Methods Beyond Magic

Victor's Vengeful Violence

"John! Someone get Madam Pomfrey!" Sherlock yelled, pushing his robes out of the way and falling to his knees beside the caretaker, pushing two fingers on his neck to feel for a pulse. Thankfully there was one, faint, but he could just feel a beating under his fingers. "He's alive!" he screamed, and the girls sobbed even harder, hopefully in relief. There were still screams and cries from the two ends of the staircase, obviously no one wanted to move. Sherlock pushed John's bangs out of his head, feeling his forehead and rolling him over ever so gently, seeing a large gash on the side of his head, blood soaking out of his matted hair. Sherlock felt tears fall out of his eyes but it didn't matter, so what if the entire student body was watching, this was his friend, his nonresponsive, unconscious friend who now had half of his bloody\ spraying over the stone floors.
"John, can you hear me?" Sherlock muttered fearfully, more tears splashing over the caretaker's cold face. His expression was blank, obviously his muscles had relaxed, but he still looked pained, even if his eyes were closed as if he were sleeping. Sherlock pulled out his wand, unsure what to do with it, there seemed to be nothing he could do, not until Madam Pomfrey arrived. "John, come on, John, you're alright, you have to be alright..." Sherlock muttered, tears falling even more rapidly until he choked out a sob, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead on John's chest, which was rising and falling so slowly that Sherlock was worried he wasn't breathing at all.
"Professor Holmes get a hold of yourself." said a very calm, almost bothered voice above him, as if she had so many better things to be doing right now. Sherlock looked up, seeing Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall standing above him. McGonagall was trying to shoo the students away, but with no way around they were kind of stranded on the stairs, obviously very late for their classes.
"He's alright, he's not dead." Sherlock muttered, finding that his hands were now covered in blood.
"I know, now get up, we need to get him to the hospital wing." Madam Pomfrey insisted.
"Get into the hallway for now, go on!" McGonagall yelled, waving her hands frantically.
"I have an essay for Snape, he'll kill me!" whined a student from the crowd, but slowly the pack moved away, leaving Sherlock and the other professors alone on the landing. Madam Pomfrey now had her wand out, willing the blood to collect back into John's head from the floor. Obviously she had to know what she was doing, because right now it seemed like John would internally drown in his own dirty blood.
"Will he be okay?" Sherlock asked timidly, now clutching to the stone wall for support, watching as Madam Pomfrey rolled John carefully over onto his back.
"If he's alive, I intended to keep him that way." She said confidently.
"Minerva, could you kindly escort Mr. Holmes to the staff room?" she asked.
"Will you need any help..." McGonagall started, but Madam Pomfrey shook her head.
"I've got it fine, you two just get going, have a nice cup of tea, that'll calm you down." She suggested.
"My class, I've got a class..." Sherlock muttered, although he knew that he was much too shocked to teach.
"It's alright dear, so do I, I'll send for teachers on break to cover them." She assured, coming over to where Sherlock sat and helping him shakily to his feet.
"Come on, we'll have a cup of tea." She insisted, letting Sherlock clutch to her shoulder for support.
"John, he'll..." Sherlock started, but she shushed him.
"If Poppy says he'll be fine, he'll be fine, she hasn't failed us yet." McGonagall assured.
"Be careful with him!" Sherlock insisted.
"Of course Mr. Holmes, don't you worry." Pomfrey assured, nodding the two of them off. Sherlock took one last look at John, pale and broken, lying on the stone landing, before he let McGonagall lead him off to the staff room, his legs not wanting to work. When they got into the staff room it was dark, but McGonagall seated Sherlock at the table and lit a couple of torches, letting him sit in his shock and rest his head in his hands.
"I knew it; I knew I should've done something..." Sherlock muttered, mostly to himself.
"What was that?" McGonagall asked. Sherlock looked up rather hopefully. Should he tell her, before this got any more out of control? Victor was hurting people; he nearly killed John, who knows what else he could've done, what he will do? What could Sherlock possibly do to slow him down, without any other help? McGonagall was trust worthy, she might understand...
"Nothing, I didn't say anything." Sherlock muttered, looking down at the table guiltily. No, McGonagall was McGonagall, even though she was a nice person, she had a very narrow view on the rules, and if she found out what he was hiding she was most certainly going to go to the only power higher than herself, the headmaster.
"He'll be alright Sherlock, don't you worry about him. That boy has a lot of nerve, I do believe he's simply too stubborn to die." she decided, pouring two cups of tea.
"What do you think happened, do you think he was pushed? If so, would that get the culprit expelled?" Sherlock asked hopefully.
