When he woke up he was one of the last ones still in bed, the other boys where all getting ready for the school day ahead. John groaned, not wanting to leave the comfort of his bed, but he crawled out anyway. He changed into his school robes and put his wand in his pocket, ready to start the first day. His school bag already had all of his necessary books in it, potions, defense against the dark arts, transfiguration, Herbology, charms, and history of magic. His quills and ink, along with parchment were in there too, all ready to be used. When John walked down the steps, he found Greg waiting for him near the portrait hole, already dressed and ready.
“I was just about to come up and get you.” He said as John approached.
“I’m tired.” John complained.
“Well get over it, we have a fun day of classes ahead of us.” Greg said with a sarcastic smile. John groaned, taking the schedule Greg held out for him. They had Charms first, then History of Magic, then lunch, Potions, and Transfiguration. John groaned, he was at least hoping for a Snape free day, but of course, no such luck. They walked down to the Great Hall yet again; John was already hungry for some breakfast. It was packed with students, the enchanted ceiling casting sunlight down as if it were glass.
“So, how was your first night back?” Greg asked, buttering a piece of toast.
“I slept like a rock.” John said truthfully, taking some eggs from a bowl in front of him.
“Same. Better hurry up though, classes are going to start soon.” Greg said. When they had finished, they just made it to the Charms classroom before Flitwick took attendance. They had this class with the Ravenclaws, which were nice people, although all of them were smart. John didn’t know many of them, but he could put a few names to faces.
“John Watson?” Flitwick read.
“Here!” He called as he sat down in an empty desk. Greg sat beside him, and there was another Ravenclaw he didn’t recognize on the other side of the aisle, sitting in a secluded desk and reading a book. The class was just refreshing their minds with all of the past spells they’ve done, levitating, banishing, summoning, and other little spells that came to John easily. The next class, History of Magic, wasn’t so entertaining, it was taught by Professor Binns, the only ghost professor and easily the most boring. His voice was dull, the class was dull, and there was nothing to it except listening and taking notes. John and Greg played a game of hangman on the side of their notes, and finally when it was time for lunch they made their way back down to the Great Hall. It was a nice day out, so they decided to take sandwiches out and eat outside, which was a popular choice to do before the snow came. The day was bright and warm, the sun beating down on the green grass and reflecting off of the clear lake. They sat under one of the trees, finishing up their sandwiches without much talking.
“Look who it is.” Greg pointed out. John followed his gaze to a pack of Ravenclaw girls, and in their midst was Mary, her blonde hair radiant against the sunlight. John watched as she talked and laughed with her gang of friends, all Ravenclaws in seventh year.
“Go for it man, come on!” Greg insisted. John frowned at him; it was only the first day. He watched her for a little while, but she and her friends disappeared from their view. There now weren’t many students on the grounds, John could see a lone boy walking down the lawn in a determined sort of way. He watched him, and, to his horror, could see that he was walking strait for the Whomping Willow, the demon tree that could actually kill you. It was alive, but didn’t appear to be until you walked under it and got whipped by one of its many branches, a couple of years back someone lost an eye because of a bet they had with their friends.
“Look at that guy!” John said, getting up immediately.
“What?” Greg asked, watching the same student make his way down the grass.
“He’s headed for the Whomping Willow!” John pointed out.
“So what, he’ll be fine.” Greg said with boredom.
“HEY!” John called, but the student didn’t hear him. He was getting dangerously close now; he could be oblivious to the tree’s destructive power, he could get killed. “HEY, STOP!” John called again, louder this time. It had no effect. The boy was now too close, a couple more steps and he’d be in range. John ran now, leaving Greg behind, who was calling him back. The boy walked right under the branches, which whipped out, lashing him across the face, when John pulled him back, wrapping his arms around him from behind and pulling him out of the way as quickly as possible. They fell back onto the grass, and John, as quickly as possible, regained his footing and stood up. Greg was running towards them, as was another figure John didn’t recognize. The boy got up also, John now recognized him as the Ravenclaw that had sat across from him in Charms. There was a gash on his cheek that was now bleeding heavily, but he paid it now attention.
“Are you okay?” John asked. The boy scowled.
“I don’t need help from a mudblood like you.” He spat, looking furious. John stared at him, wondering why he deserved this type of treatment from saving his life.
“I didn’t have to save you, you know.” John said back.
