"Oh my god, look. Some bloke's talking to Molly." John nudged his best friend in the side, watching as a Slytherin casually walked up to her, tapping her on the shoulder. She had wanted to hang out with her friend Meena today, so they weren't together as they usually were.

Sherlock's nose remained firmly stuck in his book. He 'hmm'ed in agreement.

"She's blushing and laughing." John noted in horror.

Sherlock's head snapped up, his crystal blue-green eyes taking in the scene in front of him.

The boy's bent down near hers as she talked, his black and green robes brushing hers as he walked beside her, and most damnably, the unmistakable red of her cheeks as her eyes twinkled at him.

"I guess she's stopped having a crush on you. Had to move on some time, I suppose. You never did give her the time of day, yeah?"

"Shut up, John." Sherlock snapped his book shut, taking long strides forward until he caught up with the trio, shoving himself between the insolent Slytherin and Molly as he shot forward, leveling a glare at the green-robed boy.

He didn't turn around when he heard Molly's books scatter over the floor, and he didn't turn around when he felt a prickling at the nape of his neck, knowing it was her gaze on him.

The next day, Molly confronted him about it in Advanced Arithmancy, slamming her books down onto his desk, hands on her hips.

"Sherlock, what was yesterday about?"

He flipped a page of Fifteenth Century Fiends, another book he had "borrowed" from the restricted section. The material they were learning was too simple.

Seeing him pointedly ignoring her, she grabbed his book.

"Sherlock, answer the question."

He picked up his quill, taking out a piece of parchment and beginning to scribble notes on it for the next experiment he was going to conduct.

She gave a growl of frustration, and after practically tossing the book at him, returned to her seat up front.

Fine. If he wanted to talk, then he would have to talk to her first.

Over the next few days, they maintained a strained silence, and Molly began spending less time with the two. She instead hung out with Meena and "that self-absorbed prat," as Sherlock called him.

Dean (as John came to know) was actually quite nice for someone in Slytherin. A little prideful, yes (he seemed to be quite popular, with classical good looks), but from what he could see, the guy treated Molly quite nicely, opening doors for her, introducing her to his friends (Sam and Crowley, also all in Slytherin), and protecting her from the hurtful comments of other Slytherins.

He heard one of the Slytherins got strung up by his robes on the bridge after calling her mudblood (not even to her face. He and Sherlock had Care of Magical Creatures with the guy, and some other Slytherin made a nasty comment. A day later, the girl was in the hospital ward, blathering about being permanently traumatized to Madam Pomfrey.

A week later, Molly and Sherlock still hadn't reconciled, and John was beginning to grow a little worried. They'd never been angry at each other for this long before, and Sherlock's mood was growing worse by the day.

John was quite observant when he wanted to be, but he would never tell Sherlock his what he noticed. Like for example how Sherlock had ripped up one of his textbooks after seeing Dean and Molly hug in the halls. Or how he had nearly singed off everyone's eyebrows with his potion (an almost suspicious excess of Exploding Ginger Eyelash) upon seeing Dean brush an Asphodel petal off her cheek.

It had been a trying week.

And he knew it could only get worse when Molly came to find him in the Gryffindor common room (having been let in by Meena), hesitantly approaching the table he was studying at.

"Hey, Molly!" he greeted her, glad she wasn't ignoring him too.

"Hi, John." She gave a little smile and pulled out the chair opposite, sitting down. Her hands wrung together.

"Uh, so what brings you here?"

"Oh, uh," she looked around, "I just wanted to visit you…and ask you a question," she appended when he raised an eyebrow. They had been friends for almost 5 years now. He knew her better than that.

"Ok," she began slowly, taking a deep breath. After a moment, she decided to switch chairs, instead taking the one next to him.

"Um, Dean asked me out," she told him in a whisper.

"Oh! That's great!" John nodded. This didn't bode well for Sherlock's temper. He had already acted out no less than 23 times in the last week, ranting that Molly was an idiot and he wouldn't save her if she couldn't figure it out by herself. Ravenclaw tower had not seen peace in seven days.

"But…I wanted to ask you, um, " she tucked a strand of her chestnut hair that had fallen from her ponytail behind her ear.

"DoyouthinkIhaveachancewithSherlock?" she blurted out all at once. She had confided in him several times before, and he had become one of her best listeners.

Seeing him ponder the question, she fidgeted in her chair.

"Dean's really nice, you know, and I really like him as a person. He treats me so well, better than Sherlock ever has, though I don't fault him for it. That's just who he is, but recently I've begun to wonder if I should just move on because I just can't, I just…"

John laid a hand on her arm. He carefully considered his answer.

"I know Sherlock cares about you as a friend. Maybe more. I'm not sure. But it wouldn't hurt, I suppose." He shrugged. It was for the best, probably.

Her frame visibly relaxing, Molly gave a slight nod, reassured.

"Thank you," she told him simply, and then was gone.

Well, there wasn't any way he was getting more work done tonight. John picked up his books, heading back to the dormitory. Tomorrow was probably going to be a very long day.

He nearly jumped when he saw a skinny, blue-robed boy reclining on his bed, eyes closed and hands steepled under his chin.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open at his presence, the stormy depths unfathomable. He shot off the bed, striding straight up to John, staring accusingly down at him.

"Why did you tell her to go out with him?"

John froze a second.

"What…wait, how did you know that?"

"Spare me the stupidity. Why did you tell her to go out with him?"

John glared back at his best friend.

"I didn't. I simply told her it wouldn't hurt."

"You idiot. She's going to spend all her time with that blithering fool, so who's going to help me with my experiments? You're - "

"Why don't you just be honest with yourself and admit that you miss her," John interrupted, his temper rising. "You're so selfish. YOU'RE probably the reason why she likes him in the first place!"

"What are you suggesting?" Sherlock hissed, his eyes narrowing.

"You never treat her with any respect, bossing her around like she's your assistant when you know bloody damn well she's one of the smartest students here. No offense," he gestured to the other Gryffindor students getting ready for bed, trying to ignore their conversation.

Sherlock had no such tact.

"She likes it. We have a mutually beneficial relationship in which she helps me with my experiments, and I spend time with her."

John scoffed.

"Is that why she wants to go out with Dean?" He pushed past his friend, setting his books on the bedside table and shrugging out of his robes. "Good luck, Sherlock. You like her, but you've dug yourself so deep into denial I doubt you're ever going to crawl out. Admit it. You're jealous of Dean. He's got her laughing and enjoying his company like you never could." He climbed into bed. "I hope your lack of sentiment keeps you company at night because Molly won't be a fool for you much longer, and I hope you're prepared for the day when she sees who for who you really are: a selfish, hopeless prick."

He pulled the covers up, ignoring the boy who stood frozen there in the center of the room, heart pumping hard from what he would later recognize as the first time he felt fear.