Muggle in a Wizard's World

Chapter 10

 John didn’t even dare to breath, scared that even the slightest shifting of his weight would make the cabinet creak, giving his place away.

“I’ll check in here, you check the office. Make sure to destroy it, it’s still Snape’s.” said a deep voice, sounding muffled, as if he was wearing a mask. There was a laugh in the potions classroom, making John’s blood run cold. He heard footsteps walking around, the occasional crash of something, which made John furious, how dare they touch Sherlock’s stuff. John held his breath as the footsteps came closer and closer, he gripped the sword so tight that his hands hurt, pointing it strait at the thin line of light able to pass through the gap between doors. The footsteps came closer, until they were right in front of the closet, and they stopped. John stared at the darkness that now filled the crack of light, blocked by an unseen figure. John barely had time to comprehend what to do when the doors flew open, and he jumped out of the closet, jamming the sword into the man’s stomach with all the force he could muster. He didn’t even have time to scream, once John pulled the now bloody sword out of him, he collapsed to the floor, a pool of blood pooling around him. John felt horrible already, knowing that he had just killed someone, but he couldn’t even tell who that someone was. He was wearing a silver mask that looked like some type of decorated skull, with lines and designs on it.

“Hey, are you okay in there?” the other one asked, and another masked figure appeared in the doorway. When he saw John standing over his partners body he immediately raised his wand and shot green light from the tip of it. John managed to dive to the side just in time, but he was covered in splinters and wood shards from the cabinet, which had taken the curse. He had to get closer to the Death Eater in order to kill it with the sword, but at the moment he didn’t have a chance unless he wanted to get cursed. John was able to duck behind the over turned couch as another curse was hurled at him. He wasn’t very far away now, one good run would kill him, but John could never make it, he was too slow.

“Come out little muggle, come out and play.” A taunting voice sang, and the couch took another curse. It wouldn’t hold up for long. John crouched behind it, not hearing the man’s footsteps, so he wasn’t moving any closer. He needed to go for it, maybe he could throw the sword, and maybe if he was lucky he could hit him. John decided that was the best option at the moment, he had pretty good aim and even though the sword was heavy, he could probably throw it hard enough to at least injure him. He took a deep breath, and when he heard the couch rip with another, he jumped up and hurled the sword tip at the man’s head, undoubtedly catching him by surprise. Another spell had already been cast as John jumped up, and both were faced with deadly objects. The sword hit the man somewhere in the chest, and he fell to the ground, but John didn’t have time to make sure he was dead. The curse hit him, but this one was different, it was red instead of green. It hit John in the shoulder, his best attempt to dodge, and immediate pain ripped his nerves to pieces. He could feel a gash spreading, as if someone was driving a knife through his skin to his chest. John fell to the floor behind the couch, clutching his shoulder in agony. This was pain like he never felt before; it felt like someone had poured acid in an open wound, letting it fizz in the fresh blood. John could feel his hands and robes sticky with his own blood, which nauseated him, but to his regret he didn’t fall unconscious. He let out a scream of pain, hoping someone on the good side would be there to heal him, but no help came. He lay there, in excruciating pain, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he was going to die from blood loss, helpless. Time seemed to crawl on, the seconds felt like hours, and soon the room was starting to spin, his vision dancing with black spots. There was a constant buzzing in his ears, and the pain in his shoulder only got worse.

“John!” someone yelled after what felt like a millennia. John couldn’t hear them well, but there was definitely panic in their voice. Then Sherlock was kneeling over John, his tears splashing and mixing with the pooling blood. John let out a moan of pain, as if trying to tell Sherlock to save him. Sherlock didn’t ask questions, he let his wand drop to the floor and ripped the front of John’s robes open, which wasn’t difficult considering the were already badly ripped and burned. In what he could make out in Sherlock’s expression, the wound wasn’t good.