Lessons were tough. John hadn't expected learning magic to be easy but he hadn't quite expected there to be so much actually to magic. He scribbled away at his Charms essay furiously whilst trying to ignore the stinging in his leg from where he'd brushed past the Venomous Tentacula in Herbology. It wasn't bad though, reflected John as he trawled through a very old and very dusty book with yellowing pages and almost illegible writing. There were the up-sides, he thought flicking a page and lifting his gaze to the Gryffindor fire that burned cosily in front of him. The lessons, though hard, were incredible and John had discovered a real passion for Transfiguration which had earned him a cold glare from Miss Granger as Professor McGonagall had pointed out how, though her matchstick had turned silver and pointy, John had managed to produce a proper needle. There was also his new friends.

John had never been great at making friends, not because he wasn't friendly, it was just that he wasn't really ready to trust people completely and people had perceived this as being cold. However, at Hogwarts he shared the same room with the other boys and consequently they ate, learnt, rested and worked together. John smiled slightly as he thought of how Harry, Ron and Sebastian had become like his brothers in such a short time. And then of course there was-

"John, I'm bored. I've heard there's been attacks on unicorns in the Forbidden Forest, and I already have 7 possible explanations. I need more data though-"
"No."
"What? Why ever not?"
John smirked as the tall, pale boy's deep voice squeaked slightly in outrage.
"Because it's called the Forbidden Forest, Sherlock. People tend to name things for a reason."
Sherlock pouted and threw himself dramatically down onto the armchair opposite John.
"Then I suppose that's why they gave you the most commonly used male name- you're boring and unoriginal."
"Oh are we mocking names now? Because if that's the case you're fighting a losing battle here," snorted John with a grin as he folded his finished essay and put it away.
"The case is the unicorn attacks," Sherlock grumbled darkly before smiling slyly and adding, "Hamish."

The book hit Sherlock square in the face.

"Where do you even find that information?!" John asked incredulously through a half-blush as Sherlock clutched his nose and groaned. "Added to which how did you even get in here? The password changed last week after you got caught again."
"Name from Mycroft. Password from Longbottom," came the muffled reply as the Ravenclaw pinched his bloody nose. John twisted in his seat to search for Neville amongst all the relaxing students. He spotted him in the farthest corner with a large book that he seemed to be using as a shield as he kept glancing nervously at where Sherlock was seated. John sighed.
"You didn't tell him you were a vampire again, did you?"

Sherlock grinned wolfishly causing a fresh spurt of blood to dribble down his face. From behind him John was pretty sure he heard Neville running up the dormitory stairs. John frowned at the taller boy.
"You shouldn't do that, he's been really shaken up since our first flying lesson."
"Ah, yes," came the reply, "I meant to congratulate you."

John was momentarily confused. "Why? Harry was the one who nearly knocked Malfoy off his broom, have you heard he's been chosen as Seeker now? I'm jealous but I recon I'm more of a Keeper myself-"

"And all of that has no relevance to what I was implying," interjected Sherlock, flicking his hands dismissively, "Your quick reactions meant Longbottom has a broken wrist and not a broken neck."

"Oh," John fidgeted in his seat, "I didn't really do anything. I pushed off wrong too and so it's just lucky really I managed to snatch at his robes as he fell past me. I almost came off as well honestly-"

"You were holding him whilst hanging upside-down on a levitating broomstick." Sherlock's words were cool and crisp, yet his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners betraying the smile that was hiding behind his mask of indifference. John shrugged and pulled his knees up to his chest with a small hum of appreciation.
"You liked it," came the soft whisper.
John glanced up sharply, his jaw clenched as nerves pooled into his stomach making him feel suddenly quite queasy. Sherlock's pale eyes were steady and he had removed his hands from his face revealing a bloody streak that stood out violently against his white flesh.
"What," John began, his previous warm smile now stretched in a wary grimace, "do you mean by that?"
Sherlock's lip twitched ever so slightly at the corner, a ghost of a smirk.
"You got into fights as a child."
"Yes."
"Any good?"
John held his gaze firmly, "Very good."
"Experienced a lot of adrenaline, injuries. Dangerous situations."
"Well. Yes." Inside John began to wonder where this was leading but continued to focus unflinchingly.
"Bit of trouble too I bet, having to explain away all those bruises and cuts. Ignoring the pain."
"Of course. Yes." He bit his lip, "Enough for a lifetime. Far too much."
Sherlock raised his chin slightly before cracking a massive grin and leaning forward so he was only inches from John's guarded expression.
"Want some more?"
From this distance John could smell Sherlock's blood and the coppery scent brought back memories of his own blood racing through his veins, his breath a sharp pain in his lungs as his feet pounded against the ground. His grimace split once again into a disbelieving laughing, "Oh god yes."

