John got zero sleep that night, lying awake in his bunk and staring at the ceiling, his mind running way over the speed limit. To leave Sherlock, that was beyond anything John was prepared to do. Sherlock was dangerous, he could admit that now, but that only meant he needed more support than ever. John really, really liked him; he couldn't stand to live with himself without Sherlock's presence in his life. When the sun came up John was already dressed and ready to go, his bag packed and his homework done. When he left the common room he didn't go to the Great Hall but to the Hospital Wing, hoping beyond hope that he'd be greeted by a fully functioning Sherlock. When he opened the door, to his enormous relief, Sherlock was sitting up in bed, refusing Madam Pomfrey's attempts to make him eat what looked like lumpy oatmeal.

"Sherlock!" John said triumphantly, running to his side and nearly spilling the oatmeal as he threw his arms around Sherlock's neck.

"Oh god, John, let me breathe!" Sherlock gasped, but there was a wide smile on his face.

"You're okay then?" John asked.

"I think so yes." Sherlock shrugged.

"Be careful, he's still resting!" Madam Pomfrey hissed, pushing John to arm's length away.

"I've rested all night; I'm perfectly fine to go." Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes.  

"You most certainly are not!" she hissed. But Sherlock just slid off of the bed, still in a white hospital gown, and got to his feet.

"You get back into the bed right now, you need to rest, you're not well!" Madam Pomfrey demanded, but Sherlock picked up his bag from the floor.

"Watch me leave." he sighed, walking out the door with a final wave of his hand. Madam Pomfrey looked furious but there was obviously nothing she could do by now. John jogged to catch up to Sherlock, thinking he looked quite peculiar in the gown, which only stretched down to his knees, but the very fact that he was up and walking was simply perfect.

"Are you sure you're okay?" John asked as he got in step with his friend.

"Yes of course I'm okay; it's not a long term thing." Sherlock sighed. "But I guess I should apologize, I could've gotten you hurt or worse."

"Of course I could've, but everyone walks away from this one." John pointed out. Sherlock smiled thankfully at him, as if that was exactly what he was looking to hear.

"You really helped me, you helped me concentrate, I would've blown much earlier if you hadn't been talking to me." Sherlock pointed out.

"Glad I could be of some use." John sighed.

"What exactly happened?" Sherlock asked, approaching the Ravenclaw common room. He had his old clothes stuffed in his bag, his robe sleeve hanging out.

"Well they were just being jerks and then you stopped and well, everything else happened. McGonagall came, I ran to get Dumbledore, and he put that spell around you." John shrugged.

"How about that damage, what happened with that?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh not much, just some broken windows and displays." John lied, not mentioning the crack spreading through the entire floor.

"What did Dumbledore tell you afterwards?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing." John said, lying once more.

"Oh stop it John, I know you'd get an earful, what did he want?" Sherlock asked.

"Just, he wanted me to..." John sighed, not being able to say it, "not tell anyone."

"That's all?"

"That's all." John assured. Sherlock nodded, not seeming too convinced though.

"Okay then, fair enough." He shrugged, easily solving the eagle's question and leading John into the Ravenclaw common room. People were just starting to move around now, giving Sherlock and John some odd looks before disappearing into their dorms or out the door.

"I'll wait out here then." John decided.

"I'll only be a minute." Sherlock assured, jogging up the steps to his dorm to get changed. John sank into one of the armchairs, not really caring that it wasn't his common room or that it was the middle of the morning. How on Earth was he going to tell Sherlock that they couldn't be together or even be close friends? God knows he didn't want to have to break the news to Sherlock, he didn't even want to news to still be in play. Sherlock didn't deserve this, but if John ignored a direct order from Dumbledore there would definitely be something wrong, detentions, suspension, or even expulsion.

"John? Why are you here?" said a sweet voice above him. John looked up to see Mary standing over him, smiling down on him while she pulled her silky blonde hair back into a pony tail.

"Oh, I was with Sherlock." John said simply. She gave him a bit of a confused glance. "Meaning there was a fight last night and he had to stay over at the hospital wing, I came to make sure he was okay." John assured.

"Is he okay?" Mary asked.

"He's fine now, ya." John shrugged.

"Good, it would break my heart if he got hurt, that poor kid." Mary sighed.

"Well it's all good now, you don't have to worry." John assured with a smile. Sherlock came into the common room, standing up tall and defensive as he looked towards Mary and John.

