Can I just take a moment to say how wonderful all you people are? You really make my day, every time you review. Honestly, as soon as I get one, I stop everything to read it. I love reviews even more than favs and follows. So thanks to the many, many people who have responded so far.

Fangirl of Mass Destruction: First of all, I love your username! Secondly, I didn't realize just how OP Sherlock was until you told me. But now, I see your point. I'm going to switch around a few things that I think will not only aid in the story plot itself, but will add some funnies along the way. xD

Terra-Fair: It would be funny, but I already have plans for Voldemort. Though, I don't know how I'm going to use Moriarty in this fic, so if you have any ideas, that'd be epic.

Kai19: I actually wrote this chapter while on my break, xD You know, you're the second person to guess that. But…spoilers :) Don't worry, Mycroft will make more of an appearance in this chapter.

Murder Junkie: lol, yeah. I'm looking forward to writing about both those classes.

ChocolateSauce18: What is "crafting"?

Thank you everyone for your kind reviews. I haven't gotten a single negative one about this fic, which is definitely a first! Love you all! And sorry this AN is so long, but I wanted to reply to the questions. Also, just in general…no Colin is no Moriarty, but he is connected to John and Sherlock's past….chew on THAT for a while.

May the gods be ever in your favor!

~James

McGonagall was striding through the Great Hall towards the teacher table, stifling a yawn, when she nearly ran into bleary-eyed Neville Longbottom. The boy's eyes were half closed, and look surprised as he stumbled back, as though he hadn't seen her. "Sorry Professor" Neville said scrubbing his eyes.

"Did you have trouble sleeping, Mr. Longbottom?" she asked out of concern, though with a firm tone of voice. After all, it wouldn't be the first time that a student had purposefully stayed awake through the night. Neville furrowed his brow.

"Not really," he said. "But by the time we had gotten ready for bed, it was already almost time to wake u-u-up" Neville yawned through the last word.

"And just what were you doing all night?" she asked sternly, wondering if she'd have to take away points. Severus would just love seeing her having to deduct from her own house so early in the year.

"We were experimenting," Neville said with a happy little smile. "With explosive transfiguration. Sherlock and Seamus were showing us how we could make bombs that look just like ordinary things. We even figured out how to delay the explosion a bit." The boy's tired eyes now had a little bit more sparkle in them. "It was really fun! But then we lost track of time…" Neville looked sheepish. Minerva was torn between pleased Sherlock—Mr. Potter—was taking transfiguration so seriously, and being annoyed that her first years had stayed up all night.

"I want you and anyone else who was so foolish to head to Madame Pomfrey after breakfast for a Pepper Up potion," she told him sternly. "And no more staying up past eleven. If I find out that you do, it'll be twenty points from Gryffindor for every student who participated." Neville looked down at his shoes in shame. "Make sure you pass the message along."

"Yes Professor," Neville said as he slumped over to the cluster of First year boys who were practically passed out on the table.

All except for Sherlock—no, Minerva corrected herself Mr. Potter—who looked as bright eyed and bushy-tailed as ever. The boy in question was waving his wand over a goblet, chanting something under his breath while Mr. Finnegan watched on eagerly. As she began walking towards the professor's table once more, she heard an explosion come from that direction. And she sighed.

*****1047*****

Sherlock was practically buzzing in his seat in the potions lab that afternoon. Across the room, Mycroft was rolling his eyes at his little brother. Double Potions today with the Slytherins, and tomorrow would be just an hour with only the Gryffindors. John was sulking, because Sherlock had chosen Seamus as his partner for labs. Dean was also sulking, because he was paired with Neville instead of Seamus. Greg didn't want a partner, and as there was an odd number of students, no one argued with her. Parvati and Lavender paired off, which left John with Colin, who seemed the only boy happy, besides Neville who was simply pleased he had a partner, with the arrangement.

"You're so lucky to be best friends with the Harry Potter. I mean, he's so brilliant. How'd he ever think of all those ways to use explosive transfiguration? I can't wait until he comes to my house this summer, it'll be great." Colin babbled.

"Come to your house?" John asked, feeling his jealousy grow with every minute, between hearing Colin talk about how amazing Sherlock was, and watching Seamus and Sherlock giggle over their potion textbooks. John wondered when the bloody professor would get here.

"Yeah, he didn't tell you? It's my birthday the week after school gets out, so I'm inviting all the first year Gryffindors over for the day!" he said excitedly. "You'll come too, won't you John?"

"Of course," he told the smaller boy. "Someone has to keep an eye on Sherlock."

