When Umbridge finally let them leave, John’s hand was bleeding badly, something he considered to be child abuse. He didn’t want to report it to Dumbledore though; he didn’t want to sound like a baby. Sherlock walked right beside him, and as soon as they were a reasonable distance away from the office and the horrors it contained, they stopped to investigate their wounds. 
“What on earth was that?” John demanded, trying to stop the bleeding from his hand by wrapping his sleeve around it.
“It’s abuse, that’s what it is, Dumbledore will not approve.” Sherlock decided. John looked at his hand to see that it was bleeding equally, but out of much neater, cursive cuts.
“You have nice hand writing.” John observed. Sherlock took John’s hand without warning that sent a kind of shiver down John’s arm that he hadn’t felt before. Sherlock studied the marks on the back of his hand, frowning.
“Yours is deeper, how come?” he asked.
“I guess I press harder on the quill.” John shrugged the only logical explanation he had. They had written more or less the same amount of sentences. Sherlock held his wand up to John’s hand, took a deep breath, as if afraid he would mess up, and muttered a spell under his breath. Yellow light erupted from the wand, wrapping around John’s hand and the bleeding stopped immediately.
“There we go.” Sherlock said, his cold hand releasing John’s.
“What did you do?” John asked in amazement as Sherlock did the same thing to his own hand.
“A little trick I learned from a medical book I read a couple of years ago.” Sherlock said simply.
“Why were you reading medical books?” John asked.
“Why not?” Sherlock shrugged.
“I guess I’m not going to get in trouble with Umbridge if I can help it.” John decided.
“Sometimes it’s unavoidable, but yes, I think I’d take Filtch before her.” Sherlock decided.
“I assume they work together with that, Filtch was always one wanting to bring back torture as punishment, I heard he had shackles built in his office to hang kids by their toes.” John said.
“I doubt that’s true.” Sherlock decided.
“I don’t want to find out.” John said with a small smile. Sherlock smiled back, and John could say that his real smile was a lot different than the sarcastic smile he flashed at everyone when he corrected them or made a smart remark. This one was genuine, it was sweet, but his eyes didn’t match up. His eyes showed anger, pain, sadness, more negative emotions than John could have put up with.
“Sherlock, why were you in the Forbidden Forrest anyway?” John asked. Sherlock’s smile disappeared.
“That’s none of your business.” He said quickly.
“It could be.”
“It really couldn’t.” Sherlock decided.
“I know it’s personal, and you might want to keep it to yourself, but this isn’t the kind of thing you go through with someone and come out as alone as you were before, I’m here for you.” John said before he could stop himself. But really, he found that he did care about Sherlock’s wellbeing, he didn’t deserve whatever bad treatment he was getting from people. Sherlock got a little bit red in the face, looking at the floor and mumbling something that John couldn’t understand. John found that adorable. Wait, why did he find that adorable, no that was not cute, definitely not cute.
“Sorry?” John asked.
“Um, thank you, but maybe I’ll tell you other time okay?” Sherlock said.
“Ya, that’s fine, definitely.” John agreed, not wanting to pressure Sherlock into telling him he didn’t feel comfortable with sharing. There was an awkward silence for a little, both of them collecting their thoughts for a moment.
“So what do you know about my idiot brother and your friend?” Sherlock asked.
“Well, you know as much as I do, he actually admitted, that, um, happened, but I didn’t tell him I already knew.” John admitted.
“I’m guessing you were watching them weren’t you?” Sherlock asked with a bit of an awkward smile.
“I’m guessing the same goes for you.” John pointed out.
“Fair enough.” Sherlock decided.
“Do you actually think they’ll get together?” John asked.
“Didn’t they already?” Sherlock asked.
“No, like actually go on a date.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I honestly had no idea about Mycroft being gay.” Sherlock admitted. John could feel his face getting hot even though he had no reason to.
“Ya, Greg too.”
“Well, I guess if they actually like each other, it’s enough to change someone.” Sherlock shrugged. Now John could feel the conversation slipping from casual to way too awkward, especially when they were standing kind of close. It wasn’t like John had any interest in Sherlock; it was just an awkward topic with for any two people really.
“So, I guess we should get to our common rooms then, I don’t want to go through yet another detention again.” John decided. Sherlock didn’t look too disappointed, but John could sense a hint of it in his face.
“Yes, I guess so; I don’t think my hand would like having more engravings.” Sherlock decided with a small smile.
“See you tomorrow then, I don’t know what classes we’ve got yet, but I can imagine we’ve got some together.” John said.