"Good morning Sherlock, how are you feeling?" she asked. Sherlock didn't say anything, looking very suspicious of the two.

"John, we should get going." He decided. Mary looked a little bit awkward now, standing between the two and getting a bit of a death glare from Sherlock.

"I guess so, see you later Mary!" he decided, following Sherlock through the common room and out the door.

"I thought you ended that." Sherlock pointed out.

"I did, doesn't mean I can't talk to her." John pointed out. Sherlock didn't say anything, but John could almost sense his disapproving glare.

"You must be starving." John decided, trying to change the subject.

"Well, actually I'm not, I had dinner last night." Sherlock pointed out.

"I don't want to be a pest..."

"Too late."

"But I think you should eat, you probably gave a lot of energy you know, last night, so I think you should refill." John decided.

"I'm not hungry." Sherlock insisted.

"Sorry then, but you're eating." John pointed out. He should really tell him, he didn't want to give Sherlock false hope, but then again he doubted Sherlock would need any more trouble today. John would tell him tonight, or possible tomorrow, or maybe a week from now, more preferably never... they walked into the Great Hall and Sherlock was practically tackled by a big ball of Mycroft, hurtling towards him and crushing him in a bone-breaking hug.

"Mycroft get off!" Sherlock demanded, pushing his brother away.

"I was so worried, please say you're okay." he said, pressing his hand to Sherlock's forehead to make sure he didn't have a fever.

"Mycroft I'm fine, go away!" Sherlock growled, trying to push past him and to the Gryffindor table, but Mycroft stepped in his way.

"We need to have a talk later brother dear." Mycroft decided.

"Yes, I know, you're causing a scene, let me go!" Sherlock demanded. Mycroft rolled his eyes, but let his little brother escape to the table across from Greg. John sank down next to him, not bothering to question Sherlock's sudden desire to switch tables, he definitely wasn't complaining about the new company.

"God Sherlock, are you okay? I heard there was a fight, you were knocked out?" Greg asked, cutting apart a sausage while still glaring at Sherlock for an answer.

"I'm totally fine, really." Sherlock muttered, even taking a pancake by himself.

"Good job Sherlock!" John said happily in one of those voices you use when a dog goes to the bathroom in the right place or comes when called. Sherlock just rolled his eyes, taking the butter knife and making the smallest incision of butter, smearing it around the pancake. John wasn't hungry, but he still forced himself to have a couple of strips of bacon just so it didn't look like their personalities were switched. Sherlock sitting next to him, the hope in his eyes, the smile he gave John, it was eating through John's heart like some type of disease. He didn't want to imagine the hurt in those green eyes; he didn't want to hear the defeated, small voice of what could be a five year old. It wasn't Sherlock's fault that he had this secret power, and he shouldn't be losing his best/boyfriend over it, but John couldn't ignore a direct order from Dumbledore. When breakfast was over they went their separate ways, Sherlock heading to Care of Magical creatures while John and Greg were stuck in History of Magic. John was almost proud of his paper on the Giant Wars, full pages while Greg's last couple of inches was filled with a poorly drawn Giant throwing a rock at another. It was 'window dressing' as Greg put it, trying to ignore the disapproving glare from Binns. Even as a ghost his death glare gave Sherlock's a run for its money, maybe just because he was actually dead.

"So what did happen?" Greg muttered as he and John hid in the back corner seats of the class.

"It was Moriarty, what do you think? One minute everything was fine and the next they were going for each other's throats." John shrugged, trying to ignore his conscious adding that to the list of many things he had lied to Greg about.

"I hope Moriarty got his butt kicked." Greg decided, pulling out a piece of parchment for playing hangman on, not for notes of course. As Binns went on and on they spelled out Kill Moriarty at least three times, and Greg added the typical Kiss Sherlock. John just groaned, if only he could, but he didn't see it in his future anytime soon. He felt bad for Greg, trying to hook two people up who were about to break up. When History of Magic was over they headed down to Transfiguration, which was the most awkward class John had ever attended. Dumbledore must have told her about the whole relationship between them, and if he hadn't she was likely to pick up on it somehow. When she wasn't writing on the board or pretending to focus on another side of the room her beady eyes were always focused on John. He kept his head down, trying his best to transfigure the chameleon in front of him into a water goblet. McGonagall really was the annoying mother of the castle.

"Why was she glaring at you like that?" Greg asked as they walked down to the castle.

"She was the one that stopped the fight. I guess she was just worried or something." John lied.

