Methods Beyond Magic

Hopeless Newcomers

    "Mr. Holmes?" asked a familiar voice on the staircase. Sherlock turned to see McGonagall, as promised, sweeping down the stairs in her long black robes.
"Professor, hello." Sherlock said with a smile.
"No need to call me that anymore, professor." McGonagall assured. Sherlock looked around awkwardly, not really wanting to call her by her first name.
"Force of habit I suppose." He admitted.
"You can just leave your stuff over in the staff section, our new caretaker will take care of it." she assured.
"A new one? What happened to Filch?" Sherlock asked.
"Last year, Peeves, well, I don't really want to get into it again. Long story short, Mr. Filch turned in his resignation." McGonagall sighed.
"That's not a shame, that crusty old...sorry." Sherlock muttered, seeing the disapproving look on McGonagall's face.
"Well then, your seat is next to Professor Snape and Professor Sprout in the staff table, you better hurry up as well, the Sorting is about to start." McGonagall insisted.
"Don't you usually introduce the first years?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, I'm introducing you, aren't I?" she pointed out.
"Yes, I suppose so. Thank you professor." Sherlock agreed.
"Minerva." McGonagall insisted.
"Nope, not going to happen." Sherlock decided.
"Maybe in a couple of years." McGonagall agreed with a smile.
"You think I'm going to last a couple of years?" Sherlock asked, impressed.
"Only time will tell." She sighed. Sherlock smiled once more, levitating his luggage up the stairs to where McGonagall told him to, and when he turned around, she was gone. Billy hooted impatiently, as if reminding Sherlock that he was still there, but Sherlock had to get to the hall, the students were already inside and he would make a really bad impression if he showed up during the sorting.
"I'll let you out after dinner." Sherlock assured, waving his hand at the bird and running down the stairs. The student body was already chatting amongst themselves, so thankfully no one noticed as he slipped through the doors and down the middle aisle, up to the staff table. It felt weird not to turn into the Ravenclaw table, and approaching the staff table was one of the more intimidating things that he's ever done. Especially since he had to sit next to Snape. The greasy haired, hook nosed, scowling potions master had hated Sherlock ever since he had stepped foot into his classroom. Sherlock had no idea why, he raised his hand for everything, he participated and ended up with the best final exam grade Snape had ever had, and still Snape couldn't seem to stand the sight of him. Maybe he just hated people that were smarter than him. Snape's icy, disapproving glare followed Sherlock as he made his way around the table and to the only empty seat on the line up; between the two professors he was promised. Professor Sprout, of course, had always been a lovely woman, as a professor and as a person. She always had a smile on her face and was happy to help all of the clumsy kids with repotting their devilish plants. Sherlock sat down awkwardly between the two of them, staring at his empty golden plate and wishing it would fill just for him to have something to do.
"Hello Mr. Holmes." Professor Sprout said friendlily.
"Hello Professor Sprout." Sherlock said with a faint smile.
"So you're teaching, so soon?" she asked.
"Yes well, I suppose they were desperate." Sherlock admitted.
"Obviously." muttered Snape from the other side of him.
"Now Severus, be nice, Sherlock is one of us now, a professor." Sprout insisted. Snape sighed in annoyance, obviously starting to say something when the first years marched in, led by Professor McGonagall carrying a wooden stool, with the ratty old Sorting Hat, still motionless, on top. Sherlock tried not to look too annoyed at the time it would take to line up all these disruptive little first years and sort them. His stomach was growling impatiently, and his mind wandered to poor Billy, locked in his cage, who hadn't had anything to eat except owl treats on the train. McGonagall went over the rules o the sorting hat, come up when your name is called, put on the hat, etcetera. Sherlock took this moment to look amongst the student body. Some he recognized from his own years at school, older kids who had been the underclassman when he belonged to the Ravenclaw house. Most of the bullies that had tormented him were gone, thank god, some of the younger kids that had always thought they were really tough still remained, but they wouldn't dare disturb him now that he rolled with the Professors. Some of the people had been nice to him, mostly younger Ravenclaws that had probably pitied him when he was being picked on. He found himself searching the Slytherin table, and finally he spotted Victor, sitting amongst a group of older looking kids but not really interacting with them. He looked bored, playing with something on the table and not looking at all to see which house the first years were sorted into. Of course, Sherlock only remembered that the Sorting Ceremony was going on by a sudden outburst of clapping, to which he hastily joined in, pretending like he had been paying attention. Sherlock noticed that he was sandwiched between two heads of houses, Sprout with the Hufflepuffs and Snape with the Slytherins. The both clapped just a little bit harder when the first years were sorted into their house, as if having to pretend like the more first years the better off they were going to be to win the house cup. Finally, when the last child was sorted into Hufflepuff (Sprout's clapping left Sherlock's ears throbbing), Dumbledore stood up to make the new announcements.