"Probably tripped on his own two feet, or on that mop of his, either way there's no way to prove there was any foul play without a witness, and he must've fallen before classes let out." McGonagall sighed, coming over and setting a rather watery looking tea in front of Sherlock, who simply nodded in thanks.
"The paintings, they're witnesses." Sherlock decided.
"They could say it was Salazar Slytherin himself, or they might've seen Dumbledore, or possibly a house elf from the kitchens, I wouldn't trust anything those ink blots say." McGonagall huffed, sipping her tea and making a rather disgusted face.
"If there was a witness, would they get expelled?" Sherlock repeated. McGonagall sighed, dunking her tea bag in her tea a little bit to make sure the flavor spread.
"I'm not sure I know the answer to that, it would be a matter for the headmaster I suppose." She sighed. Sherlock nodded but was silent, his brain working very quickly to consider his options. If John saw his attacker, if he saw Victor, could he convict him himself? With the paintings as witnesses? Or could Sherlock pretend that he had seen the whole thing, just to make sure that Victor was put away for good?
"He'll be alright." McGonagall assured, as if she thought she could tell what was going on inside his head.
"I know, he's always alright." Sherlock agreed with a sigh.
"You do know his, background, do you not?" she asked.
"He's a squib." Sherlock nodded rather silently.
"He's very brave, coming here and excelling at what he does, a true role model. I didn't really think he'd like to spread that around though, I could understand why." McGonagall sighed. "You two were rather close I'm told."
"You say were as if he's already dead." Sherlock pointed out.
"No, I meant you two are pretty close, right?" she asked.
"Not relationship close, we're just good friends." Sherlock insisted. McGonagall laughed rather guiltily, as if seeing her mistake.
"The things those students make up, honestly with the amount of lies they create, they could work for the Daily Prophet." She laughed. Sherlock forced a smile, sipping his tea carefully, as to not burn his tongue.
"John said he was here for one year, not even a year, do you remember that?" he asked. McGonagall sighed, with a sad smile that you only see on someone who was reminiscing.
"Yes, I remember him. He was a cute little first year, the one that didn't get on your nerves; he tried so hard, I felt so sorry for him when he couldn't even turn a needle into a toothpick. He couldn't even make sparks fly, a wand in his hands was no more than a branch broken off from a tree, I was sorry to say that he had no magical ability whatsoever. Well, there was nothing more we could do for him, told him to go to Muggle School, get a good education and build his life on the other side of the world. But no, he came back; I never expected to see John Watson again." McGonagall sighed. Sherlock nodded with a small smile, imagining little John tripping over his robes, eyes too wide for his head and books falling out of his bag.
"I think he's happy, being back. I hope that he stays, he's the only friend I've got." Sherlock admitted.
"He's a good caretaker, and I don't think something as silly as this will drive him off, not when he already had to leave once." McGonagall insisted. Sherlock nodded in agreement.
"Stubborn little jerk he is." He agreed, sipping his tea and ignoring the burning feeling it produced as it slid down his throat. When finally Madam Pomfrey came into get them, Sherlock was on his fourth cup of tea, laying his head in his arms and muttering careless responses to McGonagall's questions, his mind in faraway places. The nurse had blood on her white apron, which she carelessly cleaned away with her wand, and smiled.
"He's healing." She decided, walking over and pouring herself a cup of tea.
"He'll be alright?" Sherlock asked hopefully, jerking awake and sitting up very straight.
"Everything appears to be normal, but he's still unconscious. Unfortunately there's nothing I can do about that." Madam Pomfrey sighed.
"He'll wake up, he'll do it." Sherlock assured.
"We can only hope, if not then he's comatose." Madam Pomfrey sighed, staring at the air as if she's had experience with that.
"But, he won't die, will he? I mean, comatose is stable?" Sherlock asked.
"Not if your heart stops, then there's nothing we can do, even with a team of healers." Madam Pomfrey admitted. Sherlock frowned a little bit, wondering what it would be like to be in a coma, but then again he had more pressing matters to attend to.
"Can I see him?" Sherlock asked.
"Why, he's not going to say anything." she pointed out.
"Yes, but maybe he needs a familiar presence, to wake up to?" Sherlock suggested. Madam Pomfrey looked apprehensively over to McGonagall, who Sherlock could only assume nodded, because she sighed greatly.
"Alright then, but don't disturb him, if his body needs rest then he has to sleep." She decided.
"Of course not, I have his best interest in mind." Sherlock assured, getting quickly to his feet and rushing out the door.
"Slow down there Sherlock, I'm old remember, and I'm in heels!" Madam Pomfrey called out. Sherlock paused at the staircase, which, as far as he could see, was now blood free, and waited for her before he rushed down to the hospital wing, running down the hallway into the deserted wing. It was by far the lightest room in the castle, with white beds lining the walls and large picture windows on the ceiling, letting the pale sunlight trickle through. There was only one bed occupied, but it had large curtains drawn around it, so Sherlock was rather apprehensive to open them.
