The Fat Lady let John in and he sank into an arm chair, his heart still pounding. That had been the best kiss he had ever had, and Sherlock didn’t do anything. John wondered what he had started, eternal awkwardness or Sherlock getting very clingy. John sighed, going over what had happened in his head. He was willing to bet that Sherlock wasn’t nearly as scared when facing the spiders, but one kiss and he looked like he was about to cry. Greg wasn’t back yet, and John wondered what on Earth was happening in Umbridge’s office. But how could he ever keep this secret from Greg, the one person that had foreseen it long before John would ever imagine that Sherlock and he would have kissed.  But it was for the best, Greg might be in and out of Umbridge’s office, and who knows what she was giving him to tell the truth, the less he knew the better. The whole concept of kissing another guy, John thought it would’ve scarred him for life, but in fact it was a whole lot better than kissing all of the girls he’s dated combined. He could only imagine Sherlock sitting on his bed in the Ravenclaw common room, huddled in a ball with the curtains drawn and a huge smile on his face. The thought made John strangely happy, though he had no idea why.
“Hey John!” Greg’s happy voice snapped him out of his mind.
“How’d it go, are you off the hook?” John asked immediately.
“She believed me, she’s so stupid!” Greg exclaimed, laughing.
“What did she do?”
“Well, she just took us in that awful office and then just asked us about our relationship, it wasn’t that intense.” Greg shrugged. “What about you, what did I miss?”
“I just, you know, hung out with Sherlock.”
“And…”
“Nothing, we just talked, but not much, he was very quiet.” John shrugged. Greg nodded, crashing into another armchair and sticking his feet out.
“Ready for tomorrow?” Greg asked. John groaned, through all of the excitement he had completely forgotten about the quidditch match the next day.
“I completely forgot! Ugh.” John said.
“How did you forget, you’ve been worrying all week!” Greg pointed out.
“I was just worried about you and Umbridge I guess.” John shrugged.
“Well, I’m touched that you were worried.” Greg joked.
“Now you’ve got me worried, thanks for reminding me.” John groaned. Greg raised his hands defensively.
“What time is it?” Greg asked. John looked for a clock, but there wasn’t one, so he just shrugged.
“I’m tired, it’s been a long day, I’m just going to bed.” John decided.
“It could only be seven o’clock!” Greg pointed out.
“But,” John faked a yawn, “I’m tired.” Greg looked unconvinced, but he just shrugged, and John bolted from the chair, telling Greg good night and disappearing behind the curtains. He still felt like he was vibrating, his heart on full speed. He wanted to be back in that room on the sixth floor, with Sherlock, in the moonlight, it had perfect. But John seriously doubted it would go far, Sherlock seemed the type to be absolutely terrified of anything other than friendship. But his guess had been right, Sherlock had liked him, ever since John had ran him over by the Whomping Willow. John wished he had just kissed him before, at the dance, where he could’ve felt this amazing for a lot longer. But he wondered if Sherlock would go through with it again, even though he had said it was the best moments of his life, wonder if he was scared, wonder if he stuck to his old ways? John had no idea what that made them, boyfriends? Friends who kiss? John didn’t know which one he’d rather, the whole idea of them being boyfriends could get them both expelled, but he thought it was worth it. Sherlock was perfect, and he was his. John wondered how Sherlock was taking this, and wondering more if Mycroft was able to figure out what had happened to his little brother. John smiled to himself, imagining Mycroft’s face if he found out.
“John, are you asleep?” Greg whispered.
“No.” John answered in a normal voice.
“Okay.” Greg agreed. There was silence.
“Why?” John asked, annoyed.
“I don’t know, I was wondering.” Greg shrugged. John groaned, sometimes Greg’s common sense was really lacking. John heard him change into his pajamas and climb into his own bed, and the light went out.
“Good night.” Greg muttered.
“Good night.” John agreed.