“See you later.” Sherlock agreed. John gave him one last smile and turned to walk back to the portrait hole which was the opposite direction of the Ravenclaw door, whatever it was, John didn’t even know. He didn’t hear footsteps behind him, and could just feel Sherlock’s sad eyes on the back of his head, watching him walk down the hall. It was a relief to turn a corner. When John got back to the common room Greg was sitting in a chair in front of the fire, reading a book. That was definitely an odd sight, he hadn’t seen Greg read in a while.
“So how’d it go then?” Greg asked.
“You have no idea what I just went through.” John groaned.
“What did she make you do?” Greg asked. John looked around to make sure no one was watching, then showed Greg the back of his hand, which, although it had stopped bleeding, hadn’t been washed off since the old blood.
“Oh my god, what the heck happened?” Greg exclaimed, standing up from the chair and letting the book fall to the floor.
“Some sort of quill I guess, it used my blood to write and carved whatever I wrote into my hand.”
“That is sick! Dumbledore has to hear about this, that’s just not right.” Greg decided.
“No, I can’t tell Dumbledore, Umbridge has really close ties to the ministry, I doubt there is anything Dumbledore can do, and even so it’s nothing to fuss about.” John decided, even though he was lying to himself. He didn’t want to look like a baby in front of Dumbledore, complaining about a quill hurting him, it was purely childish.
“You should probably go wrap that up.” Greg decided.
“Sherlock did some sort of spell to stop the bleeding, I don’t know how safe it is, but so far it’s working.” John said.
“Then at least wash it off, it looks like you murdered someone.” Greg decided. John nodded and headed to one of the bathrooms, washing the wound out with water. The message was disturbingly accurate, it was his hand writing, definitely, it was almost like he had written with a blade. John wondered if what Umbridge was doing was even legal, which he doubted. John looked at himself in the grimy mirror; he looked older, a lot older than the last time he actually paid attention to his reflection. A new year meant new challenges obviously, and so far sixth year had been a lot more difficult than all of the other years. With the homework count and the drama going on, plus Umbridge of course, John would have a bit of difficulty keeping up. He went back out to the common room, told Greg good night although it was still early, and went up to the dorms. He changed into his pajamas and climbed into his bed, sitting against the head board and reading Quidditch Through the Ages for the millionth time. The words simply mixed around as his thoughts wondered to topics other than the 1746 Quidditch World Champions (England yet again), but to the events of the night. Other than the cuts, he thought to that sudden, random thought that Sherlock acting shy was adorable. What on earth led him to think that, Sherlock wasn’t adorable, he was the school loser that scowled and didn’t talk to anyone, that’s how John knew him before anyway. In fact he barely knew Sherlock existed until the Whomping Willow incident. Sherlock seemed shocked though, at John saying that he was there for him, like he wasn’t used to people standing up for him or caring about him. It was a real shame too, because even though John didn’t know him too well yet, he could see that Sherlock had a good heart, but a lot of internal sadness. Joh could imagine how Sherlock could be the target of bullies, he kind of remembers an incident last year when a pack of Slytherins had ganged up on a Ravenclaw, but John couldn’t see much and he didn’t want to get involved. Now he would be willing to bet that Ravenclaw had been Sherlock. He made a silent vow to himself to stand up for Sherlock if the bullying happened again, this time John would be there to defend him.

                When breakfast came John’s hand had somewhat healed, it had stopped bleeding, though John didn’t know if that was still the spell working or not. Sherlock’s spell kind of made him nervous that there might not be any blood flow in his hand ever again, but so far it wasn’t purple or anything. He and Greg walked down to the Great Hall along with a small mob of first years, who were chatting and laughing and pushing each other into walls as if it was some hilarious joke. The pictures were scolding them, telling them to keep walking and not to go banging on their frames so early. That scared the first years enough to make them walk in a straight line, much appreciated by John and Greg. When they got down to the Hall, students already filled it, and the post was coming in, adding owl screeches and wings flapping to usual noise of the students. They sat at their usual place and started picking off food from the platters.
“So, how is your hand?” Greg asked. John held it out for him to see.
“Nothing different.” He said.
“I should get one of those for reminders and stuff, like, you feel pain every time you move and you flip over to look and you have to get milk, it just works.” Greg shrugged, pouring syrup on some pancakes.
“I don’t really think that’s worth it, they’ve got milk here anyway.” John pointed out, making Greg roll his eyes. John searched the hall for Sherlock, who he found, and as usual he was staring right back. John sighed, it was still very creepy, but at least he knew who he was.
“So what happened with you and Mycroft?” John asked.
“Oh, well, I asked, and he said it would be great if we made it official.” Greg said with a smile that John had never seen before on him. He looked like that was the greatest thing he could ever imagine, like his future was figured out.