"That's him; go on then if you're so keen." Madam Pomfrey insisted, waving her hand carelessly and moving back to her office. Sherlock walked carefully over to the drawn curtains, expecting John's head to be in fragments, or his limbs to be dismembered and pickled in jars on the bedside table. He was expecting the worst, so when he drew back the curtains and saw John, the same John as always, lying in the bed, he let out a breath of relief.
"Hey John." Sherlock muttered, feeling rather pathetic, talking to a sleeping man. But then again, he was convinced that John could hear him, maybe he was just fake sleeping in hopes that Sherlock would say something nice.
"If you're doing all this to reenact Sleeping Beauty, I'm afraid you've got it all wrong. Unless you want me to run and get Snape, I'm sure that'll wake you right up." Sherlock laughed, pulling up a chair and taking a seat next to the bed. There were no cards, no flowers on the bedside table, but then again John had only been there for an hour or so, no one's had time to send their condolences. He looked normal, stunningly normal in fact. John was now in a thin white hospital gown, the blankets pulled up to his chest and a large bandage wrapped around his head, which looked clean, not a drop of blood in sight. Sherlock sighed, looking around to make sure no one was watching before taking one of John's cold hands in his own, running his thumb over John's rough palm and feeling his eyes well up with tears once more.
"You'll be alright, won't you John?" he muttered. Unfortunately, there was no answer. Sherlock stayed there for a while, numerous people showed up to check on him, McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick (who had to stand on a chair to get a proper view), even Dumbledore came to make sure his caretaker hadn't been damaged too much. The headmaster's visit made Sherlock very uncomfortable, he hadn't seen the man since he had gotten the job, and he was rather hoping he didn't have to see him again until the end of the year. If only that man knew what Sherlock was doing, what type of hole he was in, those blue eyes wouldn't be shining so cheerfully if he knew who and what had caused this tragedy.
"You should get yourself something to eat Sherlock, he's not going anywhere." Madam Pomfrey insisted as she poured some sort of potion down John's throat. Sherlock perked up for a response, but John was as still as ever.
"No, I'm not terribly hungry." He decided, even though his stomach growled in protest. He had missed breakfast, lunch, and now dinner, but he couldn't leave John, not while Victor was still at large. He might come back just to finish off the job.
"Well alright, I'll be in my office if you need me." she sighed.
"Thank you." Sherlock agreed. Once she was gone Sherlock wiped a spare bit of potion from John's lips, smiling a bit about how even when he was asleep, John was making a mess.
"See, I told you how this ends." said a rather dreamy voice from behind him. Sherlock got up so fast that his chair went spinning the floor, throwing out his arms to defend the sleeping John from Victor.
"Don't touch him." Sherlock warned. Victor just smiled; as if Sherlock's defensive nature was amusing.
"Oh no, I wouldn't dare." Victor assured, taking a step closer and making Sherlock take a step back, his arms rigid with fear.
"What do you want?" Sherlock asked desperately, his voice getting caught in his throat with anger. Oh how he so wanted to rip that boy's throat out.
"Nothing, I want nothing from you Sherlock, I just wanted to pop in, pay my condolences." Victor shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets and pretending to look innocent.
"Aren't you going to throw me out, make me come up to my room?" Sherlock snapped.
"No, Sherlock no, I want you to make sure our dear caretaker is alright, he needs you right now, more than I do. No, I want you to really accept what happened, embrace this tragedy." Victor assured, dropping his voice to a whisper. "And know that it could happen again." Sherlock pulled out his wand defensively, clenching his jaw, ready for a fight.
"Get out Victor, leave him alone." Sherlock insisted, waving his wand towards the door.
"Do you really want to do this, here? I'm sure more teachers will want to come visit, and Madam Pomfrey's still in her office." Victor warned, his eyes widening in excitement. He looked as if he definitely wanted to do this here; he looked as if a duel would be exactly what he needed.
"Leave." Sherlock repeated, jabbing his wand in Victor's direction. Victor held up his hands defensively, a smile on his face.
"Remember Sherlock, remember the consequences." He sang, but spun on his heel and headed out the door, closing it softly as he left. Sherlock growled a little bit, thrusting his wand back in his pocket and turning back to John, who was still sleeping softly in the bed.
"Nasty little maggot can rot in Hell." Sherlock muttered, dragging his chair back up and sitting down angrily in it, taking John's hand once more and sighing.
"You'll be alright John, I know you will be." He decided. "You're always alright."