“I didn’t need saving.” He said with a tone that made John immediately dislike him. He had curly dark hair and a pale face, with very sharp visible cheek bones.
“Sherlock Holmes what on Earth happened!” the other figure caught up to the two, making the boy’s scowl deepen. Greg appeared at John’s side also, breathing heavy from the sprint.
“Nothing happened.” Sherlock lied. The boy, who had brown hair and a pointed face, had a look of power to him, which would explain the gleaming Head Boy badge displayed on his robes.
“The Whomping Willow, are you crazy?” he asked, turning Sherlock to look at the cut on his cheek. Sherlock pushed him away with disgust.
“Mycroft I’m fine!” he insisted. Mycroft just seemed to realize John and Greg were there, turning to them in surprise. His eyes wandered from John to Greg, lingering on Greg for a moment.
“And who might you two be?” he asked with a bit more politeness than Sherlock. He sounded a bit annoyed, like they were in the way of his family issues. Sherlock was obviously his younger brother.
“John Watson.” John introduced.
“Greg Lestrade.” Greg said. The Head Boy, who must have been Mycroft, extended a hand towards Greg, who shook it with a bit of confusion. John was expecting a hand shake too, since he was the one that actually saved Sherlock, but it never came.
“What happened?” he asked, more to Greg than John. Mycroft seemed to notice Greg more.
“I saw him walk down here, so I pulled him back, it wasn’t anything really.” John said.
“I didn’t say it was something. But I suppose I should thank you.” Mycroft said. John looked at him, expecting something more appreciative than that. These two seemed a bit odd.
“You’re welcome, I guess.” John decided. Sherlock looked at John with a bit of confusion, as if wondering why he hadn’t left yet.
“Well, I guess we should be going, good morning.” Mycroft decided. He steered Sherlock away, saying something to him in a quiet tone. John and Greg stood there, watching the two walk away from them.
“What in the world?” Greg asked finally.
“They weren’t very nice were they?” John asked. Greg shrugged.
“Well, that Sherlock kid wasn’t.” he said.
“What was he thinking, walking to the Whomping Willow?”
“He didn’t look like the type to have much common sense.” Greg said. John laughed a little bit, but he couldn’t help thinking about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been there. That Sherlock kid could’ve died, and Mycroft didn’t seem to give it another thought.
“We’ll be late, let’s go.” Greg decided. John definitely didn’t want to be late for potions, especially on the first day, so he and Greg retrieved their school bags from under the tree and walked quickly up to the castle.

                “Late again Watson, when will it get into your head that classes are mandatory?” Snape said slowly as John and Greg sat in the back of the class. They weren’t even late; Snape was just closing the door when they arrived.
“Sorry sir, it won’t happen again.” John said, but he knew he couldn’t keep that promise.
“Don’t lie to me, five points from Gryffindor.” Snape hissed. John opened his mouth to protest, but Greg kicked his foot under the desk. Jim Moriarty, the head Slytherin bully, laughed quietly, unheard by Snape. They made a boil reducing potion in class, which wasn’t very difficult, which was a shock because Snape loved to make sure they had a very difficult lesson for the first day of class. John and Greg actually made an okay potion, it had the right color and density, and when Snape came around to test the potions he actually didn’t say anything, only scowled at the cauldron, disappointed there was nothing to insult. After potions they went to Transfiguration, where they were going over the basics again just to start off the year. John was able to transfigure his toad into a change purse easily; transfiguration was always one of his strong points. They went down to dinner, John’s stomach was growling because he had only had a sandwich for lunch. The Great Hall was already filled when they got there, filled with students eating and drinking happily. John and Greg sat together and started to load their plates with food, talking about how much they’d love to strangle Snape until his greasy hair turned white when John realized there was a pair of green eyes watching him from across the room. Sherlock was sitting there, no one sitting next to him, his plate empty and his hands under his chin. From where John was sitting he could see a small mark on his cheek from where the Whomping Willow had hit him. He avoided eye contact, afraid he would come over and start insulting him again, calling him a mudblood and other hurtful names. John wondered how he would even know that he was a mudblood, John rarely told anyone, and he certainly had never even noticed Sherlock until today. There was something different about him, he could tell that already.
“John, are you even listening to me?” Greg asked. John blinked, looking away from Sherlock.
“Sorry, what?” John asked.
“Obviously not, what’s wrong?” Greg asked.
