Throughout the next few weeks, many students walked into class exhibiting the same behaviour as the Ravenclaws had in Potions. They seemed completely unaware of their surroundings.
'Someone has to be doing this to them,' Sherlock said one day.
'But why?' John looked at him. 'They're just…disoriented.'
'Maybe that's only the first symptom.' Sherlock looked thoughtful. Then he turned to John. 'Good luck with try-outs tonight.'
'Thanks,' John said nervously. He knew his aim was good, and his hits were really strong (thankfully, he'd managed to avoid knocking Sherlock out again) but he still was afraid he wouldn't make the team.
'You'll do fine,' Sherlock said. 'Really, you're a great flyer.' He sighed. 'I'll probably spend the time finding last year's Quidditch cup.'
Sherlock turned around looking to see Peter Murray.
'What is it? Something wrong?' He could tell from the boy's face that something had happened.
'It's Victor Trevor-you know him….He didn't want to give a few Slytherins his Transfiguration Essay…and they hit him and took him some where…'
'Where? Dungeons?' Sherlock was already hrrying out of the common room.
'Maybe… They went down the stairs and I couldn't find a teacher… '
'They couldn't have wanted his essay that badly,' Sherlock muttered, shaking his head. 'What are they up to?'
He hurried down the stairs as Peter went back to trying to find a teacher. Scuff marks made it look like someone had been dragged….Sherlock quickened his pace and went into the dungeons. He walked through the corridor quickly but quietly, listening intently—
'There. Sounds of struggling. Sherlock tried the classroom door-locked.
'Alohomora,' he whispered.
It was pitch dark. Sherlock wondered what on earth could've been happening in here.
'Victor?' he hissed. He tripped over a lump on the floor. A lump that made a muffled yelp.
'Victor!?' Sherlock bent down and quickly untied the boy. Victor was bound and gagged by ropes and was huddled in the corner, trembling weakly, tears streaming down his face. 'What did they…?Diffendo..' He cut away the ropes and Victor's eyes widened .
Sherlock was grabbed violently from behind and Victor stood, tripping as he moved away fearfully. Someone held Sherlock tightly by the arms and another person held his head back while a third tipped some sort of liquid into his mouth. It was foul-tasting—he tried not to swallow—but the hand under his head made him. He gagged as it slid horribly down his throat and then he was thrown out into the corridor, head spinning.
John was just walking back into the entrance hall, beaming slightly. Then he saw Sherlock stumble out from the entrance to the dungeon, moaning quietly and clutching his stomach.
'Sherlock!' John ran over quickly and Sherlock collapsed at his feet, sweating and shaking, his breaths shallow and rattling. 'God , no, Sherlock!'