A/N: Before you awaits a long, emotional roller coaster. Enjoy the ride. –Mell.

As John rotated between looking out of his telescope and scribbling down his observations on the mostly blank star chart in front of him, he couldn't help but think that this exam was taking far longer than the rest of them. He tried to steal glances at Sherlock, but the boy was positioned decently far away from him, and was absorbed in his examination. Also, he didn't want the examiner to think that he was trying to copy his neighbors' work.

More than once, he realized that he had simply been staring at the stars without taking in anything at all for a good few minutes. Each time, he would jerk back to reality and concentrate harder than ever, but would soon lose focus again.

Both pages of Sherlock's letter were tucked carefully in the pocket of his cloak, and every once in a while his hand would wander there to check that they were still safe. In just under an hour, he would be following Sherlock's map and meeting the boy at that mysterious tower he had never even known existed…and would get an answer.

Either Sherlock would simply end whatever it was they had, or John would get all the answers he needed. Everything would make sense.

Or he would be left wondering forever, having been abandoned by the boy that had found him.

His heart couldn't bear the thought.

When John had finally finished his exam, a part of him (quite a large part, in fact) wished that he hadn't. As much as he wanted answers from his friend, he dreaded them as well. He didn't know what answer(s) the boy might have and he was afraid it would be something he would rather not hear. But he couldn't know unless he did listen. He was a Gryffindor after all. He was supposed to be brave and bold. And you're only truly brave when you're afraid. But he wasn't that scared, was he?

The whole situation reminded John of something he had read about before he had received his Hogwarts letter, when he still attended muggle school. When he was bored, he would pick out a book at the library and read for a while, just to pass the time. He read about the theory of Schrodinger's cat-there is a cat in the box, but you don't know if it's alive or dead. It could be either. Until you open the box, you simply cannot know. If you want, you could simply assume that the cat was alive. In which case it would be until you were to open the box and find it otherwise. Or maybe it would be alive after all.

John couldn't stop thinking about that theory, and he wished there was some magical way of determining if he should open the box or not. But he didn't really have a choice. After all, he was the one who had said that he was sick of playing games. That he wanted answers. Now they were being offered to him, and he was too cowardly to listen.

Too cowardly. You're a Gryffindor, damnit, John chided himself. And you want answers. You need answers. So suck it up.

If he didn't go, he, not Sherlock, would be the one playing games. And then, by all rights, Sherlock could punch him in the entrance hall for everyone to see.

And so, even though he would much rather have sulked in his dormitory, "suck it up" is exactly what John did.

By the time he was walking down the stairs from the Astronomy tower, Sherlock had long since vanished. Pulling the slightly crumbled parchment out of his pocket, John looked at the roughly sketched map solemnly. Following its instructions, at the base of the stairs, he took a left hand turn down a narrow corridor he had only used once as a shortcut.

He tried not to feel like he was walking to his doom as he took the indicated twists and turns. Before long, he found himself praying Sherlock had written everything correctly-he was magnificently lost. In his almost five years of attending Hogwarts, John had become reasonably confident he knew most of the passages of the castle. But Sherlock was leading him through corridors he never knew existed. He vaguely wondered if anyone other than Sherlock knew of them.

Stepping through a painting that was really, in fact, an entranceway pretending to be solid, John found himself at the base of a narrow, winding staircase that climbed high above his head.

Taking a deep breath, the boy only hesitated for a second, knowing that if he waited much longer he would lose his nerve and turn back.

When he reached the top step, John truly felt as though he was approaching the noose. He shook his head and told himself not to be ridiculous. The worst thing that could happen was….that the person he cared about most in the world would break his heart into a million pieces right there on the battlements of the school.

You were fine before you knew him. You'll be fine after. A part of him (in Sherlock's voice) told him that this was a completely illogical way of looking at things-and that it probably wasn't true. It wasn't a reassuring thought in the least.

But that was the worst possibility. There was always a best, and everything in between. I wonder what the best possibility is.He wondered vaguely, as he pushed open the small wooden door and braced himself for the impact.

Sherlock stood in the cool night air for a decent amount of time before John showed up. Leaning against the short wall of the battlements, he ran his hand over the stone and gazed up the stars that he had so dutifully copied down for the past two hours. They're much more beautiful when you don't have to study them, he thought to himself.

