Methods Beyond Magic

Finally Returning Home

     Sherlock tightened his grip on his luggage as he swerved through the crowded platforms in King's Cross station. All of these muggles in their suits, going to work, going to visit friends, or simply going for the pleasure of leaving. Sherlock didn't know where they were going, nor did he care to be honest, it was more of the misfits he cared about. The families that looked out of place, with their luggage suspiciously full and owls perched on top of their trolleys. Those were the people Sherlock cared about, the people just like him, Hogwarts students, returning to the castle for the start of term. Except, they weren't like him, not anymore. Sherlock had graduated from Hogwarts two years ago, and was returning to fill the empty teaching position of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Why they would pick such a young, inexperienced wizard was beyond him, but it suited his needs. Ever since he had left the school, there had been this empty hole in his soul, that seemed to only be filled by walking along the torchlight corridors of Hogwarts School, eating under the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall, and sitting out under the trees when the sun was bright. Those were the things he liked to remember about the school, not the mean teachers, the loads of homework, and the bullies that seemed to attract to him like flies. But that wasn't going to be his experience, not anymore. Unlike when he was a student, he could give bad grades to the kids for rude behavior, take away house points, even give them detentions. It was the ideal Hogwarts experience, or at least he hoped it would be. His owl, Billy, hooted in annoyance as Sherlock swerved his trolley to avoid colliding with a muggle ticket taker, making the poor bird slip off of his perch and land in a heap on the pile of his cage. But Sherlock didn't have to try to make sure he was alright, or even apologize (As if the owl actually knew what he was saying), because, like he was every start of term when he was in school, he was late. Platform six, seven, eight, Sherlock stopped abruptly to avoid running over a mother towing along three very misbehaved children. Platform nine, yes, here we are. If you were any old person, you'd think that a man running straight for a brick wall was either suicidal or just plain crazy. But Sherlock picked up speed, heading straight for the barrier between platform nine and ten, platform 9 ¾ . He was coming closer and closer, Billy hooted with anticipation, covering his head with one of his long black wings to somehow protect himself against the imminent collision. But no, Sherlock, his trolley, and that dumb bird slid safely through the wall as if nothing had even happened. They had made it to the Wizarding world. The most noticeable thing about the interior of Platform 9 ¾ was that it was bigger than you could ever imagine. A muggle could be leaning against the other side of the barrier and not even know what was going on behind him, because a large scarlet steam engine was in the middle of the platform, blowing cheerful clouds of smoke into the air as students, teachers, and parents all hurried to get on the train. The train left at eleven o'clock, and thankfully, Sherlock pulled his trunk, owl, and broomstick onto the train at exactly ten fifty eight, with two extra minutes to find a car and get seated before the train started to move. When he had been a student, he had a family to say goodbye to, a brother to follow around, and even some acquaintances, the only people that didn't hiss and spit at him when he tried to share a car with them. Although Sherlock had always liked to sit alone if at all possible, as he pulled his luggage through the narrow hallway, he saw that solitude might just be impossible. The classes have always grown, year by year more and more wizards are born, and they had to get a proper education. Hence all of the cars being full. Sherlock ducked to let a group of rather rambunctious second years pass, they didn't even give him a second glance, as if they had thought he was no more than a seventh year. He could pass as one, of course, he was young enough, he looked younger than he actually was, and he was wearing his old Hogwarts robes. Sherlock didn't really know what else he was supposed to wear, it's not like Hogwarts sent out a dress code requirement packet for new teachers. Finally, he found a car that was occupied by no more than two people. So he pulled open the door, holding it open with his foot and dragging his luggage inside. He didn't bother asking if he could join with them, one was deeply emerged in a book, and the other was staring longingly out the window, as if wishing they were anywhere else but here. Sherlock sighed, throwing his trunk and broom up on the luggage rack and keeping Billy on the seat next to him, leaving a good space between himself and the other occupant of the car. There was a boy, seventh year by the look of him, with brown hair, pouring over what looked to be an Advanced Potions book, his blue eyes skimming the page so quickly that Sherlock worried they were going to roll out of his head. The other was a girl, with long dark hair and permanent scowl lines. Sherlock didn't really want to make conversation with any of them, so he poked some owl treats into Billy's cage and watched as the train started to move away from the platform. Parents waved and cried and the train gave a whistle of good fortune as it passed out of the platform and into the real world. How