The two weeks following what John now dubbed, 'the drunken first kiss', was simply bliss. Though he still felt a divide between himself and the rest of his Hogwarts friends, the bond between Sherlock and himself had only served to grow exponentially. To put it frankly, John was on cloud nine. He had feared that the kiss might have made things awkward between the two of them, but in reality, it felt like this aspect of their relationship was only inevitable. Like he was destined to meet Sherlock, and they were destined to be together. Initially, they may have appeared to resemble chalk and cheese, but the two of them had more in common than John would have ever anticipated.

John and Sherlock had both awoken after that night with a searing headache, bodies curled uncomfortably on their armchairs with the aftertaste of Firewhisky lingering on their tongues. John recalled a sense of fondness enveloping him upon seeing Sherlock asleep, but this was soon overshadowed by a lurching in his gut and a sudden need for the loo. The Room of Requirement, immediately understanding, summoned one beside him, and John bundled over to empty his stomach.

With this unfortunate wake up call and a lack of coherent conversation the night prior, John was unsure of where their relationship stood, but apparently, he wasn't to be concerned. Sherlock had awoken soon after, eyes bleary but concerned, and had immediately stood to fetch some water and rub John's back. No words were spoken between them, but the silence was companionable, and John understood that Sherlock was likely feeling as crook as he was.

"I'm not ever drinking again." John mumbled, allowing his body to sink against Sherlock's behind him.

Sherlock hummed doubtingly. "That's quite the commitment."

"By that I mean for at least the rest of the year."

Sherlock pressed a kiss to the back of John's neck. "Naturally."

John started at the sensation. "Oh."

"Not good?" Sherlock froze, voice laced with trepidation.

John turned so he was facing Sherlock and slid his hand forward so their fingers were touching. "No, that's… good. I just, um, wasn't quite sure where stood, y'know? After last night."

"What usually happens, then? After one kisses their best friend and thoroughly enjoys it."

John diverted his gaze to the floor, flustered. "Well, often they might, er, pursue a romantic relationship. Become boyfriends, perhaps."

Sherlock smiled, enthralled by John's bashfulness. "Boyfriends, hm? There's a term I could get used to."

Looking up, John smiled widely. "I suppose I could, too. Boyfriend."

Allowing his eyes to linger on Sherlock's face a moment longer, John then shifted from his position on the floor and made move to the opposite side of the room.

Sherlock grumbled in protest. "Where are you going?"

"I'd very much like to indulge in a morning kiss without vomit-breath, if that suits you." As John spoke, a sink appeared by the sofa, equipped with two toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste. "Boy, I love this room."

"Oh, well… In that case." Sherlock jumped up eagerly to join John in brushing his teeth, the toilet by which he previously sat vanishing in an instant.

With their teeth now sparkling clean and their mouths tasting of mint, John and Sherlock didn't hesitate in pulling each other forward and engaging in their first sober kiss. Their lips pressed together softly with a newfound shyness and John's hand lifted slowly to caress Sherlock's cheek. It was slow and delicate, almost careful, but nonetheless left John with goosebumps prickling his skin and his knees weak. Sherlock's hands came to rest on the small of John's back, thumbs tracing small circles in reassurance. John wanted to stay there forever, kissing Sherlock, and never let go.

Which is practically what he did over the next two weeks. At every opportunity given, which included after classes, lunchtimes and weekends, Sherlock and John would meet either in the Room of Requirement or beneath a tree by the Black Lake, wrapped in each other's arms and hidden from speculating eyes. Sometimes they simply talked, about their childhoods, their interests and people they knew. Often, John would ask Sherlock to deduce those around them, watching with enraptured eyes as Sherlock unravelled life stories and secrets with a simple glance. And other times, which had become a personal favourite of John's, they simply kissed for what seemed to be hours on end. The kisses were slow and languid some days, fervent and zealous the next. John favoured them both equally, simply content to be secured in Sherlock's embrace.