Just the then door banged open. "There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class." Professor Snape began without preamble. "As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few..." Here Professor Snape looked directly at Draco Malfoy, who smirked. "…who possess the predisposition. I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even…put a stopper in death."

Sherlock and Seamus showed extremely poor timing when they chose right then to giggle over something Sherlock had whispered into Seamus' ear. "Then again," Snape continued with narrowed eyes. "Maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts with abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to Not Pay Attention." Sherlock rolled his eyes, making Snape's scowl more pronounced even as Gremione subtly whacked him over the head.

Snape stepped ever closer, looking for all the world like he wanted to smack Sherlock's ego out of his head. "Mr. Potter…" Snape grimaced at the name like it was a particularly foul thing. "Our…new…celebrity." Sherlock scowled right back at the professor. "Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Well that depends," Sherlock replied easily. "Are you just clumping together the powders? Because if so, all you have is a mess. However, if you combine them in a mixture of ginger essence and bat blood brewed for an hour at a temperature of precisely 100 degrees Celsius, then cooled to 20 with an added sprinkle of ground bone of toad, you'll get the Drought of Sleeping Death."

Even Snape looked shocked during the duration of the following silence. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" he snapped out.

"The antidote shelf of your potion's closet?" Sherlock drawled. "Or, if you ask because you're out, the stomach of a goat. Bezoars found in a pregnant goat are more potent, but infinitely more messy to retrieve."

Snape looked interested now. "And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"The spelling." Seamus couldn't hold back a snort.

"Explain." Snape demanded sharply.

"They're the same plant, aconite, so technically the only difference is the spelling."

There was nothing but silence. "Well?" Snape asked the class. "Why aren't you writing this down?" Snape whirled back around, his robes flaring as he walked back to the front of the classroom. He wrote up on the board instructions to make a simple boil-removing paste. John was interested, as if could prove useful in the future, so he and Colin set out to carefully make the paste. After the dramatic beginning to class, it went smoothly.

That is, until Sherlock and Seamus' cauldron exploded with a spectacular, deafening 'BOOM'. Sherlock cackled in glee as Seamus squealed while he ran for cover. Snape cast a shield protecting the class from the splatter, though two rather dumpy looking Slytherins got splattered on their faces. Their skin immediately turned a violent orange.

"Ten points from Gryffindor!" Snape barked. "Why did you not follow my instructions? You didn't even use ONE ingredient I posted on the board"

"I already know how to make that potion," Sherlock said in the same tone of voice he used to use when he wanted Anderson or Donavan to know just how much he thought they were idiots. "What I didn't know, was if this particular mixture of these ingredients," Sherlock gave a vague wave at his poor cauldron "would explode. And now I know."

"Detention, Potter!" Snape spat. "Tonight with me at seven." Sherlock rolled his eyes but mutter out a 'fine'.

******1047******

Over the next few weeks the firsties of Gryffindor tower fell into comfortable routine. They'd wake up to find a chattering Sherlock lying sprawled across a fast-asleep John. Then Sherlock and Seamus blew things up during breakfast while Colin babbled about how amazing Sherlock was. Then Sherlock would blow things up/show off/annoy the teachers during classes, invariably getting detention from Snape. Mycroft would always seek Sherlock out once a day do "check up on him" (though it seemed to everyone but the two ex-Holmes boys that it was simply to have an insulting battle of wits). Gremione would nag about getting homework done. Seamus experimented with Sherlock while John fretted about them catching themselves on fire.

Nothing much changed until two weeks in when a notice for flying matched was posted in the Gryffindor common room. Sherlock took one look at it and sneered. "It's like they're asking for one of the students to be horribly maimed." He said snidely.

Neville patted his arm comfortingly. "It's alright, Sherlock. I'm a bit scared myself to be honest." Sherlock looked scandalized.

"I'm not scared" Sherlock scoffed at the outrageous notion. Neville just gave him a pitying smile and patted his arm again.

"'Course you're not," he said. John grinned at Sherlock, to the genius' ire.

"I'm rather looking forward to it," John said. "My brothers and I fly all the time back home. You know, I heard your br—your archenemy bragging about how well he could fly." Sherlock sniffed condescendingly.

"OH, please, John. With that fat arse I'd be surprised if he found a broom sturdy enough to lift him off the ground." John giggled in spite of himself. That afternoon found them lined up in the front lawn, broomsticks laying on the ground beside them. Sherlock was glaring at his like it was infected with some sort of nasty disease. Then John amended that thought, Sherlock would be incredibly interested if it were imbued with disease. No, he was glaring at the broom like it at Sargent Donovan's face painted onto the side of it.

