Potterlock – The Prisoner of Azkaban

Author's Note: My lovely readers! My sincere apologies at the gap between chapters. It took me forever to find the inspiration for this one, but at least – here it is! I'm really looking forward to moving on with Goblet of Fire, as I have many marvellous plans for it. Please keep following and I promise you won't be disappointed. As always, please review as your thoughts and comments really inspire me and are thoroughly appreciated. Thank you! – Katie.

Chapter Five

It took a surprisingly short time for the revelation of John's sexuality to become old news amongst the students. At first he was dogged by whispers behind hands and curious stares as he passed in the corridors, but eventually that died down until even the Slytherins resigned to merely flopping their wrists in his direction, and that was easily ignored.

"Told you it'd die down in no time," Greg said offhandedly as they made their way down to the Entrance Hall for the year's first trip to Hogsmeade village. Greg had been raving about it to them all afternoon, and both John and Molly were growing increasingly more excited at the prospect of visiting Honeydukes and Zonko's. Even Sherlock, for all his pretences of offhand disinterest, had an expectant smile on his lips when he thought no one could see.

"Yeah," John smiled. "And thanks for decking Nott the other day."

"Don't mention it – that little slime-ball had it coming," Greg smirked.

John had been pleasantly surprised by the support he'd received from almost every Gryffindor upon his unceremonious outing. Both Harry and Ron had taken to flanking him on the way to class every day, returning any choice remarks bestowed upon him by the Slytherins with equal vigour, and Greg had been assigned to detention more than once for using more physical forms of retaliation.

The four of them climbed into one of the horseless carriages and were soon trundling down the road that led to the station and Hogsmeade. Greg engaged Molly with a description of some of the more interesting aspects of the village, while Sherlock stared out of the window. It was a bright, cold day, with a suggestion of rain – typical October weather.

"Looking forward to it?" John asked his friend, who shrugged.

"It could be entertaining," he said.

"You know, it wouldn't kill you to actually act excited for once," John sighed in exasperation. "Over something that isn't necessarily a challenge."

Sherlock gave him a wry smile and chuckled, and John gave him a good-natured dig in the ribs. Things had eased up again between them since the incident with the boggart, though Sherlock still turned a little sour-faced when Cedric graced them with his presence. John didn't mind – he was on good terms with both his friends, and that was enough for him. He wondered if they'd bump into Cedric in the village. He'd probably been to Hogsmeade enough times for it to lose its initial thrill, but since it was Halloween perhaps he'd go anyway.

When they arrived, the first place John, Molly and Greg wanted to visit was, naturally, Honeydukes Sweet Shop, and Sherlock was content to tag along. The shop was bursting with students, all fighting to get their hands on sweets you couldn't just buy from the Hogwarts Express trolley. A rather harassed-looking woman was elbowing her way through the crowd to refill the shelves, calling, "Easy now, dears, there's plenty for everyone!"

John was particularly taken by the Fizzing Whizzbees, sherbet-filled bonbons which caused the eater to float above the ground, and Greg was busy filling a large paper bag with Jelly Slugs, Pepper Imps, Ice Mice and enough Chocolate Frogs to restage the Plagues of Egypt. Molly was already chewing on a large chunk of treacle fudge, and Sherlock was perusing the 'Unusual Tastes' section of the shop with interest.

"Not getting anything?" John asked, sliding up to him with a Sugar Quill already half-devoured in his hand.

"Not much of a sweet tooth," Sherlock replied, picking up a jar of Cockroach Cluster and examining the ingredients label.

"Urgh, who'd want these?" John grimaced, pointing to a large (surprisingly depleted) jar of Chocolate Maggots, which were still squirming sickeningly against the glass. "D'you reckon they're really maggots?"

"Well, considering they're in this section I'd say so," Sherlock said, replacing the Cockroach Cluster and sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Dare you to get some." John nudged him, and Sherlock smiled and shook his head.

"Ahh, look at the two lovebirds," a snide voice came from behind them. John rolled his eyes and turned to face Malfoy and Moriarty, flanked by what he first assumed were two trolls in woolly hats, who he then realised were Crabbe and Goyle. Crabbe was unpleasantly chewing something with his mouth wide open, and John saw Goyle slip a great handful of Acid Pops into his pocket.

"They're doing a special on Love Potions in Zonko's, Watson," Malfoy sneered. "Maybe you should invest in some – might give you a better chance of finding a boyfriend desperate enough to snog you."

As pathetic as he knew Malfoy to be, John still felt his face flame.