"Aw, you've got a secret admirer now, Sherlock's got competition." Greg laughed.

"For the last time, Sherlock is not my..."

"Hello." said a deep, Sherlock-sounding voice behind them. Greg glared at John with amusement, raising his eyebrows and being the annoying friend John didn't want.

"Hey Sherlock." John sighed, looking back to clarify that it was, indeed, Sherlock standing over them.

"Where are you coming from then?" he asked.

"Transfiguration." Greg sighed.

"I like that class." Sherlock decided as they descended down the staircase.

"How about you?" John asked.

"Astronomy, hate that subject." Sherlock sighed.

"Can't be worse than Defense against the Dark Arts, which we conveniently have next." John pointed out with a groan. He was not in the mood for getting tormented by Umbridge, getting into his four poster and taking a nice long nap seemed more favorable. Sherlock went to the Ravenclaw table this time; he would've stayed with the Gryffindors if Mycroft wasn't gesturing for him from across the room. John watched them for a little bit, Mycroft saying something and Sherlock looking extremely annoyed, but in the end they walked out of the hall together, undoubtedly to discuss the incident from last night. John felt bad for him, being lectured by his older brother wasn't something he fancied either.

"So what were you saying before?" Greg asked. John gave him a confused look, digging into the lunch platters for a chicken sandwich. "About Sherlock not being your something."

"Do I really have to explain it, or do you just have a pea for a brain?" John sighed. "I really don't want to talk about this anymore, I don't fancy him and I never will, so just get over it!" Greg groaned, frowning into his full plate.

"I think you'd look cute together." He muttered, like a little kid sulking.

"Maybe we would, but that doesn't mean I'm going to date him just because we look good together."

"And he totally fancies you." Greg added. John sighed, debating whether or not to just tell Greg to get him to shut up, but it wasn't worth it. Umbridge couldn't ever find out, not for John's sake but more for Sherlock's. The last thing he needed right now was to land himself in her office with more scars on the back of his hand when John was about to leave him against both of their wills. When lunch was over John and Greg headed to Defense against the Dark Arts, where Sherlock was sulking in the back of the class.

"Hey Sherlock." John said with a smile. Sherlock didn't say anything; he just looked at John with boredom and went back to staring at nothing. John and Greg had to step over his extended legs, which took up the entire aisle of space.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say you're having a bad day." Greg guessed.

"You must read my mind." Sherlock groaned.

"Mycroft?" John asked, sitting in the seat to the left of Sherlock.

"He wanted to get the first hand story." Sherlock sighed.

"That sounds like fun." John said sarcastically.

"Christmas break can't come too soon." Sherlock sighed. John looked to the front of the class suspiciously, seeing Umbridge's beady toad eyes lingering on their pack in the back.

"I'm just looking forward to getting out of classes." John agreed. The class started before Sherlock or Greg could respond with their input on how terrible their school was, Umbridge lecturing and reading passages out of their books for the next torturous eighty minutes. Her eyes never left their pack in the corner, as if any moment she expected them all to start snogging or something, which gave John some serious nausea. He decided that, even compared to Snape and Binns, Umbridge was the overall worst person he had ever encountered. Of course he knew that before, but just one look into her face and his heart ran cold, he wanted so badly to jump up on the table and curse her so badly that the stupid fake smile was forever wiped off her face. After Defense against the Dark Arts was over they said goodbye to Sherlock and headed off to Herbology, where they were pretty much tortured from the cold air seeping through the cracks in the greenhouse walls. Professor Sprout was dressed for winter weather, wearing an enormous fluffy coat and an ear hat which was much too big for her. She strangely resembled an elephant. But the amazingly interesting Venomous Tentacula was enough to keep their minds off of the miserable weather and more focused on dodging the deadly vines. Greg thought it would be funny to poke one of his gloves into the mess of plants, but even dragon hide was no match and torn to goopy bits. When Herbology was over they headed back to the castle, Greg complaining about how he would have to suffer the rest of the year with only glove. John was nodding while he talked but his mind was elsewhere, in the world of spiraling depression that he was soon going to have to face. He had made up his mind that tonight was the night to break the news to Sherlock, he didn't want to stall too long in fear that the staff would hunt them down, and the quicker he got this painful weight off of his shoulders the better. It was terrible to see Sherlock smiling at him, smiling as if he was the best thing in the world when in reality he was the worst. He was about to break that poor, fragile kid's heart into a million pieces just because he was born different.