Methods Beyond Magic

Quidditch Picnic

    "Hello." Sherlock started, and some of the older, more popular looking guys snickered. "Well, um, I'm the new professor, Professor Holmes, obviously." There was more silence, and they all just kind of stared at him. "I feel very intimidated right now, the second years were much less, judgmental I suppose." Sherlock admitted, catching Victor's eye and seeing the boy smile. That encouraged him only a bit to move on with his lesson.
"So, unforgivable curses, which is a kind of dull lesson if you let it be dull. That means, yes, I know, student participation!" Sherlock said, pretending to be terrified. That got a little bit of a giggle from the girls. "So, who can tell me an unforgivable curse?" Sherlock stared around at the crowd. Most of the boys looked bored out of their mind, sitting with their faces on the fists and staring into space. Some of the girls looked intrigued, some with a hauntingly sparkling look in their eyes, like the Hufflepuff girls first period. Victor, however, raised his hand.
"Yes, Victor?" Sherlock asked.
"The killing curse." Victor said confidently.
"Good, very good, the killing curse, a bit self-explanatory. For the sake of law and order, and right now for my own safety, I am very much not inclined to teach you just how to cast a killing curse, although it is my job to tell you how to keep yourself safe from it. I'll just say this, you can't defend yourself. There is no shield charm that will protect you, no cure; nothing can reawaken the dead, not in this world or the muggle world, so try to refrain from getting hit with the killing curse." Sherlock advised. This time some of the boys cracked a smile, but it was more a 'watch me' smile than amusement.
"Anyone else, curses?" Sherlock asked. And like that, the class was off. In the beginning, Victor and the gaggle of girls were the only ones raising their hands, but eventually, as the topic got more and more violent, the boys raised their hands to offer examples and suggestions. As the class went on, the mood got lighter, until Sherlock was smiling without forcing himself to, talking and talking about everything he knew, which was actually a bit too much. Eventually the bell rang, and to Sherlock's delight he heard a couple of people groan.
"No homework, thankfully, but if you all felt a little bit lost there, either come to me or do some studying up on your own. It's not terribly difficult." Sherlock admitted. The class was too busy packing their things up to respond, and Sherlock was doubtful they even heard him, so he sat back on his desk and said goodbye as they all left.
"Excellent lesson professor." Victor assured with a smile, walking out in front of the group of girls, who were all waving goodbye and batting their eyelashes. That disgusted Sherlock for too many reasons. But he sat triumphantly on his desk, smiling a little bit to himself out of pride, and looked among the empty desks. Maybe this job wouldn't be so much of a train wreck after all. If the seventh year Slytherins liked him, then there was no way he could go wrong in any other class. Well, he was wrong. For the wrong reasons of course, but when his last class arrived, he realized that there was something worse than a class hating him. It was a class liking him too much. The moment the first years walked in, Sherlock new that he had a job on his hands, to make them sit still mostly, teaching this class about dragons seemed virtually impossible. All of them were about three feet tall, with their ties tied sloppily around their necks and their new robes dragging across the ground a little bit. They sat and squirmed in their seats as Sherlock went on about dragons, shrieking and crying with laughter as he imitated a Welsh Green swooping in on its prey. One of them actually was crying, not with laughter, but at the thought of a poor innocent sheep getting eaten by a dragon. Sherlock had no idea what to do, so he muttered something about how dragons were vegetarians and sent the child to the hospital wing, just to get them out of his hands. Thankfully, once he decided that getting the kids laughing wasn't the best way to approach the class, Sherlock had them take notes on dragons and stuck to showing them pictures instead of impersonating the beasts. When the class finally left, Sherlock sat back on his desk with a deep breath, cringing at the amount of crumpled up parchment and ink stains there now were on the floor. What children. Just as he picked up the last shred, he heard a knock on the door. He turned around to see Victor standing there, his bag slung over his shoulder and a smile on his face.
"Hello Victor." Sherlock said with a smile, crumpling the shreds of parchment into one big ball.
"Hello professor. I just wanted to see if you wanted to go out to the quidditch pitch and eat dinner over there. Thought that after a day of lessons you'd want some relaxation." Victor shrugged.