Muggles never noticed a scarlet steam engine emerging from the side of King's Cross Station, Sherlock had no idea. They were either terribly ignorant, or just too involved with their own work to notice any odd happenings. Sherlock watched the window from where he sat by the door, the city landscape slowly turning into the country side, passing along the side in a blur. The sulking girl had changed from staring out the window to picking up her wand, pouring through a book and trying to change the color of her hair with magic. Some of the strands turned out alright, an aqua blue strand looked evenly colored, but some she messed up, like when she tried to color her bangs a pretty green color but instead got the ugly color of pond algae. Sherlock didn't want to ask what she was doing, why, or if she knew that was probably permanent, so he kept to himself once more, tapping his foot against the floor of the train and stroking Billy's feathers from through the cage. He really wished he had his own car, because the only thing worse than having to share one with a group of loud, talkative first years was having to share it with two secluded seventh years. After a while, Sherlock propped up a book in his lap, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, just to brush up on creatures he may have overlooked while constructing a lesson plan. Of course, he knew the book cover to cover, it was half the reason he was offered the job, and most of the reason why he took it. All of these creatures, from Hippogriffs to Boggarts to Dragons, so many fascinating monsters and so many ways to get yourself killed when out in the real world. Even though he doubted the loss of an annoying first year or a moody seventh year would be a big tragedy, he wouldn't want the wizarding world to suffer major losses to something as pathetic as a niffler. Eventually the plump witch with the candy trolley came around, asking if anyone would like anything, but Sherlock politely refused, deciding that whatever galleons he had left ought to be saved on something more important than sweets. The boy, however, put his book down and purchased a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, sitting back in his seat and opening the box.
"Would you like one?" the boy asked, holding the box over to where Sherlock sat. He was across from Sherlock, his book closed next to him.
"Oh, no thank you, that's not a risk I would like to take." Sherlock assured.
"I rather like the risk of it." the boy admitted. "You know the muggles; they have something similar, probably some muggle born trying to make a quick buck. But you can always tell, by just giving them a sniff. If they're the bad type they have a very distinct smell of vomit. Although, once they're all in the box for too long, they all sort of smell like vomit." He held a promising looking pink one up to his nose and smiled. "See, you just can't tell. This could be strawberry, or raw meat, or paint, you just never know." He said with a laugh.
"I try to refrain from eating those beans, although the good ones are marvelous, you can't be sure." Sherlock agreed with a smile. The boy popped the bean into his mouth and pulled a disgusted face, looking hallway between spitting it out and throwing up.
"Ugh, tastes like blood." He admitted, forcefully swallowing the candy and grimacing.
"Not a good one then." Sherlock guessed.
"Well, unless you're a vampire. But judging on your book there, I suppose you know all about vampires." The boy guessed.
"There's always something new about everything, you just need to get another perspective." Sherlock admitted. The boy smiled, his blue eyes alight with curiosity.
"I'm Victor by the way, Victor Trevor." He said, holding out a hand for Sherlock to shake. Sherlock shook it rather awkwardly; the boy's skin seemed to be unusually soft, if not sticky from eating those Bertie Bott's beans.
"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock said with a smile.
"You look like a seventh year, but I would've known you by now." Victor guessed.
"You're a seventh year?" Sherlock asked, although the boy's maturity had told him long before.
"Yep. I can't imagine you're a sixth year though, so who are you?" Victor asked, chewing on the end of another yellow bean. Fortunately though, he smiled, and ate the whole thing without telling which flavor he had gotten.
"I'm actually teaching this year." Sherlock said. Victor's face lit up, as if this where the best news he's heard all day.
"You're joking, you don't look a day over seventh year!" he exclaimed.
"Yes well, I suppose they were desperate." Sherlock shrugged.
"You must be really smart though, if they let you teach." Victor guessed.
"I guess you could say that." Sherlock shrugged.
"I suppose you'll find out for yourself if I'm intelligent or not, based on our first exam." Victor decided.
"You seem smart." Sherlock assured. Victor's smile widened.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"Two year out of school." Sherlock shrugged.
"That's amazing." Victor decided. Sherlock could feel himself blush a little bit with the praise; no one ever called him amazing before.
"It's a dream come true, to come back to Hogwarts." Sherlock sighed.
"But now you can lay down the law." Victor pointed out.
"So watch your back, I can always give you a detention." Sherlock warned. Victor held his hands up defensively, as if worried that Sherlock was actually going to give him a detention for starting a friendly conversation. "I'm joking, of course. You haven't done anything wrong." Sherlock assured.
