could have let him get in, then? Could the charms be wearing off?"

"It's certainly possible, though I doubt it. Tom himself checks the charms daily, I know for a fact, but obviously he is getting on in years, not unlike myself, and his sharpness may be leaving him. I'll pay him a call to see what he thinks before I return to Hogwarts as well as stop by to discuss the matter with Hannah Longbottom."

"They were up, I could tell, but it's been too long since I've dealt deeply with magic to tell how well off they were. Anyway, Tom didn't notice anything off with the case, and I didn't recognize them or their names. 'Course, if they're Muggleborns, their surnames wouldn't pop out at me anyway."

"You said Albright for the girl and Sacksby and Moore for the boys, I believe? There was a Sacksby in Ravenclaw a few years back, but I'm almost certain the student was an only child. Beyond that, the names don't particularly stand out to me. If it was a direct attack on the siblings of Muggleborn students, it would make more sense, but why brand Muggles in such a way if they are innocent of connections to the wizarding world?"

John sighed and shook his head. "Not a damn clue, Professor, and as far as I know, the Muggle authorities are the only ones involved right now. After I spoke with you, I planned on trying Harry to let him know of the situation as well. He'll most likely want to get some Aurors to investigate in case it is an attack on Muggleborns' families."

"An excellent suggestion. Coincidentally, this may have a connection to what I originally called you at Baker Street about. What did Mr. Holmes tell you of my visit?"

"We haven't really had the time to discuss it, actually, what with me being away and the case popping up today. I believe it was just that you had come and he had questions, which is probably Sherlock speech for, 'I've dug up everything I possibly can so you're my next line of inquiry.'"

"Yes, he seems like that kind of sort," McGonagall replied with a small snort. Almost instantly, however, she returned to her usual sober self, regarding John carefully from across the room. "I know the subject of your parents is a sensitive subject, John, and I'm loathe to bring back what's best to be left in the past, but unfortunately I have little choice in the matter. My news is somewhat good, however – it would appear we have more concrete evidence on who was responsible for their deaths. From what you've just told me, it seems as though I came to inform you none too soon."

John felt his hands begin to jerk in a stuttering resonance of memories best left behind, convincing him to return Cecelia to her cradle. He clasped them into tight fists a few times, carefully evening out his breathing. "What do we know?"

She reached into a pocket of her robes to draw out an envelope. John's name was written across the front in a familiar, messy scrawl. He took it in slight unease, sliding a finger across the top to pull out jotted notes in the form of some sort of informal report. "I received this from Harry the day before I came to call on you via owl. The attack happened a month ago and had two victims, an aunt and cousin of a Gryffindor we had years ago. Harry recognized the method of killing used in the attack – Muggle victims, all with some sort of connection to the wizarding world through blood relatives, with burns along the entirety of the body that appear to be some altered form of Incendio, and Mudblood carved into the forehead. He wasn't entirely certain how to contact you, which is why he came to me in the hopes that I might know more. Honestly, it's been so long since the original attacks occurred, I think we all simply hoped that those responsible had been killed themselves."

John hummed his agreement and scanned over the report, lowering it between limp hands once finished. "They believe one of them is a metamorphmagus?"

"Various Aurors who caught the individuals in the act said one of the wizards changed his or her appearance half a dozen times before escaping. They dropped their wand at the scene, so it was nearly impossible for them to transfigure themselves, particularly in such rapid succession. Harry suspects the sudden arrival of the authorities resulted in the wizard panicking and briefly losing control of their skill."

"Just like Teddy when he's caught up in a bad spot," John agreed. He tucked the thought of his young friend away for the moment to be considered later. "So there was no way to tell who any of these people were."

"Not from appearance, at least. Ollivander's nephew is working on the wand, attempting to determine where and by whom it was produced, but we do know for certain that it was not one of their pieces."

"So we've got at least one Death Eater loose again in London taking down Muggles like they did almost twenty years before." John sighed, rubbing roughly at his face. "Bloody brilliant."

"I received another owl from Harry today with information on the wand – aspen wood, eight and a half inches long, with a unicorn tail hair core. An unusual combination, given the aspen's nature, but the addition of the unicorn hair has left the Aurors almost unable to use it due to its loyalty to its owner."

"Right." John slapped his hands on his thighs and scraped at them with his palms, blue eyes watching McGonagall with determination. "What would Harry like me to do? I won't let these people do what's been done to me, not if I can help it."

"John, I don't believe Harry intended for you to get involved directly. He knew you were back in the Muggle world and intended it as a warning, from what I understand. He doesn't wish to bring you back into the wizarding world if it's not what you want, nor does he wish to do you harm by bringing up old memories."

"He can't possibly expect me to just sit by while my parents' murderers go offing more Muggles!" John replied with an incredulous laugh. "The man Harry knew may have been a hell of a lot younger, Professor, but in spirit he's not much changed. I'm a soldier as much as he, if not more so, and inaction is not my usual method."

"I'm well aware of your skills, as is Harry, but he knows you have a life outside of our world now, one with friends and a family. He simply doesn't wish for you to become a victim to these individuals a second time if he can help it."

"If he really wanted to help, he'd let me do something more than sit aside waiting!" John's voice rose to an angry shout of its own accord, abruptly waking a sleeping Cecelia. Instantly she began to cry, and John's rage dimmed as he picked her up to shush her, muttering quiet reassurances into her ear. His forehead met hers in a sigh that was barely more than a breath. "I'm sorry, Professor. It's been a rougher week than expected, as pathetic of an excuse as that is."

John felt the concern etched in the set of McGonagall's body as she watched the pair of them across the room. "It is completely expected and more than understandable. I do not believe Harry doubts your skill here, John, but you must remember what it is you are protecting. You have gone through the feeling of loss a thousand times over; those who consider you to be a friend would like to help you avoid more."

John nodded his forehead against Cecelia's, causing her to giggle as his blonde-gray hair brushed over her skin. "I know, really. I've just never been much for helping myself when there are others who need it more."

McGonagall hummed her agreement. "A true member of your house, as you've always been." She rose to her feet, wrinkled hand smoothing over her robes. "I'd best return. Should I contact Mr. Potter or shall you?"

Lifting his head from Cecelia's, John turned back to face McGonagall fully. "I'll take care of it. He should know about our case anyway, particularly if only our authorities are involved." He shifted Cecelia to one arm in order to extend his hand to McGonagall. "It's been a pleasure to see you again, Professor, even with the topics we had to discuss."

She took the offered hand and gave it a firm shake. "I'm glad to see you doing well for yourself finally, John Watson, despite everything. Please give Mr. Holmes my regards." Her eyes lit once again with a tiny spark of mischief. "Do let him know I'm intrigued to hear what he's found out about Floo Powder. I imagine his thoughts are delightfully imaginative." With a nod in reply to John's laugh, she left him and Cecelia alone with a sharp crack as she Apparated away.