Madam Pomfrey had left him a few moments ago, suitably pleased that his swelling had reduced due to her administration of potions; Sherlock had actually done it himself, muttering a counter-charm when her back was turned. The pain had lessened slightly also, this allowed Sherlock to think easier; pain always caused havoc with his mental capacity.

He could now notice the way the Matron unconsciously gave the curtained bed a wider berth than was necessary, how she jumped at any small noise, and stared cautiously into the shadowed corners of the Hospital Wing. She's scared, Sherlock thought, whatever Professor Dippet told the staff, or what they've found out must be very dark magic. He was itching to get behind those rose patterned curtains, but he schooled himself, lying peacefully until Madam Pomfrey extinguished the lamps with a flick of her wand.

When he was absolutely certain she had gone to bed, Sherlock lifted back his covers, revealing the polkadot pyjamas he'd been forced to change into. Swinging long legs over the side of the bed, he crept slowly and silently across the room, feet sticking slightly to the cold linoleum. As he reached the curtains, Sherlock gave a last look over his shoulder toward the office, then he parted the material with one long, pale hand and slipped inside.

Even though he knew what to expect, the completeness of the petrification unnerved him slightly. O' Riley lay awkwardly on the bed, the sheets draped over him weirdly. It looked like he had been posed to run, one leg was lifted up and his arm was reached out, pointing toward the ceiling. His face was frozen into a mask of fear, eyes fixed on a non-existent point somewhere near his feet.

Sherlock stepped around the foot of the bed, coming up to the victim's side, peering down into the still face. He reached out a hand and gently swept his fingertips across O' Riley's face, his skin was cold, and as hard as rock; indeed it was as though his body had been transformed into stone, carefully carven in a perfect likeness.

Removing his hand, Sherlock moved to kneel at the edge of the bed, bringing his head closer so he could see every detail. It looked like the victim's entire body was frozen, as if time had stopped for them; Sherlock thought that when awakened he would probably remember nothing except seeing the perpetrator. The look of fear was interesting though; if pointed at his own height, Sherlock would have thought another person, but pointed at his feet… That indicated something else entirely.

-oOo-

'It wasn't a person.' Sherlock muttered to John under the cover of the class unpacking their books and settling down. It was the next day, their first class and Sherlock was bursting with news. John looked at him in excitement, then confusion for a moment until he understood.

'You mean the petrifier? How can it not have been a person?' John asked quietly.

'The eyes!'

'The…eyes…' John looked sideways at Sherlock. 'Eyes…Oh! You mean where he was looking?'

Sherlock looked at his friend proudly. 'Exactly John. If it had been a person he would be looking at eye height. But he wasn't. He was looking at the floor, or what would have been the floor when he was standing.'

John nodded. 'So what was he looking at?'

'I don't know.' Sherlock whispered as Professor Dumbledore walked past them up to the front desk. John ripped a piece of parchment from his bag and pulled out a pencil. Eyes on the teacher he scribbled a note to Sherlock: Do you think that what he was looking at caused him to be petrified?

Sherlock replied in his untidy script: Obviously.

Just checking. But do you think someone made or controlled whatever he was looking at?

I think that would be most likely, yes. I need more data to get any further.

So we check out what the Chamber of Secrets is supposed to be?

Yes. Library at lunch? Also need to look for what causes petrification as complete as this.

Right. Did O' Riley look scared at all?

Very. Whatever he saw was frightening, that's also why I think a person is less likely, when you see someone the first reaction is not fear. He was also in the process of running, so his flight instincts must have been triggered.

John read the last note, then screwed up the parchment, putting it back into his bag. He returned his attention to transfiguration. Sherlock didn't seem quite there for the rest of the class but his wine glass was as perfect as usual, without the feathered brim John's attempt sported.

Sherlock left John for potions with a muttered: 'See you in the library.' John just nodded at him, feeling slightly worried at what could be hanging around the castle that made O' Riley so scared.

-oOo-

The lunch hour they spent in the library had been completely fruitless. In fact, Sherlock had got so incensed with the lack of information that he'd stormed off in a huff, leaving John to put back all the dog-eared tomes under the sharp eye of Madam Prince. When he'd finally tidied away the numerous books (The witch had made sure he put them in exactly the right places. Breathing down his neck as she did so.) John hurried out of the oppressing silence of the library and paused a couple of feet down the corridor. He didn't know where to go, Sherlock could be anywhere, and it was almost time for Care of Magical Creatures anyway; hopefully the irritating Ravenclaw would be there.

Turning purposefully toward the entrance of the castle he began to walk; a tingling at the back of his neck made the blonde turn, eyes narrowed. He could almost feel the individual hairs on the back of his neck lifting. He scanned the corridor nervously, seeing nothing except some Slytherin seventh year stepping out of the library; the boy met his eyes momentarily, a small smile playing around the edges of his mouth, before he turned and strode off in the opposite direction. John stared after him for a second, trying to figure out what he was feeling; the Slytherin's face, that little smirk… Well, Slytherin's are all a bit weird he thought dismissively. Pulling his robes tighter around him, he picked up his pace.

-oOo-

Due to the speed he'd been walking, John got to Care of Magical Creatures quite early, they were studying Salamanders this week, and the huge crate they were kept in was situated near the greenhouses. The only other student there was a fellow Gryffindor, Rubeus. John had never really got past chatting terms with the guy, he tended to keep himself to himself, and his size was a bit daunting. Therefore, waiting for the rest of the class was slightly awkward. After saying hello, John stood a respectable distance away and kept his eyes fixed on the tiny rectangle that was the front doors to the castle, he was pretty sure he would recognise Sherlock's figure from this distance.

Rubeus swore loudly behind him, and John turned in surprise, 'Wha…' The massive wizard's bag had split, spilling an astounding amount of food across the ground between them. Rubeus was on his knees, hands the size of dinner plates attempting to sweep the variety of cooked meats back toward him; John quickly knelt down to help.

'What…why do you have all this in your bag?' John asked as he handed a couple of drumsticks back to him. The larger wizard shuffled uncomfortably, his face going red behind the scruffy dark hair.

'Ah, Well. It's jus', I get peckish sometimes…between meals, an yer know…' He trailed off, looking anywhere except at John who stared at him suspiciously.

He wasn't persuaded by the explanation, he didn't need Sherlock here to tell him the guy was obviously lying. The shifty eyes, fumbling fingers, and awkward stance, Rubeus was definitely hiding something. But then again, it was really none of John's business, sure the chap was a bit of an oddball, but what did you expect at a school of witches and wizards? He was just feeling tightly strung after that strange meeting outside the library; mentally shaking himself, he smiled up at the half-hidden face.

'Oh right! Yeah, I know what you mean, I'm always hungry in class.' John said brightly, hoping his lie wasn't as see through as Rubeus's had been. It seemed like it had worked, the massive frame relaxed, the hands relinquished their death-grip on the broken bag. John even thought he saw a relieved grin behind the dark hair.

'Here come the res' of them.' The deep voice rumbled, John turned and saw a line of black-clad students winding their way across the open lawns. Searching for Sherlock, John heard the deep voice mumbling 'Reparo' behind him. Relieved to see the tall angular form making walking slightly apart from the rest of the students, John turned back to Rubeus. His bag was as good as new, no sign of the odd amounts of food from previously, John smiled at him again, not being able to think of anything to say. He leant against the thick, wooden crate and waited for Sherlock.

A.N. Thanks for reading, I hope you like it Please review!