Methods Beyond Magic

Piecing Together The Peculiar Puzzle

                  

"So, how's quidditch going?" Sherlock asked.
"I told you, it was cancelled." Victor pointed out.
"How do you think it'll go?" Sherlock sighed. Victor was making this a little bit difficult.
"It'll be fine, our returning players are coming back, they'll struggle next year though." Victor shrugged.
"I've never cheered for Slytherin before." Sherlock admitted.
"And are you now?" Victor asked.
"Well, since you're the only person I know on any of the teams, probably." Sherlock decided.
"What about Ravenclaw, your own house?" John pointed out.
"Just because I was a Ravenclaw doesn't mean I have to like my house." Sherlock pointed out.
"Where were you, when you were in school?" Victor asked John.
"Hufflepuff." John said proudly. Victor smiled crookedly, examining John from his very straight posture to his toes just barely touching the ground.
"That figures." He muttered.
"Is there something wrong with Hufflepuff?" John asked, puffing out his chest as if ready to fight.
"No, nothing wrong with Hufflepuff." Victor assured. John nodded, going back to his normal posture. "Except I'm sure they haven't won the quidditch cup in at least...ten years? Probably more, and let's not even talk about the house cup..." Victor muttered.
"Victor, stop it. Stop attacking John, leave him alone, there's nothing wrong with Hufflepuff, there's nothing wrong with his height or his IQ or his job, the only problem I see here is you constantly trying to impress everyone." Sherlock snapped. Victor's face paled a little bit, his mouth open in silent confusion. John, on the other hand, looked very pleased to see Victor get what he deserved.
"You think this is a desperate attempt to impress you?" he asked. John hummed in agreement, and Sherlock showed no emotion. "Well, it's not. I'd say I've already done that, I'm sorry if I came off aggressive." He decided. Sherlock looked idly at the clock, kind of hoping for an excuse for these two to leave.
"Yes well, it's getting quite late, and I imagine you have an essay to finish Victor?" he pointed out.
"On werewolves? Did it in some slow time in Charms." Victor shrugged.
"It better be good." Sherlock warned.
"Well, I've had a good teacher." Victor shrugged. Sherlock smiled, but got up from his chair.
"I'm serious, both of you out, I need sleep." Sherlock decided. Victor sighed, but slid off the desk, not breaking his stare at Sherlock with a sort of pleased smile on his face. John tried to slide off the desk, but miscalculated, bumping the desk next to him and sending an ink bottle crashing down on the floor. It exploded, spraying ink on John's clothes, the desk, and the floor, all in all making a huge, disgusting mess everywhere.
"Oh, sorry." He muttered, looking a bit panicked. Victor sighed in annoyance, as if this were a regular occurrence when in the company of John. "I'll get a rag, and my mop, I can clean it up..." he insisted, running in a small circle.
"No need John." Sherlock assured, waving his wand lazily and making all of the ink disappear.
"Or, you could just do that." John agreed. "Sorry."
"It's alright, that bottle was getting old anyway." Sherlock assured. The clock chimed, and Sherlock gave them both rather bothered glares.
"Yes, yes, we're leaving, have a good night professor." Victor decided, waving his way out of the room.
"He's trouble that one." John insisted. Sherlock just laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Good night John, Victor." He agreed. They both called their farewells and left the room together, John closing the door a little bit roughly behind him. Sherlock sighed with a sort of exasperated smile on his face, shaking his head slightly and hoping that the two of them both made it back to their rooms without a leg locker curse or a new set of antlers.