Madame Hooch was looking straight at John with a pinched expression. "Mr. Weasley. If at any time you find your leg troubling you, I want to know straight away. Do I make myself clear?" John nodded, ignoring a leers he was getting from the Slytherin side of the class. "Alright, put one hand over your broom and say, very clearly, 'up'."

"Up" Sherlock drawled, and his broom jumped into his hand. Sherlock held it by a finger and thumb, as though he were afraid to expose too much of it to his bare skin. Mycroft got his on his second try. Seamus managed to cause his to erupt in flames. Neville got smacked in the nose. Greg's just sort of rolled over on the ground. Lavender and Parvati both refused to try, and Dean's floated leisurely up half way to his hand before plucking back down. The Slytherin's weren't having much luck either.

"Up!" John cried for the third time, and his broom flew up and nearly went passed his head if he hadn't caught it in time. It took another ten minutes before the rest of the class succeeded, and which point Madame Hooch looked rather annoyed. "Now" she said after a Slytherin boy named Goyle finally managed it with some help from Zabini, "Mount your brooms and slowly rise no more than five feet, than touch back down. On my whistle. Ready," As soon as Neville mounted his broom shot into the air.

"AHHHHHHHHH!" he wailed as the broom looped and lurched, as if it was trying to buck him off.

"Longbottom!" Madame Hooch cried. "Get back down!"

"C-CANT" Neville insisted as the broom zoomed straight for the wall. There was the sickening sound of impact, then Neville started to fall. Sherlock whipped out his wand and whispered 'Arresto momentum'. The class held its breath as Neville's fall slowed, until he rested gently against the grass. Madam Hooch was by his side in an instant, hollering out that no one was to be on their brooms until she returned from escorting Neville to the infirmary. "Or you'll be expelled before you can say 'Quidditch'."

As soon as she left, Mycroft approached Sherlock and John, the latter of which was taut with worry for their friend. "You needn't worry," Mycroft drawled. "Thanks to Sherlock, the worst injury he could have sustained is a broken limb…or several. Which, of course, can be mended in an instant."

"Pity it wasn't you that lost control," Sherlock said snidely. "All that fat on your body would have cushioned you." Mycroft rolled his eyes while Blaise snickered from behind him, used to Sherlock's comments on Mycroft's weight by now. Mycroft sneered.

"Obviously untrue even if I were obese, as your chubby friend's jelly rolls failed to do anything other than flop around." John's grin slipped off his face and some irritation started to show. Sherlock, however, just looked (mock) repulsed at having Mycroft so close to his being. "It's obvious the grubby klutz has never been on a broom in his life, and considering his track record I'm surprised the broom flew at all." Mycroft continued. Sherlock only rolled his eyes, knowing that his brother was only trying to get his goat. However as Mycroft stooped to pick up something from the grass, John snapped.

"How dare you!" John's voice cracked lick a whip, which was impressive seeing as he—like everyone else present—had only squeaky eleven-year-old vocal chords to utilize. "Neville is plenty competent when it comes to other things. I dare say he's better than you at Herbology."

If Sherlock were a lesser man, he would have winced at John's bravery/stupidity. The only rule of Mycroft's he followed (mostly because it had gone unspoken and agreed upon between them) that no matter how low the insults get, never state that someone outside of the Holmeses could ever match or (Merlin forbid) surpass Mycroft in anyway.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed and two small blotches of color began to grow on his normally pale and impassive face. He held up his hand, casually showing off the little trinket Neville had gotten from his Gran that morning from his owl. Mycroft tossed it lightly from one hand to the other. "I must say, Weasley that I didn't think Longbottom was quite your type. Must I correct that assumption? You're defending him rather hastily." Mycroft sneered as the Slytherins cackled and John spluttered (Sherlock may or may not have been growling). "Or perhaps you're trying to cover up your own relief at not having to fly today, now that the oaf has gone and broken his arm. Everyone already knows your mummy wrote the school, asking you be excused today because of your handicap. It's only Gryffindor bullheadedness that your came out at all, isn't it?" Mycroft smoothly sailed up some thirty feet into the air, his broomstick still nearly vertical as the blond aristocrat hung on with merely a single hand and foot, but looking as snootily comfortable as ever. "You should've been a Hufflepuff."

