Methods Beyond Magic

First Day For Students and Staff

    Sherlock was just about to try to put an animation spell on it when there was a knock at the door.
"I thought I told you to go away!" Sherlock yelled. The door opened and it wasn't John that was standing out there, but McGonagall.
"I don't recall you telling me that, but then again, I'm getting a bit older." She admitted.
"Not you, sorry." Sherlock mumbled.
"I saw Mr. Watson walking down the hall, looking quite pleased with himself. I think I'm right in assuming that you two have been talking to each other." McGonagall guessed.
"No, he more talks at me and refuses to leave." Sherlock sighed.
"Well, it's nice that the two new staff members are getting along with each other." She decided.
"We're not getting along." Sherlock insisted.
"Whatever you say. I just came to drop off your schedule, of which classes you'd be teaching first." She said, handing him a rather long piece of parchment.
"Oh, thanks." Sherlock decided, taking it appreciatively and inspecting it. Fourth years first, then second, then seventh, then (ugh) first years.
"I see you took Pomona's advice then." She decided.
"Who?" Sherlock asked.
"Professor Sprout. She told you to get the record player?" McGonagall decided.
"Oh, yes, she did. She also said you had some posters or something, to liven this place up a bit. Looks like a wasteland." Sherlock admitted.
"It'll look more cheerful once the students fill in." McGonagall assured.
"Yes well, I hope they look cheerful as well." Sherlock muttered.
"Have you got a lesson plan worked out?" McGonagall asked.
"Yes, well, I think I do. I'm not sure what they already learned." Sherlock admitted.
"Do your best. And don't be afraid to ask them about what they had previously learned, because you don't want to start going on about werewolves when they learned that in second year." McGonagall sighed.
"Oh, they did?" Sherlock asked.
"I'm not sure." McGonagall admitted.
"Well, I'm going to start with dragons for the younger ones, fourth year down I suppose, and then for the fifth, sixth, and seventh years I'll start with unforgivable curses." Sherlock decided.
"Just don't demonstrate them." McGonagall pleaded.
"Why on earth would I do that?" Sherlock asked with a laugh.
"Oh, the teachers we've had." She sighed.
"Fair enough." Sherlock agreed.
"Well, I'll let you get to it. Good luck Mr. Holmes." She decided with a smile.
"And good luck to you as well." Sherlock agreed.
"Oh don't worry, I've been here longer than anyone, all the kids are scared out of their minds of an old woman." McGonagall laughed.
"That's not true." Sherlock muttered without confidence.
"I do remember a curly haired little first year bursting into tears the first time they forgot their homework." McGonagall pointed out.
"I thought you were going to hang me." Sherlock admitted.
"See my point?" she asked.
"I do, indeed. I don't think I'll have the fear factor on my side, since I look like I could be a seventh year." Sherlock admitted.
"The younger kids will fear you, but the older ones might be a bit unruly." McGonagall decided.
"I suppose I'll figure it out as I go." Sherlock guessed.
"I suppose you will." She agreed, and with that she swept out of the room, leaving Sherlock to try to figure out that bloody record player alone. When finally he gave up (he'll ask the students or something, usually they know more about technology than he did) he went to his room to collect his quills and parchment and stuff, just in case he had to write things or anything. He also got out his text book, which the students would have bought in Diagon Alley after the letters went out. So he sat in his desk until the bell rang, and slowly the students started trickling in. Sherlock smiled and said good morning. Most of them exchanged greetings back, some were either too engulfed in their conversations or just didn't want to say hello, because they said nothing in return. Sherlock sat awkwardly on his desk, watching as the student filed in, took their seats, and took out their wands. Finally, all the seats were filled up with chatting, excited students.
"Is this everyone?" Sherlock asked awkwardly. The conversations ended at once, because no one knew whether or not he was strict with enforcing the rules or not.
"Yes sir." Said a very timid looking girl sitting near the front.
"Brilliant. Well then, hello, I'm Professor Holmes, I'm your new professor, obviously, for Defense Against the Dark Arts." Sherlock shrugged. He opened his mouth to say some more when all of the students droned a long 'hello Professor Holmes' in unison.
"My god, you all sound like robots, let's not do that." Sherlock decided.
"What's a robot?" someone asked curiously.
"Muggle terrors, metal men, really not important." Sherlock shrugged. "Anyway, what is important, is dragons. You all know what dragons are, right?" The class all nodded their heads excitedly.
