The next couple of weeks were filled with classes and Umbridge’s rules cracking down on them all. So far Greg and Mycroft had been able to keep their continuing relationship a secret, but John knew if they so much as slipped a smile at each other in public Umbridge would swoop in and have them both expelled. Apparently they were both prepared for that risk, since they continued to see each other in private. The classes were joined with quidditch, making John’s days more packed than ever. But he didn’t mind, quidditch made the awful classes worth it, no one could control him while he’s in the air, not even Umbridge. She had gotten a hobby of walking around the halls, fixing the student’s robes and hair with magic, making sure no couples were holding hands or kissing in the halls, and that everyone kept their wands safely away. The classes were as miserable as ever, and even though NEWTS seemed to be years away, the professors were acting as if they were tomorrow, loading them with homework and constantly telling them to start concentrating on their futures. John got so busy he hadn’t seen Sherlock in a while, other than in class and at dinner, but even then there wasn’t a lot of catching up time. Sherlock seemed to have his own things going on anyway, he seemed to disappear after dinner. One time John went up to the Ravenclaw common room to say hello, but Sherlock had seemed to panic, kicking things under the bed, out of John’s view, and quickly telling John he was just about to head to the showers. Even though Sherlock was acting funny, he was still going to the match, which was only a day away, on Sunday. It was against Slytherin, which was the toughest match of the season first, which John dreaded. He had all his skills from the previous years, maybe even more, but he was still worried. He hadn’t seen the Slytherin team play this year, they could be using new players, new tactics, it was all down to how they played. John just had to focus on catching the snitch, which was the only thing that mattered in the game. It was Friday night, and John and Greg were walking down to the dining hall, sitting in their normal spots, loading their plates with their usual food.
“So, how about some flying tomorrow, get warmed up?” Greg asked.
“I guess.” John agreed. “I am so nervous, I hope their team is rubbish this year.”
“Probably is, don’t sweat it mate.” Greg assured, eating more of his roast beef. John nodded, hoping he was right. Mycroft and Sherlock, now regular guests of the Gryffindor common room, joined them that night, talking about nothing in particular, but John’s mind was a day away, with the match. Greg and Mycroft didn’t pay him much attention, but Sherlock seemed to know that there was something on his mind. But he didn’t pry, unlike John, and left him to his own thoughts. Saturday John and Greg swooped around the grounds on their brooms, Greg throwing stones for John to catch and John throwing the quaffle for Greg to intercept. John didn’t miss a single stone, but Greg missed a couple of shots because John had thrown them unfairly to the side. They walked back to the castle sweaty and windblown; John was ready for a nice hot shower before the rest of the day continued.
“Do you think our team has a good chance tomorrow?” John asked.
“I think we do, ya, it just comes down to how we perform is all.”
“You should be a coach.” John joked.
“That is not in my list of professions thanks.” Greg said with a smile. They walked up to the common room, where they found two guests waiting for them.
“Umbridge talked to me.” Mycroft said immediately. He looked ghostly white and very nervous, as if Umbridge was listening to their conversation.
“What did she say?” Greg asked, also going a bit pale.
“She wants to meet both of us in her office today after dinner, I don’t know what it’ about but I can take a pretty good guess.” Mycroft explained. Sherlock was sitting in the armchair next to him, and even he was looking a little bit worried.
“What are we supposed to do?” Greg asked.
“You have to show up, my best guess is that you just deny everything since the dance.” Sherlock decided. John shrugged, it wasn’t a terrible idea, but it would need a very convincing liar. Greg sat in the last armchair, leaving John standing, so he just sat against the stone fire place, which at first seemed like a good idea but the lumpy rocks hurt his back.
“So what do we say then?” Greg asked.
“Something along the lines of you had a lot of fun at the dance but he just wasn’t the one for you or something like that.” John suggested. Greg looked at Mycroft sadly.
“Then I would be lying.” He muttered, making Mycroft smile and blush. John and Sherlock exchanged disgusted glances, and for once John was happy he was on the floor.
“Are you still coming to the match?” John asked him.
“Of course, I can’t back out now.” Sherlock said with a smile.
“I’ll make sure to throw some flips in just to scare you.” John laughed.
“It doesn’t scare me unless I’m on the broom.” Sherlock pointed out.
“What if I’m about to fall off, dangling from one arm, would that scare you?”
“Yes, but it’s not like you’d do that on purpose.” Sherlock pointed out.
“You don’t know me.” John said teasingly. Sherlock smiled sadly.
“I’d really love to.” He muttered, so quietly that John doubted his own ears.
“How about we say I made the whole relationship up?” Greg suggested.
“Why would you do that?” John asked.
“Um, how about because Mycroft caught me out of bed late at night and I didn’t want to get in trouble.” Greg decided.
“That actually might work.” Sherlock agreed.
“Who’d think you’d be the one to make the master plan.” John laughed.
