obliviate // potterlock

c h a p t e r 5

Sherlock stares at the ceiling in the dark, his hands in a prayer position just under his nose. He's been lying on his bed like this for hours into the night, thinking. He didn't even bother changing out of his uniform as he knew this was what he would be doing. He'd be thinking, as he does most nights.

The boy can't keep his mind off of Carl Powers. The curse. His missing wand. He can't help but wonder what it all means, what it all stands for, because surely Carl was attacked personally and for a reason. It doesn't seem random, at least not to Sherlock. And his wand. Who took his wand? And why?

Sherlock had wanted to visit him. He had, but he just didn't. He never had the chance to, or at least that's what he tells himself. He tells himself that he's been too busy with work or exams, but that's just an excuse not to go and see him. Because Sherlock is worried that he was attacked because he is muggleborn. And if that's true, then Sherlock and his brother would have targets on their backs.

He sits up suddenly in his bed, making sure that the other boys in his room are sleeping soundly. They don't stir. He makes his way slowly down the stairs and out of the common room, determined not to get caught.

He has to visit Carl Powers.

"Lumos." Sherlock whispers, and his black wand lights up. The school is empty, and Sherlock can't help but feel uneasy as he walks slowly through the corridors with only a speck of light helping him keep his footing. He hopes that a professor doesnt suddenly turn a corner and give him detention for a month for being out passed curfew, but Sherlock doesnt turn back. No, he carries on, and when his mind is set on something, he does it. A cold shiver runs up his spine. A few paintings tell him to turn off his light with scoffs and groans, but Sherlock only rolls his eyes at them and continues his journey towards the hospital wing.

Luckily the hospital wing comes into sight, and Sherlock was successful in his endeavour. He's certain no paintings would snitch on him, as over the years the paintings are pretty used to it now. Sherlock wanders around the castle at night quite often, as he finds it very difficult to fall asleep. That doesn't bother him though. It just means that there's more time to be alone and think.

Sherlock pushes open the double doors slowly, his wand tucked between his teeth and shining brightly in his eyes. The room appears to be completely empty, with hospital beds with sheets tucked neatly into the mattresses, and bare tabletops, but just at the end of the room, Sherlock spots a table top filled with chocolates and sweets that could last a lifetime. Carl. Sherlock walks slowly towards the bed at the very end, his shoes echoing lightly. The closer Sherlock gets to the ravenclaw, the more he starts to notice about his appearance. Sherlock swallows a gasp.

Carl's face is as white as a sheet, almost as if he's seen a ghost. His eyes stare up at the ceiling, wide and bloodshot. His body seems rigid, almost stone like. If Sherlock didn't know any better, he would've thought that Carl was petrified. But it can't be, because that can be easily remidied, so what is going on?

Sherlock sits on an empty chair by the cursed boys bed, curiously staring at the wide eyes of Carl Powers.

"Nox." Sherlock mutters, turning off the light from his wand. "What happened to you Carl?" Sherlock whispers into the dark, trying to sift through the information he's gathered from books and teachings over the years to see if there's anything the teachers could've missed, but he comes up short. "Why take your wand? Why you?" Sherlock isn't sure whether he's asking these questions to Carl or himself anymore.

"I'm sure we'll find out."

Sherlock goes rigid. His eyes widen like an owl. He stares at Carl intently in the dark, but the ravenclaw doesn't move. The voice came from...behind Sherlock. He's been caught! Sherlock jumps from his seat at a rapid pace, grabs his wand and is ready to run, but when the friendly gaze of madam Hudson comes into view, Sherlocks whole body sighs with relief.

"I figured you would come." Madam Hudson continues, circling Carl Powers and standing on the opposite side of the bed. She stares at the boy with worry, and softly moves a lock of his hair away from his eyes. "Ever since word spread about Carl, I knew you would hop on the case. You always do Sherlock."

"You're not going to tell on me?" Sherlock asks skeptically, staring at the old woman with confusion.

"And what would that achieve, hm? You would only come out again tomorrow night." Madam Hudson smiles warmly.

Sherlock stays silent.

"If you came here looking for answers, I'm afraid your not going to get any, my dear. Carl won't magically spring back and give you all the answers you need."

"I just wanted to see him for myself. He looks like he's been petrified."

"Yes, I can see why you would think that, but no. This is no simply petrification, Sherlock. This is a lot more complicated indeed." Madam Hudson sighs.

"And what do you mean by that?" Sherlock questions curiously, sitting back down in the chair beside the cursed ravenclaw.

"Now you know I can't tell you anything. The professors are keeping this strictly under wraps. This isn't like any of your other cases like when John's wand was stolen, Sherlock."

"But... I just want to help."

Madam Hudson stares at him with a sad smile, which begins to make Sherlock twitch uncomfortably. He hates the way she stares at him all motherly like. With pity. It's like she doesn't believe he can figure this one out. Like he's not smart enough to solve the case.

"I'm not trying to degrade you, dear." She mumbles, almost as if she just read his mind. "I want you safe and sound, focusing on your studying and exams. Being carefree and happy, not stuck in this hospital wing with me." She smiles sadly.

"That doesn't sound too bad." A small smile rises on his lips, and madam Hudson releases a small chuckle.

"You should get some sleep Sherlock. And when you do, I can finally go to bed, so off you go!" Madam Hudson begins to push him softly towards the exit.

"Hey- wait-" Sherlock tries to argue back, but madam Hudson is having none of it.

"You'll be thanking me in the morning. You'll be having a nice cup of tea, at the breakfast table, thinking 'thank goodness madam Hudson sent me to bed. Now I can concentrate on my work and the day ahead of me.' You're welcome by the way." The pair arrive at the entrance to the hospital wing and they stop. Sherlock turns around and stares at the soft, warm eyes of madam Hudson, who looks at him with admiration. "Just promise me you won't go looking into this. Not this time."

Sherlock was going to argue, but he could never argue with those warm eyes of hers. "Alright. I promise."

A promise Sherlock wasn't intending on keeping.