"I mean, seriously," Malfoy drawled (God, this guy had an irritating voice), "what chance d'you think you have? And you do realise no amount of sucking up to Diggory's going to make him fancy you, don't you?"

Sherlock stepped sharply in front of John and stared down at Malfoy with a look icier than a pond in the depths of winter.

"Oh, watch yourself," Moriarty smirked. "The great Holmes is going to deduce us to death."

Sherlock said nothing, but continued to stare down the two Slytherins until eventually Malfoy ordered his cronies away. Moriarty gave Sherlock an annoyingly knowing smile before following, kicking over a small barrel of Every Flavour Beans as he went.

"You alright?" Sherlock asked John, his eyes still on the back of Moriarty's head.

"Yeah," John sighed, shoving the remainder of his Sugar Quill into his mouth and crunching it up, discarding the nib in a nearby barrel. "Jerks."

"You know, I don't understand it," Sherlock mused. "Why does Moriarty hang around with a slime like Malfoy?"

"Birds of a feather?" John suggested, smiling at Ron and Hermione as they passed with a giant bag full of sweets.

"No," Sherlock said. "Moriarty's cleverer than Malfoy, he's more conniving, so what does he gain by being one of his lackeys?"

"They're just as bad as each other," John insisted. "Come on, let's find Molly and Greg."

As they left the sweet shop, a light rain had started to fall over the village, and almost everyone was headed towards The Three Broomsticks for a drink. The four friends took this opportunity to visit Zonko's Joke Shop, where it was a little less crowded. They passed Fred and George Weasley bickering over whether it was more productive to purchase Dung Bombs or Fanged Frisbees, and which would annoy Filch more. The shop had the effect of turning Greg into a nine year old boy, and he went charging off to fill his pockets with various items John was sure his father would not have approved of. Molly seemed less enthusiastic at the joke items, and sat down on a windowsill to eat her sweets while examining a box of Nose-Biting Teacups with vague interest.

"Juvenile," Sherlock muttered as they passed a large display of Ever-Bashing Boomerangs.

"Oh, come on," John said. "You laughed when Seamus set off that Screaming Sootball in History of Magic the other day. Don't lie, I saw you!"

"That was. . ." Sherlock couldn't seem to think of a dignified response so he wandered off to stand beside Molly.

The Three Broomsticks was still heaving when they stepped in the door. The whole place had been decorated for Halloween with orange-and-black streamers and a couple of singing Pumpkins at either end of the bar. John, Sherlock and Molly nabbed a table in the corner while Greg went to order the drinks.

"Look, there's Cedric," Molly said, pointing to a table across the room, where Cedric was with a group of his Hufflepuff friends, laughing at a joke someone had just told.

"He is very handsome, isn't he?" Molly sighed wistfully. "You're so lucky, John."

"We're just friends," John said.

"Yeah, but you still hang out with him," Molly said. "He's so cool."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and clicked his tongue.

"Oh, you're just jealous," Molly smirked at him.

"I can assure you I'm not," he replied. "I wouldn't be a Hufflepuff for all the gold in Gringotts."

"You're such a snob," John reprimanded him. "Greg's a Hufflepuff, remember?"

Sherlock gave him an 'I rest my case' sort of look, and John rolled his eyes.

The Butterbeer Greg bought for them was warm and delicious, like fizzy melted caramel ice cream. Even Sherlock, after taking an experimental sip, seemed to like it. John tried to keep his eyes off Cedric, which proved slightly more difficult than he'd thought, until Cedric glanced their way and his face lit up in a smile. He excused himself from his friends and sauntered over.

"Hey," he said, smiling warmly at them all. Molly giggled and blushed and Greg looked annoyed. "Enjoying your first trip?" he asked John, who nodded enthusiastically.

"Anyone want another drink?" Cedric asked the group at large. "I was going to get another one."

Everyone politely refused the offer except Greg, who asked Cedric to get him a Firewhiskey. Cedric laughed (though Greg later said he'd been entirely serious) and carried on to the bar. John saw Madam Rosmerta, the pretty barmaid, give him a dazzling smile as she rushed to serve him.

"Why do all the girls think he's so great?" Greg grumbled, and Sherlock snorted.

"For once, we're on the same page."

"Just because he's handsome."

"And a Quidditch player, like that's anything to be proud of."

"His hair's stupid."

"And he's such a suck-up to the teachers."

It was so bizarre and amusing for Sherlock and Greg to be agreeing so wholeheartedly about something that John almost wanted them to continue, but he felt obliged out of loyalty to Cedric to intervene.

