I'm apologizing in advance for how short this chapter is. I've had extreme writer's block lately. The next chapter will be plenty long though. Promise. -Mell

The Second Task was to take place the Saturday following the Ball, and Slughorn's Valentine's Party was the evening before that. That Friday morning, Sherlock seriously considered skipping Potions. In fact, when he arrived in the dungeons, he wished very much that he had.

While he was stirring his Draught of Living Death, John simply would not shut up. About. Anything.

"So you're not bringing a date to Slughorn's?" the blonde boy asked him, for what had to have been the hundredth time in the last ten minutes.

"No. I didn't bring anyone to the ball, why would this be different?"

"Because this is a Valentine's Party. It's supposed to be romantic! That's the whole point!"

"Then if I don't have a date, does that mean I don't have to go?" Sherlock asked sarcastically, with a bit of hope.

"It means Slughorn will find you a date, whether you want one or not."

"I don't want to talk about this," the Ravenclaw finally said, turning back to his potion.

"Okay then. Maybe we should talk about your plan for tomorrow? Since, you know, it's the Second Task, and as far as I know, you have no clue what you're doing."

"I have a plan," Sherlock said, unconvincingly. "Don't worry."

"I have a hard time believing that."

"Ye of little faith."

John sighed, and rubbed his eyes. "You and Collins are so, so screwed."

To that, Sherlock had absolutely nothing to say.

Transfiguration was only a little bit better. It was one of the classes that Sherlock didn't have with John-but did have with Collins. Normally, the two boys sat about as far apart as they could manage. Today, however, Jack took it upon himself to sit in the usually empty seat right beside him.

He wasted no time in launching into a rant about how nervous he was for the task the next day, and how he hoped Sherlock had a brilliant plan brewing in the depths of his mind that he would share with Jack before the task actually began.

"Don't worry," Sherlock muttered, focusing on transforming his tortoise into a rabbit. "I have a plan. I just need to work out the finer points."

"So you figured out the riddle?" The boy raised his eyebrows, and ran a hand through his red-gold hair, impressed.

"Of course. It was quite simple."

"Are you going to tell me?"

Sherlock was saved from having to come up with an excuse by the arrival of Professor McGonagall, informing the two that they had better start focusing a bit more if they wanted to have a chance at passing their O.W.L.s.

"I don't care how many tasks the two of you win," she barked at them sternly. "That won't earn you an "Outstanding" on your Transfiguration exam!"

Jack got the brunt of this lecture, considering that his rabbit was still inside a shell. Sherlock's, meanwhile, was flawless. The Ravenclaw shot the other boy a haughty grin before packing up his bag and hurrying back to the common room.

Maybe if he tripped on the stairs, he would be excused from the party that night…

As much torture as Potions and Transfiguration had been, with John and Jack harping on him the whole time, he would rather have gone to a hundred classes in a row than Slughorn's party. He even considered staying hidden away in his dormitory…but Slughorn would get to him eventually. Besides, it would be in his best interest to stay in Slughorn's good graces-even more than he already was. Being talented was good and all, but at least playing at being social was somewhat required.

And so Sherlock put on his dress robes, and got to Slughorn's offices ten minutes after the party was supposed to have started-he figured there would be enough people there already that he could slip in undetected, and not so many that it would be impossible to get to a comfortable seat.

This is, incidentally, exactly what he did. The room was decorated with an impressive arrangement of pink and white streamers, flowers, and colorful confetti that seemed to be snowing from the ceiling, evaporating just above the heads of the students. A number of small round tables had been set up, and Sherlock quickly managed to find himself one where he could relax in peace. This meant, of course, deducing from a safe distance.

He was on the verge of deciding what breed of cat it was that a Half-Blood First Year had, when the seat across from him was suddenly occupied by Collins. Sherlock very nearly groaned. Twice in one lifetime was too much Jack for him, let alone one day.

"No."

"Excuse me?" Collins raised an eyebrow.

"You're here to ask me whether or not I actually do have a plan for the task tomorrow. No," the boy hissed under his breath, in case anyone who happened to be friendly with Moriarty was lurking nearby.

"Right…" said Jack, looking uncomfortable, but not altogether surprised. "Well, we have the coins, at least…"

"Yes."

"Are you scared?"

"No."

Sherlock pointedly looked out the window, hoping that the other boy would soon pick up on the hint that the conversation was at an end. However, he was saved by the brilliantly-timed arrival of Molly Hooper. Smiling, she grabbed Collins by the arm and tugged him to his feet. "Come on Jack. Sorry, Sherlock," she added, sparing him a hasty glance.

Giving no sign that he heard her, Sherlock retreated to the back of his mind, running through the list of jinxes and hexes he knew, as well as defensive spells. And, as always, below everything else the riddle kept repeating itself like an extra voice in the back of his head.

Nearly every puzzle was so simple to him. Why was this one troubling him so? Frustrated, he got to his feet and indulged Slughorn a bit, allowing the Professor to introduce him to distinguished guests before leaving the party as early as possible without being blatantly rude.

The sounds of romantic music following him down the abandoned corridor, Sherlock registered that it had been quite a long time since he had felt so alone.

A part of him reminded him that he didn't need to. He had John. He knew that if he needed, he could go to him-the boy would listen. But the loneliness was so familiar by now, he almost found it comforting. It was like a long lost friend that he used to be close to, but had grown apart from for a while. And now, it had returned to haunt him again, and he couldn't quite decide if he missed it or not.

It was quite a lot, Sherlock realized with a jolt, like Jack.