Hello, all my lovely followers! I can't even explain how sorry I am for not updating in so long. As I've said before, I've started my first year of college and things are much busier than I could have imagined! I've been working on this chapter bit by bit for some time now, and I think I finally have it to where I want it! It's very long, but I figured all you lovely and beautiful people deserved a long chapter after having to wait for so long. I hope you all enjoy!
It wasn't five minutes later that Sherlock and Mary heard a commotion coming from the hallway outside of the Great Hall. Someone ran to the door and yelled with incredible excitement, "Watson's beating up Anderson!" There was suddenly a rush of students scrambling to get to their feet to try and catch a glimpse of the action. Sherlock and Mary shoved their way to the front of the crowd, but they didn't get there until the damage was done.
John had just stormed out of the Hall towards his first class when Anderson jogged up to his side. "So are the rumors true?" he'd asked.
"Now is not the time, Anderson." John practically snarled, keeping his gaze straight ahead.
"Oh come on." Anderson pressed. "I was on that train. You attacked me in your sleep. Obviously you have some pretty bad issues. Is it because Sherlock did it to you?"
John abruptly stopped and turned to face Anderson fully. "What?" Of course he'd heard from Mary that the popular theory floating around the castle was that Sherlock had tortured him with the cruciatus curse, but this was the first time someone had had the audacity to ask him personally.
Anderson stopped as well and nodded, apparently too oblivious to notice that John was bursting at the seams with anger. "You don't have to lie about it, John. Everyone knows. You should just tell everyone Sherlock cursed you so that you can get on with a normal-"
John punched Anderson square in the jaw so hard that the boy fell flat on his back. When John looked around he quickly noticed that Anderson had brought back up with him. He recognized Donovan and a few burly boys from John's house. They effectively blocked the section of hallway so no one could get through. He wasn't sure if they wanted him to kill Anderson or if they wanted answers out of him that badly. "What do you people want?!" John cried, desperation in his voice. "Can't you just leave me be to deal with my own problems?"
Anderson managed to sit up, his hand clutching his jaw. Blood was spilling out over his lower lip. He fixed John with a glare and spit out, "Just tell us the truth." (Or at least that's what John guessed he'd tried to say. It sounded more like, 'Jussllssdtrr.")
John picked Anderson up by the front of his shirt and threw him up against the wall, holding him place. "Listen, you wanker. You ever talk to me about this again, I even hear that you've been talking about it, I will kill you. You understand me?"
"You wouldn't have the guts, Watson!" Donovan called out. "You're a freak! Just like your friend!"
John's jaw clamped shut with an audible click and his face turned red. He saw Anderson's eyes widen in fear. He was just about to chuck Anderson out the nearest window when he heard, "John!" John blinked and turned his head to see Mary had pushed her way to the front of the now very large crowd. "John, please! Stop! You're better than this!" she pleaded.
John lowered Anderson ever so slightly as his attention was drawn away and Anderson thought it a very good moment to give John a firm kick to the groin. John doubled on reflex, hands letting go of Anderson's shirt to allow him to fall to the floor.
Sherlock wiped an exasperated hand down his face. Now it was all over. "Damn." He whispered.
Anderson tried to get away from John, but he didn't make it very far. John didn't remember much after that. Everything had gone red and his ears were ringing. He was shouting, but he wasn't aware of the words rolling off his lips. It took five people to pry John off of Anderson. John barely had a scratch on him, while Anderson looked as though he'd been beaten within an inch of his life. John's chest was heaving as the five men finally pinned John against the wall. Anderson had to be carried out of the hall. He didn't even look conscious. John took a moment to look at his hands and see the amount of blood on them. He felt sick. The color drained from his face and his knees went weak. Thankfully he had five guys holding him up.
"My office. Now, Watson." McGonagall commanded. John hadn't even seen her approach, but gave a small nod. The boys let go and John followed behind the Headmistress. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw a glimpse of Sherlock's stoic face before he turned back.
Mary and Sherlock were both seated outside of the door to the Headmistress's office. Mary had her arms folded on top of her knees with her chin resting on her forearm. Sherlock was sitting with his legs bent and his arms crossed over his chest. "Remind me to give Anderson detention next time I see him." He said.
"Duly noted." Mary replied, looking glum. She glanced at her watch. "They've been in there for two hours now. What could possibly be going on?"
"Well, seeing as we saw Professor Thompson go in about an hour and a half ago they're probably arguing over the Quidditch thing. Or you know, trying to pry personal information out of John. We all know how well that goes."
The doors to the office swung open with a thud. John was standing there looking rather pale, staring at his feet. McGonagall was beside him, a hand on his shoulder. She made eye contact with Sherlock and Mary. "See that John gets some food into him. Perhaps something sweet."