"Hey, shut up," he said. "Cedric's a great guy."

"Well, of course you'd think so," Greg snorted.

John's face flushed and Molly turned angrily on Greg.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she said sharply.

"I-I didn't mean it like that," Greg hastily backtracked, quailing under her glare. "I just meant because, well. . . he likes him, doesn't he?"

"Smooth," Molly shook her head. "You're both being stupid. Cedric's a really nice guy and he's clever."

"I'm clever!" Greg protested.

"Yeah, but you're not always nice, are you? Neither are you, Sherlock," she said, turning on the Ravenclaw who was chuckling to himself.

"I don't claim to be," he shrugged.

"And you think that makes you better than Cedric?"

John was astonished – here was Molly being hostile towards Sherlock Holmes, the guy she'd crushed on since First Year. He felt touched that she felt her duty to defend John was more important. Sherlock himself looked surprised.

"You obviously still don't like him because you're scared he's going to take John away from you," Molly said, pointing a finger at Sherlock. "And you," she said to Greg, "I don't know what your problem is but shut up."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Go Moll," John laughed, patting her on the shoulder. "It's okay."

"Who wants to go see the Shrieking Shack?" Molly said, standing up and dragging Greg to his feet with her.

"I'm alright," John said, still chuckling. "You two go. Have fun."

Greg allowed himself to frogmarched from the pub, leaving Sherlock and John alone at their table.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooO

The next few months passed by in a whirl of strange events – the most notable being Sirius Black's attack on the Fat Lady, then Gryffindor's abysmal defeat at the hands of Hufflepuff. After Harry had been sent plummeting to the ground when the Dementors invaded the stadium, John had met up with Cedric outside the Hufflepuff changing rooms while everyone else trouped back up to the castle out of the wind and rain – and not to mention the eerie, chilling mist left behind by the Dementors once Dumbledore had banished them back to the grounds. John didn't think he'd ever seen a teacher shout so furiously as Dumbledore did then.

After telling Sherlock he'd meet him back at the Common Room, John found Cedric sitting on a bench outside the changing rooms, his friends and teammates mysteriously absent. He still had the Snitch clasped loosely in his hand.

"Cedric?" John said tentatively.

Cedric looked up and forced a smile.

"Hey, John."

John sat down beside the Hufflepuff captain. "Are you okay?"

Cedric ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed. "Potter's okay, that's what matters."

"Yeah, he'll be fine," John said, trying not to think about how pale and sickly Harry had looked when they'd taken him up to the Hospital Wing. "Don't beat yourself up about it, Ced."

"How can't I?" Cedric leaned back, staring up into the stormy sky. "They wouldn't even consider a rematch."

"You won the game fair and square," John said, glancing at the tiny golden ball still fluttering its wings between Cedric's fingers.

"It wasn't fair, though," Cedric said, sounding more annoyed now. "Potter didn't stand a chance against those things."

"But it wasn't your fault," John insisted. "Harry will understand."

"Wood looked like he wanted to flay me alive," Cedric snorted. "He's still in the showers, you know."

"He'll get over it," John said, though he knew the likeliness of that happening anytime soon was almost nonexistent. Cedric knew it too but he still smiled at John.

"Thanks for finding me," he said.

"Where're all your friends?"

"I sent them back," he said. "Didn't want all the attention."

"Oh," John blushed, starting to stand. "Sorry, d'you want me to—?"

"No," Cedric grabbed the end of John's scarf. "I was hoping you'd come."

"Really?" John sank back down onto the bench.

"You're easier to be with," Cedric said. "I can just be myself – don't have to act the Popular Guy."

"Yeah," John sighed. "Sherlock has that problem."

Cedric looked at him for a moment then they both burst out laughing.

"How's he doing, by the way?" Cedric asked. "Still seething with jealousy?"

"Yeah, but he's better at hiding it," John said. "It's nice, in a way. Shows he cares."

"Well, any idiot can see he thinks the world of you," Cedric said.

John's heart skipped a beat. "Seriously?"

"Of course," Cedric nodded. "Well, he probably wouldn't put it that way, I guess, but I know he does. I would."

John looked at the older boy, whose gaze was fixed on the grass between his feet, his fingers toying with the Snitch as it tried to escape.

"Why?" John said. He knew he was fishing for compliments but if they came from Cedric Diggory he didn't care if he was. Cedric slowly turned his head to look at John, a smile slowly forming on his handsome face.

"Because you're you," he said simply.

