Sorry this took so long guys, really! This week was really hectic for me. Hope you enjoy the chapter! (I'll try to write a lot over my holiday break for you-I have lots planned.) –Mell.

The sun came before Sherlock was ready for it-he had fallen asleep in the light of the snow that was like stars, a lonely yet peaceful light, and now the harsh light of day was attacking his eyes. He blinked, and after a short struggle managed to untangle himself from the pile of blankets. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes, he looked down at John, still asleep, the sunlight not affecting him. Which was only natural, Sherlock supposed, seeing as he practically was the sun.

The boy shook his head, and ran a hand through his curls, trying to arrange them in a presentable manner. Glancing at John's watch, he saw that it was ten to nine-no time for breakfast. He stood up, straightened his shirt and tie, and threw his bag over his shoulder. Sherlock had Ancient Runes first, which meant John had the period off-Sherlock figured there was no point in waking him.

When John awoke, he felt considerably colder than how he had remembered falling asleep. Turning his head, he soon saw why-there was an empty patch of blankets where Sherlock had been sleeping. Sighing, John got to his feet.

Looking down at his watch, he groaned. He was deeply regretting not buying a watch that he could actually read, when Sherlock's words from the night before hit him: "It's called "the room of requirement" for a reason, you know."

Squeezing his eyes shut, he thought, I need a watch.

Something glinted on one of the bookshelves-upon investigation, it was a watch practically identical to his own.

Really? Fine. I need a muggle watch.

John had expected a second watch to appear, but instead he saw that the one on the bookshelf had transformed itself into a muggle watch (or had been replaced by one)-which didn't work because it obviously wasn't seven at night, and batteries didn't work at Hogwarts because of all the magic. John could have kicked himself-that was First Year knowledge.

What should I try, then? I need a muggle watch that runs on magic? No, that's contradictory. I need a working watch that I can read? No, how's this room supposed to know my watch-reading capabilities. It's the room of requirement, not the room of omniscience.

Giving up, John left the room of requirement and meandered down the hall, deciding that for the time being the best thing to do would be to go to Gryffindor tower; all of his stuff was there, and there were working clocks that he could read-which apparently the room of requirement considered itself too good for.

Luckily, the tower wasn't very far at all from the room of requirement-or so John had thought. They were both on the seventh floor, right? Apparently, the room had dumped him out somewhere that was not the seventh floor because when he got to where the portrait of the fat lady should have been, he found an empty classroom. John groaned audibly. This was definitely not his morning.

"John? Are you okay?" Sherlock spun around at the voice. "Sarah."

"Er, yes? What is it?"

"What time is it, and where in the name of Merlin's beard am I?"

Sarah looked at him like he had sprouted the tentacles of the giant squid-and considering things from her point of view, John could hardly blame the girl.

"It's ten o'clock, and you're in the fifth floor corridor…John, what happened? You never came back to the common room last night."

"I was practicing spells, and, er, fell asleep," John said, starting to walk. "Sorry, Sarah, I have to go-Potions stars now and I left my bag in the dormitory last night."

"I won't be there today, or you could use my stuff-I have a meeting with Professor McGonagall about my schedule for next year, and I have no free blocks; but it's just Potions, surely Sherlock will let you borrow his ingredients?"

"Yeahthat'srightI'llaskhimthanksSarah!" John said in a rush, already sprinting the other way.

John arrived only ten minutes late to Potions, which was an impressive feat, only manageable because he had sprinted most of the way. If he wasn't in such good shape from all the Quidditch practices, he never would have made it there alive.

As it was, he received a firm scolding from Slughorn "you need to keep on top of things, Mr. Watson! If you make a habit of being late it would hardly be acceptable for me to keep you in the Slug Club!" John briefly entertained the possibility of coming late to Potions every day until Slughorn made good on his threat.

He took a seat next to Sherlock, who gave him a strange look.

"…stupid room of requirement…dumped me off…not on the seventh floor corridor," he whispered between gasps.

