((I'm so sorry that this took so long, guys. I've been super busy with schoolwork, and applying to colleges. I'll try to get another chapter up this weekend to make up for it though. Thanks for your patience and support!-Mell))

The two boys didn't see much of each other for the next few days-in potions, while they sat next to each other as usual, they barely spoke. John occasionally stole glances at Sherlock, but the other boy seemed to be blatantly ignoring him, completely focused on his work. Over the weekend, he never saw the dark-haired boy at all.

Come Monday morning, John was both looking forward to and dreading Defense Against the Dark Arts class as he waited outside of the doors-he was terrified to face Sherlock, both in dueling and just generally coming face-to-face with him, but he was also grateful that they were forced to interact. When he hadn't been practicing for the match that Saturday every hour of the day and night, he practiced his spells and jinxes, and every convenient hex he could think of. He wasn't sure how much of a chance he had to beat Sherlock, but he was determined to last as long as possible against him.

Time seemed to drag by, but before he knew it, there he was in the center of the room, wand raised, staring into the eyes of Sherlock Holmes, whose stormy grey eyes gave no hint of emotion whatsoever. His confidence beginning to slip, he waited for Sherlock to cast the first spell-and he was not disappointed in the slightest.

As silently as ever, an unknown jinx came soaring at him, which John parried easily with a flick of his wand. They battled for about five minutes when John began to grow enraged. Sherlock's face was unfaltering, and he was looking at John as if he were just another stranger that he had to defeat-something that John could not tolerate. He might not have known the boy very long, but he felt as though they shared a kind of bond. Neither of them really had friends, they were outcasts even in their own houses (Sherlock more than John, but still-), and it was as though in their loneliness they had found one another. And here the dark-haired boy stood, giving no acknowledgement that he even knew who John was. It was more than John could stand.

The class had counted on a long, suspenseful duel to take up most of the class, with a very close win-but they were sorely mistaken. While John became reckless and started lashing out, shooting his emotions from his wand tip, Sherlock remained perfectly composed, the model dueler.

So it took maybe another ten minutes of close calls before Sherlock slipped through John's defenses, and hit him with a Stunning Spell directly in the center of his chest.

John was knocked back a few feet, and landed on his back. But he still held tight to his wand-he was unable to stand, and couldn't even get up onto his knees. But he shakily raised his wand hand, pointed it at Sherlock, who was already walking away.

"Stupefy."

The hex shot past Sherlock's right ear, causing the boy to jump in surprise and spin around to stare in astonishment at the blond boy lying in a heap on the ground.

"I could have hit you," John spat. "But I don't attack people when their backs are turned."

The rest of the week practically flew by, and if anything John and Sherlock's relationship had plummeted even more since the duel. Sherlock won, because John was noble enough not to hit him, which the Professor commended-and gave Gryffindor twenty-five points for. Sherlock also received a stern reminder never to turn one's back on an enemy, unless one is sure he or she is incapable of battle. Though in Sherlock's defense, he admitted that normally, in John's situation, they would not be capable.

Soon enough, it was Saturday after breakfast, and John was walking down to the Quidditch pitch with the Gryffindor team for the first game of the season. Reynolds led them to the center and shook hands with the Ravenclaw captain, a tough girl who was deceivingly small, and largely resembled a squirrel.

"Good luck," Sarah whispered to John.

"You too."

John was grateful for the favorable conditions as he rose up into the air. It was cloudy, so the sun wasn't obstructing vision, and it was rather mild out. He circled the pitch at an easy speed, scanning for the snitch while enjoying being airborne.

Gryffindor scored the first goal within ten minutes, but that was followed closely by another two goals by one of the Ravenclaw chasers.

Sarah soon brought the game to a tie, 20-20, as a shrill voice informed them from below. Squinting, John recognized Collins, the boy that Sherlock had devastated in his preliminary match. He wasn't sure what to think of the kid, but he seemed nice enough.

About half way through the game, the wind began to pick up, which proved to make things more difficult-particularly for the Gryffindors, who were flying against it. Soon, Ravenclaw was leading by fifty points and the snitch was nowhere in sight. Desperate, John began circling even faster than before, looking everywhere for a glint of gold.

After a few more orbits, and two more goals to Ravenclaw later, John saw what he was looking for-on the complete other end of the pitch, where the Ravenclaw seeker, and captain, was hot in pursuit. In this area, her small size was definitely an advantage-she was able to move more quickly than most. However, unfortunately for her, she wasn't as good of a flier as John.

Realizing that they were headed right towards him, John shot forward to meet them. Just where they would have collided, the snitch took a sharp turn to the right. The Ravenclaw seeker tried to make much too sharp of a turn, and nearly fell off of her broom. John, however, took a slightly more gradual turn, and cut off the snitch-allowing it to fly directly into his hand.

Gryffindor had seized the victory by a slim thirty points, which was one of the closest known matches in the school's history thus far.

As John made his way to the changing rooms, a head of tousled dark hair caught his eye, but soon disappeared into the crowd. Could it be? He wondered to himself. No. He doesn't come to these sorts of things. He's too good for them.

Normally the house would be partying that evening, but since it was Halloween, and there would be a magnificent feast, they celebrated a bit early, and had a lunch of no small amount of food nicked from the kitchen.

"I wonder," began Sarah, casually sliding into a seat next to John, "when the first Hogsmeade trip will be."

"Probably not for another month," said John, a bit surprised that Sarah didn't seem to begrudge him their duel.

"Well, maybe we could go together?"

"Oh! Sure!" he agreed, a bit too loudly in his surprise. "I'd love too."

"Wonderful!"

John received another surprise that evening, at the feast-he was just beginning to dig into the scrumptious-looking dishes when Sherlock took a seat beside him.

"Congratulations."

"Oh. Er, thanks. Were you actually there?"

"I was. I didn't have anything better to do."

"I see."

"John?"

"Yes?"

"I'm-"

"-Don't," John said, cutting him off. "Let's just forget it."

"But-"

"-Okay?"

"…Okay."

It seemed to John that all the food tasted absolutely wonderful that night, and even Sherlock seemed in a rather pleasant mood. John felt warm and comfortable, and found himself wishing he could stay in that moment forever.