John would have given anything to have just been able to lean over and kiss him, right there in the rain behind the Quidditch pitch. He felt his body lean subconsciously towards Cedric's, his fingers edging across the bench 'til they brushed against the material of his wet robes. His gaze travelled over the long dark hairs tumbling over Cedric's forehead above his steel-grey eyes, the masculine line of his jaw, the delicate flush of his lips. . .

Then a loud bang jolted him out of his reverie and they both looked round to see Oliver Wood leaving the shower room, his head bowed against the wind, a look of pure misery etched into every detail of his features. Cedric groaned and bumped the back of his head against the changing room wall.

There was also the added drama of the arrival of Harry's incredible new broomstick, plus the battle over Hermione's cat Crookshanks' repeated attempts to hunt down Ron's rat Scabbers, escalating to a pitch when Ron found blood on his bed-sheets along with telltale orange hairs. Add in the ever-present threat of Sirius Black not having yet been caught, and the upcoming Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw Quidditch match, which would determine Gryffindor's place in the finals, the atmosphere in Gryffindor Tower was tense to say the least.

The day of the match, excitement that was bubbling in the Great Hall at breakfast, mostly due to Harry's new Firebolt finally making an appearance on the pitch. Even Sherlock was interested to see how the new model would fair in the game.

The weather was light and breezy as they all made their way down to the pitch in a sea of House colours. Cedric, Greg, and a large number of other Hufflepuffs had armed themselves with Gryffindor flags in support of the team. John saw Cedric wishing Harry luck as they passed the changing rooms, to which Harry gave a good-natured, if nervous, smile.

John spent most of the game on the edge of his seat, cheering Gryffindor on with Molly and Cedric, and even Sherlock was leaning forward so to better focus on the action on the pitch. Harry seemed to be having trouble concentrating on locating the Snitch due to the Ravenclaw Seeker, Cho Chang, blocking him at almost every turn (not to mention being extremely pretty). Cedric and Greg seemed a little distracted by her too, which made both John and Molly scowl. Sherlock, thankfully, couldn't have been less interested.

The game climaxed when three large Dementors came gliding onto the pitch, staring up at Harry as he soared after the tiny Snitch, just beyond his fingertips. Harry reached into his Quidditch robes, pulled out his wand, and shouted an incantation. A burst of silver light erupted from the end of his wand, zooming straight at the Dementors, who stumbled on their robes and fell in a heap on the grass – Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy and the Slytherin Captain, Flint, all trying to untangle themselves from the black material.

"Blimey," Cedric muttered as the crowd around them cheered and whooped for Gryffindor's victory. "Brilliant Patronus charm."

"Huh?" John called, clapping his hands in the air and whistling.

"A positive force that repels Dementors," Sherlock explained from his left. "Not fully formed but impressive nonetheless, I suppose."

A raucous party was held in Gryffindor Tower that night, and even Sherlock seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself after a few bottles of Butterbeer. John even saw him laughing at Seamus Finnegan floating dazedly around the chandelier with a mouthful of Fizzing Whizzbees. The Weasley twins somehow managed to procure what seemed like the entire stock of Honeydukes, and it was far gone midnight when the last of the students finally trailed up to bed. Sherlock was permitted – rather begrudgingly by Percy Weasley – to sleep on one of the sofas, as he'd be in serious trouble if he was caught wandering the corridors this late at night. John traipsed up to the Third Year boys' dormitory with Harry, Ron, Neville, Seamus and Dean, and each of them collapsed onto their beds, finally too tired to discuss any more details of the match.

John lay awake for a while, staring at the dark canopy of his four-poster. He thought of Sherlock on the sofa downstairs, and wished he could have invited him to sleep in the dormitory with them. He wouldn't have minded sharing, though it might have raised a couple of raised eyebrows amongst the other boys, not to mention have been extremely awkward being in such close proximity to the boy he fancied. Yeah, maybe sharing wasn't such a good idea. He ran a hand over his stomach, still swollen from food, and was just about to roll over and close his eyes when he heard the faint click of the door. Thinking it might be Sherlock, he raised his head a little to squint through the darkness, just illuminated by the moon outside the window. Someone was walking slowly, very carefully, around the room, peering through each set of curtains. This struck John as odd, as Sherlock knew perfectly well which bed was his, so it made no sense for him to be searching for it. Some cold crept into the pit of John's stomach as the dark figure slowly turned its gaze towards John's bed. His was the only one with the curtains left open. The person stood at the end of his bed, stepping just into the stream of light from the window.