"Ah, yes. It sometimes does that if there's a teacher or prefect controlling the corridor-to keep you out of trouble."

"Oh, how very thoughtful of it," John hissed, and Sherlock grinned.

"What Potion are we doing today?"

"Can't you read?" Sherlock snapped, suddenly cold. "It's on the board-Babbling Beverage."

"Or, er, right." He sat there stupidly for a moment, before deciding to go for it and say: "um, the thing is, I told you last night that my stuff was Gryffindor Tower, and I, er, didn't have time to get it this morning…"

"So you want to use my things?" Sherlock didn't even look up at him.

"If that's okay…I'll pay you back for whatever I use of your ingredients."

Sherlock scowled, still not meeting John's eyes, but shoved his set of potions ingredients and his book towards the boy. John uneasily set to work, determined not to bother Sherlock and put him in an even worse mood.

That evening, Dumbledore already seemed to have more information on the "coming event"-that Sherlock still insisted was the Triwizard Tournament. Speaking of Sherlock, John had expected him to join him at the Gryffindor table (John had sat with the Ravenclaws at lunch), but the other boy had blatantly ignored him and sat with his housemates.

Figuring it was best to let him be and act as though nothing was wrong, John focused his attention back on the Headmaster.

"…I am quite certain there have been a number of rumors that were passed around last night, which must have done nothing but multiplied throughout today-as is to be expected. These rumors range from completely ridiculous suggestions to much more spot-on ones…such as the idea that what I am talking to you about is none other than the legendary Triwizard Tournament."

At this, a bout of excited whispered rippled through the hall, which quickly diminished as Dumbledore continued.

"Originally, the Tournament is what we were aiming for. However, we were only able to find one other school willing to compete, so there will be a number of changes made: it will only be between the two schools-Hogwarts, and Durmstrang-and each school will have two champions rather than one. There will remain, however, three tasks, but the scoring will also be tweaked quite a bit, to encourage cooperation not only between the two schools, but within the students of each school as well. There will be more on that later, though-for now, know that it has been decided to host the tournament here, and that our guests will be arriving sometime during the middle of next week…and, most importantly, enjoy the feast."

John tried to catch Sherlock's eyes from across the hall, but the other boy still had his eyes fixed on Dumbledore. As he watched, the boy rose from his seat and exited the hall, not looking in John's direction. John nearly went after him, but decided, once again, to let him be. After all, the Hogsmeade trip was the next day, and John could talk to Sherlock then…that was, assuming the boy would show up.

Thinking back to the Slug Club party he had attended, John thought to himself, If that git doesn't turn up tomorrow I'm gonna bloody murder him.

When Sherlock awoke in his four-poster the next morning, buried under a mound of blue and bronze blankets, he thought for a moment that it was a normal day-until he noticed the high level of excitement that seemed to be emanating from the common room below, as he made his way down there. It wasn't until he was warming his hands in front of the fire and overheard the word "Hogsmeade" was his memory jogged.

I should really just get back in bed and pretend that I forgot…the boy entertained the possibility for more than a few minutes, but in the end decided he owed it to John-the boy had gone to Slughorn's awful party with him (even if it was just because Sarah was there), and Sherlock had been a bit rude to him the previous day.

Plus, he mused as he put on his shoes. It'll be quite entertaining to see how Sarah reacts to my presence…I highly doubt John informed her that I would be joining them.

He has halfway to the entrance hall when he was stopped by Molly Hooper. "Hi, Sherlock!" she said loudly and a bit breathlessly.

"Yes?"

"Oh, er, it's John! He said he wasn't sure if you were planning on going to Hogsmeade or not, but if you did, that he would meet you at The Three Broomsticks!"

"Oh. Thanks."

Sherlock brushed past her without another word, annoyance prickling his skin. I thought this entire expedition was based off of the fact that I've never been to Hogsmeade before. How the hell am I supposed to know where this damn place is?

In the end, The Three Broomsticks wasn't very difficult to find. On such a blistery day, it seemed that the vast majority of the students there-which seemed to Sherlock the vast majority of the school-was taking refuge either there, or in Honeyduke's sweet shop.

