I wrote this while avoiding my homework, and I'm not quite sure how it happened… But I hope you enjoy it anyway!

The O.W.L.s were over, not that it mattered. As easy as they were dull. And the upcoming week had little else of interest, without even classes to pass the time. A couple walked past him, holding hands. Over in a fortnight, Sherlock thought. She's sleeping with Dimmock again, and by the cuffs on her sleeves she's wondering how to tell him. Interesting.

But something else had come up that promised to be more interesting. A new face in the Wizarding World, emerging from years of obscurity – the man without a name. Only three years, four months, and five days since he appeared and already they are afraid to speak of him openly. Over the past five years, Sherlock had begun to investigate the webs he had seen forming – and within them all was the shadowy figure of James Moriarty. And he had to admit, he found him intriguing. "Aren't ordinary people adorable?"he had asked, when Sherlock had finally met him on the shore of the underground lake. Unlike the dim minds all around him, James Moriarty was a force to be reckoned with. And he wanted Sherlock (in every sense) – of that there was no doubt.

It is unlikely that a subservient position would be possible in the long run. We would tear each other apart.

A decent amount of the students were already against him and his morally questionable methods, calling up examples of Muggle killings and intimidation of government officials. Sherlock had always considered himself above those around him, but Moriarty took this assumption a step further… Though he recognized the uses that ordinary people could serve.

It's undoubtedly an opportunity. Unfortunately, John would never condone it. Give up John for Moriarty? He flinched away from the thought.

"Hey, freak!"

Donovan. Undoubtedly exhilarated by the end of the tests but somewhat worried about the results. It's likely that she's accompanied by her friends and possesses some desire to vent her emotions. Any outside intervention is unlikely.

He turned to look at her, face supremely disdainful over his blue-and-bronze tie.

"Yes?"

"You sure you're allowed to take the test?" Anderson smirked. "I didn't know vampires could even cast spells."

"They can't. A vampire at Hogwarts would be absolutely ridiculous – do try to use your head for something other than pleasuring Donovan."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, as both Donovan and Anderson pulled their wands on him. How delightful. The passerby that had begun to gather, drawn by the promise of a fight, were unlikely to provide any help. Donovan's pet werewolf seemed to be ignoring the whole thing – or, rather, trying to. It didn't take someone as observant as Sherlock to see that Lestrade was trying to hide behind his book as he sat by the tree.

Lovely. No help from that avenue. The legendary Gryffindor bravery seems to be on the decline.

"What did you say, freak?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Are you really so dense that you did not grasp it the first time? Vampires are unable to cast spells in the sense that wizards can, and thus would have no place at this school."

"Not that bit." Anderson was turning rather red. Sherlock paused to enjoy it for a moment.

"Oh, your… fling with Sally? I really don't see how you can deny the state of her knees, unless she decided the house elves deserved a respite and scrubbed the dormitory floors."

"That's a filthy thing to say," Anderson hissed. "Scourgify!"

His wand came up a hair too late to block it, and he began to cough as bubbles filled his nose and mouth

"Furnunculus!" Donovan shouted. Sherlock deflected it with a flick of his wrist.

"Oh, how very Gryffindor, fighting two against one," he managed to spit out through the bubbles. As the spell subsided, he sent Anderson flying with another flick of his wrist and managed to parry Donovan's tickling hex. "Tickling, really? I would've thought you had enough of that with Anderso—"

"Levicorpus!" Anderson shouted from his position, sprawled on the ground.

That's my spell, Sherlock thought childishly as he felt himself being hoisted into the air.

"Expelliarmus!"

His wand went flying, and he dangled, helpless. The crowd that had gathered to see the fight was laughing appreciatively, and he felt absurd tears come to his eyes as he struggled to hold his robes to his legs.

"Leave him alone!"

The voice was unmistakable, but all that Sherlock could think was, Oh, not John. Not now. That the other boy would see him in such a state was nearly unendurable.

The spell suddenly vanished and he tumbled to the ground in a tangle of robes and limbs. John couldn't hope to deter both Anderson and Donovan, especially as they basked in the attention of the crowd that was watching this new development with bated breath. Sherlock knew the rumors that circulated about he and John – for the observer, they just made this more delicious.

Donovan ran a hand through her curly hair and smiled at John as if Sherlock wasn't lying prone on the ground behind her.

"Go out with me and I'll leave him alone, Watson."

Sherlock couldn't suppress a smug smile at the disgust on John's face.

"Never in a million years, you arrogant arse."

Sherlock took the opportunity to crawl towards his wand – until a spell from Anderson sent him sprawling again, a few feet from Lestrade. His book was now so far over his face that Sherlock couldn't see anything but his hair.

"Enjoying this, Lestrade?" he hissed. "Honorable of you to sit on the sidelines."

Donovan's voice cut over his words.

"Don't be like that, Watson! I don't know what you see in him anyway—"

The longer he's here, the longer this will go on, Sherlock thought. Logically, the best course of action is….

"I don't need your help, mudblood," he spat with as much venom as he could muster, snapping his head around to glare at John.

The crowd gasped, turning as one to see John's reaction. Though Sherlock doubted the rest of them saw it, hurt flickered briefly across John's face.

There was a long, long moment.

"Yeah, well," John said, "You're getting it anyway. Impedimenta!"

As Donovan went flying backwards, Sherlock lunged for his wand and felt the smooth wood at the tips of his fingers. A slicing spell – probably Anderson's – cut into his left shoulder, but there was little force behind it and the wound wasn't deep. Grunting at the pain, he snatched up his wand and sent a a hex blindly over his shoulder. By the strangled cry, he had hit someone. He rather hoped it was Lestrade.

But when he turned, it was Anderson lying groaning on the ground as Donovan and John grappled back and forth, wands forgotten. The taller girl seemed unwilling to actually incapacitate John despite her two-year advantage. Sentiment.

"Stupefy," he growled, and Donovan crumpled. John looked up, breathing heavily, and pushed his sandy hair out of his eyes.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Leaving Donovan and Anderson prone behind him, Sherlock shoved through the crowd and began the walk back to the castle. John caught up within a few steps, and they walked in silence for a time.

"You can be a real git, you know that?" John said eventually.

Sherlock recalled the suppressed hurt on John's face.

"In my defense, it seemed the best way to get rid of you and end the situation more quickly." A quick glance downward – the shorter boy was staring straight ahead, face hard. "And… I didn't want you to see me like that." John did look up then, about to say something. "I'm sorry," Sherlock said quietly, before he could.

John looked down again.

I hope he appreciates how rare an apology is from me.

"Thanks."

As they walked, Sherlock's earlier thoughts returned to him – but with John by his side, he saw it a bit differently.

"I've been hearing quite a bit about this Moriarty," Sherlock said casually, ignoring John's flinch at the name. "They say he's the smartest man in a century." John looked up at him. The corner of Sherlock's mouth pulled up in a half-smile. "I think we'd better challenge that."