Sherlock and Mary were on their feet in an instant. "Of course." Mary said with a nod. McGonagall gave them both a nod before squeezing John's shoulder and disappearing back into her office. Mary instantly went to John's side, putting her hand on his cheek. "Hey, look at me." She coaxed gently. John lifted his gaze from the floor to Mary's eyes. His eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. "Oh, John…" she whispered before taking a half step forward to wrap her arms around John's middle. John's arms immediately clung to Mary. She could feel the trembling of his bad hand against her back.
Sherlock cleared his throat slightly. "I'm… uh… I'm sorry that you have to go through all this."
John gave a tiny nod, biting his lower lip. "Sherlock, I…" his voice was hoarse, nowhere near his normal boisterous tone. "Sherlock, I need to know what happened."
Sherlock instantly paled, taking a small step backwards. "You know what happened, John…"
John gave a shake of his head, letting go of Mary. Mary moved to his side, but took hold of his trembling hand. "No, Sherlock. I need to know everything."
Sherlock simply stood, staring. The only person he'd told the entire story to was Mycroft… Of course he'd told John the important bits, but not everything.
"How about we find somewhere private, hm?" Mary suggested, seeing how nervous both boys were.
"My room." Sherlock said immediately. "I have the sixth-years area to myself. There's plenty of space and it will be private."
John gave a nod. "We're going to have to break into your chocolate frog stash."
Sherlock frowned slightly. "Fine."
The trio walked down to the Slytherin dungeons. The place always made Mary uncomfortable. It wasn't that she didn't like potions, it was the memory of the Slytherin boys cornering her. It had been John and Mary's first real encounter. John remembered as well and squeezed her hand gently. Sherlock made sure the common area was empty before allowing John and Mary entrance. The last thing they needed, of course, was for Donovan to spot them. Sherlock locked his door behind them once they were inside.
Sherlock pulled out his trunk from under his bed and got out the stash John had been referring to. Sherlock always had a stash of chocolate in his trunk. It was a secret that John, and now Mary, only knew. Sherlock sat cross legged at the top of his bed. John and Mary both sat at the foot, side by side leaning back against the wall.
Once they had divided the chocolate frogs amongst themselves Sherlock took a deep, shaky breath. "Right. The whole story."
May 2nd, 1998
The Battle of Hogwarts – Sherlock's Story
A first year had decided to be brave and join the battle. How idiotic of him. (Of course, Sherlock knew that he probably would have done the same, were he a first year.) He was right at John's back, running with him down the rocky slop. "Your left!" John called.
Sherlock looked out to see a group of Death Eaters in a ring. He immediately knew that they had the first year he and John were looking for surrounded, but he guessed that would only upset John. Better that they didn't find him and leave his condition up in the air. It left John with a remnant of hope. "I see them." Sherlock informed John, keeping the rest of the information to himself.
"I don't think they saw us. Let's keep moving." John said with a low voice. Sherlock nodded, silently agreeing. They continued their run down the hill. Sherlock saw John look back over his shoulder and his eyes widen. The next thing Sherlock was aware of was blinding pain hitting him square in the back. He heard himself scream, but it sounded inhuman. He couldn't have possibly made that noise…? But he could feel the air ripping itself out of his lungs with the force of the scream. He lost his grip on his wand as his hands shot back to the source of the pain. He was falling, falling, and then there was nothing.
Nothing.
The absoluteness of the darkness that surrounded him was terrifying. He couldn't see, couldn't move. He thought for a terrifying moment that perhaps he was dying… He wasn't ready for that just yet. Then his thoughts disappeared into the darkness as well.
Consciousness slowly came back to Sherlock… Very slowly… Sherlock was first aware of the voices. The cackling and howling. It sent a shiver down Sherlock's spine. The Death Eaters. The Death Eaters must be near. He desperately tried to open his eyes. The simple movement alone was exhausting. Through his blurry vision he saw several sets of legs in a ring, like he had seen them before. What scared him the most, however was what was in the middle of the ring.
John.
Sherlock's eyes slipped closed again and he could feel unconsciousness pulling at him once more. No. He couldn't. He had to get to John. He opened his eyes again, his vision slightly clearer. Five. Five sets of legs. He very carefully tested how his fingers and toes reacted, making sure he wasn't paralyzed. He could barely feel himself, almost as if his consciousness had pulled away from his body. He was only aware of how heavy his limbs felt and the darkness that tried to press against his mind. His hand closed around his wand and he knew what he had to do. He took a deep breath and tried to prepare himself.