                That morning Umbridge looked especially sour, and John could only guess it was because her one big lead had been scrap. To be honest John really thought the whole idea of banning these relationships was pathetic. Funding could go towards teachers that actually let magic in their classroom, or pens and pencils instead of quills, but no, we had to ban the happiness of children. Sherlock didn’t make eye contact with John when he entered, but John knew he was watching him when he wasn’t looking. John had gotten used to the creepy spotlight, he just had to act natural and pretend he wasn’t aware. As much as John wanted to go over there and talk to him, he wanted to wait to see what he was going to do. This whole somewhat relationship thing was Sherlock’s first, and John didn’t want to push it any more than he already had. John considered himself lucky that Sherlock didn’t jerk away and punch the life out of him. If only Mary could hear what John was able to accomplish, almost all thanks to her.
“You’re abnormally quiet.” Greg decided, eating a bite of his toast.
“Oh course I am, it’s the match today.” John said, poking his eggs around with his fork but not eating anything. Greg glanced at the Slytherin table, all who were laughing and looking very confident about themselves.
“You need your strength, trust me.” Greg assured. John took a bite of his food, but felt like he was going to be sick, so he set his fork down.
“Nope.” John decided. “I’m going upstairs to get ready.”
“It’s not for two hours yet, what do you need to do, fix your makeup?” Greg asked.  
“I’m practicing smoky eye.” John said with a fake hair flip.
“Oh god, that’s really sad. Go ahead then Barbie.” Greg sighed. John smiled at him, but he didn’t mean it. In reality he was terrified, almost as terrified as Sherlock had been. John trudged up to the common rooms, his stomach twisting as he glanced out the oak doors, seeing the Quidditch pitch looming through the early morning fog. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and walked up to the Fat Lady’s portrait. After saying the password he found it mostly empty. Everyone was either at breakfast or enjoying the morning, nothing on their mind but excitement for the upcoming match. John somewhat envied them, but he loved the sport, even if it made him want to throw up. The dorms were empty, so, for the first time this year, he pulled out his gold and maroon quidditch robes. On the back of the robes it had his number, 6, and his last name on the back in maroon letters, as if he’d get himself mixed up with someone or something. He was sort of excited to be wearing them again; he hadn’t since the last game of the season last year, when the Gryffindors lost the Quidditch Cup to the Slytherins. John scowled slightly at that memory, even though it wasn’t completely his fault, he blamed the loss on himself. The snitch is what had won it, and the other seeker had gotten there first by some tragedy. Now John could get revenge. He pulled on the scarlet robes and admired the look in the mirror. He didn’t see himself staring back though; he didn’t see the quidditch star everyone made him look like. He was just John, just John Watson, the nervous, one friended boy in Gryffindor. He tried his best to flatten the blonde pieces of hair that were being all too annoying today, must have slept on it wrong. His stomach seemed to have abandoned him, his entire body feeling weightless with nerves. These weren’t good nerves, like the ones he had felt as he had reached for Sherlock’s hand, they were the ones that seemed to eat you alive and suck the happiness from your days. John sat on his bed, lacing up his quidditch spikes with no concern to the wooden floor on which he impaled with then. He grabbed his broom from under his bed; making sure the tail was clipped evenly and that the whole thing had a shiny mahogany glow to it. It seemed to him that half of quidditch depended on the player and the other half depended on the broom. If your broom was rubbish then so were you, common sense. John just sat on his bed and listened to the clock on the tower chime, marking an hour to the game. He decided to just walk down early; it would calm him down to be on a broom again, as long as the stadium was empty. He picked up his brook gently again, walking down to the pitch with his robes billowing behind him. He got many good luck’s from every house other than Slytherin, who either laughed at him or just glared. He tried his best to just ignore them, they were bitter, that wasn’t his problem. Finally he made it to the Entrance Hall, where the massive oak doors stood open for the crowd that would soon follow.
“Hey, John!” A nervous squeak came from the corner, and John turned to see Sherlock, seemingly hiding in the shadows. It was hard to miss him though, his skin seemed to glow ever so slightly and the shadows just couldn’t hide that.
“Oh, hi Sherlock.” He muttered, suddenly getting very awkward. It was the first time they’ve really looked each other straight in the eye since the kiss, and he wondered what Sherlock had been doing since then.
“I just wanted to, you know, wish you good luck. You’ll do brilliant.” Sherlock assured, trying to smile at him but he looked extremely nervous, fiddling with the pockets on his robes and averting his eyes once he was done speaking.
“Are you coming to the match?” John asked hopefully. It would make him feel a bit better with an encouraging face in the crowd.