Perhaps the only dismaying aspect of their newly developed romance was the incessant need to hide.

During Potions, neither boy let their gaze linger too long, being careful not to stir suspicion. The only time John could hold Sherlock's hand was in the safety of privacy, and he longed to express to the world how utterly besotted he was. But alas, limited by societal constraints, he was forced remain silent, listening to his housemates talk about their heterosexual dates and girlfriends with a bitter smile.

And so, when the official announcement of the Yule Ball finally rolled around in mid-December, it was safe to say John had mixed feelings.

"The Yule Ball will be a grand experience for all of you," spoke Professor Sprout. "A chance to let loose, have fun, and dance the night away."

John felt something akin to excitement stir in his gut. Sherlock had confessed to him some days ago that he was quite fond of dancing, and John was more than eager to indulge him.

"Now, as a ball, it is traditional – but not compulsory – for every attendee to have a partner. This event is for fourth years and above, but younger year levels are permitted if invited by an older student."

He was vaguely aware of Michael chatting eagerly beside him, his recent crush being a Hufflepuff from third year.

"In a moment I'll get you to pair up and practice your dancing. It'll be no good for us Hufflepuffs to embarrass ourselves on such an important night. Now, all partners are to be boy/girl, so up you get, boys. No need to be shy. Find a partner."

But John had already lost interest, shoulders immediately deflating at her words.

All partners are to be boy/girl.

Of course. Of fucking course. What had he even expected?

"Aye, too bad, Johnny!" jeered one boy from his year, Xavier, giving him a harsh slap on the shoulder. Michael sniggered beside him, and James looked as though he was tempted to join in. John kept his gaze firmly locked on the floor.

"C'mon now, Mr Watson. No use dawdling." came Professor Sprout's voice from the front of the room, nudging her head in the direction of the girls.

John stood awkwardly, scanning the crowd.

"Nah, Professor. John here might prefer to dance with me." laughed Xavier.

Professor Sprout gave them a befuddled expression.

"Isn't that right, Watson?" A firm hand clapped his shoulder, and John reacted before he even had time to think. He turned sharply and shoved Xavier away from him, hands balling into fists as the boy stumbled backwards in surprise.

The crowd of Hufflepuffs fell silent.

"Don't fucking touch me, fag." sputtered Xavier, dusting off his robes.

John had never wanted so badly to hex another human being. But rather, he turned a shoulder and walked away, spotting Molly Hooper amongst the girls.

"Mr Watson! Mr Rogers! My office immediately after we're finished here. And boys, find a partner, for Merlin's sake!"

John shoved his hands into his pockets, sheepish.

"Hey, Molly. Fancy a dance?"

"Sure, John. Are… Are you alright?"

John watched Sprout's demonstration carefully, placing his hands on Molly's waist. "Hm? Oh, yeah, of course."

Molly bit her lip, uncertain. "Those boys are awful, sometimes. The rumours of you haven't stopped."

"Let them have their fun. They obviously have nothing better to do."

"I don't know, John… Did something happen? Why don't you stand up for yourself?"

John shrugged, staring at the floor. "No point."

Molly sighed. "It's just so stupid. All because you made friends with Sherlock. I mean, yeah you guys are quite close, and sure, Sherlock is quite feminine, but that doesn't automatically mean you're gay. I mean, I know plenty of -"

"Molly." interrupted John, voice terse.

She paused, stunned.

"The rumours… they, er, aren't completely unwarranted."

"Oh."

John nodded slowly.

"Oh."

"Yeah..."

"Oh Merlin, John, I'm so sorry! That must be horrible to have them talking to you like that."

John hummed. "Yeah, I suppose. I just… I don't really know why it began in the first place, y'know? It hasn't really been too bad, but ever since I started hanging out with Sherlock, it's like I've turned into this completely different person. They don't even want to associate with me anymore. And they don't even know I'm with Sherlock – they just assumed it."

