Sneaking through the silent corridors, the pair made their way down to the Hospital Wing. John swallowed loudly causing Sherlock to turn and attempt to quirk an eyebrow at him.
'What is it?' He managed through a puffed-up mouth.
'It's weird. Only six but the place is deserted.' Whispered John, throwing a glance behind them. 'Aren't you worried we'll run into the petrifier?' He looked around again, unconsciously increasing his pace as he spoke. Sherlock tried to grin but it ended up as more of a grimace.
'It's fine. The petrifier as you so eloquently put it is highly unlikely to strike again tonight.' They turned a corner and John jumped slightly as a suit of armour creakily turned its head, following them with its grated visor.
The blonde coughed quietly. 'How do you figure that one out?' He muttered, scowling back at the suit as they slunk past it.
'They were trying to make an impression, scare us. I believe the next move will be to send us some sort of message. So there will be no more action tonight, they are being delicate, testing the waters, making sure the reaction is what they were aiming for. Also, this type of action indicates a power play; they'll keep the school nervous, anticipating the next…' He trailed off, looking pleased. John frowned at him, he didn't like how his friend sounded so loving when he described this anonymous persons plans; he was reminded again how terrible Sherlock could be if he joined the other 'side'.
Sherlock had been staring at his feet as they walked, letting John lead him as his sight was so impaired. That was why he didn't see it first, but John did. The writing; high on the stone wall, letters two feet tall, in what could only be blood. John let out a gasp, his feet stopping of their own accord as his eyes widened, taking in the horrific message. Sherlock stumbled slightly, confused at why John had stopped.
'John? What is it?' He could sense something now, it was as if this corridor was cooler than the others, it felt…wrong. Realising that what he was feeling was most likely a magical trace he lifted his head, sniffing at the air; squinting up at the wall they faced.
'Um. Sherlock, that message you were just talking about… This it?' John's hand that wasn't gripping his friend's arm pointed up at the writing splattered across the wall. He felt irrationally proud that his fingers weren't shaking in the slightest. Sherlock growled in response.
'My eyes! I can't read it.' He spat in irritation. 'Read it.' Turning his stretched face to John he pointed at the writing himself, clicking his fingers impatiently. John cleared his throat doubtfully.
'Sherlock, I think we should go. If we get found here…'
'Read it!'
'Fine. But if we get in trouble it was all your idea.'
'It's always my idea.' Sherlock muttered. 'Now read it.'
John took a breath, the writing was scaring him slightly but he wasn't going to tell Sherlock that. To tell the truth he was actually enjoying this, the familiar rise in adrenaline, the knowledge that they were breaking rules, he did love this.
'The Chamber has been found. And by the Heir of Slytherin it is opened. The school will be purged of those unworthy.' John paused, reading the words seemed to make them alive, his chest felt icy and it was hard to draw breath. Sucking in all he could he finished in a rush. 'Enemies of the heir beware.' He coughed, suddenly feeling lighter, warmer. 'Whoa. That was weird.' He looked at Sherlock, massaging his own chest absentmindedly. Sherlock had been still while John spoke but know he moved suddenly, grabbing John's face in his hands. Used to the odd actions of his friend John let the taller wizard manhandle him. Sherlock pulled John's eyes open wider, peering at his pupils, then he let go, as suddenly as he had grabbed.
'Traces of possession.' He muttered. 'Pupils narrowed, inhalation affected. Hmmm, that's strong magic.' He sounded impressed.
'What! Possession!? Have I been possessed?' John grabbed Sherlock's shoulders in worried disbelief.
'No. Not fully, the writing was sure to have some form of dark spell upon it; there was a possession spell imbedded in the blood I assume, but weak – intended to add to the fear.' Sherlock told him matter-of-factly. John glared at him, gripping his shoulders tighter than strictly necessary.
'You. Knew.' He struggled through gritted teeth. Sherlock looked at him as innocently as he could with his face in such a condition.
'Well I needed to see what would happen! And it is hard to read like this.' Sherlock defended himself. 'And your right.' He added turning away. John looked at him, confused.
'I'm right?' He questioned. Stepping after Sherlock he glanced back at the writing and shivered slightly.
'We do not want to be found here.'