They stood, essays and books fell disregarded onto the floor as they both raced towards the portrait hole- only to be blocked by Hermione Granger.
"You're not going to duel Malfoy too are you?!" Her superior tone would have been a tad more intimidating if she hadn't been wearing a pink dressing gown, clearly waiting for someone. Sherlock drew up to his full height and flicked up the collar of his cloak. "No Granger, but that does sound very exciting. Are you waiting for Harry and Rod?"
"I'm not waiting for them, I'm supervising them."
"And it's Ron by the way," came a voice over John's shoulder. Ron and Harry had crept up behind them and were scowling viciously at Granger.
"Go back to bed!" said Ron furiously but she ignored him, instead she grasped the hem of Sherlock's cloak and began dragging his skinny frame towards the portrait-hole whilst hissing, "You go back to your own dormitory whilst the rest of you go to bed!"
The Gryffindor boys followed her defiantly. John was pretty certain the noise of frustration she made wasn't totally human.
"Fine!" she hissed, "Get expelled! See if I care!"
She turned back to the portrait only to find the Fat Lady was gone.
"Oh look what you've done! Now I'm stuck out here too!"
"It's not our fault you're so interfering," snarled Ron.
"Now let's just calm down a bit..." John tried to step between the two despite agreeing with Ron.
"Just to remind everyone we still have a duel to fight," Harry growled.
"Shut up, all of you!" Sherlock suddenly hissed fiercely stepping in the middle of them all with his hands raised for quiet. Everyone fell silent, and there, from down the corridor, came the crooning voice of Filch the caretaker.
"This way," he said sharply, grabbing John's wrist and sprinting in the opposite direction of only certain expulsion. The Gryffindor's had no idea where they were going but Sherlock seemed to have the blueprints of the castle imprinted on his memory. John took a second to appreciate the boy probably did. After dashing through tapestries, secret passages and up and down countless staircases Sherlock finally drew a halt and they all bent over double trying to catch their breath.

John was about to ask where the bloody hell they were when the sickly voice of Peeves the poltergeist came floating down from above.
"Ooh ickle-firsties! Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty!"
Harry groaned, "Please Peeves, it's Filch, don't give us away."
"Should tell him I should- especially on you," Peeves squealed as he blew a raspberry in Sherlock's face, "Big brother wouldn't like that would he, pretty one?"
"No Sherlock, don't!" John warned, but it was too late as the boy snarled and sent a shower of blue sparks into the poltergeists face.
"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

They all seemed to groan as one before setting off running again at full speed through the dimly lit passages as the sounds of their shoes slapping the stone floor echoed against the walls. At the end of the corridor John tried to turn left but Sherlock pulled him sharply down the right, "No this way."
He could hear the smile in the boy's voice and he found it worrying. There was only a large door at the end of this corridor and John was willing to bet it was-
"Locked!" Ron groaned as he slammed into the wood work, "We're done for."
Sherlock whipped out his wand dramatically and opened his mouth doubtlessly about to say something extravagant however Granger shoved him out of the way moodily and muttered "Alohomora!"
The lock clicked and they all tumbled inside, slamming the door behind them. They could hear Filch's wheezing gasps coming closer but then fading as he took the left turn instead of the right. John sighed and rested his head against the door in relief. It was only then that he realised Sherlock was staring at something behind him with delight written across his face. It was then that he heard the growling.
"Jesus Christ." John heard Ron whimper beside him and he twisted sharply. A dog. A bloody big dog. With too many heads. It sniffed the air as it eyed them with six rolling eyes.
"Right." John nodded, feeling his heart hammering against his chest, "We best be off then."
The door was yanked open and they all tumbled back through it as the monstrous canine hurled itself forward, smashing its faces against the stonework of the doorway. Harry kicked the door shut and Ron took off, leading the way back where they'd come. Fuelled by adrenaline and sheer terror it seemed they were back outside the common room in mere seconds.
The Fat Lady took one blurry look at them, an empty goblet in her hand, hiccoughed and opened the passage, giggling to herself. John felt hands grasping his shoulders and suddenly Sherlock's face was in front of his, alive with energy and a slightly mad gleam in his eyes.
"Did you see it John? Did you?" his voice was breathy and light, bordering on hysteric glee.
"How could I miss it Sherlock?! It was the size of my bloody house!" John exclaimed before descending into giggles himself.
"No, don't be stupid John, not the dog," Sherlock gasped, "didn't you see the-"
"Trapdoor." Granger finished, clutching a stitch in her side.
"Trapdoor? Are you kidding me? I was looking at its heads! ALL THREE OF THEM! You nearly got us killed!" Ron had caught his breath and was pointing at Sherlock viciously. "You knew it was down there, that's why you pulled John to the right instead of taking the left."
"It was the forbidden corridor on the third floor." Harry said quietly, almost to himself.
"Well yes, obviously," Sherlock waved this away, "but don't you see?! It's guarding something!"
He waved his hands in exasperation.
There was an awkward silence.
Ron glared and rubbed his eyes tiredly before shoving past Sherlock who was still stood staring at them all as if trying to understand how they weren't excited about this. Granger did the same, regarding Sherlock with a look of contempt before hissing, "Well thank you Holmes for nearly getting us all killed or worse- expelled. Now if you don't mind I'm going to bed."
"Why you feel the need to inform me about your sleeping habits is beyond me, Granger," was the cool reply.
She stomped up the stairs to her dormitory whilst Harry seemed lost in thought and mumbled a goodnight before following Ron. John and Sherlock were left alone. The taller boy chewed his lip.
"Was that not good?" he asked quietly. John sighed.
"Yeah, mate, a bit not good. Look just kip here tonight to avoid Filch and all," John sniffed, "I'll talk to the guys, they won't stay angry, they're just a bit shaken up, s'all."
Sherlock nodded and wandered over to an armchair by the fire. John went to follow the other boys but stopped when he heard a murmured, "And you?"
He turned to face the Ravenclaw. It was the first time he had ever seen him truly nervous, worry painted itself across Sherlock's face like clouds over the sun.
"I thought it was bloody brilliant personally." John grinned, "Night!"
Sherlock sighed with relief and smiled shakily, "Goodnight John."