"Avada kedavra." He shouted as he opened his eyes and pointed his wand. His voice was stronger than he'd been expecting, but he had no time to feel proud of himself for it. He quickly sat up and forced himself to his knees. His stomach lurched and he felt bile try to force its way out of him. "Avada kedavra." He yelled again, only seconds after his first curse. Another Death Eater fell. Three left. But now the surprise was gone and Sherlock was heavily outnumbered. Sherlock quickly pushed himself onto his feet. However, the ground pitched beneath his feet and suddenly he was on his face again. 'Get up, Sherlock!' his brain shouted. He quickly rolled himself over as he heard a curse being called, the green bolt hitting the ground next to him. His voice was much weaker when he next called out the Killing Curse. If Sherlock was one thing when it came to spell casting however, it was accurate. His curse hit its mark and another Death Eater fell.
Mycroft's voice came to him in that moment, though he knew there was no possible way his brother was actually near. He was dealing with the mess at the Ministry of Magic. 'Concentrate, little brother. Two more.' Sherlock started to push himself up into a sitting position and time seemed to stand still for a moment. 'Tell me, what are they about to do? What do you need to do in response?'
Sherlock's brain was stuttering, trying to string thoughts together and failing. He could see Mycroft standing behind them, but he was much younger than he should be. He was a kinder, gentler Mycroft. The big brother Sherlock remembered from his childhood. 'Come on, little brother, you haven't got much time. What do you need to do?' Sherlock pushed himself onto his feet, the Death Eaters moved slightly and then froze again. The one closest to him was a woman. Her wand was outstretched and her mouth opened, no doubt about to yell out a curse. The man behind her was in a crouching position beside John, going for his wand. The Death Eater must have lost his, then. "Take care of the woman." He spoke to Mycroft, who simply gave him a nod and a small smile. 'The Disarming Charm.' He added.
Time started once more and Sherlock was quick to yell, "Expelliarmus!" The woman's wand flew out of her hand before she could finish her curse. Sherlock finished her off with the Killing Curse.
The male Death Eater was now standing, pointing his hand at Sherlock. "You're a very lucky boy." He said, taking a small step towards Sherlock. "Catching us off guard like that… Just luck. And your luck has just run out."
Sherlock was swaying on his feet. He looked to where he had seen Mycroft before, but the apparition of his brother was gone. Sherlock raised his wand, but his arm felt like lead. The short burst of adrenaline he'd gained was quickly fading and the full force of his concussion was hitting him hard.
But Sherlock didn't panic. He'd chosen the woman to get rid of first for a reason. "Has it?" The young Slytherin challenged. The Death Eater merely shook his head and chuckled before shouting, "Avada Kedavra!"
There was a small pause as the wand did nothing and Sherlock smirked. Then, the wand backfired, and the Death Eater dropped dead. Killed by his own curse. "John's wand is made of cedar." Sherlock said, though there was no one to hear. "Never fool with a cedar carrier."
Sherlock was then aware of the ground rushing up to meet him.
He came to shortly after and pushed himself up off the ground as fast as he could so that he could wretch. His stomach heaved until there was nothing left save for stomach acid. His head was spinning rapidly, but he knew he had to get to John. He picked up his wand from where it was on the ground and put it in the pocket of his robe. He tried to walk, but ended up crawling towards John. As he crawled over, he picked up John's wand and pocketed it as well.
John wasn't moving.
Sherlock swallowed thickly and was aware of tears rising to his eyes. He made it to his friend's side, quickly checking him for wounds. No blood. Not even any cuts or bruises. Sherlock had to place his hand on John's chest in order to feel the slight rise and fall of his chest. Still breathing. Sherlock allowed himself a sigh of relief. He gently rolled his friend onto his side and sucked in a breath as he saw his back.
A hole had been burned through his clothes from the force of a curse. The skin that was visible through it was burnt as well. Sherlock ripped the back of John's shirt open with shaking fingers to get a better look. His skin was bright red, as if he'd received a bad sun burn. However, lines of thick, white scar tissue had raised up long his shoulder blade, tracing his nerves.
Sherlock felt like he was going to be sick again.
He saw John's hand twitch and quickly rolled him onto his back. "John?" he asked. A low moan of pain passed John's lips and his face immediately contorted in pain. Sherlock swallowed thickly and felt his stomach drop. A gut wrenching scream tore itself out of John's chest. The Gryffindor began to tremble, hands clenching into fists. "John? John, listen to me. I'm going to get you help, alright?" Sherlock's voice was cracking with emotion as he felt a lump form in his throat.
John's eyes opened, but they were blank and unseeing. "Sh… Sher…?" he got out between sobs.
"I'm here. I'm right here, John." Sherlock wasn't aware of when he had started sobbing as well, but he couldn't care enough to bring himself to stop. He pulled himself over John so that he was directly in John's line of sight, but his friend continued to stare straight through him.
John cried out in pain again, not as loud as before. His voice was hoarse, his throat practically shredded from the force of his shouting. "I can't… I can't see, Sherlock." He gasped out, tears pouring out of his eyes. John's hand came up to find Sherlock. Sherlock grasped it and held it tight.
