obliviate // potterlock

c h a p t e r 1 2

Greg feels a lot heavier today. Not weight wise, although he has noticed he's put on a few pounds since the start of the year, but gravity itself feels like it's crushing down on him. Like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. The feeling has been weighing down on him for weeks, ever since the Quidditch match against Slytherin.

What a failure.

That's all the Gryffindor can think about. How he let his team down. Maybe if they had a tighter formation in the first half then they could've scored a few points and made their victory clear? Or maybe if he let fewer quaffles through the hoops? Maybe if he did better he wouldn't feel like this. Like a failure. Rationally, of course, Greg's injury couldn't have been helped, and it was a clear win for Gryffindor anyway, but the boy can't help but feel like he let down the team. They all had something to prove, a chance to show off their skills to the school, but Greg's stupid injury cost them that chance.

Greg doesn't even want to think about defence club, which so happens to be where his  long legs are taking him. His friends walk excitedly in front of him - John talking animatedly about a prank he played on his sister last winter break, Molly listening intensely with wonder in her eyes, and Sherlock smirking widely with his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets. Greg has heard the story before; it's hilarious in fact, but Greg doesn't feel like smiling. In fact, when he spots the door to defence club, he frowns deeply and stops in his tracks.

The Gryffindor hasn't been able to cast a spell in weeks, not since his duel against Myc. Every time he tries, his wand fizzles and an overwhelming sense of nausea passes over him. Madam Hudson said it was pretty common for students to struggle performing spells, but Greg seems to be on a whole other level! He's a sixth year for God sake! He asked his friends for help, but all attempts were futile.

Greg leans his forehead against the cool, stone wall just outside of the classroom and sighs aloud shakily. His grip on his wand tightens as he feels tears drip slowly onto his cheeks, leaving streams on his flustered skin. Stop crying you idiot. You're a Gryffindor for God sake! Greg wipes the tears from his cheeks roughly, anger bubbling in his chest.

"This is so stupid." He whispers into the wall, tears once again falling onto his cheeks. "Stupid. Can't do anything right." The booming sound of laughter floods out from the classroom.

Greg pushes himself away from the wall and stares at the doorway with teary eyes. He can see spells of blue and green being cast all over the place. Spells that he can't even think to be able to perform.

"A hell of an auror I'll turn out to be." Greg mutters, slipping his wand into his pocket.

With one last look at the classroom, he turns and walks the other way.

☆☆☆

Sherlock smiles brightly when he enters the classroom. Other students who arrived earlier are dueling each other, seemingly with spells that can cause serious injury. Spells of blue, red and green fly across the classroom. Sherlock looks down at John, who's face seems to mirror Sherlock's, and they high five each other enthusiastically.

"This is preposterous!" Molly squeals, her face filled with horror.

"What's got your panties in a twist now?" John groans, earning a smack on the arm from the Hufflepuff. John pouts.

"This is mayhem John! These spells could seriously injure someone! Where are the professors?"

Sherlock points to the corner of the classroom, where professor Magnussen, Head of Slytherin house, sits in a wooden chair flicking through a paperback book seemingly without a care in the world.