The sleet hammered at the windows of Gryffindor tower, inside the fire roared and the sound of paper rustling and quills scratching was all that could be heard. The fifth years had their OWLs upon them and were studying anxiously. The feverish page turning and mumblings of spells was interrupted only by the odd harried student rushing out of the portrait hole to the library. John, fresh from his bath, tiptoed around the edge of the room toward the stairs up to his dormitory, only a fourth year he glanced around in trepidation. Earning a red-eyed glare for nudging the corner of a table he hurried up to the safety of his dorm.

'Hey John, how was that for a practise eh?' laughed a dark haired boy sprawled on the bed next to his.

'Great. Absolutely great. Did you manage to find the Snitch?'

'Na. But then I could hardly see the rest of you. It was more like a practise on how to stay on your broom when a ton of water is being dumped on you.' Grimaced the seeker. 'Did you get the bludger?'

'Only twice, in an hour and a half I only hit it twice. God it was terrible. I reckon it was having issues keeping on course in the wind.' John had changed into his pyjamas by then and was climbing under his covers. 'It's gunna be bloody awful if the game's like this.' He said glumly, peering at the dark, rain splattered window.

'At least we've had more practise in the conditions.'

'Yeah, so we know just how hopeless it is trying to play.'

'Do you think there's a chance it'll be cancelled?'

'I dunno. They never cancel Quidditch, apart from that time when we were first years and it was a complete white-out blizzard.' John looked at the window again. 'And this isn't quite as bad as that was.' The other boy snorted and rolled his blankets tightly around himself muttering a goodnight. John lay on his side with the covers pulled up to his chin, he watched the raindrops slide down the window in zigzagging paths and listened to the storm outside. He was warm and dry and felt very content lying there in his soft feather bed, soon he was drifting off, his thoughts about Saturday's match morphing into a dream involving four Bludgers, a mermaid and a synchronised swimming Sherlock.

-oOo-

'Bored.'

'Uhuh.'

'You're doing it wrong.'

'Shuddup.'

'Fine.' The dark haired boy sank at his desk until only the top of his curls were showing. They were sitting at the back of the charms classroom, close to one of the flickering fire places; Professor Flitwick always kept his room toasty and it was a welcome respite from the rest of the chilly castle. Winter was making itself felt and it hadn't even snowed yet, both Sherlock and John were wearing extra jerseys under their school robes and Sherlock had been complaining that John's hand-knitted, lilac jumper was too embarrassing to be worn. 'It makes you look like a teddy bear or something.' He had hissed.

'Oh come on! You can't even see it under my robes. And besides, it's warm.' This had earned a sigh of consternation from Sherlock who obviously believed style came before practicality.

Looking down at the top of Sherlock's head, John raised his eyebrows and then returned his focus to the cushion sitting a few feet away.

'Accio.' He said, flicking his wand. The cushion shot across the distance and hit him hard in the face. A snigger came from down near his elbow; rubbing his nose, John grabbed the cushion, grinned evilly, and thumped it down on the dark curls. The owner of the curls jumped, spluttering with arms and legs everywhere, hitting the desk and falling back into his chair robes askew. This time it was John who sniggered. Professor Flitwick gave the pair a reproving glare and they hurriedly attempted to look like they were working, Sherlock elbowing John painfully under the table where Flitwick wouldn't see.

'You bastard.' John muttered, rubbing his side where Sherlock had dug a pointy elbow.

'You started it.' He whispered back looking at John slyly. John snorted.

'You're like a toddler.'

'At least I can Summon properly.'

'Prat.'

'Shorty.'

John looked at him unhappily. 'That's below the belt.' Sherlock just smirked triumphantly. 'Fine then. We're resorting to personal remarks. Skinny.' Sherlock looked at him haughtily and turned his back. 'See, now you're sulking.' The taller wizard didn't deign to reply. For the rest of the lesson they sat in silence, John used the time to practise his summoning while Sherlock perfected his pout.

When Charms ended they went separate ways, John to Defence Against the Dark Arts, Sherlock to Potions. The latter had considerably brightened; Potions was probably his favourite subject and he always looked forward to descending the stone steps to the dim, fume-filled dungeon.

'See you after lunch. It's going to be hell out there.' John gestured out of the window into the swirling rain and mist.