A skeletal figure, long matted dark hair, hollow eyes set in a face that was gaunt and waxy with malnourishment. There was no mistaking it – Sirius Black.

John wanted to scream, wanted to wake the entire dormitory, but the fear stuck in his throat and all he could do was lie there and hope to God the murderer didn't come any closer. Then a thought flashed through his mind like a lightning bolt – Sherlock. He was downstairs, alone, completely unprotected. What if Black had killed him, stopped him sounding the alarm. John's brain screamed for his arms and legs to move, to run, to make sure Sherlock was alright, that he was still alive.

Black moved to the bed next to John's – Ron's bed. He pulled back the curtains and froze, a hand slipping slowly into his tattered robes for something long, silver and sharp as a—

John tried to call Ron's name to wake him up, but as it turned out he didn't need to.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRR RRGGGGHHHH! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Ron's scream bounced of each wall like a caterwaul, and John heard Neville fall heavily out of his bed. Black cursed under his breath and sprinted from the room, leaving no trace he'd been there at all.

While everyone was trying to force their way into the boys' dormitory to see what the commotion was about, John was fighting tooth and nail to get out – back to the Common Room. When he saw Sherlock's slim figure still curled up on the sofa – that guy could sleep through a nuclear blitz – John threw himself on him and wrench him over to see his face.

"Mmm. . .?" Sherlock murmured groggily, squinting up at John. "John? What's going on?"

Relief swept through John like a tidal wave, and he threw his arms around his friend with no care or thought for how he might respond.

"Get off," Sherlock sighed, trying to unwind John's vice-grip from around his shoulders, but John wouldn't let go.

"Sirius Black!" he gasped. "He was here – in the dormitory! I thought— I thought you—"

Then he burst into tears.

Sherlock seemed stunned for a moment, his overpowered brain trying to process through the haze of sleep what was going on.

"Black?" he said, finally. The other Gryffindors were starting to file into the Common Room.

"Yeah," John sniffed, wiping his eyes on the cuff of his pyjama shirt. "Tried to stab Ron."

"God," Sherlock put his hands on John's shoulders and examined his face. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"What did Black do?"

"Just wandered round the room looking through the bed curtains at each of us."

"But he tried to stab Weasley?"

"Yeah."

"Curious."

"What?"

"In all logic he should have tried to stab Potter."

"Guess so. Maybe couldn't see Ron properly."

"But you said he looked at each of you in turn before trying to attack Weasley."

"Well, yeah. . ."

"Does Weasley keep anything valuable with him when he sleeps?"

"No. Unless you count Scabbers and I'm pretty sure he's snuffed it."

"Who?"

"Ron's rat," John said. "Hermione's cat ate him."

Sherlock looked pensive for a moment. "Was there anything special about it?"

"About what?"

"Weasley's rat."

"Sherlock, you're kidding."

"Absolutely not," Sherlock said. "Was there?"

"Uhh, no," John said blankly. "Well, he was missing a toe."

Sherlock steepled his fingers and stared thoughtfully into the dying embers in the fireplace.

"Sherlock," John sighed. "Shouldn't we be more concerned with Black's trying to murder Ron than a dead rat?"

"There's no reason for Black to stab Weasley unless there was proper motivation," Sherlock reasoned. "There's no resemblance at all between Weasley and Potter so that rules out mistaken identity. We have to consider all the factors, John."

"Fine, but Black's insane. Everyone knows that."

"He broke out of Azkaban," Sherlock said, pointing one finger at John's bemused face. "He eluded the Dementors. Most of the inmates of Azkaban are insane, granted, but I'm willing to bet none of those who are could do what Black has done."

Professor McGonagall's sharp voice broke Sherlock's train of thought. "Now, really, enough's enough!"

As Percy and Ron argued the situation to her, and she went to interrogate Sir Cadogan, John could hear Sherlock still muttering to himself as he stared into the fire, that telltale crease between his eyebrows indicating the deepest thought.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooO

Almost right up until the Quidditch final between Gryffindor and Slytherin began to approach, all anyone could discuss between (and often during) classes was Black's newest break-in into the castle. Theories of how he did it were flying around like rogue Bludgers, most of them utterly impossible – like Hannah Abbott's guess of Black disguising himself as a flowering shrub.

"It's obvious," Sherlock rolled his eyes as they passed a group of Hufflepuffs – Hannah included – discussing the matter on their way to Charms class. "Black is clearly using some sort of secret passageway in and out of the castle."

"How'd you deduce that?" John asked.