“That’s amazing Greg, when’s the wedding?” John joked. Greg looked surprised and a bit scared, but then he laughed along with Greg, muttering about how that wouldn’t happen any time soon.
“What about you know who?” Greg asked. John’s eyes darted to the Ravenclaw table, where it was impossible to miss the blonde shine of Mary’s gorgeous hair.
“I don’t know, I’m still really nervous, I don’t know if she even likes me.” John said with a frown.
“Oh come on, how could she not like you, you two would look perfect together!” Greg pointed out. John smiled thankfully, but there really wasn’t anything too it, he was way too nervous to even go up to say hi, let alone ask her out. She’d say no anyway.
“Well, maybe you can find your Mycroft.” Greg shrugged.
“You mean find a dude?” John asked with a little bit of surprise.
“Hey, he opened me up to thinking that soul mates lay beyond girls.” Greg shrugged.
“Soul mates?” John asked with a smile.
“In general, not me and Mycroft.” Greg said quickly, his cheeks quickly reddening.
“Soul mates, that’s adorable.” John laughed. He ate his waffles slowly, trying not to wince when the engraving on the back of his hand sent a sharp pain up his arm. When he was done he checked the schedule, they had Charms next, so that meant Sherlock. After the last couple of days, John wasn’t quite sure if this was a good or bad thing. Sherlock was annoying, of course he was, but their relationship had definitely changed. When they headed from the hall to the classroom, their bags slung over their shoulders, the halls were packed with students scrambling to get to class on time, which wasn’t a big worry for them since they already had their bags. The classroom was just starting to fill up, John didn’t recognize any faces in the crowd, so he and Greg took seats in the back, talking about quidditch tryouts and promising up comers.
“Is this seat taken?” asked a nervous voice above him. John looked up to see Sherlock standing hopefully next to the desk on the other side of John.
“All yours.” John said with a smile. Sherlock returned the smile and dropped his bag under the desk, sitting in the chair next to John. He sat very stiffly, like if he slouched only a bit John would kick him out and send him to sit somewhere else. Of course John would never do that.
“How’s your hand doing?” John asked. Sherlock showed him and John was amazed to see that Sherlock’s cuts were no more than scars in his cursive writing.
“What did you do?” John asked with amazement.
“I looked back to that book I was talking about, and I found a spell that healed small wounds like this.” Sherlock explained.
“That’s amazing, can you do it now?” John asked, holding out his hands. Just as Sherlock was about to answer Flitwick started to talk, so they had to put their wands down and be quiet.
“Meet me after dinner by the Great Hall.” Sherlock muttered under his breath. Even so, Flitwick turned to look at them with a disappointed frown. Even though Flitwick wasn’t very mean, it wasn’t a good idea to break one of his few rules. They spent the time using switching spells, switching different colored cushions from one place to the other. Once John had gotten the hang of it he could tell the spell would be a useful prank spell to use. Sherlock on the other hand had switched almost all of the cushions in the room, and when John went to switch one, he found that he was simply waving a quill around in the air and his wand was sitting on the desk. He looked for the culprit to see Sherlock laughing silently to himself, watched John’s obliviousness. He tried to be mad at him, but there wasn’t any damage done and his laugh was sweet enough to remove all negative feelings from John’s mind.

                When all of the classes were over, John was about done with the cuts on his hand. Snape had commented on them, and when he had answered truthfully, Snape took five points from Gryffindor for suggesting a teacher would do that. John kind of regretted telling him, not because of the points but because he was sure Snape would try to ask Umbridge to borrow a quill for his own means of student torture. Once dinner was over, he said goodbye to Greg and made his way to the Entrance Hall, where, as promised, Sherlock was waiting for him, leaning against the wall, flicking his wand at the stone gargoyles, switching their eyes and ears and noses so they looked like some abstract art project.
“Hey.” John muttered after a Gargoyle sprouted a sentence full of nasty words. Even though the talking was coming from where it’s eye should be, Peeves would approve of the language.
“Oh, John, hello, and you shut up!” Sherlock hissed back at the gargoyles. John smiled, getting out his own wand and doing his best to return the stone statues to their normal state.
“So, the spell?” John asked.
“Well, I sort of stole the book from the Restricted Section,” Sherlock paused; a group of students had just entered the Great Hall so he has to stop talking. “So I don’t think we should do it here, maybe somewhere someone like Umbridge won’t pass us.” Sherlock suggested. John thought for a moment, thinking of anywhere a teacher or student wouldn’t likely pass.
“Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom?” John suggested.
“No, she annoys the heck out of me, sobbing about her life and blaming it on everyone else.” Sherlock complained.
