John could not have said why, but some reason his insides squirmed guiltily at Mycroft's words. A part of him felt like he was keeping secrets from Sherlock's brother, but he couldn't think of anything Mycroft wouldn't already know. As if in response to this thought, the image of the two boys asleep side by side in the Room of Requirement while snow swirled outside the window flashed across his mind.

He found himself blushing, he quickly shoved away the feeling. There was no way Mycroft could know about that. Besides, it's not like anything had happened really.

As if he had somehow seen what John had, Mycroft cast him a curious glance, but said nothing, waiting for John to speak.

"There's nothing about Sherlock I can tell you that you don't already know. You know everything that goes on in this school." John hoped dearly that the last part wasn't entirely true. But Mycroft really could read minds…

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," Mycroft said simply.

"Well, what do you want to know? He does all of his homework on time like a good boy. Passes every exam with disgustingly high marks."

"I know all that already," Mycroft said with a scowl. "I secured access to the school records in the fall of my second year."

"Of course you did. So, ask me a question directly, or I'm going to bed-Transfiguration essay be damned."

"What's going on between Sherlock and Jack Collins?"

John looked at him in surprise. "I thought for sure you were going to ask about Moriarty or Nevamann."

"Moriarty I have a handle on," Mycroft said, waving a hand dismissively. "And why on earth would I ask about Nevamann?"

"No reason," John said hastily. "And what do you mean, 'what's going on' between him and Jack."

"I mean, are they getting along? They used to, you know. Before…everything. And then they hated each other. In all fairness though, most of the hatred did come from Sherlock. However, it seems Collins has begun to spend some time with the two of you. You're turning into the Three Musketeers."

John shook his head. "He still can't stand him as far as I can tell. But he doesn't hate him. Not anymore. He tolerates him. Talks to him sometimes, but only about the tournament or to rebuke him."

Mycroft simply nodded. "Make sure it stays that way. And give him a reminder for me-don't get involved."

John was mystified, but decided not to bother asking-he wasn't going to get a straight answer from the boy. Everything about him was crooked.

Mycroft turned to leave but froze last minute. "Oh, and John? Do you remember what I asked you after the first task?"

"You asked if Sherlock still seemed like himself."

"And?"

John racked his brains of the past months-or, more specifically, the past weeks since the second task. Shrelock had seemed more distant even than usual right before it…but afterwards, he seemed fine. A bit friendlier than usual, even. He was certainly polite to Molly, and towards most people…so he was fine. But was he still himself?

"I think so. But honestly…I'm not sure."

Mycroft gave him a long, penetrating stare. "In the following weeks, pay closer attention to him, will you? And when you have a more appropriate answer, give it to me."

With a swish of the tapestry, Mycroft was gone, and John was left alone in the chilly passageway.

Even though completing his Transfiguration essay in the common room that night completely exhausted him, John simply couldn't sleep. A seed of shame had been planted in his stomach, and it continued to sprout the longer he laid there staring into the darkness.

Because he didn't know if Sherlock was still himself. He had realized with a jolt, while walking back to Gryffindor tower, that he hadn't really been paying too much attention to Sherlock's emotions. It was hard to say if there was a change, because it was hard to say what the boy was usually feeling. He had always been good at hiding his emotions but John always could detect what was going on. Or he thought he could, at least.

But Sherlock seemed like he wasn't really there half the time these days. He smiled and joked and laughed and made sarcastic remarks and acted like the smartass that he was, but it all seemed to be an act. Like he was going through the motions. Trying too hard. Putting on a play to hide what was going on behind the curtains.

Finally, after resolving to keep a much closer eye on his friend from then on, John managed to slip off to sleep.

A few hours of scraped up sleep however, while better than none, is simply not enough to get you through a Monday morning full of classes. The fact that he fell asleep in first period History of Magic wasn't a big deal-Professor Binns didn't even seem aware half of the time that he was teaching actual students, so that went largely unnoticed. Besides, a good third of the class was generally asleep.

What was more of an issue, though, was when John wasn't able to concentrate enough in Potions and his potion congealed into a large purple blog at the bottom of his cauldron. The blob proceeded to crawl out of the cauldron and across the table, making vicious hissing noises as it went.