As much as he couldn't wait to sort things out with John, he was also dreading the boy's arrival. What if he hit him again? His cheek still hurt from the last punch.

When the wooden door swung open, Sherlock stood up a bit straighter and absentmindedly adjusted the collar of his shirt. His robes, which were heavy and hot in the early summer weather, were laying in a heap at his feet.

"John," he said simply, as a way of greeting his friend.

The other boy stood there staring at him, as though unsure of what to do. "Don't look at me like that," John snapped irritably. "You're the one who wanted me to come here."

"I know. I owe you an explanation. A few, I reckon."

"I bloody well reckon so too." He kicked the door shut behind him and crossed his arms across his chest.

Sherlock blinked, and tried to disregard the unconcealed anger in his friend's voice. It was completely justified, after all.

"Do you want to sit down?"

"No."

"I could summon a-"

"No. Just talk."

"I'm here to give you answers. So ask me a question." Sherlock knew that this was completely unfair, but now that the blonde-haired boy stood there in front of him, he realized that he had no idea where to begin.

John let out a bark-like laugh. "How about this-what the fuck?"

Realizing there would be no easy way out of this, Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay. Um…just give me a minute. I need to figure out where to begin. It all interconnects somehow, but I need to figure out the best starting point…"

While he racked his brains and his memories, John simply stood there watching him. Finally, entering his mind palace, Sherlock realized there was only one solution.

He walked up to the heavily locked door. The door he swore he'd return to. After the third task. Not now. But he didn't have a choice.

You do you do it's either hide this and be strong or lose John soreallythere'snochoiceatallican'tloseJohnicantloseJohnican't.

Sherlock took a hesitant step closer to the mirror-door. Behind it lay every powerful emotion he had ever felt. This seemed like an awful time to open it. But it also seemed like a perfect one. The only one.

He clenched a fist at his side, and punched the lock. He punched it over and over again, until his knuckles were dripping blood and the lock lay shattered on the floor. His hand shaking, he reached forward…and pulled.

Sherlock involuntarily rubbed the knuckles on his right hand and winced as though they were hurting him. John watched this action curiously, but made no comment.

The dark-haired boy drew in a sharp breath, inhaling the night air that surrounded them like a cloak, struggling against the influx of memories now flooding his brain as though a levee had been broken. "I'll start with Jack Collins."

John looked up at Sherlock in surprise. He had long since given up on getting that question answered, and was shocked that the boy was bringing it up now. He remained silent, however, and met Sherlock's unwavering gaze.

"As I said, our parents were friends. The Collins's were always very amicable people, as were my parents-they got along famously. As expected, this resulted in plenty of dinners, lunches, and holidays together. At first, my brother and I, being exactly how you know us now, went out of our way to avoid Jack. He was, in our eyes, a bit of a dolt. He didn't seem to have the same intelligence as us and we didn't understand his social nature. We always remained silent, and only spent a little while around him to make our parents happy.

"However, I soon enjoyed being around him-for a rather mean reason, I suppose. Mycroft was always smarter than me, showing me up at just about everything. I was thrilled to discover someone less intelligent than me, Mycroft long ago having convinced me that I was an idiot."

When he paused, John interrupted. "How could you think you were an idiot? I mean, surely every other child you met wasn't as bright as you?"

"We were secluded by choice-we didn't spend time around other children," Sherlock said, waving away the question. "Even though I found him annoying, I started spending a bit more time with Jack when we were at these forced gatherings. At that age, we were still children, so we didn't always need a wand to perform magic. His parents were worried that he was a squib-he was only half blood, you see. But while his magic seemed a bit weaker than mine, he was indeed a wizard. So we would sit in the backyard while dinner was being prepared, making flowers bloom and die, going impossibly high on the swings and nearly flying through the air. It became quite fun, actually, and I began to almost look forward to the get-togethers.

"We were united even further in the fall when we were nine; Mycroft had gone off to Hogwarts, and we were extremely jealous that he was learning all kinds of magic that was as yet unknown to us. In our envy, we grew closer, and kept practicing magic while we could.