"I'm going to take care of you, John." Sherlock's voice was barely a whisper. He could hardly speak over the emotion in his chest and throat. "Just rest, John. I've got you."
John gave a small nod and went limp once more.
Sherlock couldn't help the sobs that continued to wrack his body. His head came to rest on John's chest as he completely curled in on himself. "I'm so sorry, John. So sorry." He repeated over and over again as he crouched protectively over his unconscious friend.
Sherlock wasn't aware of passing out again, but soon he was blinking his eyes open and the sun was casting a golden glow on the rocks in front of him. He looked back down at John, still as ever. He had to get him back to the castle. Sherlock noted the blood that was now on John's chest and lifted a hand to his head. His wound was still bleeding. He ran his hand down the side of his face and realized that it was entirely caked in blood. Nothing he could do about that now.
Sherlock looked up towards the castle. They weren't too terribly far, but Sherlock was going to have to carry John and that was going to make it extremely difficult. Especially when Sherlock felt so weak already.
Sherlock very carefully slid one arm behind John's shoulders, lifting him up into a sitting position. Sherlock's stomach churned uncomfortably as John's head lulled backwards. He appeared so…lifeless. Sherlock swallowed thickly and pushed the thought out of his mind. John was alive. John was very much alive. But he had to get him back to the castle to get him help. Sherlock placed his arms under both of John's and then very very carefully stood up, pulling his friend with him. John was dead weight against him. He pulled John's arm up and around his neck before crouching to wrap his other arm around the backs of John's knees. When he stood, John was effectively draped across his shoulders. He held John's legs tight with one arm, his other hand gripping John's forearm.
Sherlock simply stood for a moment, getting his bearings.
Then he took the first step. His knee nearly buckled, but Sherlock managed to catch himself. He took in a deep breath and took the next step. He dragged his feet one after the other, slowly starting to make his way up the hill. However, not only was he going uphill, but the slope was covered in rocks.
Sherlock forced himself to think about something else besides John's dead weight on his shoulders. Therefore, he counted his steps. He watched his feet, making sure he didn't misstep.
His ankle turned the wrong direction as he miscalculated his two hundred and forty-third step.
Sherlock cried out and fell to his knees. By some miracle, he managed to stay in a kneeling position, John staying situated on his shoulders. Sherlock was panting by this point. Sweat was pouring off his brow and mixing with the dried blood that was encrusted down the side of his face and neck. He looked up towards the castle. He was so close, but he didn't think he could take another step. He could try shouting for help, but there was always a chance a Death Eater would find them before someone on their side did.
Sherlock felt tears rolling down his face as the pain of his turned ankle set in, mixing with the pain that was already throbbing through his head with every heartbeat. He continued to kneel, John on his shoulders as he lost hope that he would ever make it to the castle.
'Sherlock…'
Sherlock sniffled and looked up, but didn't see anyone at first. Then the air seemed to shimmer and John appeared in front of him. His image was blurred and flickering. Sherlock was absolutely positive he was losing his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to care about that at the moment. His relief at seeing John was too great. "John." He croaked out.
His friend came and knelt in front of him, hands coming up to hold Sherlock's face in his hands. Sherlock felt a shiver run through him at the touch. John's hands held no warmth and the weight on Sherlock's shoulders reminded him that this was all simply a hallucination.
'You're doing great, Sherlock.' John's voice encouraged. 'You've just got a bit more to go. Keep your eyes on me, alright?' Sherlock could only nod. John's hands left Sherlock's face and came to Sherlock's sides, pulling him up onto his feet. Sherlock continued forward, keeping his eyes on John's face, just as he asked. John nodded encouragingly, his warm smile on his face. 'That's right. Eyes on me. Very good.' He encouraged. Whenever Sherlock stumbled, John caught him, keeping him upright.
Finally, Sherlock reached the stone walkway that lead to the entrance of the castle. John gave Sherlock one last smile before the air shimmered once more and John disappeared. Sherlock swayed almost immediately, eyes fluttering closed. However John's weight reminded him of what he had to do. He righted himself and continued towards the castle. He began to see others as he entered the courtyard, but his goal was the door. The entrance to the Great Hall. That was where the wounded were. Where he could get help for John.
He was glad the door was already open, or else he probably would have collapsed outside. He made his way in, eyes quickly taking in the amount of people inside. There were far more lying on the ground than were helping. Helping. He needed help.
"…help…" Sherlock's voice was weak, his breath coming heavy. "Help…!" he got out slightly louder. He was suddenly aware of people surrounding him. They were speaking to him, but all the noises around him had simply blurred into a noisy hum. He didn't collapse until he felt John's weight being lifted off of his shoulders. He remembered being caught in someone's arms and then nothing once again.
