Mycroft closed his book with a thump. He had been trying to read the same line for a straight seven minutes. It just wasn't happening. He was hungry and frustrated and couldn't cope with three periods of Arithmancy in a row. He pressed the tip of his fingers on his temples and tried to appear to be reading his own notes. He actually really enjoyed the subject most of the time, but most of the time he also had had a decent breakfast minutes before the first period. He was just thankful Greg wasn't there to watch him sulk through big, brown puppy eyes. Mycroft knew what he was trying to do was a remarkable thing, and he was deeply moved at just how much their friendship meant to him, but he felt like now he had one more person to disappoint. The added pressure wasn't helping his cause.

When midmorning (and thus the end of the final Arithmancy period) arrived, the rumble of Mycroft's stomach had become unmistakable. It had been three days since he had begun dieting (properly dieting) and he was beginning to feel the strain. The tiny breakfast hours before seemed to have vanished already, and his appetite was back in full force. Not to worry! The squeaky, annoying voice of self-restraint exclaimed from somewhere deep and dark inside his head. Mycroft began searching through his bag. He knew he had packed a snack for those occasions. He also knew it was an apple. He would have liked to beat himself on the face to the death with that bloody thing before having to eat it, but it was all he could have and so he opted to eat it.

When he arrived to his next class, Greg was already sitting inside on their spot, waiting. He dedicated Mycroft a smile too big for the circumstances –Potions, then History-. He was way too excited about this whole arrangement, Mycroft didn't like it. He returned the smile the best he could and sat beside him.

-So I was thinking, may be this evening we could go somewhere quiet for a run? I promise it would be away from the Quidditch field, no one will bother us. It shouldn't be too cold out yet. Still he should make the most out of the few warm days left…

While Greg pondered out loud, Mycroft's throat had closed it a knot. He knew this day was coming, he just hoped they could extend the 'just diet' period a little longer. It had been so long since he had last exercised it was bound to be an utter disaster.

-Mycroft?

Apparently Greg had been waiting for an answer for some time now, judging by the look on his face, but Mycroft had been busy planning an escape from his awful fate to even pay attention.

-I don't own any sports clothing. Or running shoes.

-Oh, don't worry; you can use some of the old Hufflepuff Quidditch uniforms until you get your own. There's plenty just stored away. And everything is clean; you don't need to make that face.

Mycroft noticed that his face was sending Greg to the edge of just bursting into mad laughter. He didn't blame him; he very probably looked exactly like a terrified baby deer.

-I also promised no one will see us, you'll be fine. How has everything else been going?

-Oh. Fine.

Mycroft contemplated that Greg would have believed him more if he didn't look so much like he has about to eat his own arms (Mycroft had decided that apples were evil, lying, treacherous things, and that, yes, he would very much rather have eaten his arms), but at least he didn't make any comments.

The day went by without any further events, and Mycroft was actually beginning to feel somehow better, having successfully navigated lunch and tea and also having finished all of his homework for the day. He was even beginning to believe that Greg had forgotten all about working out, and was planning on heading straight to the Slytherin Common Room as soon as he got a chance. Unluckily for him Greg had a good memory, and when he returned to the Great Hall from a not so mysterious little trip a few minutes after, he also had his practice gear on, and a bag full of clothing for Mycroft to wear too.

-I brought the most discrete things I could find. The trousers and the shoes are black, that's good.

He started handing Mycroft every item as he spoke.

-The shirt is white, that's also good. The jersey is yellow, but you can put it on when we are already out, no one will be out there at this hour. Oh, about that: we only have about 45 minutes, sorry we have to make it so short but we have to be inside the castle by then if we don't wanna get detention.

He didn't know exactly how, but in a minute Mycroft was changed and ready to go. He wanted to get it over with as soon as possible, and if that meant putting on that old smelly Quidditch clothes, then so be it.

Already out, they headed for the back of the castle. It was very unlikely there would be anyone there, but Mycroft still felt horribly self conscious.

Soon, Gregory finally chose a spot and began stretching. Mycroft hadn't the faintest idea of why he looked so happy. He knew that Greg was the sporty type, but to actually have a smile on one's face while stretching was ridiculous.

-What? What are you smiling about?

-You are really enjoying yourself aren't you?

-Well, the weather is delicious, we are about to go on an even more delicious run, and also you are here. I'm glad you are.

Mycroft though he could see a splash of pink on Greg cheeks.

-What do you mean?

-Well…

He shrugged.

-I know we do a lot of things together, but I never go to share this part of me with you.

-May be I should start turning up to Quidditch games.

Greg seemed genuinely pleased.

-If that would mean you'll let me off exercising for every time I do.

Greg acted offended but had to laugh.

-You bloody Slytherins! You have to turn everything into a negotiation, don't cha? Come on, you are not escaping so easily tonight, let's go!

Mycroft was wrong if he thought he knew what pain was before that night. Greg looked as if he was walking on a cloud, while Mycroft felt like he was breathing water. He didn't even want to imagine what he looked like.

-You are slouching, stand up straight. And remember to breathe, Mycroft. It's actually very important.

If he had any breath left he would have replied, and it would have been a sharp, really clever reply. But that would have to wait. A long time. Probably till the next day. Then he would see…

Even before the forty five minutes where over, they had to stop. He was exhausted, his chest hurt and it didn't matter what Greg tried, his poor abused legs weren't going to take another step. He was done.

Greg didn't seem too disappointed though, he actually said something among the lines of 'not too bad for the first time', which only made Mycroft more miserable; thinking about the next time.

When Mycroft went to bed that night he could feel every muscle in his body throbbing in pain. The next day was going to be a long and painful one, he was sure.