They made their way to the doors of the Hospital Wing without any further incident. Just before Sherlock knocked, John put his hand on the door.
'Are you going to tell them?'
'Can't. They can't know we were there.'
'So we just wait until someone else finds it?' Said John incredulously. Sherlock looked at him.
'Yes. We wait.' He replied, then looked pointedly at John's hand on the door until the latter removed it. John sighed, running a hand through his hair. Then as Sherlock knocked, the sound contrasting sharply with the muffled silence of the castle, John straightened his robes, placed a careful hand on Sherlock's shoulder and schooled his expression into a believable mask of worry.
Madam Pomfrey had let the two of them in suspiciously; she was flicking through an incredibly old book of counter-jinxes and kept throwing them distrustful glances. Sherlock was sat, perfectly relaxed on one of the scrupulously tidy beds, puffed up face and all. John stood awkwardly at his side, hands behind his back.
'Didn't take long to have you two back in here did it?' The matron shot at them, giving another suspicious look.
'Can't seem to keep out of trouble Miss.' Said Sherlock pleasantly, giving her what he probably thought was an ingratiating smile. He looked in pain. John was having issues controlling his giggles again, the look on Sherlock's face coupled with the extra stress of being in an out of bounds area seemed to be getting the better of him.
'And you say this was done by peanuts?' She said sceptically, gesturing at his face. 'It doesn't quite look like the usual allergic reaction.'
John let out a snigger and immediately turned his back, hiding his laughter in a violent coughing fit. Madam Pomfrey eyed him, frowning.
'You.' She said pointing at John. 'Should go back to your common room, it's late.' As John made a move to the door she intercepted him. 'No, you'll have to wait for another teacher to escort you Mr Watson.' Pulling her wand from her apron pocket she muttered something under her breath, a wisp of silver bled from the wand tip, solidifying it ran across the Hospital floor and through the locked doors. John didn't quite catch what it was, he looked at the spot it had dissolved through the door – it had definitely had four legs.
'Patronus.' Sherlock's whisper reached his ear and he turned.
'Oh right.' Understanding flooded John's face, closely followed by confusion. 'Sorry, what?' But Madam Pomfrey was within earshot now so Sherlock didn't reply. The Matron pointed her wand at Sherlock's swollen face muttering incantations, without effect it seemed.
'Well, it's definitely not a swelling jinx or a stinging hex.' She frowned. 'Must be allergic then.' She disappeared off into her office just as Professor Dumbledore let himself through the front doors.
John and Sherlock straightened in their respective positions; the Professor smiled at them and swept his way up the wing to the matron's office.
'Poppy, I'll escort Mr Watson up to Gryffindor tower now.' His quiet voice reached back to John and Sherlock. The shorter wizard looked at his friend.
'What are you going to do?' He whispered.
'I've made up a spell that should let down my face gently, it'll seem that her potions are working. But she'll keep me in here tonight.'
'And you'll have a look at O' Riley later tonight?' John had got over his aversion to made-up incantations.
'Yep.' They both looked over at the curtained off bed. It stuck out like a sore thumb in the otherwise empty wing.
'Right then. See you later.' John cleared his throat and looked up expectantly at Professor Dumbledore who was turning back around. The Professor exited the office followed by Madam Pomfrey who was holding a goblet and potion bottle.
'Mr Watson.' Dumbledore nodded at John and indicated him toward the door, a slight smile on his face. John stepped away from Sherlock and walked down the wing. He could swear he heard the Professor muttering 'clever' as he went past Sherlock's bed.
Sherlock looked at Professor Dumbledore and John's retreating backs in confused surprise. Had the Professor just winked at him?
Professor Dumbledore left John at the portrait hole. The Transfiguration teacher gave John a deep look, it felt almost as though he was being X-rayed.
'Bravery is a good a trait as any Mr Watson, but one should be careful. Especially in times such as these.' He gave the blonde a benign smile. 'I'm sure you'll keep an eye on Mr Holmes.'
'Yes. Ah, thank you Professor.' He found it hard to meet the bright blue gaze.
'Goodnight Mr Watson.'
'Professor.' John turned and scrambled through the portrait hole as Dumbledore swept away down the marble staircase.