"There's simply no other way," Sherlock said. "It's impossible to Apparate inside the castle, and the barriers would prevent him from flying in, and as for a flowering shrub. . ." he rolled his eyes again.

"Why don't you tell Dumbledore?" John asked.

"Dumbledore is the only person in this castle I consider to be as insightful as myself," Sherlock said, sounding almost as pompous as Percy Weasley. "I'm sure he's considered the theory."

The looming dread of their upcoming exams was heavy in the air as well. John had roped Molly into being his study partner, as it was infuriating having Sherlock trivialise every mistake he made. He was doing better in Potions, which was nothing short of a miracle with Professor Snape's teachings, and he was excelling in Muggle Studies, naturally, but his Transfiguration was really falling short of the required standards. Molly was also struggling with Divination, and said she was considering taking a leaf from Harry and Ron's book and just making it up.

"Sounds a load of old nonsense to me," John said, idly flipping through Unfogging the Future while Molly scoured over the last of her notes.

"That's because it is," Sherlock said dryly from where he was seated on the window-sill, a large leather-bound book resting on his legs.

"I thought it'd be easy," Molly moaned. "I should've taken Muggle Studies like you, but I thought that'd be boring."

"It is," John said. "But at least I'm bound to get at least one passing exam mark."

"You'll be fine," Molly patted his wrist reassuringly.

Thankfully, John's anxieties about his Transfiguration exam turned out to be fairly unfounded, though the teapot he'd supposed to be turning into a tortoise still had a spout for a tail. He successfully performed a Cheering Charm on Neville Longbottom, and as Care of Magical Creatures simply involved keeping a Flobberworm alive, he was pretty sure he'd passed that as well. He even managed to procure a sufficiently thickened Confusing Concoction in Potions, which Professor Snape begrudgingly noted as he passed with his clipboard of marks sheets.

He spared a smirk in thought of Sherlock as he and Molly climbed the staircase to the Astronomy tower for their midnight exam, as he knew the Ravenclaw would be cursing under his breath the absurdity of what he considered such a menial subject to be tested on. Neither he or Molly did very well in their History of Magic exam, but made up for it in the afternoon's Herbology test, though it took John a good ten minutes of exam time trying to detached a small pot of Devil's Snare from his left forearm before Professor Sprout stepped in to save him. His hand was still throbbing as they made their way back from the greenhouses to the Common Room, where everyone was already studying for their final exams tomorrow – Defence Against the Dark Arts and either Muggle Studies or Divination. While Molly fretted over what was the best way to elude a Red Cap for their Defence exam, John chewed on a Chocolate Frog while perusing his notes on Grindylows until Sherlock stepped through the portrait hole.

"How'd it go?" John asked.

"Fine," Sherlock shrugged. "Full marks in everything except Astronomy and Herbology."

John had to admire his confidence – or arrogance, whichever it was.

"What happened in Herbology?"

"I set fire to the Venomous Tentacular."

"On purpose?"

"Yes. It was distracting me."

John sighed. "Ah well, just Defence and Muggle Studies left to go."

To his unexpected surprise, John managed to complete the obstacle course Professor Lupin set for them the next day, stumbling only when he caught his foot in a pothole during the Red Cap exercise. Both he and Dean Thomas left their Muggle Studies test pretty confident they'd passed, and made their way to the Great Hall for dinner. John found Sherlock sitting opposite Molly, his gaze concentrated on the bowl of tomato soup in front of him.

"What's up?" John asked, sliding in next to him and helping himself to a bread roll. "You still stumped about Black?"

Since Sirius Black reappearance, Sherlock's brain seemed to have been working overtime trying to uncover exactly why he'd tried to attack Ron. It seemed like a pretty pointless exercise to John, but Sherlock was obsessing over it.

"It just doesn't make sense," he muttered. "For some reason the rat keeps coming back to me."

"Maybe Black really doesn't like rodents," John suggested, spooning in a mouthful of mashed potato.

"Why does the fact he has a missing finger ring a bell. . .?" Sherlock clutched a handful of his curly hair and frowned.

"Toe," Molly said.

"I beg your pardon?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her.

"You said finger. Rats have toes."

"Whatever," Sherlock let out a long breath. "It'll come to me."

They bumped into Cedric on their way coming out of the Hall, who grinned expectantly at John. "So?" he said. "How'd it go?"

"Okay, I think," John smiled hopefully. "Didn't do so well in History of Magic but then, who does?"

"Me," Sherlock said and Cedric laughed.