John fell out of his seat in a panic, and everyone in the general vicinity shrieked in terror. By the time Slughorn had made his way over to the desk, huffing and puffing, Sherlock had just managed to vanish the thing. Luckily, no one got hurt (aside from John, whose fall did nothing to assuage his remaining soreness), although John did receive bottom marks for the day.

"I'm pretty sure that was venomous," Sherlock said almost cheerfully as they walked out of class. "I mean, did you see that the slime it left behind eroded part of the table?"

"Lovely," John grumbled.

"Honestly, it was impressive. I never knew someone could screw up so badly."

"Oh, shut up," John muttered savagely, trying not to think of Sherlock's perfect, shimmering potion. His friend's joy in pointing out John's failures hadn't exactly abated, which was reassuring.

It seemed that the fifth year students of Hogwarts had simply blinked their eyes, and May was there. All of a sudden, everyone seemed to be paying much closer attention in classes, and studying all hours of the night. If you were to stumble down into the common room at four in the morning because you had mischief to get up to in the corridors, it was likely that you would see at least half a dozen students buried in books-some of whom had fallen asleep, using the pages as pillows.

For Sherlock, though, O.W.L. exams weren't the only things that were happening in a month's time. On the first Saturday in June, just after the fifth years had all finished their exams, the four Tournament Champions would be competing in the third task.

This was said to be the most dangerous task of them all, and Sherlock also had a nasty feeling that if Moriarty was planning anything, it would be put into action during the final task.

That Saturday at dusk, Sherlock and the other three champions were to meet on the Quidditch pitch where the two Ministry officials would be informing them the details of the task-there would be no secrets, nothing to riddle out this time.

When Sherlock reached the field, he stared in awe. The field wasn't there anymore. It had completely vanished. Instead, the stands surrounded a huge, gaping hole in the earth.

"What the-?" Sherlock looked around him at the other champions. Irene was staring into the dark depths in horror; Jack looked like he was ready to throw up; and Moriarty looked perfectly calm. As Sherlock made eye contact with him, the boy flashed him a sly smile.

Kennick was standing nearby, and clapped his hands together jubilantly upon seeing Sherlock. "Wonderful! Gentleman and lady, I now present to you-the Final Task of the Inter-School Tournament. Now, you can all see the changes that have been made to the pitch. I have assured all Quidditch captains that the pitch will be in top quality again for the Final of their tournament. However, we need to talk about our tournament. Although you are not able to see, at the bottom of this pit there are roots growing. In a month's time, it will be filled to the brim with brambles and branches all interwoven. It is up to you to climb down among them and locate what is usually known as the Triwizard Cup. In this case, we are simply calling it "the Cup"-not very imaginative, I know.

"Whoever reaches the cup first will receive full marks. Now, you have no idea where the cup may be located. It could be towards the top….in the center….at the bottom….all the way to the left. It is up to you to find it. Of course there will be obstacles: each other; magical creatures; enchantments. But I must warn you," he said, taking a deep breath, and Sherlock had never heard the cheerful man's voice so grave. "The greatest danger this task poses is not to your body, but to your mind. You may emerge from that…forest a far different person than you were upon entering it."

Sherlock felt his stomach clench unpleasantly as he gazed down into the depths of the pit. He barely heard Kennick's closing remarks. He felt almost as if he was swaying on his feet, as though his mind was far above in the sky…or far below in the darkness.

"Sherlock?" The Ravenclaw was jerked back to himself by Jack's voice. "Are you okay?"

"Don't ask stupid questions."

"Er-right. Well, the thing is…I'm kind of terrified-about the Third Task. And I figured that the two of us could continue practicing and studying together…."

Sherlock assessed the boy for a moment. "No, I don't think so."

"Huh?"

"I've helped you enough," he said a bit coldly. "The teamwork portion is over. For this task, it's every person for themselves. I'm sorry. But you entered the tournament, so you need to deal with the challenges it poses. That's my final word."

Sherlock turned away from the boy in silence, and stalked back up to the castle. He pushed away any feelings of guilt he had experienced upon seeing the boy's hurt face. He had a nasty feeling Moriarty had something wicked planned, and sensed it had something to do with him. Right now, he needed to look out for himself. He couldn't afford the responsibility of someone else at the moment. He couldn't afford the convenience of friendship.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think. Thanks to all my readers. I love you guys. Third Task soon! -Mell