"Oh, ya of course." Sherlock agreed. "I just had first years, as you can probably see from the mess on the floor."
"I hate them, but we've got to cut them some slack. All those years ago, both of us were first years as well." Victor sighed.
"I can never imagine myself being that annoying." Sherlock admitted, throwing the ball of parchment in the trash can and walking out the door with Victor.
"It was an interesting lesson. Even though I knew the unforgivable curses, I didn't know all the backstory and tragic events that were caused by them." Victor admitted.
"I never knew all of my useless knowledge would be considered interesting." Sherlock admitted.
"Well, you're in the right line of work for useless knowledge." Victor assured.
"Yes, I suppose I am. How was your first day then? No homework I hope?" Sherlock asked.
"Oh, you know these teachers. Apparently you're the only one to pity us. Unfortunately, we've got the NEWTs coming up, and in order to prepare for that, McGonagall finds it necessary to give us an essay on some crusty old wizard, and Sinistra gave us a star chart, and Binns gave us an essay on House Elves." Victor sighed.
"That can't be fun at all. One of the things I don't miss about being a student is having to measure my essays." Sherlock admitted.
"I don't see how a quarter inch can be so influential, but last year Snape took off ten points for it!" Victor exclaimed.
"Never cross Snape, it's never a good idea." Sherlock suggested.
"I learned that the hard way." Victor admitted. The two of them walked down to the Great Hall together, where there were a bit more people than there were in lunch, but the oak doors were open and students where mingling around outside.
"Let's just get some food from the Slytherin table; I'm sure they won't mind." Victor offered, walking over to his table and stealing a great bundle of food from the platters.
"Hey Professor." said a girl that Sherlock recognized from his third period class, batting her eyelashes furiously and smiling.
"Oh, um, hello." Sherlock muttered.
"Do you remember my name?" she asked.
"It was the first day, so you'll have to excuse my poor memory." Sherlock admitted, looking awkwardly around. If he was right, this girl was flirting with him.
"Marisa." She said proudly, as if that was supposed to mean something to him.
"Oh, okay, Marissa, I'll try to remember that." Sherlock assured.
"You better." She said with a laugh. Sherlock smiled weakly, but thankfully he was rescued by Victor.
"Ready?" Victor asked, making sure the food wrapped in the napkins was very visible to Marissa, as if trying to make her jealous that they were spending time together.
"Definitely." Sherlock agreed, and walked out of the Great Hall with him.
"Don't mind Marissa or any of the girls even." Victor sighed.
"They seem...nice." Sherlock forced.
"Well, they're not; they just want to date a teacher." Victor pointed out.
"Why would they want to do that? It's against school rules." Sherlock insisted.
"Exactly, it's a challenge for them. They've hooked up with nearly every boy in every year; why not go for some higher power?" Victor pointed out.
"That's disgusting." Sherlock admitted, but hardly surprised.
"I guess you're wishing you were in seventh year around now." Victor laughed.
"Definitely not." Sherlock assured.
"Not really the player then?" Victor laughed.
"What, are you?" Sherlock asked.
"Thankfully I can say that I am not one of the boys that had sunken to the girls' level. They're still yet to bait me." Victor said proudly.
"You make it sound like that's never going to happen." Sherlock guessed.
"That's because it's not." Victor said firmly.
"You're not much of a player either." Sherlock decided.
"There are more important things than giggling girls looking for a new social class." Victor sighed. Sherlock nodded in agreement. They trudged down the hill towards the quidditch pitch, the noise and chatter of the students soon dying down. To Sherlock's surprise, there weren't any students on broom zooming around. In fact, the stadium was completely empty.
"I thought there would be more people here." Sherlock admitted as they walked into the empty dome.
"Are you disappointed?" Victor laughed.
"No, course not." Sherlock assured.
"Where do you want to eat, on the bleachers, or in the field?" Victor asked.
"I feel like the bleachers would be more convenient, don't you?" Sherlock decided.
"My thoughts exactly." Victor agreed, walking over to the steps to climb up into the bleachers. They went about half way up before making camp on the benches, sitting down and spreading their food in between them.