Molly looked in deep thought, contemplating. "Have you toyed with the possibility of this not being about sexuality?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, um, I mean, as far as they're concerned, there's nothing actually going on between you and Sherlock, right?"

John nodded.

"So maybe… This is more to do with the fact that you've chosen someone else over them as a friend. It's probably a blow to their pride because they're your housemates and he's just a Potions apprentice who, em, can't do magic." Molly paused, unsure. "The whole idea of him being a squib and you wanting to hang out with him… they can't comprehend it without justifying it some other way, hence the slurs about sexuality."

John blinked a few times to process her words.

"Molly… You are a genius."

Molly squeaked and ducked her head, ears burning red. "Well, I wouldn't go that far..."

"It makes perfect sense. I mean… a while back they did also accuse me of ditching them. Merlin, I've been a rubbish friend. What do you suppose I do now?"

The fourth year looked up, eyes glowing with pride at the chance to be helpful. "Um, I, er… Suppose you could apologise, first. The calm before the storm," she giggled then, an awkward, high pitched sort of laugh. "And then maybe, give them an ultimatum."

"A what?"

"Like um… maybe tell them the truth, first. And then say, 'you can either accept that and we can go on being mates, or you can be a total prick about it and never talk to me again.'"

John nodded, eager, and laughed at Molly's expression. "I think that could work, yeah."

"You really think so?"

"Yeah, of course. Thanks, Molly."

Molly grinned widely. "No problem."

The current scene was all too familiar. John, seated in Sprout's office, with another Hufflepuff fifth-year by his side.

His eyes were similarly locked onto the floor below, but this time, John didn't plan to go down without a fight. His conversation with Molly had left something akin to hope inside him, and he prayed that Cedric had been right about Professor Sprout's so called 'understanding' nature.

"Right, boys. That display we all saw earlier was utterly horrendous. John – this is the second time you've been in my office within the last month. Does anybody care to explain first? Xavier?"

"I was just joking around, Professor, you heard. And then all of a sudden he just shoved me. Like some barbarian."

Merlin, John couldn't take this anymore. People walking all over him because they assumed he wouldn't fight back.

"Joking around?" sputtered John, looking up with fierce eyes. "Sorry, Professor, but this so called 'joking around' has been happening for weeks, and I'm struggling to see where the humour is."

"Care to elaborate, John?"

John was going to elaborate, all right. And he was going to fish the answers right out of Xavier.

"First of all, every Hufflepuff fifth-year refuses to sit with me in class. They've been bloody throwing slurs at me left and right, woken me up in the middle of the night, moved their beds, for Merlin's sake. Apparently I'm not allowed to associate with them anymore and I'm not wanted in the dorms. Not to mention Sherlock has had to put up with constant harassment, too."

Concern had been gradually growing on Sprout's features as John spoke, but at the last statement, her expression morphed into one of confusion. "I'm sorry, John, but what does Mr Holmes have to do with all this?"

"That squib's got everything to do with this! He's been taking John away every blooming second, filling his head with shit, infecting him. Of course we don't want you in the dorms anymore – you're never there to begin with!"

This came as a surprise to Sprout. And unfortunately, John hadn't anticipated Xavier bringing it up in conversation. "Pray tell, Mr Watson, why haven't you been in the dormitory?"

Xavier was standing now, as though he was eager to expose John's 'corruptness.' "Because he's been off every night with that apprentice! Coming in after curfew, wearing his clothes, smelling like squib."

John held up a hand, and couldn't help the sarcasm from escaping. "Sorry Xavier, care to remind me what a squib smells like again?"

"Oh, shut up, John. As if you don't know what I'm talking about."

"You jealous, Rogers?"

Xavier growled. "Like hell I'd be jealous of a fucking poof."

Bingo.