"Oh, to have your confidence, Holmes," he said, and Sherlock sniffed derisively. "Anyway," Cedric looked back to John. "Mind if I have a moment?"

"Sure," John said, turning to Sherlock and Molly, who gave him a you're-so-lucky look. "See you back in the Common Room."

"So," Cedric said when they were alone, the majority of the students having left the Entrance Hall for their respective Houses, "I wanted to give you this."

John took the small scrap of paper Cedric was holding out to him and looked down at it.

"It's my address," Cedric said. "I wondered maybe, well, if you wanted. . . you could write to me this summer."

"Yeah!" John beamed, then cleared his throat. "I mean yeah, totally."

"Thought I'd give it to you now in case I lost you in the rush of going home," Cedric explained. A small part of John's brain hoped he also wanted the chance to be alone with him as well – there wasn't much chance of it in the excitement of the end-of-year Hogsmeade visit and the feast. John owed so much to the tall, handsome boy standing in front of him that he felt words didn't do it justice. Still, he wanted Cedric to know how much he appreciated everything he'd done for him that year.

"Cedric," he said, smiling up at him. "Thank you."

Cedric didn't speak for a minute, then his face also broke into a warm grin. "You're welcome, John," he said, and leaned down to clasp him in a hug. John reciprocated gladly, his heart pounding as he breathed in the sweet, musky scent of the Hufflepuff boy. Then, before he had a chance to lose his nerve, he slipped a shy kiss onto Cedric's cheek. Cedric pulled back and placed the fingers of one hand gently on the side of John's face, his grey eyes full of – dare John think it? – affection.

"Remember," he said, tapping the scrap of parchment in John's hand.

"Promise," John nodded.

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It wasn't until half-past eleven that John found himself being roughly shaken awake by his best friend, his hard fingers digging into John's arm.

"Wake up!" he hissed. "Come on, now!"

"Whassup?" John said blearily, scrubbing at his eyes and peering at Sherlock, who looked as though his brain was on overdrive.

"We have to go to Dumbledore!" Sherlock insisted, trying to drag John out of bed by the sleeve of his pyjamas. "Right now."

"Why?"

"I know how he did it," Sherlock said, forcing John's arms through the sleeves of his dressing-gown and pulling him from the room. "More importantly, I know why he did it."

The Fat Lady seemed much affronted by being disturbed twice so late at night, and the security trolls outside the portrait hole looked suspiciously at the two boys as they walked past, but Sherlock didn't seem to notice or care.

"Now, listen," Sherlock said. John noticed he'd put his slippers on the wrong feet in excitement. "Remember when Molly corrected me on saying Weasley's rat had a missing toe rather than finger? Well, that stuck in my mind so badly it was driving me insane. My cousin Isabella was a student here at the same time that Black was, and I remember her showing me one of the old yearbooks from when she was in Seventh Year. Mind-numbingly tedious, of course, but I remember seeing a photograph depicting Sirius Black with three other students – James Potter—"

"Harry's dad was friends with Black?!"

"Yes, but that doesn't matter. James Potter, Remus Lupin—"

"Professor Lupin too?!"

"Yes, will you shut up! The last person in the picture was Peter Pettigrew."

"Who's that?"

"He was the man witnesses claimed to see duel with Black before he was murdered along with half the street," Sherlock explained. "He was blown to bits, the largest fragment found being a finger."

"Oh God," John said, feeling queasy.

"Yes, yes, but!" Sherlock continued. "Who do we know of who has a finger missing?"

John stared at him. "Sherlock – are you suggesting that Ron's rat—"

"It makes perfect sense, John!" Sherlock raved. "Pettigrew didn't die! He transformed himself into a rat to escape Black!"

"Sherlock, that couldn't possibly—"

"Lupin was in the picture too, yes?" Sherlock went on, ignoring John's interjection. "And as we know, he is a werewolf. Isabella said Black and Potter's father were two of the cleverest students in their year, and would have done anything to help their friend. What if they discovered he was a werewolf, and became Animagi? Pettigrew could become a rat, and Black could be an animal too, which would explain how he escaped from Azkaban."

"How?"

"Dementors are blind, John. They can't see – they only feel human suffering. Black could have transformed into whichever animal he became, slipped through the bars and swam to land. He must have known somehow that Pettigrew was alive and wanted to exact his revenge for framing him."

"So you're saying Black's innocent?!"