"Not yet." Victor shrugged.
"What, are you a trouble maker?" Sherlock asked with a doubtful laugh.
"You might say that, yes. I'm not entirely intimidated by the rules." Victor admitted.
"That's how I was. I felt like I was above the rules." Sherlock agreed.
"Because you think you were smarter than the person who created them?" Victor asked.
"Precisely." Sherlock agreed. Victor smiled, rummaging around in his box of beans and pulling out a purple one.
"We're more alike than I imagined." Victor decided. The rest of the train ride (now seeming a lot shorter) was filled with pleasant conversation between Sherlock and Victor, talking aimlessly about things such as Hogwarts, careers, and quidditch. Sherlock found out that Victor was a chaser on the Slytherin quidditch team, which would explain why there was another (if not more expensive) broomstick sitting on the luggage rack. Sherlock would've guessed that he would be in Ravenclaw; based off his intelligence and book smarts, but then again, if Victor had been in Ravenclaw, then Sherlock as a seventh year would've been bound to notice him. House stereotyping was common among the Hogwarts students; of course, in everyone's minds the houses were based off four categories, bravery, intelligence, stupidity, and evilness. Of course the houses weren't restricted to that at all, in fact, as Sherlock and Victor talked more and more, Sherlock was almost shocked to find out that Victor was indeed a Slytherin. He would've never placed this boy as evil, in fact, he was so interesting and fun to talk with, that the castle seemed to appear in a blink of an eye, and before they knew it, they were pulling out their trunks from the racks and departing the train.

"What do you think I'm supposed to do? Take a carriage?" Sherlock asked Victor out of the corner of his mouth.
"No idea, I don't suppose you're supposed to take the boats across?" Victor guessed.
"That's only a first year thing." Sherlock insisted.
"Then take a carriage I guess." Victor shrugged.
"I always hated those things." Sherlock admitted, but never the less, when the two of them departed to the train they went straight to a carriage, pulled by invisible forces, and ducked inside of one. Of course, there was no solitude in the carriages, since there were a limited number for the hundreds of students expected to get up to the school. Sherlock didn't know why they didn't just built the train station a little bit closer to the school, but then again, they must have their reasons. The two of them weren't able to talk at all as they squished between numerous kids of all years and houses, some looking bored to death, others practically bursting with excitement. Thankfully thought, there were no first years to make the ride unpleasant, with their constant questions and their whining. Sherlock's stomach growled, but he would have to wait through the announcements, the sorting, and boring staff introductions, when he would undoubtedly be expected to stand up and introduce himself to the student body. He didn't like introductions, especially when half of the older kids knew him as that nerd in Ravenclaw. As the carriage made its way up the hill, all of the little bumps and uneven terrain sent Sherlock falling into Victor, which was a little bit better than squashing some poor second year, or worse, aggravating a burly seventh year. Even though Sherlock apologized profusely and tried to hold onto the seat for support, Victor seemed to find his clumsiness amusing. He would laugh even though Sherlock glowed bright red, not wanting to lose his only friend because of the lack of pavement in the wizarding world. Sherlock didn't know why the wizards were always stuck in the past, with ink and quills instead of actual pens, with carriages instead of cars and owls instead of texting. Maybe they weren't advanced like that, or they were just stubborn. Knowing the adults and the ministry workers of the age, Sherlock was almost positive it was the latter. When the carriage pulled up, Sherlock jumped out and dragged his things up to the entrance hall, Billy hooting with excitement on being back home. Sherlock sighed, standing off to the side as the kids funneled past, breathing in the Hogwarts air, the smell of the feast cooking in the kitchens, the sound of numerous footsteps on the stone floors and the soft light of the flickering torches. It was heaven, it really was. Even though Sherlock had a rough school experience here, Hogwarts would be forever the happiest place on earth. And now he was back, and if he proved himself, he might be back for good. Unfortunately, while he was reminiscing and taking in the sights, Sherlock had lost Victor in the crowd, and now felt terribly awkward about what to do with himself. Sherlock looked around, searching for someone that might know what he was to do with his things and where his room was. Surely teachers didn't share a common room together? So Sherlock sighed, tugging his trunk off to the side and standing on his tip toes, trying to find any sign of Professor McGonagall's tall pointed hat. Surely she'd know what he was to do. A/N: credit to the lovely @darkestshadeofblue for the beautiful cover art you see attached to the story