"Enough!" exclaimed Sprout, slamming her hands on the desk and standing up to loom over them. "Rogers, that is quite enough of that abhorrent language. I was quite confused at first, but now I think I know exactly what's going on here."

John felt his hand twitch uncomfortably and he closed his fist to stop it shaking.

"I don't know the nature of Mr Watson and Mr Holmes relationship, and nor, quite frankly, do I care to know. But Hufflepuff is a house of loyalty and fairness, and the kind of behaviour you boys have been directing at John is far from both. It's blatant discrimination and I am ashamed to see it among my students. Mr Rogers, is it true that the other Hufflepuff boys have moved their beds?"

Xavier was seated again now, tense and red in the face. "Yes, ma'am." he muttered.

Sprout shook her head, disappointed. "I hate to do this, really, but I'm taking 50 points from Hufflepuff for these disturbing enlightenments. After I've finished with you both, I want all you boys to sit down among each other and sort this out. It's immature, selfish and it's obviously crippling our sense of house unity. Rogers, you are dismissed, but John – I'd like you to stay back and have a word."

John swallowed, suddenly overwhelmingly nervous. Had he just been officially outed to his head of house?

"Yes, Professor."

Xavier walked out solemnly, shooting one last indecipherable look over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.

"John."

John looked up, face red.

"You could have told me, you know."

John simply shrugged.

"Though I may seem intimidating as an authority figure, I am first and foremost your head of house. I care about all of my students, and I most of all care if they are feeling unsafe or unwelcome. I despise bigotry and discrimination, John, and you were a victim of both. I apologise for not realising sooner."

"It's no problem, ma'am."

Professor Sprout smiled warmly. "Unfortunately John, staying out after curfew is against the Hogwarts rules. I'm aware it may be tempting – especially considering Mr Holmes is not a student here – however there is no excuse. I'm not your mother, I know, but I am your head of house, and hence I need to set an example for my students."

John nodded grimly. "I understand. I'm really sorry, Professor."

"It's no worries, John. Just understand that if there is anything wrong, you can come talk to me, okay? Is there anything else before I dismiss you?"

John hesitated. "Actually, Professor… Is it true that partners for the Yule Ball can only be boy/girl?"

At this, Professor Sprout deflated. "I'm sorry, John. It is tradition. I could try talking to Professor McGonagall regarding the matter if -"

"No, er, it's fine. Don't worry about it."

"Okay, John, if you're sure."

"I am, Professor. Er… Thanks for all this, by the way. I suppose I'll see you in class."

"That you will, John." The Hufflepuff head of house smiled once again, though this time, the light failed to reach her eyes. She looked sorrowful – sympathetic, almost – and watched John leave with with a sort of hidden concern.

John purposely avoided bringing up the Yule Ball around Sherlock from that day forth. It was no use if he couldn't invite him to begin with, and he didn't want to get Sherlock's hopes up only to slam him back down again. Decorations in the Great Hall had gradually started to celebrate the Christmas festivities, but John was finding it difficult to be infected with the same joy as the rest of the cohort.

"Professor Snape is making me stay behind for a few lunches this week to prepare some potions. They're really interesting, John. Did you know Veritaserum isn't always accurate due to how the user perceives the 'truth'?"

John watched Sherlock ramble with a small grin on his face, captivated by his excitement and expression. The weather at Hogwarts had been getting progressively colder over the past few weeks, and so the two of them were bundled up by the fire in Sherlock's personal quarters. He'd been surprised when Sherlock first proposed them sitting in there as opposed to the usual Room of Requirement, but found the space to be just as comfortable and very Sherlock-esque. Books were strewn everywhere, with many packed unevenly in the bookshelf to accommodate the expansive collection, and potion recipes seemed to lie on every surface. The sitting room was home to a desk, a small dining table, a large sofa and a fireplace, beside of which sat Sherlock's personal kitchen/laboratory. Here, it seemed as though potions were brewing constantly, and though the smell turned John away at first, he learned to become accustomed to it.