Without a second thought, John mounted his broom and took to the sky, parallel with Mycroft before Sherlock could redraw his wand. Gremione gasped in horror. "John, get down! Madame Hooch said you'll be expelled!" Sherlock's heart clenched strangely in his chest, his knuckles white, his fingers tight on his wand. Whether it was the fact that John was suspended fifty feet in air by a flimsy looking twig, or the prospect of John being kicked out, Sherlock couldn't decide. On impulse, Sherlock fired off a stinging hex which connected with Mycroft's hand (Terrible shot, he'd been aiming for his brother's face) in an attempt to startle John into coming back down.

It didn't work, the Remembrall flew out of Mycroft's hand, and the students below lost sight of it in the glaring light of the near-noon sun. John took off like he was shot from a gun, then dove down at a frightening angle at breakneck speed. Down, down, down…Sherlock's mind blanked. He couldn't remember what spell to use...the cushioning charm? Was it powerful enough? Arresto momentum? But that could be counterproductive if the charm hit only the broom and John went flying off without it.

Then John swooped back up in a graceful curve, just as he had been only centimeters from his shoes scraping the grass. He hand his right hand above his head. In his fist was clutched the Remembrall. Colin Creevy started up a cheer that the rest of the Gryffindors immediately copied as they scrambled over to where John was dismounting his broom to congratulate him. Sherlock pounded ahead of all of them, nearly tackling John before he'd completely gotten off his broom. Both boys hit the grass but Sherlock didn't seem to notice. His knees were on the larger boy's chest and his hands were clutched in the fabric of John's collar.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING YOU IMBICILE!?" Sherlock roared. "IT'S JUST A PIECE OF BLOODY GLASS! I COULD'VE REPLACED IT FOR THREE SICKLES VIA OWL, BUT NOOOOOO! THE GREAT JOHNALD WEASLEY HAS TO GO AND PLAY CHICKEN. WITH. THE. GROUND!" Sherlock buried his face in John's neck, suddenly quiet. "I hate you." He said as he wound his arms almost protectively about John's shoulders.

"I couldn't have said it better myself, Mr. Potter." Said a stern voice with a Scottish lilt. John and Sherlock both paled as the Gryffindor firsties parted to allow McGonagall a pathway to the two boys still sitting on the ground. "That was reckless, foolhardy and not to mention against the rules. Mr. Weasley," McGonagall glowered. "Come. With. Me." Sherlock seemed to shrink against John.

"Please, Professor," Sherlock pleaded. "John didn't really do anything wrong. It was My—Malfoy who started it. He stole Neville's-"

"I don't care," McGonagall cut him off, her eyes sparkling strangely as Sherlock pressed harder against John, nearly pushing him sprawled into the dirt. "Mr. Weasley, come with me." She repeated. The boys reluctantly got up, and Sherlock gripped one of John's hand in his own. "Just Mr. Weasley." Sherlock blanched.

"But you don't understand," Sherlock started again desperately. "It wasn't his fault at all! I-I-I-I Imperiosed him!" he blurted out, mentally kicking himself for the blatant lie as some of his more gullible classmates gasped. McGonagall peered down her nose at Sherlock, making the once-thirty-year-old-man feel very small indeed.

"Just Mr. Weasley," her voice was softer this time, and Sherlock didn't quite know what it meant. Apparently, neither did Mycroft, who looked (for the first time in Sherlock's memory) guilty. John squeezed Sherlock's hand once before letting go and dejectedly following McGonagall.

The last thing Sherlock observed before fleeing to the Gryffindor common room was John's right leg stiffening as he walked.

****1047****

Sherlock lay face down on his bed…well, John's bed. Dean, Seamus, Greg and Colin were standing in an awkward sort of cluster on the other side of the dormitory. None of them seemed to know how to break the silence, none of them really even thought it appropriate in this case. One of their number was getting expelled. Greg crept closer to Sherlock after a few moments, Colin following suit after a second's hesitation. Gremione sat down on Sherlock's bed and rubbed the spot between his shoulder blades gently, trying to offer silent comfort.

Colin quietly sat down on the other side of the bed, twiddling his fingers in his lap looking confused and nearly as dejected as Sherlock.

They all flinched when the door banged open. It was John, Sherlock tumbled from his bed, knocking over Gremione in the process to leap at his friend. "I'm the new Seeker!" John blurted out. "I'm not in trouble at all!" he was beaming from ear to ear, and like that all tension drifted from the room. Dean gave a whoop and high-fived John while Seamus let out a slow, respectful 'Wicked'.