"I miss it here." Victor admitted.
"The Quidditch pitch?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes, the fans, the sport, the thrill. Tryouts are in two weeks." Victor sighed.
"You're a chaser?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes I am, best on the team I think." Victor decided.
"That's quite an accomplishment." Sherlock agreed.
"We won the Cup last year, and the year before actually, beat those idiot Gryffindors again." Victor said proudly.
"Gryffindors aren't bad." Sherlock shrugged, taking a chicken wing from the pile and gnawing on it.
"Well, they're not bad to you, being a professor and all. But they're quick to show their dislike for me everywhere I go." Victor admitted.
"From what I know, Quidditch is pretty serious around here." Sherlock decided.
"It was like that when you were in school wasn't it?" Victor asked.
"Oh, didn't pay much attention. I loved the matches because everyone left, and that gave me time to study in peace." Sherlock admitted.
"Not much of an athlete then?" Victor laughed.
"No, actually, I'm terrified of heights." Sherlock admitted.
"You're serious?" Victor laughed, looking at Sherlock in disbelief.
"I'm not lying, just being on a broomstick makes me tense up, I feel like my legs are going to go numb and I'll fall to my death." Sherlock admitted.
"Well, that's not a very good quality to have when you're a wizard." Victor guessed.
"I haven't needed to ride a broomstick yet, and frankly I doubt I ever will." Sherlock admitted.
"You had a broom when you were on the train." Victor pointed out.
"I felt the need to bring everything I had, and for some reason the broom made the cut." Sherlock admitted.
"Well, maybe I can teach you to fly one day." Victor offered.
"That wouldn't end well for either of us." Sherlock admitted with a laugh, buttering a roll and looking around at the empty pitch.
"It might." Victor shrugged.
"My brother loved to fly. Before he got his own broom he used to steal my father's and fly around the neighborhood. That never went over well, I can count the number of times the Ministry had to come over and wipe the muggles' memories on two hands." Sherlock laughed.
"I take it your brother is a bit of a trouble maker?" Victor guessed.
"Well, he didn't know it was bad really, he just thought he was exploring. Now he's a big rule follower though, you wouldn't like him." Sherlock admitted.
"Is he in school now?" Victor asked.
"Seven years older than me actually. When I started school, he had just left." Sherlock admitted.
"I guess I wouldn't know him then." Victor decided.
"Be happy you don't." Sherlock sighed.
"Well, if he's anything like you, he can't be that bad." Victor shrugged. Sherlock looked over at him in doubt, and Victor was half smiling back at him. "What, not used to a complement?" he asked.
"No, no it's fine." Sherlock assured, going back to looking at the quidditch pitch and trying to ignore the fact that he could feel Victor's eyes still watching him.
"I'm sorry; I didn't want to spook you or anything." Victor admitted, sounding a bit confused as to what Sherlock was thinking right now.
"I'm not...scared, if that's what you think. No, it's fine, I just remembered something though." Sherlock admitted.
"What?" Victor asked, sounding worried.
"I was supposed to meet John, the caretaker, today after dinner, he's setting up that old record player I got." Sherlock pointed out, feeling guilty for having to leave.
"I'm sure he'll understand. Besides, when we're done with dinner, I can come up and fix it for you; my mom's got one of those old things in the kitchen." Victor offered.
"I don't want to keep him waiting." Sherlock admitted.
"I'm sorry, really, I am, you don't have to leave." Victor insisted.
"It's not you; of course, it's not you at all. It's just, what type of friend would I be if I let him waiting alone in my classroom?" Sherlock asked. Victor sighed, but nodded.
"A bad one, probably." Victor guessed. Sherlock got to his feet, turning in a small circle, torn between staying with Victor and running off to meet John.
"I'm sorry, I really am, we can meet up over the weekend, maybe you can try to teach me to fly." Sherlock offered. Victor cracked a smile.
"Ya, alright, over the weekend." He agreed.
"Perfect, hey, I'll see you then, thanks for...this." Sherlock decided, and with that he rushed down the bleachers and back up to the school.