Past the small lab was a short hallway, which led to the remaining two rooms of the quarters: the bathroom and Sherlock's bedroom. John had been in neither yet, in fear of violating Sherlock's privacy, but a part of him hoped that he and the bedroom would not be unacquainted for much longer.

Perhaps the only downfall to this area was the fact that it was adjacent to Snape's own quarters, a concept that left John slightly uncomfortable.

"So, he has the password? He can just come in here… whenever he likes?"

"That is just what I said, John. Do keep up."

Snape hadn't yet caught them snogging, but John wasn't willing to take too many chances.

He was snapped back into reality by Sherlock gently calling his name.

"-ohn? John?"

John blinked. "Oh, sorry. Hm?"

"I was just asking if you'd be alright spending those lunches in the Great Hall. I likely won't be allowed company."

John nodded. "Yeah, of course I'll be 'right. On that note, er… I can't really stay after curfew anymore, either." He paused, flushing pink. "Sprout figured out I was coming back to the dorms late."

Sherlock visibly slumped at this. "Oh."

"Don't worry, though! Christmas holidays are soon, we'll be able to spend lots of time together."

"I suppose, yeah." Sherlock hummed dejectedly.

John regarded him with fond eyes. He opened his arms wide in invitation. "C'mere, love."

Sherlock immediately lifted from his position by the desk to join John on the couch, falling naturally into John's embrace. "I'll be bored without you."

"I'll be here every other time of the day, basically. Just not after curfew."

Sherlock visibly pouted at this – pouted – and nestled further into John's arms. "But nobody else is around then. It's the best time of day."

John pressed a kiss into Sherlock's hair. "You ought to be asleep then." he mumbled.

"Dull. There's so many better things to be doing."

"Like?" John raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock looked up at John then, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Oh, I don't know," he murmured, hands lifting to fiddle with John's tie. "Maybe something like this?"

And then they were kissing. A familiar sensation by now but nonetheless a sensation John would never tire of. Sherlock's tongue probed against his lips and John opened compliantly, shifting in the sofa so that his head could lie against the arm rest. What began softly was soon developing into something else, with Sherlock's knees straddling John's own and body pressing against him eagerly. John sighed contentedly into Sherlock's mouth, slipping his hands beneath Sherlock's shirt and relishing in the sensation of his fingers against Sherlock's skin.

He'd never experienced a breathlessness like this. It was addictive.

Before he could quite comprehend where it was going, their fingers were fumbling over each other's buttons clumsily and Sherlock's lips were drifting away from John's own. Instead, they pressed against his cheekbone, drifted down to his jawline and settled against his neck, kissing and sucking and licking until John was left gasping beneath him.

"Sherlock," he breathed, neck arched to allow better access.

"John," Sherlock murmured against his skin, hot breath sending shivers down John's spine.

John buried his fingers into Sherlock's curls, tugging gently so that he could kiss Sherlock's lips once more. He wasn't quite certain when his tie had been removed or when Sherlock's shirt had been completely unbuttoned, but didn't really care to ponder, simply savouring the view of Sherlock's bare chest. It was porcelain white, as though it had never seen the sun, and John marvelled at its sheer perfection.

"You are beautiful," he mumbled, reaching up to press a closed-mouth kiss against Sherlock's collarbone. He felt Sherlock tense slightly above him, before relaxing into the touch. His cheeks were red and he stared down at John with such affection that John was losing his breath all over again.

"What did I do to deserve someone like you?" Sherlock mumbled, leaning down to kiss John tenderly on the mouth.

"You don't need to do anything to warrant my affections, Sherlock. We have each other because I like you and you like me too. That's all there is to it."

Sherlock smiled authentically at this, cheeks red and eyes shimmering. He dropped against John so that their bodies were pressed against each other and his face could nestle comfortably against the crook of John's neck. "Thank you for liking me." he whispered.

And it broke John's heart.