“Well, quidditch isn’t really my thing, but I guess I should probably come to support you.” Sherlock shrugged, becoming very interested in the floor at his feet.
“That would great.” John agreed, trying to keep his voice light and carefree. He wanted to make it not so awkward between them; there was nothing more than two friends talking in a shady corner near the stairs, nothing weird at all. And they certainly didn’t kiss at all, that would be preposterous.
“Well I guess I shouldn’t hold you up, I bet you have uh, important finder business.” Sherlock decided.
“It’s seeker, but you were close enough.” John assured with a small laugh, making Sherlock blush a little bit and nod in agreement.
“That’s what I meant.” He muttered.
“I know. Well thanks for the good luck; I hope I won’t need it though.” John decided, feeling the need to do something, kiss him on the cheek, hug him, pat his head or something way too awkward, so with one final smile he just walked out of the hall, the metal on his spikes clicking on the stone floor. John walked to the pitch with a slight smile on his face. Something about knowing that Sherlock would be watching cheered him up about the whole thing, maybe it was because if things got so bad that he could just blow everything up. John quickly cleared that thought from his mind, knowing it shouldn’t be a joke about Sherlock’s uncontrollable magic. He would never want him beloved quidditch stadium to be destroyed, especially not blown to pieces like the forest had been. John mounted his broom and kicked off into the skies, flying into the quidditch stadium the way he preferred, over the top. It was empty, thankfully, the morning dew still clinging to the goal posts and grass. The silence was calming, but he knew it wouldn’t last long; it would be filled with spectators, the bleachers a sea of gold, green, blue, and yellow. Quidditch games were exciting, he couldn’t deny that, but usually they seemed a lot better after the snitch was clutched in his palm. He did a couple of laps, speeding this way and that, practicing diving and soaring and even attempting to do Viktor Krum’s famous Wronski Feint. It was John’s goal to complete the move before he graduated Hogwarts, but he wasn’t anywhere close to pulling out the dive. Even on the Nimbus 2000 if he went more than an inch farther he had a very good chance of breaking his neck. After a while the people started filling in the stadium, spectators of all types, students, teachers, competing players, and even some over excited parents come to see their child play their first game of quidditch. John always wished that his parents could see him in action, on the quidditch field where it seemed his only real talent was demonstrated. But they were much too busy to make the long trip. Unlike wizarding parents, Mr. and Mrs. Watson couldn’t travel by floo powder or portkeys, they were stuck with the trains, which, for some reason, seemed to take a lot longer. John never understood why they didn’t just get a portkey to get to Hogwarts, he’d very much prefer it to the four hour ride from Platform 9 3/4 , even if the ride did provide him some catching up time with Sherlock. He landed his broom when he saw Greg waving from him down by the entrance to the locker rooms. He walked up to him, pushing through a crowd of excited first year Hufflepuffs to get into the locker rooms, where the team was just starting to regroup. Greg was in his robes already, his broom leaning against the wall ready to go and his gloves handing from the tail.
“Nervous?” he asked as John sat on the bench, his stomach taking an odd turn.
“Terrified.” He admitted with a small smile.
“Do you know if Sherlock’s out there somewhere? Mycroft is, he said he’ll be waving a Gryffindor flag near the front of the bleachers, but it’s still kind of hard to find him over everyone. I’m expecting a lot of people would be cheering for Gryffindor, since Slytherin isn’t very popular anywhere but within their own house because they’re no good little…”
“Greg, you’re mumbling.” John groaned, cradling his head in his hands to try to block out Greg’s voice. When his friend was nervous it seemed like his mouth was unable to shut, if no one pointed it out he’d probably go on forever. The noise outside was getting louder and louder, the crowd talking about predictions and homework and anything really while the teams waited what seemed like centuries, trying their best to go over any strategies they could. James was mumbling to himself as well, his first game as captain and he was obviously terrified. The locker room was mostly silent other than him, people talking but in sort of hushed whispers, pulling on their robes, gloves, and trying to make sure their brooms were in good condition. As time seemed to tick on John heard someone on the loudspeaker, talking over everyone and trying to calm them down. He didn’t know who the announcer was now, someone from another house, but they were doing a good job of making the crowd cheer and getting excited about the upcoming match.