Gremione gave John a hug of her own, though she made no attempted to disentangle Sherlock first, from where he was clinging to John like a limpet. So it ended up being a strange sort of three-way group hug, that the rest of the boys laughingly joined in on. "That was so irresponsible!" she scolded, not letting go. "You could've been expelled. And then I would have been stuck dealing with Sherlock on my own!"

"And what are we, chopped liver?" Seamus asked in mock anger.

"What's Seeker?" Colin asked.

John grinned. "It's a position on a Quidditch team, the most important position," John was visible preening now as his ego purred in delight at all of the attention. "Come on down to lunch and I'll tell you about it; I'm starving!"

"Wait!" Sherlock said suddenly, both his arms wrapped about John's left one. "Don't tell Mycroft. Let him think John got expelled and now he's having his last meal before boarding the train." Gremione rolled her eyes but the rest of them gave firm, almost vicious nods. Sherlock even took a moment to be slightly impressed as Seamus started slapping his face, making it red and his eyes water, like he'd been crying. Dean's shoulders were slouched and his face screwed up. Gremione looked angry…though it might have been at Sherlock's little prank rather than play-acting for it. And Colin started sniffling and pathetically latched on to John's other side.

It was like this that they wandered into the Great Hall. They drew many looks and (Except Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape) assumed that John had been expelled because of the stunt at Flying practice. They drew many pitying looks as they sat down at the Gryffindor table and began to solemnly load their plates, Sherlock not even bothering to be subtle about how he ate off of John's. Sherlock nearly forgot about their little prank when an abandoned newspaper caught his eyes. He grabbed it and then tugged on John's arm, which drew the attention of the whole group.

"Look at this," Sherlock said. "Someone broke into Gringotts, successfully I might add, but didn't take anything because the vault they chose was empty."

"Well, that's rather unfortunate planning," Dean snorted. Sherlock nodded absently.

"I recognize both the goblin in this picture, and the vault. It's the goblin who showed Hagrid and myself to my trust vault and Gringotts, and this vault is the one Hagrid retrieved something from. One Dumbledore's orders he said. What's more, is that the robbery happened on the very same day that we were there. It's only just come out now because the Ministry was trying to hide it."

"I can understand why," John said. "It would take a very powerful wizard to get into Gringotts with malicious intent, let alone back out. The Minister probably didn't want to cause a panic. I only wonder what it was."

"Something interesting," Sherlock said, his eyes gleaming. "I told you I smelled a case, Gremione!" Greg looked concerned and was about to say something when a shadow fell across the table. Sherlock scowled, recognizing Mycroft's silhouette. He didn't bother looking up.

"I…regret my actions earlier, Ronald," Mycroft said stiffly as the Gryffindor first years all gave him and Blaise, who was standing stiffly next to him, the evil eye. Except for Colin who was still sniffling behind his hands. "I'd have you know that my father is on the board of Governors for the school. I'm sure he'd be able to intervene-"

"He doesn't want any help from you," Sherlock sneered at him. "Haven't you don't enough, Malfoy? Let us eat in peace."

"I'm trying to help-"

"I'm sick of your 'help', Mycroft," Sherlock hissed. "I challenge you to a wizarding duel, the classroom across from McGonagall's, tonight. Twelve sharp. John's my second, choose yours."

"Blaise," Mycroft said, his eyes twinkling. "No backing out, Potter."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Malfoy,"

Malfoy spun on his heel and marched back to the Slytherin table with a very confused Blaise on his heels. "What was that about?" Dean demanded after a moment. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, as though he assumed it should be obvious.

"I just informed him that John wasn't expelled, but because I'm angry with him he should cause a distraction here on the ground floor to make it up to me while John and I explore the third level, because obviously whatever Hagrid took from the vault, he brought here." Only John wasn't looking at Sherlock like he'd sudden sprouted a pair of faerie wings.

"Are you sure he got all that," asked Seamus. "From that?"

"Of course," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Malfoy is many things, but unfortunately an idiot isn't one of them." Greg scoffed while Colin, Dean and Seamus slowly nodded, trying to act like they weren't completely lost to what the heck was going on.

"Dumbledore told us not to go to the third floor," Gremione told them with a tight frown. "It was the very first thing he warned us about."

"Exactly," said Sherlock, looking please. Clearly assuming that Gremione's statement meant that she was on the same page as them. But he was soon disappointed, as even John looked confused. Sherlock sighed at his friends' idiocy. "The surest way to ensure that children go somewhere, is to tell them that by doing so they'll die a horrible death, and do so in a dramatic fashion. Clearly, Father Christmas over there wants one of us lions to go snooping. Something just isn't right, I need to find out what the object is! It's the most interesting thing that's happened all semester!"