"Well, we're going to start our lesson on dragons, we'll do some work on it, maybe write an essay, I don't know. Maybe we'll make models or throw stuff in flames to see how hot their breath gets." Sherlock sighed. The class murmured in excitement, but still no one talked.
"So, it'll take me a good five years to remember your names, so I'm just going to call you by distinguishing features for now, correct me when I'm wrong. Unless your name really is blonde Hufflepuff girl." Sherlock said with a small laugh. To his surprise, the girl and all of her friends burst into giggles, and all slapped each other as if there were some inside joke Sherlock had not been told.
"Okay then, open your books I suppose, let's talk about dragons." Sherlock decided, picking up his book and starting the lesson. It would've been terribly easy to make this lesson the most miserable in existence, simply reading out of the book and answering simple questions. Thankfully Sherlock knew enough about dragons to keep it light and interesting. He imitated a couple of dragon species by flapping his arms and pretending to breathe fire, which was a real hit with the class. He also told them about mass dragon killings that he knew about, including people's flesh burned right off, and the Great Fire of London, which was caused by the ministry trying to force a pack of dragons off of London territory. Obviously the dragons weren't too agreeable on that matter. In the end of the class, the students actually groaned, which shocked him. Maybe they actually liked his class? Nevertheless, they all collected their things and said cheerful goodbyes, the girls collapsing into giggles once more. The next class went quite similar, the second years found his jokes to be a lot more hilarious than the fourth years did, and they all shrieked with laughter when he pretended to be a Hungarian Horntail. It was encouraging, however when they too were also very disappointed to leave his class, all saying goodbye and filing out as quickly as they had come. So Sherlock was left alone, almost wondering why there weren't more students walking in when he remembered that it was time for lunch. So, with a great sigh, he pulled himself to his feet and walked off down the hallway. It was filled with kids of course, some he recognized from the Great Hall or from his previous classes, but most were as foreign to him as he was to them. That didn't matter though, it wasn't like they were going to be forced to make conversation, they were all going to the same place and he kept his head down, careful not to make eye contact with the few kids going the opposite way. When he made it to the Great Hall, it was practically empty. Thinking this impossible, since he had come down with the flow of students and therefore couldn't possibly be late nor early, he looked around to see where everyone had gone. The mystery was solved when he saw kids wrapping sandwiches and chips in napkins, balancing their meals and walking outside into the bright fall day. Sherlock smiled, thinking that was an excellent idea, so he grabbed a turkey club sandwich and wandered outside as well. Most of the kids were sitting up against the castle, basking in the sunlight and talking carelessly, not yet any homework or exams to stress them out. Being the good teacher he was, Sherlock didn't assign any homework to his students, not when all they learned was how much of a dork he was. Sherlock found a shady tree the lake, quite secluded from the students. It wasn't like he was purposely avoiding them, of course he wanted to avoid any awkward conversations with any of the kids he had in his previous classes (especially the giggling fourth year girls), but he also didn't want the kids to feel like they were being monitored. So he sat by the lake, eating his sandwich slowly and watching the orange tentacles of the giant squid float aimlessly just under the rippling surface of the dark water. It was very peaceful, and occasionally Sherlock would throw a chunk of bread or turkey into the water, where it would sit for just a moment before it would be pulled under so quickly that Sherlock only saw a flash of orange, all that would be left was ripples. The sunlight was shining over the grounds, the sounds of the cheerful students' laughter carrying on through the rolling hills, a calm breeze ruffling the drying leaves of the tree above him. It was beautiful. This is why Sherlock loved Hogwarts, because it was more like home than his home ever could be. When looking back on his Hogwarts career, he would never remember these little moments, solitary picnics with the giant squid, as he got older all he would remember was the homework, the OWL exams, the bullying, and the mean teachers. Coming back, he realized the simplicity of happiness that this school brought, not just education, but inner peace. When he finished his sandwich, Sherlock was reluctant to leave, but the embarrassment of being late to his own class motivated him to get to his feet and trudge up to the castle. Some of the student waved, some said hello, and some just stared as if making sure he was gone before continuing their conversation. The hallways were virtually empty, so Sherlock walked alone up to his classroom, pausing to say hello to some of the portraits he knew from his years at school. That was a very weird thought for a muggle, but in the wizarding world, the oil and paint had a life of their own, they talked, walked, and judged people the same way humans did. Just as Sir Codogan challenged Sherlock to a duel (which he said with so much enthusiasm that he fell off his fat pony), Sherlock heard an annoyed groan from down the hall.