“Okay team, start getting ready, drink some water, making sure you’re all stretched out, we’ll do a couple of laps then it’s game time.” James announced, making John groan. He slipped on his gloves and held onto the handle of his broom nervously.
“You’ll be fine, just calm down.” Greg assured, tapping his foot against the floor and looking around at the team.
“I am calm, perfectly calm.” John lied, trying to see through the sliver of light into the stadium. It was silent again; they were probably waiting on something.
“We’ll win this one, I’m sure of it, Slytherin must be a little bit rusty.” Greg muttered again.
“Greg, just be quiet.” Someone snapped from the back of the room. Light burst into the locker room, John covering his eyes in surprise to see an awful pink toad standing in the doorway.
“Eh hem.” Umbridge said in announcement of her arrival, as if the dramatic entrance wasn’t enough. The team was more silent then there were before, no one talked or even moved with surprise. John’s heart seemed to stop, did she know about what had happened between him and Sherlock?
“Hello Professor.” James said, stepping out from the crowd with a little wave.
“Yes, Mr. Sholto is it?” she asked, reading off a scroll of parchment. John and Greg eyed each other nervously, what was the reason for this unexpected visit?
“Yes ma’am, Captain. Is there anything you need?” he asked. It wasn’t hard to sense the annoyance in his voice.
“Yes actually, I will need to suspend Mr. Greg Lestrade from the game if you don’t mind.” She said with a slight smile, making John’s blood run cold.
“I’m, I’m sorry what?” James said, looking at Umbridge as if he hadn’t heard her correctly.
“I need to pill Greg Lestrade from the game; I don’t like to repeat myself.” Umbridge said. Greg stared at John for help, but it was obvious what it was for. Umbridge had to be after him about his relationship with Mycroft, maybe she was really holding it against him.
“Could you please tell me why?” James asked. Greg glowed red as all the eyes of the players stared at him, wondering why he was being punished by the High Inquisitor.
“Well, I’m sure all of you attended my speech about the new rules and regulations active here at Hogwarts, and Mr. Lestrade is convicted of breaking one of the most important one.”
“Excuse me, sorry, but I told you that I wasn’t actually breaking that rule and I wasn’t lying!” Greg pointed out. “I thought I was clear!”
“Yes Mr. Lestrade, as far as you told me, but until I am sure you will not go back on your word you will be suspended from playing quidditch.” Umbridge pointed out. John clenched his knuckles, almost about to stand and protest. She had no proof for or against Greg and Mycroft’s relationship; she couldn’t just take quidditch away.
“What charges?” James asked.
“He is believed to be in a homosexual relationship with a Mr. Mycroft Holmes.” Umbridge said, reading from the parchment but John guessed that she had practiced those lines in the mirror. James was daring enough to chuckle at that.
“Sorry ma’am, but that’s absolute rubbish!” he laughed.
“If you were present at the Halloween dance I’m sure you’d be able to know that it’s not.” She objected. John growled, and Greg glowed an odd shade, mixed of blushing and looking green.
“Mycroft doesn’t date, I’ve seen him turn so many girls down, and I know for a fact Greg isn’t gay!” defended another kid. John joined in, pointing out that the Halloween dance was much before the rules were in place and it had only been a friendly dance, nothing romantic. Soon only Greg was that only one silent, staring at Umbridge with hate but knowing his fate was decided. There was a loud bang of green sparks, ending the commotion and Umbridge stood with her wand in the air, smiling at everyone with a venomous look.
“Now I will not have all this debate, Mr. Lestrade will be coming with me and there is absolutely nothing you can do to change my mind about the topic. Mr. Lestrade, please follow me if you will.” She said, and with that turned her back and started walking out the door, waiting for Greg to follow. He flashed the team a helpless glare, but didn’t say anything.
“Go, I’ll catch up after the game.” John insisted, giving him a light push off the bench.
“I can’t leave the team!” Greg debated, staying put.
“And you’ll be expelled if you don’t, so go!” John demanded. That seemed to persuade Greg enough, and he grabbed his broom, sulking out of the locker room after Umbridge with his shoulders dragging. The door shut, leaving the room, which was once as bright as it was outside, into a state of what seemed like darkness.