"When Mycroft came home over the winter holidays, he watched us with contempt. He used to occasionally deign to join us in our games, but now considered himself above such nonsense. After dinner, I nicked my parents' wands and we practiced dueling in the backyard when they weren't watching."

John's eyes widened in horror. "But you could have seriously hurt each other!"

"We didn't know any spells; hadn't started reading the textbooks yet. The most we could do was shoot sparks at each other. One night, though, I snuck into Mycroft's room while he was asleep and read his charms textbook. It didn't take me long to master a few basic spells-"

"-Of course it didn't," muttered John, but he was listening with fascination now. So far, it seemed that the friendship between the two boys was only growing stronger. What possibly could have happened to cause the pair to grow so cold towards each other?

"-and the next time Jack and I saw each other, I taught him. We practiced together, and occasionally were able to do the spells without wands. They were far weaker of course, but we were still proud of ourselves-Mycroft had long since lost this ability.

"We were good friends for the next two years. We were thrilled to get our Hogwarts letters, and spent hours talking about what it would be like to go to the school, to learn how to brew potions, transfigure objects, and take care of hippogriffs, that sort of thing. We had started spending time together even when our families weren't. We did everything together-bought our supplies in Diagon Alley, read our spellbooks, bought our wands, practiced in secret, and rode the Hogwarts express."

"So what was the issue?" As much as John enjoyed discovering things about Sherlock's past, his curiosity was beginning to burn a hole in him. "Was it when you got sorted into separate houses?"

"No. He was a bit disappointed but I had expected it. The…er, incident was a few weeks into our first term. I think it would be better to show you than to tell you."

"Show me? How?"

"Have you heard of Legilimency?"

"Yeah, but I can't do it."

"I can."

"But it's your memories you want me to see, right?"

"Once I'm in your mind, I can do whatever I want. See your memories, show you mine."

"Right." He wasn't sure he liked the idea of Sherlock poking around inside his head, having never learned Occlumency, but he didn't suppose he had much of a choice-at least, not if he wanted to fix things. And he did. He really, really did. "Okay."

"I suggest you sit down," Sherlock advised, taking out his wand. "It's a dizzying experience."

John hesitantly sat down cross-legged on the cold stones, and braced himself as the other boy mirrored him, and pointed his wand between John's eyes. "Legilimens."

Immediately the night seemed to spin and tip around John, and he found he was quite grateful he was not on his feet-it was rather like being on a ship during a really stormy night. The stars and Sherlock disappeared, and he was looking at a scene that was familiar-Christmas dinner with his parents. Before John could be confused, a variety of other scenes flashed before his eyes-some days at muggle school, his sorting in the Great Hall, the first time he met Sherlock…

"Sorry," he heard Sherlock mutter, but it sounded like he was miles away. "I've only done this once before."

And then, suddenly, he was watching two boys sitting in the courtyard of the castle, books on their laps, laughing. The boy with dark curls and blue-grey eyes could be no one other than Sherlock. Jack looked just as small and fragile, but where Sherlock seemed dark, Jack seemed to shine in comparison.

John couldn't help smiling at the awed expressions on their faces as they looked again through their newest spellbooks, talking about what they had learned that day.

"Hi Jack!" a girl said breathlessly, running up and sitting down with the two boys. Sherlock shot her a glare but said nothing.

"Hey Tricia," Jack said, but quickly turned his attention back to Sherlock.

A few more first years joined the group. It seemed that Jack, unlike Sherlock, had made friends very quickly. He smiled at all the people surrounding him, as though shocked to see he was so popular. John guessed that the boy's only friend before Hogwarts had been Sherlock.

The group laughed and talked with each other for a few minutes, all except Sherlock, whose expression had become stony. He seemed to be immersed in his book, but John couldn't help noticing his eyes were staring at one fixed point on the page, and he was tapping his foot impatiently.

He sat like this for a few minutes, before saying quietly, "Jack, let's go do our Potions homework."

Jack waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, not now! We have all weekend." Jack appeared reluctant to leave his group of friends.

It seemed as though the other students had just noticed Sherlock. One of the boys lifted his head and stared at him, then raised his eyebrows. "What're you hanging out with him for?"

Jack shifted his attention to Sherlock, confused. "Sherlock? He's my friend."

The boy scoffed. "Your friend? He's got issues."