"Is this you?" John asked, dragging a mop and a bucket alongside of him.
"I hope so." Sherlock sighed.
"No, I mean the mud, are you the one tracking this around?" John asked. Sherlock looked around at the floor, realizing that there were in fact a lot of muddy footprints around the floor.
"Possibly. I was one of many that enjoyed my lunch outside." Sherlock admitted. John groaned, dipping the mop in the bucket and wringing it out with some weird lever.
"Is that a muggle invention?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes, but they've got the right idea, so much better than using my hands." John admitted as he swooshed the mop back and forth on the stone floor.
"Why don't you just use your wand?" Sherlock asked doubtfully.
"You see, if I just used my wand, what would be the point of having me?" John asked.
"Precisely why you should." Sherlock agreed.
"You don't like me?" John asked, smiling all the less. 
"I'm not particularly fond of anyone." Sherlock admitted.
"Well that's not a very fun way to live life." John decided.
"It's practical." Sherlock shrugged.
"It's lonely." John insisted.
"Peaceful is a better word." Sherlock admitted. John sighed, dropping his mop back into the bucket and splashing Sherlock with gross muddy water. "You, on the other hand, are not peaceful." Sherlock decided, waving his wand across his robes to dissolve the water.
"I try my best." John shrugged.
"Try harder." Sherlock suggested.
"Don't you have a class to get to?" John asked.
"There are no students yet, so I assume I'm not needed." Sherlock guessed.
"Fair enough. I still haven't eaten lunch yet, I'm starving." John admitted.
"Well that's a stupid thing to do, why don't you just eat?" Sherlock asked.
"Can't with this mess up here, and it's only going to get worse." John shrugged. Sherlock sighed, waving his wand once more and clearing the mud from the floor.
"There you are, did what you should've done." Sherlock insisted.
"See, people like you are going to get me out of a job." John pointed out.
"I'm not sure they'd want to fire their caretaker in the beginning of the term." Sherlock guessed.
"I certainly hope not. Thanks for the help." John said with a smile, pushing the bucket into the nearest supply closet.
"No problem, I guess." Sherlock admitted. John smiled in farewell, halfway down the stairs before looking back.
"Hey, did you get that record player to work?" he called back. Sherlock sighed, hating to admit his faults.
"No, I didn't, um, didn't have enough time to play around with it." Sherlock admitted.
"Well, I can help you with it, if you want." John offered.
"Why would I want you to help me with it?" Sherlock asked.
"So it would work, idiot." John insisted. Sherlock couldn't help but smile at John's nerve.
"Alright then, stop by when classes aren't going on, hopefully I won't be there." Sherlock decided.
"I'll be there after dinner." John agreed.
"I won't look forward to that." Sherlock said with a smile, and with that John turned and continued down the stairs to the Great Hall.
"Ooh, he's handsome isn't he?" sighed a painting behind him.
"No." Sherlock decided, turning and walking off to his classroom. When the first of the students came in, Sherlock was actually surprised to see that some of them were even taller than he was. It took a moment to remember that these were seventh years, and that they probably wouldn't take his dragon impersonations as humorously as the second years did. Sherlock didn't really pay attention to the people walking in, smiling occasionally at them all while trying to flip to the right page in the book about unforgivable curses.
"Hello professor." said a cheerful voice above him. Half expecting it to be John, come back to torment him some more, Sherlock looked up with a mildly annoyed expression on his face. But it wasn't John; it was Victor that stood there. Of course, by now Sherlock should've noticed that half of the students that walked in were wearing Slytherin ties.
"Hello Victor." Sherlock said with a smile, his mood lightening a little bit with a familiar face in the crowd.
"I hope you've got a good lesson for us. At least one that will beat Professor Binns' lectures on the House Elf rebellion." Victor sighed.
"I try to keep things a bit more entertaining than Professor Binns." Sherlock admitted.
"From what little I know about you, I think that's true." Victor assured, moving over to take his seat. Sherlock now felt like there was a spotlight on him, for some reason he thought that every move he made was being judged by Victor, so he made sure to keep his head buried in his book, refreshing his knowledge on the curses and making sure not to look too nervous. Finally, when the steady flow of students stopped, Sherlock shut the door with a flick of his wand and looked at the class, who were all staring judgmentally back.