John looked at him in disbelief. "Really?" he asked incredulously. "A bank robbery is the most interesting thing that's happened lately?" he just stared when Sherlock frowned. "Really?" Sherlock's lips gave a twitch and he patted John on the head, finding it slightly odd that he had to reach up to do so.

"Valid point, John," Sherlock said, sounding pleased before turning back to his/John's meal.

******1047******

"You really, really shouldn't be doing this," Gremione tried for the third time to dissuade them. "John only just barely avoided being expelled this afternoon. Maybe give it a break for a week or two? Space your activity out a bit? They'll be more lenient that way than if you just keep causing one disaster after another."

Sherlock pondered this for a moment. "Sound strategy, Lestrade, except I'd hardly count today as a 'disaster'. Neville's already healed and it's not like it was even our fault. Furthermore, Mycroft will be causing a disturbance downstairs, probably only to blame it on Peeves later, so we have a small gap fro approximately twelve to twelve-thirty between when Filch will be on the first and third floor. And if you see a cat, shoot first ask questions later," Sherlock said that last bit to John.

Gremione watched John nod as he fingered the wand that was sticking out of his back pocket. She sighed heavily. "Give me a moment to fetch my wand, and then I'm coming with you." She told them. Sherlock made an impatient gesture for her to hurry up, so she took the stairs up to the girl's dorm two by two. She was back within moments, her vine wood wand in grasp.

"If we get caught," Gremione said. "I'm claiming Imperio." Sherlock rolled his eyes as he pushed open the Fat Lady's portrait. The woman muttered a bit in her sleep as John quietly closed it behind them. They crept through the castle along the walls, staying in the shadows. As they were passing by the stairwell, they heard a great crash that came from several stories below. It was followed by a shout from, who Sherlock recognized as, Snape.

"That'll be Mycroft," Sherlock said. "Run" Gremione and John needed no further prompting as they clambered down the steps to the third floor corridor. They heard footsteps coming close, assumedly professors coming to investigate the noise. They bolted down the nearest hallway, all with the unanimous thought to hide through the door at the end of the hallway…which Sherlock noticed with a slightly elevated heart rate was the only door there. John reached it first, only to moan quietly in dismay when finding it locked.

"Out of the way," Sherlock said. "Alohamora" There was an audible 'click' and Gremione swung the door open. No sooner than were they all inside than did they hear the professor's footsteps begin to fade with distance. They all three sighed in relief. "That went well, I was half expecting someone to double check this room was safe." John gave him a fond look while trying to catch his breath when Gremione almost (quietly) screamed at Sherlock to ask if he was trying to get the three of them expelled. Then John's face froze.

"G-g-guys?" he asked, his eyes boring into something above Sherlock's head.

"John?" Sherlock asked in concern. He made to step over, closer to his friend, when a large wet glob of something splattered all over the floor between them. Sherlock jumped back in surprise, only for his back to make contact with a wall.

A large…moving…furry wall. Sherlock twirled around with a stupefy on his lips, but the spell failed him when he lost his concentration. "A Cerberus," Sherlock said in what John could only describe as reverence. "Look, John!" Sherlock cried with all the glee of a child on Christmas morning. "A Cerberus! An actual Cerberus here at the sch—" John pulled Sherlock out of the way when one of the growling heads snapped at the babbling boy.

"Let's get out of here!" Gremione wailed as she threw open the door, no mind being stealthy now. John tore after her as he drug Sherlock behind him.

"There's no point running now," Sherlock pouted. "The poor beast is chained to the trapped door he's sitting on." But neither of his friends paid him any mind, or even slowed down until they were safely back within the walls of the Gryffindor common room. John then pulled Sherlock closer to himself and started patting his friend all over, as though checking to make sure all of Sherlock's body parts were where they were supposed to be. Then John hugged Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock made an annoyed sound, even as he patted John's back. "We need to get through that trapped door." Sherlock said. "I'm almost certain—"

"NO" John interrupted him, his fingers tangled in Sherlock's long hair on either side of his head. "Just…no. Those things are class XXXX. Nearly as bad as dragons. No. I'm not letting you anywhere near that thing." He pulled Sherlock to his chest, where Sherlock found John's heart to be beating at nearly three times its normal speed. It was then that Sherlock decided to let John recover for a fortnight until he approached the subject again.

And they both knew he would.