“Nothing’s wrong, it’s just, Sherlock is watching me.” John said. Greg looked around.
“Where?” he asked.
“Don’t look, he’s at the Ravenclaw table, no one around him.” John said, making sure not to look at him again. Greg ignored his instructions on not to look, scanning the room to find Sherlock.
“Oh, found him, ya, he’s watching you, that’s creepy.” Greg decided.
“What do you think he wants?” John asked.
“Nothing probably, just wants to be creepy.” Greg decided. John tried to smile, but it was creepy, being watched by someone you don’t even know. That night, John and Greg decided to get their brooms and get some practicing in for quidditch. Greg was the keeper and John was the seeker on the Gryffindor quidditch team, but it wasn’t a definite, they still had to work for it. When they retrieved their brooms from the dorms and walked outside, John couldn’t help feeling excited. Flying was what he lived for, there was no better feeling than being airborne, zipping around the grounds, on top of all of his problems, in the air were even Snape couldn’t get him. The air was cool now; the sun was going down, removing some of the heat. The grounds were bathed in orange light, making the lake look like it was on fire. John and Greg walked down to the quidditch pitch; Greg had brought his quaffle along so they could shoot a little bit. John wasn’t bad at shooting at the hoops, but it wasn’t his specialty, seeker was what he was made for. He could spot the snitch from the other side of the pitch, and had the accuracy and speed to get to it before anyone else. Greg, on the other hand, was a very good chaser, but he was a lot better at being a keeper than anything, barely any of the shots got in when he was on the job. When they got into the pitch though, they saw, to both of their surprise, that it wasn’t empty. There was a lone figure sitting in the stands, seemingly working on homework already, reading out of an open book and writing things down. It was hard to tell who it was, except John saw a shiny pin gleaming on their chest, and he hadn’t seen any badge shinier than the one gleaming on Mycroft’s robes.
“We’ve got company.” John warned, but Greg had already seen him.
“Royalty.” Greg joked.
“Obviously.” John laughed. Head Boys and Girls always think they are so great, but everyone else just sees them as teacher’s pets.
“Well, I guess he gets to witness our amazing flying then.” John shrugged, walking to the middle of the pitch.
“I hope Sherlock isn’t here.” Greg muttered, walking over to catch up. John mounted his broom and kicked off, flying into the air and feeling all of his problems rush away, left on the ground as he flew higher and higher on his Nimbus 2000. Sherlock, to both of their reliefs, was nowhere to be found, and John didn’t pay Mycroft any attention. Whether or not the Head Boy was aware of their presence was beyond him. Greg flew by his side, they did a couple of warm up laps around the pitch, weaving in and out of the stadiums, feeling the wind fly through his hair was the best feeling John could ever imagine.
“You want to shoot and I’ll block?” Greg offered. He had to yell loudly to be heard in the rushing of the wind, but John got his message, gave him thumbs up, and caught the quaffle that was now flying towards him. Greg had flown to the goal posts, leaving John to put on a burst of speed and swooped in, flying close to the right goal post but sent it flying into the middle one. Greg looked fazed for a moment, but he managed to hit the quaffle to the other side of the field by simply whacking it with the end of his broom.
“YOU’RE LUCKY LESTRADE!” John called as he shot towards the descending quaffle, now falling to the ground at high speed. Luckily though, John was a seeker, and he knew all of the angles and velocity and was able to catch it not far from the ground, storing it under his arm and flying back to the goal posts. They shot on goal for a while, but John only managed to make a couple of goals, all others seemed like miracle saves by Greg , who could somehow whack the quaffle out of the air form the other end of the goal posts. As the sun went down though, they became more and more tired, and the shots on goal were getting less and less complex. Finally they decided to call it quits, landing their brooms on the pitch, sweaty and winded, their hair and robes all messed up. John gave Greg a high five; he had honestly missed all of this, the quidditch, the flying, the friendly competition. John threw the quaffle at Greg one more time, who caught it effortlessly.
“You’re going to have to try harder than that.” he laughed. John noticed a light glowing on the stands, and looked up to see Mycroft had lit a light in what, from here, appeared to be a jam jar. There seemed to be flickering blue lights lighting up his work space, but he was also packing up his books and quills, stowing them in his bag.