Jack's eyebrow's furrowed as though he were annoyed, but he only responded quietly, "How do you mean?"

"Well he's just a freak," said one of the other girls. "He's smart and all, which I suppose is good. But it's creepy. He knows everyone's life story in just a glance at them, and he's just plain rude. He thinks everyone else is an idiot."

Jack looked at a loss for words. He was red in the face, but it seemed more out of embarrassment than anger.

"Not everyone. Just most people," Sherlock muttered. "You're certainly proving yourself to be one."

The girl glared. "See? He's just nasty. I don't see why you hang around with him. You'd be much better off with us."

Jack looked between Sherlock and the huddle of students for a minute, and then he stood up. "You're right," he said, his voice surprisingly cold. "He is a freak. I only spent time with him because I felt bad. I thought he was lonely. But now I get why he doesn't have any friends."

Sherlock's eyes were overflowing with pain and confusion as he watched his only friend turn and walk away from him. The young Ravenclaw drew his wand out of his robes and pointed it at Jack's back, his hand shaking. But as the other boy walked farther and farther away, Sherlock still cast no spell. After a few minutes he lowered his wand, tucked his legs up against his chest, and buried his face in his knees, crying quietly.

John, at first, was confused as to why he was at the top of a dark tower, and not outside in the sunlit courtyard. The next second, he regained his composure, and met Sherlock's eyes. The other boy was looking at him uncertainly, as though not sure what to expect.

"Well," John said after a few moments of awkward silence. "I see why you hate him."

Sherlock grinned sadly. "Yeah. But anyways. The fact that Jack was an asshole isn't the only thing you were supposed to get from that memory. I've pushed you away a number of times this year. I do that with everyone who gets close to me, which is why any friends I make usually don't last too long. They generally don't keep coming back to me like you do. Ever since Jack did that to me, I've been afraid to get too close to anyone. I'm afraid they'll just leave me again. I grew so accustomed to loneliness that I didn't even realize that I was lonely. That was before you came along. I started feeling happier when I was around you, and when I was alone I realized I was miserable. I didn't even realize that I was unhappy until I had something that I could compare it to. And I started opening up to other people again too. Molly. Even Jack. But then I got afraid, because if you left me the pain would be unbearable now that I was getting used to happiness again. But finally I gave in. I cared about you so much that it was worth it. And I was so terrified for the third task. I still am. But I decided that the only way to survive it would be to not let emotion get in my way. Just be a machine and go through the motions. I thought that was the only way to win. To stay alive. So I locked away memories of anyone who ever mattered to me, anything that brought out any emotion in me whatsoever. I was going to go back though. I was. After the task, I was going to go back and remember everything and pray that it wouldn't be too late to fix things with you."

He was still giving John that wary look, seemingly cautious of how John would respond to this confession. John smiled sadly at his friend, got to his feet, and sat down next to him, leaning against the stone wall. "Alright?"

Sherlock looked at him in surprise, as though he had expected something more. But then he smiled. "Yeah."

John leaned his head against Sherlock's shoulder, and gazed up at the stars. "They're so much more beautiful when you don't have to plot them on a chart."

"Ha. Agreed…John?"

"Yes?"

"You have the stars in your eyes."

John closed them.

Sherlock, in that moment, was warmer both inside and out than he could remember feeling in a remarkably long time.

He leaned back just enough to look into John's eyes once more, then kissed him again. And again. And again. Little pecks on his lips. His cheek, the corner of his mouth. And then, overflowing with happiness and awe, he just started laughing. His friend-no, his boyfriend-looked at him incredulously for a moment before he collapsed in a fit of laughter as well.

When they finally caught their breath again, the eastern sky was beginning to turn a pale pink and gold. Sherlock, looking into the sunrise, knew that as long as he had John by his side, he could handle whatever life threw at him next-Moriarty and the third task be damned.

A/N: So so sorry this took so long guys! Besides it being an important chapter, I was busy with work and college and all that jazz. I'm going to be try to be better about updating, but as I'm getting a ton more hours at work I can't make any promises. Thanks for the support, and please let me know what you think! –Mel

PS: Beginning of the third task next chapter! (I'm going to split it into at least two parts, so you guys don't have to wait so long for updates.l