“That works for me, but it still makes me look weak.” Mycroft said with a frown.
“Oh come on, how could anyone resist me?” Greg said with a fake hair flip. John laughed, because he could name a couple billion, but Mycroft only smiled as if he had no idea.
“Sherlock, anything to add?” Mycroft asked.
“Nope, just make sure to pull it off.” Sherlock observed. Mycroft rolled his eyes at him.
“John?” Greg asked. John shook his head; the plan was good with him.
“So, how about some chess?” Greg said hopefully.
“You’re going down.” Mycroft decided. Greg smiled doubtfully, and ran up to the dorm to get his board. Until lunch there were three games, Greg vs. Mycroft, Mycroft won, Sherlock vs. John, and Sherlock won of course. The last game was going on to an hour and a half, Mycroft vs. Sherlock, the two smartest kids in the castle. Each of their moves took a good fifteen minutes to decide, and sometimes they just moved their pawn one space. Greg and John had settled with just talking about quidditch teams in the major league.
“Okay, really, how long does this take?” Greg asked as Sherlock was looking at the board with thought. Nothing had happened yet, no pieces taken, and neither side had moved.
“Shh.” Sherlock hissed. Greg rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair. John had moved up to the other armchairs, a big improvement from the stone.
“I think it’s time for lunch.” John decided.
“Just wait for this move!” Sherlock objected.
“You can come back to your little game, I’m hungry.” Greg objected. Sherlock moved his knight to overlap Mycroft’s bishop.
“Yes!” Sherlock said excitedly as his knight beat the bishop to pieces and cleared him off of the board. Mycroft scowled, as if losing one piece made all the difference.
“Food, now, please?” Greg asked, shaking Mycroft’s shoulders. That took bravery; Mycroft seemed to be the type to jinx people for simply saying his name.
“Fine! We’ll continue this later.” He said to Sherlock, getting to his feet where an impatient Greg was standing by the portrait hole.
“You’re just scared because you’re losing!” Sherlock teased, getting a death stare from Mycroft. John followed the three down to the Great Hall, which was almost filled already. That just proves how incredibly long (and boring) Sherlock and Mycroft’s game had been. Umbridge was at the Head Table, watching over the students with owl eyes, and once the four walked in she immediately looked to them. John noticed, but looked away almost immediately. It was obvious they were on her radar for rule breakers, she couldn’t ignore the facts, and liked to make new ones up, so all in all it was completely unfair.
“Umbridge alert.” John hissed, barely moving his lips so it didn’t look like he was talking.
“Okay, bye.” Greg said quickly to Mycroft, who did a great impression of crossing his arms and scowling at Greg. Sherlock didn’t even glance at John as he walked to the Ravenclaw table, finding his normal open space and propping open a book. John wondered why he even came down to the hall in the first place, he never ate anything.
“I am famished!” Greg exclaimed, stuffing his mouth with everything that wasn’t nailed to the table. John didn’t have much of an appetite, he was too nervous for the upcoming match, he saw the Slytherin Captain, Bob Franklin, sitting among his friends. He didn’t look like much, but he was tough, mean, and strong, and wasn’t afraid to knock anyone off of their brooms. John put down his fork and halfheartedly sipped his water.
“John you have to eat something!” Greg protested. John sighed, picking up a potato chip and eating it just for Greg’s sake.
“We don’t want our seeker falling off of his broom because he didn’t eat anything!” Greg pointed out.
“I can’t eat, I feel like I’ll throw up!” John defended. John was amazed that he wasn’t nearly as nervous as he was, John felt like he was shaking in his shoes. Greg had a much more nerve racking job too, John would’ve been already passing out if he was in his place. But Greg was good, the best keeper in the whole school, why should he be afraid?
“I’m going back to the common room.” John decided after realizing he had no reason to be here. He walked up to the common room, pressing against the wall as a huge pack of third year Hufflepuffs made their way down the steps. He walked into the common room and sat in the armchair, making sure to not do anything to their chess board, god knows he didn’t want them to start over. He stared into the fire, which was burning carelessly over the logs, not a care in the world. He wished he had no cares in the world, but in reality he was scared, confused, nervous, stressed out, and sad all at the same time. All the homework waiting for him upstairs, he’d have to do some tonight.
“John.” Sherlock said from in front of him. He had just entered the otherwise empty common room.
“Hey Sherlock.” John replied. Sherlock took the chair next to his, sitting up annoyingly strait.
“I’m willing to bet you’re nervous.” Sherlock said.
“Obviously.”
“Well don’t be, I’ve seen you play, even in practice you’re better than the whole Slytherin team combined.
“I doubt that.”
“Would I ever lie?”
“Yes.”
“Not to you.” Sherlock said softly. John looked at him, surprised with the sudden sentiment. Sherlock was looking at the ground now, afraid to meet John’s eyes.