"Welcome students, welcome staff, ghosts, house elves, and owls, to another new term at Hogwarts." Dumbledore said with a cheerful voice. This introduction was followed by some laughter and clapping, and Dumbledore waited patiently. Sherlock couldn't see him as well as he would like to, just his silvery beard and the tip of his hat poking above the heads of the other staff.
"Before we begin with this lovely feast, I would like to introduce two new members of our staff. Filling the empty position of caretaker, may I introduce Mr. John Watson." Dumbledore announced. A man, looking a bit older than Sherlock with blonde hair stood up at the other end of the table, waving and smiling a little bit before quickly sitting down. Obviously he didn't like the attention he was drawing.
"And, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year, some of you might still remember him, Mr. Sherlock Holmes." Dumbledore said. Sherlock quickly stood up, bumping the table and making Snape make a sound that sounded suspiciously like a hiss. The students clapped, and Sherlock caught eyes with Victor, who was clapping extra hard and giving him an encouraging smile. Sherlock sat down as the applause died off, his cheeks blushing as he tried to look as attentive to Dumbledore's speech, knowing full well that most the student's eyes were still focused on him.
"But, with introductions out of the way, I suppose you are all getting very hungry. So, tuck in." Dumbledore decided with a smile. And just like that, platters filled with warm, delicious smelling food appeared before them, everything from chicken wings to mashed potatoes to steak and kidney pie. Sherlock didn't want to be too aggressive with getting the biggest and warmest portions, so he waited until both Snape and Sprout had gotten their fair share of food and begun eating before he started to pick off of the platters. It was temping not to eat everything he could get his hands on; he hadn't had such a good meal since his last day in seventh year. That was one of the positives of Hogwarts, no one ever went hungry. So when Sherlock indulged himself on some beef stew and buttered corn, he listened to Sprout's cheerful conversation with Professor Sinistra about upcoming classes. Sherlock didn't know his schedule yet, but he had the first lesson plans worked out for all seven years. It would be a bit of work, having to grade all sorts of tests and homework from all different years, but it would be a lot less work than he had to do when he was a student, balancing essay upon essay for different classes. Although Sherlock told himself that he wasn't going to be that one teacher that assigned an essay every class, he didn't see what else he could do to get some grades in the books, especially since there weren't worksheets in the wizarding world. Ah well, he'd figure it out eventually. He didn't feel much like talking to Snape, who was absent mindedly picking at some mashed potatoes and staring at the table, so Sherlock sat quietly. It felt very odd, being up here, eating with the staff instead of down at the Ravenclaw table, sitting a good four seats away from anyone and propping a book up on the serving bowls. It felt especially weird to know what Snape preferred for dinner, or hearing people call him 'Severus' in a normal conversation. Sherlock hated the close proximity to the devilish professor, but eventually he supposed they both would get used to ignoring each other each meal. When Sherlock finally finished his peach cobbler and the dishes cleared themselves, as clean and polished as they were when they started, Dumbledore stood up once more, announcing the common rules. No one was allowed in the Forbidden Forrest, no one was allowed wandering the halls past curfew, the list of forbidden objects, such as Fanged Frisbees and Dungbombs, and no magic in the corridors. Sherlock had heard these announcements seven times before, but the eighth time seemed a lot more interesting, as if something had actually changed. He was actually disappointed when Dumbledore stopped talking. When finally the announcements were over, the students all got up at once, erupting into loud conversation and walking out the doors. The scared little first years were all hesitantly following their prefects to the common rooms, looking so small compared to the older kids.
"Sherlock, you do know where your room is I assume?" McGonagall asked.
"Oh, I, no." Sherlock admitted.
"Oh well, the living quarters are attached to the office. Your office, however, is attached to your classroom, and I assume you know where your classroom is?" McGonagall asked.