“Let’s split before he comes.” John decided, but Greg seemed to be taking his time walking out of the stands, pretending to be ‘enjoying the night’. Meanwhile Mycroft was gaining on them, and just when John was about to suggest they fly over, they heard him call their names, well, one of theirs.
“Greg!” Mycroft called. John groaned silently, but Greg turned, as if he had been waiting for that call.
“Hey, Mycroft right?” he said. John was silently cursing him for letting Mycroft think that they wanted to talk to him.
“Pretty nice flying, both of you, I could never dream of that.” Mycroft joked. John smiled, but it was very fake, he just wanted the Head Boy to go away, he had had enough rules and rudeness for one day.
“Well, quidditch isn’t for everyone.” Greg shrugged. John noticed, to his confusion and disgust, that Greg was blushing a little bit, maybe he was just red from the wind, or from the exercise. That had to be it.
“But it is fun to watch.” Mycroft pointed out. Was he blushing too? John hated his life at the moment.
“Is your brother okay? At least, I assume he’s your brother.” Greg asked, fidgeting with the quaffle a bit.
“He’s fine, he’s always looking for a thrill, claims the regular life in Hogwarts was dull, it takes all of my power to keep him out of the Dark Forest, and I’ve got Hagrid on watch.” Mycroft said with a shy smile. “I don’t think I thanked you two properly, Sherlock had kind of rushed me, but I very much appreciate it, he could’ve gotten severely hurt if you didn’t pull him back.” Mycroft said, as if just noticing John was standing there too.
“It was nothing really.” Greg said, his face getting even redder. John didn’t want to point out that Greg was the one that just stood there and tried to stop John from helping him, claiming he’d be alright. John glared at Greg, but he wasn’t looking, at the moment John didn’t even care if Mycroft noticed.
“How was your first day back?” Mycroft asked.
“It was-“ Greg started.
“Great, you know, Snape taking points from Gryffindor and Professor Binns talking and talking, what’s not to love?” John asked, annoyed and done with this. Greg and Mycroft looked at him with surprise, and he could swear Greg looked mad at him, but John didn’t care at the moment, this was rubbish.
“If you need me, I’ll be at the common room.” John decided, and with that he trudged up the dark grounds, broomstick in hand and his stomach disturbed by the little flirt fest going on down there. He was wrong, right? Greg would have no interest in Mycroft, not for a stuck up, perfect mark, shiny badge head boy. And, to top it off, John was 101% sure Greg wasn’t gay, he’s had all of these ridiculous crushes, and a couple of girlfriends too. John walked up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room, hoping to god he didn’t run into Sherlock or he’d just use his broom and start flying to the common room just to avoid his attitude. He told the Fat Lady the password and sat in an armchair by the fire, cursing Mycroft for being so bloody annoying.

                By the time Greg got back, John would’ve been in bed if he wasn’t sitting up waiting for him. He climbed through the portrait hole with his broom and quaffle, but he seemed happier than usual.
“So, how was it?” John asked. Greg came over to sit in the armchair next to John’s.
“We talked for a while, and then it got late so we both went to our common rooms.” Greg said simply. John glared at him. Greg looked confused.
“Sorry, is there anything wrong with that?” Greg asked. John took a moment to think if there was something wrong, oh yes, all of it.
“No, it’s just I thought we both disliked those two strongly and if I was seeing correctly I’d say you were blushing.” John pointed out.
“I wasn’t blushing! Your cheeks get red when you exercise for an hour or two.” Greg pointed out.
“I just never knew you were into stuck up brats.” John sighed, looking into the fire with an ‘oh well’ expression.
“In to him? I am not into him; he’s just interesting to talk to!” Greg defended. John shrugged. “I’m going to bed.” he decided, scowling at John as he walked up to the dormitories. John waited a little bit, cursing Mycroft and wanting to throw things, kick the fire that was burning so cheerfully, stun Mycroft, stun Greg, and stun Sherlock and the bloody Whomping Willow that brought all of them together. He got to his feet angrily and went up to the dorms. The curtains around Greg’s four poster were drawn shut, looking as if it was rather aggressive. John changed into his pajamas and flopped into his bed, pulling the curtains around him too, just to show that even if Greg woke up thinking they were friends, that he was wrong. John didn’t fall asleep easily, he couldn’t help thinking that Harry was right, what if Greg did prefer Mycroft over John, who did John have other than Greg? This was worse than injured; this was teenage love, breaking all friendships, ever.