Chapter Ten

Out of Bed Out of Hours

Sherlock hadn't ended up sending a letter to either the letter writer or St Mungo's, he had been about to when it occurred to the boy that he didn't know exactly what the Wilson girl was suffering from. He presumed it was something caught in her throat, but the hospital would have made sure that her airway wasn't blocked. He presumed it would be something that they checked early.

So he was in the library once more, attempting to find a suitable book full of magical ingredients, poisonous or otherwise. His fingers trailed along the edges of the books as he walked down the row, before pulling out an encyclopaedia of magical ingredients.

Holding the book in the crook of his elbow he grabbed another few books, and went to find a table, passing Jim Moriarty as he did. The other boy glanced away from the shelves that he was scouring for a book, and towards Sherlock. "Holmes," he said politely.

"Moriarty," Sherlock returned with a quick glance. Despite sharing a dorm with them, Sherlock did his best not to say a word to any of the Slytherin boys in his year. Especially Anderson. That suited his dorm mates just fine.

There was a pause, and the two continued on their way. Sherlock found a table and sat down at it, placing his books on a pile. Pulling the first one towards him, he wondered what the easiest way to go around this was. He couldn't read the book from start to end to see if it came up. That would take too much time.

Flipping to the contents, he found where the section of poisonous or dangerous ingredients started and thumbed to it.

The librarian had to come and kick him out of the library before curfew. With a nod and a muffled yawn the boy bundled the left over books into his arm and made his way back to the common room.

Luck struck him at one in the morning, when the common room was completely empty except for one Sherlock Holmes, flipping through pages his eyes scanning looking for clues. He was on the last book he had checked out when he found it.

Torpet puluere

An ingredient commonly used in medical potions. It is a solid white powder in its purest form. Mixed in with other ingredients* it numbs a certain part of the body to stop the patient feeling pain. When mixed with plain water it paralyses the body but only for a few hours.

"It doesn't say anything about it in a solid on it's own," Sherlock muttered under his breath, pulling back the discarded books and turning to the index. None of them had any mention of this ingredient. He huffed, and glanced at his watch. Having been unaware of the time he was surprised to find that it was one in the morning. He frowned and shrugged, grabbing his wand and heading back towards the library.

Starting to think it would be easier if he could turn invisible he ducked behind a suit of armour as footsteps approached. Being caught out of bed at one in the morning would complicate matters.

It was a third year Hufflepuff who looked jumpy and wary, heading back to the direction of the Hufflepuff dorms. Been off visiting friends in another house, Sherlock presumed. He stayed where he was for a few minutes after the Hufflepuff boy had passed before he slipped out of his hiding spot and continued towards the library.

He reached the library without noticing anyone else walking the hallways and slipped inside, carefully shutting the door behind him. Somehow the library seemed quieter than it had in the hallways, it was the kind of quiet that made you nervous, but only because you knew you were doing the wrong thing.

He headed back to the section of the library he had been in earlier that day, his wand aloft and alight. Lumos was a spell he had known before he had even gotten his Hogwarts letter.

Pulling books off of the shelf he thumbed to the index, looking for mentions of torpet puluere. He nervously glanced over his shoulder a few times, despite his nonchalant attitude about getting into trouble, questions would be asked about him being in the library after hours.

The fifth book he pulled off the shelf it was mentioned in the index, flicking to the page listed he found the mention of it, and scoured it to see if it had any information on the ingredient in its solid form.

There was a sentence.

If ingested in solid form, torpet pulere can get caught in the throat, which immobilises the victim until it is washed down with a liquid, then the affects of it mixed with water linger, the victim stays immobilised for a few more hours.

"Aha," Sherlock muttered triumphantly, he glanced at the book to read the title and author and shoved it back onto the shelf. He picked up his wand and hurried out of the library, extinguishing it as he went.

Sherlock came to a sudden halt when he reached the entrance hall, as lying on the ground on a heap at the bottom of the stairs was a Hufflepuff boy, the one who had passed Sherlock in the shadows on the way to the library. He hurried down the stairs, pulling out his wand as he did. He lit it and glanced around, he could see no one else around. Bobbing down next to the boy, he placed his lit wand on the floor and reached for a pulse, scanning the body as he did.

A voice disturbed him and Sherlock jumped in spite of himself. At the top of the stair case stood Professor Turner, who hurried down the stairs. "Mr Holmes," she started before she caught site of the Hufflepuff boy and froze. "Explain yourself," she exclaimed at Sherlock, eyes wide.

"I found him like that Professor," Sherlock protested.

"It's two in the morning Mr Holmes," she said levitating the boy, as if it being two in the morning was the only evidence needed to convict him. She gave Sherlock a sharp look. "Follow me."

He gave a resigned sigh. "Yes Ma'am," he said, he had an idea to where they were going, and he was proved right when they stopped outside the Headmistress' gargoyle.

"Wait here Mr Holmes," Professor Turner said, gently levitating the boy to the ground, before giving the password and descending the stairs.

Sherlock glanced at the Hufflepuff. "I didn't do it," he muttered with a frown. "Your own fault for being out of bed out of hours, I just had the misfortune to run across you." He then stopped talking to the boy, but inspected him, trying to see what his misfortune was.

He got disturbed halfway through his inspection by Professor McGonagall coming down the stairs, followed by Professor Turner. Her eyes widened at the sight of the Hufflepuff, as if she hadn't believed what Professor Turner had told her until that point and then she turned to Sherlock. "Go up to my office Mr. Holmes," she said, she sounded tired but she had just been pulled out of bed. "I will be back soon," she watched him as he nodded and slinked up the stairs into the office.

Sherlock opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit office. He glanced around it, as some of the portraits looked at him curiously. "What brings you to the office Mr Holmes?" Sherlock's eyes flickered till they reached the portrait of Dumbledore, who had spoken. "Two in the morning seems a bit late for a pleasant chat."

Sherlock snorted. "If you are awake now, you would have been half a minute ago when Professor Turner was talking to the headmistress," he pointed out. This caused some mumbles amongst the other portraits but Sherlock ignored them.

"You found Mr Phillimore?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered with a nod. Curious that the headmaster said found, rather than attacked. He presumed that it was Professor Turner would have said when speaking to Professor McGonagall.

"What were you doing out of bed in the first place?" He seemed curious, as if this had nothing to do with an attacked student.

"Professor," Sherlock said. "I will have to say all this when the headmistress gets back, I would rather not have to repeat myself."

Dumbledore nodded, watching the boy with a look that made him feel slightly uncomfortable. "Of course," he said pleasantly. Sherlock eyed him for a few moments before he nodded again, his eyes continuing to scour the room. They landed on the portrait next to Dumbledore, who was watching Sherlock with a blank expression.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the portrait, but he said nothing to the former head of Slytherin house. Sherlock had heard stories of one Severus Snape, and thought that it would have been interesting to be a student when he had taught at the school.

Neither of the two said anything, but when Sherlock's eyes turned to Dumbledore, he saw that he was somewhat amused at the two of them. Sherlock sat down in the chair across from the headmistresses and mulled over what he had learnt that night. He was almost a hundred per cent certain he had figured out what the attacker had used against Jennifer Wilson, and then another victim had been attacked.

He frowned leaning back in the chair, thinking as he waited for Professor McGonagall to return.

The plot thickens. (I just really wanted to say that.)

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