'Professor Kettleburn will be taking us into the forest again, I'd take gloves if I were you.'

John groaned. 'Damn. It's gunna be freezing. I'll have to eat something really hot for lunch.' He nodded at Sherlock. 'You should too.' The Ravenclaw gave a noncommittal grunt and bounded away down the icy steps with barely concealed glee. Grinning at his friend's back, John shook his head and made his way to class, fighting through the busy hallways toward the centre of the castle. He hoped Professor Merrythought would let them do a practical today, it was too bloody cold to sit at a desk and write.

-oOo-

Tucking into his hearty beef stew, John looked up and down the Ravenclaw table for Sherlock, he wasn't there. Again. Sighing, he took a fortifying gulp of tea as the enchanted ceiling churned in time with the thunder rumbling outside. This was going to be a terrible Care of Magical Creatures lesson, at least in the forest they would be protected from the icy wind. He was concerned about Sherlock, he shouldn't be going out in this weather with no lunch, especially as he was so skinny anyway. John shook himself mentally, he didn't need to be worrying over him like this, there was enough tension between them due to the match and it wouldn't do to add any, even if it did really bother him. So instead, he attempted to transfer the worry to the complications the weather was going to create in tomorrow's match.

Sherlock was already there when John and his fellow Gryffindor's struggled into the relative safety of the forest. Having cast the impervious charm around himself, Sherlock was reasonably dry compared to the bedraggled blonde who also happened to look rather annoyed. The Ravenclaw cocked an eyebrow at him questioningly.

'You're disappointed that I didn't have lunch.' He stated. The shorter boy's expression flickered momentarily, turning from anger to shocked amazement then quickly back to annoyance. Sherlock couldn't restrain his smirk at how John still showed admiration even when considerably irritated. The smirk didn't help John though; it looked as though his resolution to keep quiet about the taller's eating habits was forgotten. How Sherlock always managed to bring up the touchiest issue with such lack of care John didn't know, but it definitely irritated him immensely. Standing to his full height he fixed Sherlock with an icy glare.

'Yes. You disappointed me.' With that he turned away and went to stand with the huddled Gryffindors, not giving a backward glance. They studiously ignored each other all lesson.

Sherlock was angry. Pacing backward and forward in a disused classroom on the third floor he snorted. Who was John Watson to tell him what to do? What did the idiot think he was…His mother? He snorted again. Not likely. But the annoying thing was, he had actually made Sherlock feel guilty, he actually felt like he had done something wrong. Sherlock knew that John hated it when he skipped meals, but seeing as it was none of his business he had never done anything about it, and why should he? John was just a friend, that didn't mean he had to change to please him. And the bastard had no right to make him feel guilty like this, even if he was to tell the truth, Sherlock's only friend. Well, Sherlock wasn't going to try and talk to him, it wasn't like John was that important, and he better not be expecting any friendliness in tomorrow's match. Still feeling slightly ashamed and even angrier for it, Sherlock strode out of the room and off to his dormitory; he was going to beat John tomorrow, or die trying.

Up in Gryffindor tower, John wriggled in his four-poster trying to get comfortable. He was still pissed at Sherlock, but he now felt like an idiot for confronting him like that, there was no way it would have done any good. It was just the way he had smirked in his face when he knew how much John hated him not eating. It was like him saying: Yes, I know you don't like me doing this but I'm going to do it anyway and rub it in your face. He really wished the Ravenclaw would look after himself, and it was surely obvious he was only trying to help, like any good friend. That was probably the problem, Mr Sherlock I can do everything myself, I don't need friends Holmes wouldn't want help, he strived to be alone and independent. John hoped that Sherlock would talk to him tomorrow, or at least let John talk at him. His stomach lurched – the match! Oh God, he better not do anything stupid the drama queen. He knew Sherlock would do anything to win tomorrow, to prove to John he was fine and needed nobody. If Sherlock lost…That didn't bear thinking about. John was wide awake now, he didn't know what to do, Gryffindor needed to win and he couldn't let inter-house relationships get in the way, even if it was Sherlock. He knew the Ravenclaw wouldn't be making any exceptions for him but still…He just hoped that it wouldn't come to conflict, that he wouldn't have to pick.

A.N: Oooh! The game will be coming next… Someone's going to end up in the Hospital Wing but I'm not telling yet. Please review!