Sherlock elbowed his way through the crowd and found John and Sarah squeezed into a table in the corner. Sherlock pulled up a chair, and sat himself down between the two without a word.

"Oh, you decided to show up after all?" John said a bit briskly.

"I never said I wouldn't. You're time well lucky I found the place."

Sarah eyed him with disbelief and confusion. "I didn't know you were coming."

Predictable, Sherlock noted. "Ah, well, what a pleasant surprise this is for you."

"Quite."

"I'll go grab you a butterbeer-it'll warm you up as soon as it touches your lips," John informed him gleefully, not seeming to notice Sarah's annoyance.

Sherlock didn't even glance at the girl while John was away, but merely stared at a knot in the wood of the table, and thought of how much more comfortable he would be in the empty common room right now, finishing his book by the fire.

He had to admit though, this butterbeer substance was rather delectable-it did warm him up nearly immediately, and had a very rich, enjoyable flavor. After a few minutes of silence, Sarah rose to her feet.

"Well, I'd better get going."

John looked surprised, the fool. "Already? We just got here!"

"Yes, well, I have a lot of homework to do…and I should probably start studying for O.W.L.s, they'll be here before we know it." She tightened her red and gold scarf around her neck, and was out the door in a flash.

"That went well," Sherlock commented dryly.

John simply rolled his eyes. "Girls."

Once the boys had finished their butterbeer, with great foreboding they stepped out into the biting winds of November once again.

"Can't we get back to the castle yet?" Sherlock persisted. "It's bloody freezing, and I would actually like to finish that book before Christmas."

"You at least need to see Honeydukes."

"I did see it."

"You did?"

"Yes, I passed it on my way to The Three Broomsticks."

John rolled his eyes. "I mean you need to actually go inside and look around."

"Sherlock? Why, I don't believe my eyes! You're voluntarily surrounding yourself with people."

The curly-haired boy stopped dead in his tracks, visibly clenching his teeth. "Not voluntarily, Mycroft," he spat.

John turned around, surprised to see a tall boy with immaculate hair looking haughtily at the two of them. He took his Head Boy badge and Slytherin tie, and immediately the two objects clicked with the name, and-

"Wait, this is your brother?"

Sherlock gave a slight nod, as if he were disgusted to admit it. "Regrettably."

"Now, now, Sherlock, mother never liked it when we fought."

"What do you want?"

"A word with John, actually."

"Yes?"

"A private word please."

"Sorry, not happening," John replied, eyeing the boy with distaste.

Sherlock grinned. "Looks like you'll have to try harder than that."

Mycroft simply gazed at them, his expression not changing; but it seemed to John that an even colder wind had swept towards them. Shivering, he stepped a bit closer to Sherlock, remembering the boy's warmth and softness. "Come on. Let's just go back to the castle. It's too bloody cold for this."

"Hey, Sherlock?" John asked tentatively. They were on their way back up to the castle, battling against the bitter wind and the flakes of snow it had begun to carry with it.

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

"Stop being a smartass. Besides, that's the most cliché thing you could possible say."

Sherlock grinned. "Well, what is it?"

The boy took a deep breath. "Are you afraid to have friends?"

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, shocked, gazing at John with wide eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's just that, every time I get close to you, or try to, you push me away and completely disregard me."

Sherlock was silent, studying the snow that was beginning to gather on the toes of his shoes.

"Is it something to do with Collins?"

"I don't want to talk about Collins."

"Well we need to talk about this."

It was Sherlock's turn to take a deep breath. "I don't know. A lot of things have happened to me, and Collins is simply one of them. Maybe when they all added up, they broke something in me that can't be fixed. I've been thinking about that for a while now. But I decided something. Just now, actually. I might be unsure of many things about myself, but one thing that I'm sure of is that when I'm with you I'm happy, and happiness is something I want. I lived without it for too long. So for now, let's not talk. Let's just…be happy. Okay?"

John could feel his smile lighting up his face. "Okay".