A.N: Hey! This has moved from my other fic because it's ended up with too much going on and waay too many chapters to be called a short story/One-shot. So now it's a fic all of its own! I'll be trying to update frequently…Please review, it's so amazing when you do

John slid into his seat next to Sherlock slightly out of breath. He'd just had to hurry his way down the thousands of stairs between divination and transfiguration, and to make matters worse, Peeves had been toppling suits of armour in one of the fifth floor corridors forcing John to take a detour and making him very almost late for class.

'I take it Trelawney foresaw something terrible again?'

'Yup, yes she did. How could you tell?'

'You always come from divination slightly more ruffled when she has informed you of your impending doom. You took off your jersey because of the heat up there, when you put it back on you weren't careful, your collar is still tucked in and part of the shirt is sticking out the bottom.'

'Oh.' John coughed self-consciously under Sherlock's examination and hurriedly fixed his uniform.

Professor McGonagall coughed pointedly in their direction and the two straightened, giving her their full attention.

After McGonagall's introduction and the hand-out of the white rabbits the class was supposed to be turning into gloves, Sherlock muttered,

'So what's going to happen to you this time?

'Ha! You'll never get this one.' John grinned. The taller boy raised his eyebrows then began looking at him carefully.

'You've taken it more to heart than usual so it must be something that means something to you. You don't really have any possessions that you are highly attached to, you're also not that close to your family. That means it must be happening to yourself, and it must be something painful otherwise you wouldn't have cared so much. Am I right?'

'You're spot on that I was thinking about it more…' Sherlock grinned victoriously. 'But…'

'What? What did I get wrong?'

'It wasn't about me.'

'It wasn't about you…how…'

'Cos it was you.' Said John triumphantly. 'Told you you'd never get it.'

'Me? Doing what?'

'Jumping off the Astronomy Tower.' He explained. Sherlock looked at him in confusion.

'Why does that affect you more than the many times she's 'seen' you dying?'

John suddenly looked uncomfortable. 'Cos, well. I don't… want you to?' He squinted at Sherlock's left ear. The latter gave him a once over then turned and promptly turned his rabbit into a fashionable pair of black silk gloves.

'How did you know not to take blasted divination anyway?' John scowled, 'I remember you advised me last year.' Advised was taking it a bit far as Sherlock had stated baldly: divination is a woolly, pointless study with no basis in fact or science. Only emotional, impressionable idiots would take it next year.

The two had been poring over their timetables in the library and John was at a loss at what to pick; Sherlock had immediately decided on Ancient Runes and Care of Magical creatures, he then proceeded to explain why the other two options, Muggle Studies and Divination were completely useless. Dull and tedious John. Contrary to the Ravenclaw's thoughts, John had put down Divination with the idea that it sounded vaguely interesting and couldn't be that bad. He also picked Care of Magical Creatures as he quietly agreed with Sherlock's evaluation of Muggle Studies and thought Ancient Runes looked far too damn hard to be bothered with.

Turning to his own rabbit he managed to grab it around the middle just before it made a daring leap to freedom out of the window, pulling it back over the desk toward him he held it firmly with one hand and pointed his wand directly into its wide, reproachful eyes. Muttering the incantation under his breath he flicked his wand at the rabbit, with a quiet pop it transformed into a suspiciously furry pair of white, winter mittens.

'Not quite up to your usual John.'

'Oh shut up.' He glowered, then looking at his work again he muttered, 'Actually, these could do quite well.'

-oOo-

The sky was a dark, gun-metal grey. Between the curtains of sleet John fought to keep his broom steady in the howling gale, he gripped his Nimbus 2001 with one fluffy mitten-enclosed hand and was clutching his beaters bat in the other. He peered through the hail, grimacing as the icy slush slowly wound its way down the inside of his Quidditch robes. Barely able to see the red blurs that were his team mates, his reactions were being tested to the max whenever the lone Bludger they were practising with came near, he had absolutely no clue how poor Harvey was going to find the Snitch in this weather.

When the team finally half fell off their brooms into the ankle deep mud an hour later, John's hands were the only part of him that could be safely classified as fine, the rest of him was frozen to the bone, completely saturated and he had lost all feeling in his ears, nose and feet a good half an hour ago. Bent double, the team staggered their way through the violent storm back toward the castle, John couldn't even tell between his team mates the barrage was so thick.

As John stumbled his way into the entrance hall, hair and robes plastered to his skin, he noticed Sherlock striding out of the Great hall. He forced his numb limbs over to him, shaking his sodden hair like a dog.

'Sherlock! Have you b-been in there since d-dinner?' He questioned disbelievingly.

'Obviously. I was reading.' The taller boy waved a thick, dog-eared volume of Advanced Potion-Making at John.

'Isn't th-that a sixth year's b-book? Where did you g-get it?'

'Nicked it. It's more interesting than our one.'

'N-nicked it? Yeah…right, ok.'

'Well, looks like you had fun.' Said Sherlock sarcastically, stepping backward as John dripped dangerously close to his shoes.

'I feel l-like I've b-been swimming in the l-lake.' John stammered, quivering like a leaf. The entrance hall felt like a sauna after the gale outside and he could almost feel his ears again.

'I have to say I don't envy you, my captain doesn't force us out in weather like this.'

'Ha. Well that depends on the weather of our game on Saturday, it's supposed to be like this so we'll see whose laughing then.' John smirked. Sherlock pouted. 'I'm going to go have a bath before any of my toes fall off.' Said John, 'Bloody Ashton just keeps going on about how we need to train to the conditions, I really don't think he quite understands how important it is that I have all my extremities.'

Sherlock snickered. 'It's good that you have such a dedicated captain.'

'Yes, well that's one way you could look at it. I'll see you in Charms.' John nodded at Sherlock and clapped him on the shoulder causing the latter to leap back into a pillar, hitting his elbow sharply.

'Ah, ow.'

'Sorry! I'm so used to the wet I keep forgetting. Maybe old Ashton's trying to turn us into frogs!' With that John turned and squelched his way up the marble staircase, leaving an impressive trail of water and mud behind him. Sherlock turned away rubbing his elbow and strode off through a door pretending to be a wall, he hoped the weather would clear up a bit, the cold tended to go straight through him; maybe he could borrow John's new mittens, although how he would be able to catch the Snitch in them he didn't know.

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