"Yes, I know that much." Sherlock assured.
"Everyone refers to the Defense Against the Dark Arts position as a suite, you've got your quarters, your office, and your classroom in one deal. You lucked out Sherlock." McGonagall decided.
"I suppose I have." Sherlock agreed.
"Your luggage will be there when you arrive." McGonagall assured. Sherlock nodded, moving with the flow of teachers now leaving the hall to do whatever it was they had to do. Honestly, Sherlock had no idea what to do with himself; it wasn't like he had any last minute homework to catch up on, or any friends to talk to. At the mention of friends, Sherlock's eyes wandered over to the Slytherin table, which was now almost empty of students, but Victor was not one of the stragglers. It was a shame; Sherlock was kind of looking forward to asking the boy for advice on what to do now, like he'd know. But it was better to be clueless with someone else than clueless alone, which was precisely what Sherlock was going through now. So he followed the stream of students up the Grand Staircase, where he heard a familiar owl hooting in annoyance. It was Billy, of course, still sitting on top of his trunk on the stairs, pushed to the side as the torrent of students barreled past.
"Who didn't move that?" Sherlock asked in annoyance, nearly having to sit on the banister to avoid being stampeded. Of course, no one answered him, but his question was answered when the new caretaker, John something, forced his way down the stairs, looking exhausted and annoyed.
"Why haven't you moved my trunk yet?" Sherlock snapped as the caretaker approached.
"It had no house on it, so I didn't know what to do." John admitted.
"Well, now you know!" Sherlock insisted. John gave him a blank look, and Sherlock groaned.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts, I'm the professor, did you even listen?" Sherlock snapped.
"Oh, sorry, not really no." John admitted, not moving as some burly Ravenclaw pushed past him, nearly toppling him over the railing.
"Well, get on with it then!" Sherlock called over the loud rumbling of the students.
"I should wait until they stop coming." John insisted.
"They'll move." Sherlock assured.
"Obviously not." John groaned, elbowing back some kid that had rudely pushed through him. Sherlock sighed, sitting on the banister and watching as the line of students thinned out, until finally there were no more people coming from the Great Hall. As a bunch of fifth year Gryffindors passed, John was finally able to get a handle on the trunk, grabbing Sherlock's broomstick in the other hand and trying to balance Billy on top of it all. That poor owl was having an even worse start of term than Sherlock was, because as soon as John took one step the cage slipped off and fell onto the ground, making the stupid bird screech.
"Oops, sorry." John muttered, dropping the trunk with another loud bang and making Sherlock groan.
"Give me the owl." Sherlock insisted.
"No, I've got this." John assured.
"Give me the owl." Sherlock repeated, tearing the cage out of John's idiot hands.
"I said I got it." John insisted, looking rather offended of Sherlock's lack of faith.
"You know, there's a simple spell that would do the job a lot quicker." Sherlock pointed out. John sighed with annoyance.
"I got it." he repeated, sounding like a broken record, taking the trunk and starting up the stairs.
"I trust that you know where you're going?" Sherlock called.
"Course I do!" he called back.
"Where is it then?" Sherlock asked, setting the cage down and crossing his arms doubtfully. John paused, obviously deep in thought.
"Well, um, just...where again, sorry?" he sighed.
"Drop it off in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, I'll get it there." Sherlock decided.
"Alright then." John agreed, and set off once more. Sherlock rolled his eyes, taking the cage once more and walking down the stairs to where the Entrance Hall doors were still opened. The sun had gone down long ago, and now the moonlight was shining on the Black Lake, reflecting so clearly that it looked as if there were two moons, one in the sky and one on the ground, directly below it. Sherlock sighed, opening Billy's cage and letting the poor owl stretch out his long black wings, shaking off a little bit before taking flight, off towards the Forbidden Forrest. Sherlock wasn't worried about him, he's had that owl since before first year, and he never failed to return once. Sherlock sighed, looking out around the darkened grounds; Hagrid's hut was the only source of light, other than the dull light coming from the castle itself. It was beautiful and peaceful, and it was so nice to finally return to the castle that Sherlock felt like he could just stand there forever. But of course, he wasn't sure if the teachers had a curfew or not, so, as force of habit, he scurried up the stairs to the Defense Against the Darks Arts classroom.