“John I, well, I tried before, you wouldn’t know, at the hospital wing, I tried, but…”
“Sherlock I was so worried, why did you just leave?” Mycroft said annoyingly. John wanted to strangle him and throw him back out the portrait hole; Sherlock was just about to say something! Sherlock stopped what he was saying immediately, looking back in the fire innocently.
“Because I was done eating.” Sherlock said obviously, getting down from his chair to the floor where his chess pieces were lined up strategically.
“You didn’t mess anything up did you?” Mycroft asked suspiciously.
“Why would I do that, it’s more fun to beat you fair and square.” Sherlock said with a smile. Greg took Sherlock’s now empty chair, watching the two start to play again, or, as a better term, sit there and stare at the board for ten minutes at a time. John actually fell asleep, and maybe three hours later Sherlock’s triumphant screech woke him violently. Mycroft was scowling as his king was beat to pieces by Sherlock’s queen. Sherlock looked extremely happy with himself, like he had never beaten his brother at a game of chess. Like John, Greg was asleep in his armchair, but he had slept through Sherlock’s victory screech, which only proved how thrilling the game was to watch. 
“Greg wake up!” Mycroft said, shaking Greg’s foot. Greg woke with a small yelp, immediately kicking Mycroft’s face.
“Sorry! Oh god, sorry, I thought you were John, are you okay?” Greg asked in a small panic.
“I’m fine.” Mycroft assured, holding his nose so that he sounded like a duck. Sherlock laughed as Greg kept fussing over Mycroft’s nose, which was perfectly fine according to Mycroft.
“You’re happy now.” John observed.
“Ya, I haven’t beaten him in chess since god knows when, maybe never.” Sherlock said happily.
“That’s fascinating, but if I have to play or watch another chess game I’m leaving for Muggle School.” John decided. Sherlock looked at him with annoyance, because they both knew John would never leave Hogwarts for anything.
“So, anyone have anything interesting to do or talk about?” Greg asked, yawning.
“Umbridge?” Mycroft suggested.
“No, please, let’s not talk about that right now, the less we know the better, she could give us truth serum or something.” Greg pointed out. Sherlock looked mildly surprised at Greg’s level of caution.
“What do you think she’ll ask?” John asked.
“Isn’t it obvious, she’ll just ask if we’ve been in a relationship, if we still are, and if we’re planning on continuing.” Mycroft said obviously.
“And I’ll play it off as if I’m hiding something, and then I’ll blurt out that I was just using him and blah blah blah and I hope she’s stupider than she looks and is.” Greg said with annoyance.
“It could work, I guess.” John agreed. Secretly he highly doubted that would work, Umbridge probably has some wicked lie detector or something.
“That’s not true, by the way, if you were wondering.” Greg added cautiously. Mycroft smiled, obviously a little bit of weight lifted off of his shoulders.
“Well, you two love birds have fun then.” Sherlock teased.
“Oh you’re just jealous.” Mycroft hissed.
“I’m not jealous!” Sherlock replied, looking falsely offended.
“Why would he be jealous?” Greg asked quickly, looking at Sherlock with worry, as if Sherlock had some secret crush on him or something.
“Because little Sherlock can’t find a girlfriend.” Mycroft teased.
“I don’t want a girlfriend; they’re an annoying waste of time and focus!” Sherlock hissed.
“What about a boyfriend?” Greg asked, raising his eyebrows. John looked away, to his anger he felt his cheeks growing hot.
“Same goes for them too.” Sherlock said, but the confidence in his voice was wavering.
“We’ll see how those statements work out in two years then.” Mycroft sighed. Sherlock scowled at him.
“You’re only bitter because I beat you.” Sherlock pointed out, and got up from the floor to sit in the available armchair beside John’s. Now it was Mycroft’s turn to scowl.
“So, we’ve got an hour, what do you want to do?” Mycroft asked after a moment of silence. So, for an hour, John did homework at a table, Sherlock ‘read a book’ next to him but all he was really doing was correcting John’s problems, and Greg and Mycroft were planning the Umbridge visit by the fire, hand in hand of course. John found History of Magic essays five times more stressful when Sherlock was peeking over his book on potions to criticize him. In the end he could tell there were no answers wrong, and was positive Sherlock had done absolutely no reading. By the time he had shut his book on the table his stomach was growling and the sun was already going down. The daylight savings times were now in effect, and the moon was out a lot earlier than it had been before.
“Dinner?” Sherlock asked as soon as his book was shut. John looked at him with suspicion, wondering why Sherlock, all of the sudden, wanted to eat.
“Yes…” John said. Sherlock looked at him innocently, even braving a small smile.
“Alright then.” He agreed, getting up from his chair and walking to the portrait hole. John stayed in his seat, wondering what on earth had gotten into Sherlock and if he should be worried or not. Eventually he joined him at the portrait hole, waving goodbye to Greg and Mycroft and following Sherlock down the hall.