“Not to bring up the Forbidden Forest or anything, but you weren’t exactly having a tea party were you?” John pointed out. Sherlock glared at him, and John knew he had pushed it too far.
“Maybe just outside, near the walls.” Sherlock suggested. John looked outside the doors, and it was still plenty light out, so he nodded his approval. They walked out together, Sherlock looking over his shoulder as if they were going to be followed by Snape. John found a small crevice between two towers where they wouldn’t be found, and he had to admit, it felt a little bit awkward sneaking off into a secluded area with Sherlock, especially when the sun was going to set soon.
“Okay, give me your hand.” Sherlock instructed. John did as he was told, letting Sherlock’s cold hand hold his own so that the scars were visible. A tingle went down John’s arm, filling his body with warmth, not something he could explain, maybe it was because his hands were so cold, yet soft.
“Just relax.” Sherlock advised. John looked at him with confusion, but then realized he had tensed up every muscle with Sherlock’s touch. He willed himself to relax, telling himself that there was nothing wrong. Sherlock held up his wand to John’s hand, slightly pressing the tip to the cuts. He muttered a spell under his breath, a spell that obviously took a while to cast since his lips didn’t stop moving for a while. John couldn’t make out anything he was saying, all in very soft Latin, but eventually there was a bluish glow from the wand, engulfing his hand in a sort of shell. Sherlock’s hand was still under his hand, but John’s was hovering just above his palm. Warmth spread through him, his hand tingling a bit, and then it started to feel like it was burning, like invisible flames were cooking underneath. He cried out with pain, gripping Sherlock’s shoulder, the first thing he could find.
“Just relax, it’s working.” Sherlock assured. John seriously doubted there was this much pain in a healing process, but he did his best to ignore the pain, screwing his face up in agony. And then it was done, there was no pain, and the blue light evaporated. John steadied his breathing, holding up his hand to examine it. What once were cuts were now barely scars, red lines on his skin, and there was no pain at all. There was no evidence of any burning, even though it had definitely felt that way.
“That’s amazing!” John exclaimed. Sherlock smiled shyly, tucking his wand back into his robes. John looked at him, wondering how on Earth he was able to conjure such amazing magic. Sherlock was smiling at John like he was a cute baby that he had just shown a new trick. His eyes sparkled with amusement and his Cupid’s bow lips curved ever so slightly up, as if he was too modest of his magic. John realized in a moment that he was staring, and that his hand was still on Sherlock’s shoulder, making him use Sherlock as a stabilizer. He cleared his throat, removing his hand and regaining his balance, tearing his eyes away from Sherlock’s shockingly green ones.
“That really is amazing though.” John pointed out.
“It’s just a spell, anyone could do it.” Sherlock shrugged.
“You’re too modest Sherlock, I saw that incantation, it was almost a whole sentence, I couldn’t do that if I tried.”
“You’re a great wizard John, you could do that easily.” Sherlock said.
“I didn’t even notice when my wand had turned to a quill, I’m nothing special.” John defended. Sherlock laughed silently.
“That was really funny.” He pointed out.
“I’m glad you found it so amusing.” John said, pretending to be cross with him. Sherlock’s smile faded immediately, and in the dim light he did look generally worried, like he messed up big time.
“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean you were funny, just the incident, that’s all, please.” Sherlock said quickly. John looked into his eyes once and realized that it was a horrible decision to pretend to be mad at him. Sherlock was obviously used to people being mad at him, losing people he was close to because he couldn’t control himself.
“I’m not mad, I was kidding, don’t worry.” John pointed out.
“Oh, okay.” Sherlock said, but he didn’t look convinced. The sun was dipping down a lot now, now the light was orange over the horizon, it was about to go down any moment now. John smiled at him reassuringly.  Then he felt a drop of water on his head, and, looking up, saw that the sky was filled with dark clouds, all of which were starting to dump water on them, raindrop after raindrop. Sherlock simply waved his wand and John saw water drops bouncing against an invisible shield, protecting them from the now down pour.
“We should get back to the castle, I don’t know what time it is and I am not going to get another detention from Umbridge.” John decided. Sherlock agreed and the two walked back together, huddled near Sherlock’s wand, which was producing the shield from the rain. When they got into the Entrance Hall they were relieved to see students still wandering around the halls, going in and out of the Great Hall.
“Want to come to the common room?” John asked. Sherlock looked at him with surprise, studying his face to see if it was some type of joke, but John was dead serious.
“Sure.” Sherlock said with a smile. His curls were slightly wet from the rain before the shield, and a piece hung low with the unfamiliar weight, slightly dangling over one of his eyes. John didn’t know why that made his heart beat just a little bit faster.