"Almost certainly," Sherlock said. "And with all the grounds and surrounding areas to explore whilst in their Animagi forms, who's to say Black and the others couldn't have found secret ways through which to enter the castle? It's the only theory that proves why he tried to attack Weasley. Only he wasn't, of course – he was trying to get Pettigrew, not knowing he'd already made his escape by faking his death for a second time."

"That's amazing, Sherlock!" John gasped as they hurtled down another dark corridor.

"Thank you, John."

They turned the corner and found themselves at the end of the hall that led to the Hospital Wing.

"Why're we here?" John asked.

"I passed Snape and Cornelius Fudge on the way to Gryffindor Tower," Sherlock said. "They said Potter was in the Hospital Wing with Weasley and Granger and Black had been captured. Dumbledore must be here somewhere."

They crept along the corridor towards the main doors to the ward, but had to flatten themselves against the wall as the breathless figures of Harry and Hermione came racing past them. They didn't seem to notice Sherlock and John standing right there.

"Okay, I can hear Dumbledore," said Hermione. "Come on, Harry!"

The doors of the Hospital Wing opened and Professor Dumbledore backed out of them, talking in a low voice to someone inside the room. He turned and saw Harry and Hermione dashing towards him. "Well?" he said.

"We did it!" Harry gasped. "Sirius has gone, on Buckbeak."

"Buckbeak – the hippogriff that attacked Malfoy?" John wondered aloud.

Sherlock pressed a finger to his lips. "Shh."

Harry and Hermione had stepped inside the hospital dormitory, and Dumbledore magically locked the large white doors.

"Did you want something of me, gentlemen?" he asked to the air in front of him.

"I think he means us," John muttered, and Sherlock gave him a condescending look.

Dumbledore turned and looked directly at where they were concealed in the shadows. "You do realise of course that wandering the school corridors at night is a rather serious matter."

"Yes, sir," Sherlock said, stepping forward into the lamplight. "But I have something important to tell you."

Dumbledore surveyed Sherlock over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. "Fire away," he said.

He listened to Sherlock's deductions without interruption, his expression of polite interest never wavering, and when Sherlock finally ran out of steam, John swore he could see a twinkle in his eye.

"Very impressive indeed, Mr. Holmes," he said in a low voice. "I must say, along with Miss Granger and a couple of other choice candidates, you might possibly be the most remarkably intellectual students I've yet to come across."

John could see Sherlock's chest swell with unavoidable pride, and suppressed a smirk.

"However," Dumbledore said. "Luckily enough your findings were also confirmed by Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger not but a few minutes ago. Though, of course, they had the opportunity to hear them from Black's own lips."

Sherlock deflated.

"Be that as it may," Dumbledore smiled at Sherlock's clear disappointment, "your detective skills are most admirable, and were you to have found me but an hour sooner than you did they would have undoubtedly been of great value to the events of this evening. For this, I think perhaps twenty points to Ravenclaw."

"Could you not make it to Gryffindor, sir?" Sherlock said.

"My," Dumbledore raised his bushy eyebrows. "You are an interesting young man. Very well – twenty points to Gryffindor."

"Thank you, sir," Sherlock bowed in respect to the headmaster. John, feeling a little foolish, followed suit.

"At ease, gentlemen," Dumbledore chuckled. "Now, I think it perhaps best if you both head back to your dormitories, and mind you don't run into our esteemed caretaker."

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The next couple of days passed in a flurry of sun and anticipation to the end of the year. John, Molly and Sherlock all received passing grades in their exams, albeit by the skin of their teeth in the case of Sherlock's Astronomy test and John's History of Magic essay. It seemed like no time at all until they were once again loading their trunks and owls onto the Hogwarts Express for the return journey. Both Molly and Greg listened in awe as John regaled them with Sherlock's discovery of Sirius Black's innocence, while the great genius himself – now bored of the subject – stared idly out of the window as the train rolled away from Hogsmeade station. All four of them took a moment to take in the view of the castle they wouldn't be seeing for another two months, and Molly sighed.

"It always feels strange leaving," she said.

"Yeah," Greg said. "Still, maybe we could all get together in the summer." He seemed to be talking to Molly more than anyone else, but John still nodded politely.

They pulled into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters just as the clock struck three, and they all piled off to be hugged and kissed by their parents. John caught a brief glimpse of Cedric being embraced by his mother, before he was masked by the crowd. He brushed his fingers against the parchment tucked into his jacket pocket and remembered his promise. Who knew? Perhaps next year things might be different between him and Cedric – different for the better. One thing was certain at Hogwarts – you never knew what might be just round the corner.

He'd have to wait and see.