The next couple of days were what Sherlock would properly call hectic. Victor's quidditch tryouts probably went very well, for the next day he got a new set of robes and a new ego, telling everyone who would listen that he had been referred to as the best chaser in the school. Of course, Sherlock could only congratulate him so many times, and after a while he was sort of sick of hearing about how flawlessly Victor had weaved through the players and how the goal was 'something out of a professional quidditch game'. John had only heard the story once, and when Victor went to boast to him, he 'accidentally' spilled the mop water all over the boy's shoes. So that sparked some debated between the men in Sherlock's life, both of them coming whining over to his door just to talk crap about the other, it was actually exhausting. Sherlock didn't want to hear about John's faults, and he didn't care that Victor was 'the devil in disguise', he just wanted to be friends with both of them, and there was nothing wrong with that. Thankfully he had given up on group therapy sessions with the two of them, because whenever they were in a room together they seemed almost desperate to show off. Victor kept rolling up spare bits of parchment and was shooting them without fail into the trash can next to Sherlock's desk, and John tapped his fingers to some sort of beat and kept trying to talk to Sherlock about the janitorial adventures he had done that day. In the end, Sherlock decided that he'd spend every other day with them, so that neither felt excluded for some reason. The rumors, Sherlock was happy to see, had died down completely. Sometimes he still got some weird looks in the hallways, but no one in his class was fearful of eye contact, and no one followed him around anymore. Sherlock liked the privacy, of course, but he liked the fact that he was still able to keep his job. Of course, Victor, was always asking for Sherlock's love life reviews, as if anything had changed in the day they hadn't seen each other, asking Sherlock if there were any girls or boys on Sherlock's mind. Of course that was just rubbish, and Sherlock would laugh him off, muttering about how he was sure whatever significant other he would chose would be found floating dead in the lake the next morning. Sherlock was walking back to dinner when he found Victor perched on the banisters of the staircase, his foot dangling dangerously over the edge and a book opened lazily in his hands.
"You're going to fall." Sherlock decided.
"Would that concern you?" Victor asked, closing his book with a smile.
"Yes, it would concern me." Sherlock agreed.
"Well, I just got back from quidditch practice, and well, I made a startling discovery." He said proudly.
"And what might that be?" Sherlock asked.
"Are you bored with me already?" Victor laughed.
"No, of course not, just wondering." Sherlock admitted. Victor was silent. "So, what is your discovery?"
"Not here, let's go into the classroom." He decided.
"Have you eaten yet?" Sherlock asked.
"No, of course not." Victor shrugged. "More important matters to attend to." Sherlock just rolled his eyes, but watched Victor hop easily off of the banister and scurry up the staircases to the classroom.
"What's so important?" Sherlock asked. Victor smiled excitedly, closing the door as if this news was top secret.
"Well, it rained yesterday, as you know, and the pitch is all muddy. So our favorite caretaker is down there in the entrance hall, cleaning up the mess with that stupid muggle mop of his." Victor decided.
"He says it's more sanitary." Sherlock defended, crossing his arms and leaning on the desk.
"Yes, I know what he says, but remember, he tried to clean up spilled ink with a rag. Does that sound very sanitary to you?" Victor pointed out.
"Well, no, but I'm sure he's got his reasons." Sherlock shrugged.
"So, it occurred to me that I've never even see him use a spell. He lifts, drags, cleans, fixes, everything with his hands, I've never even seen him hold a wand." Victor insisted.
"He says he doesn't have any need for a wand. It's fine, there's some people like that." Sherlock shrugged, feeling the need to defend John for whatever reason.
"There are not people like that. The only people that I've seen not carry a wand are muggles, and...." Victor intentionally cut off his sentence, as to play fill in the blank.
"Squibs." Sherlock muttered. "You think he's a squib?" he asked louder, making a very confused face for show. But in reality, he wasn't surprised at all. In fact, that seemed to be the only explanation for all of John's odd behavior.
"A half-blood born into a wizarding family and not even able to cast a spell, knows nothing of the castle and the wizarding world but knows all about the muggle world. Went to Muggle School, probably, but wanted a job in the wizarding world to feel not so left out. Obviously he'd be drawn to Hogwarts, the school he never got to, and obviously the only thing they could provide him with was the position of caretaker." Victor decided, his lips spreading into a large, proud smile. Sherlock sighed, looking down at the floor and tapping his feet aimlessly against the table.
"I suppose, I suppose that makes sense, but we can't know for sure. I mean, maybe he just doesn't like to use magic?" Sherlock offered.
"And do everything the hard way? That's pathetic." Victor decided.
"But it's possible. Let's not jump to conclusions." Sherlock insisted.
"I'm rather sure about this conclusion. It's the only thing that really fits." Victor decided. Sherlock sighed once more, considering the damage Victor could inflict with this information. If John hadn't even been comfortable sharing that secret to Sherlock, he could only imagine what would happen if he knew Victor had found out.
"Victor, don't go telling people this." Sherlock decided.
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because it's not right. Obviously John's ashamed of it, if he is a squib at all, but please respect his privacy." Sherlock decided. Victor sighed, looking around the room as if unable to make eye contact.
"If you don't want to do it for John, do it for me." Sherlock pleaded. Victor smiled a little bit more convincingly, looking up at Sherlock with his vibrantly blue eyes.
"Alright then, if you insist. Besides, might come in handy later." He decided.
"You're planning on blackmailing him?" Sherlock laughed.
"Course not." Victor laughed. "Maybe just a little." He muttered.
"Get to dinner Mr. Trevor, you must be starving." Sherlock decided.
"Whatever you say Professor Holmes." Victor said with a small laugh.
"That's what I like to hear. And Victor, please, keep your mouth shut." Sherlock insisted.
"My lips are sealed." Victor assured with a smile, nodding in assurance. "John's secret is safe with me."
"Good." Sherlock agreed. "Have a nice night Victor."
"I will, of course. The night's still young, I could always come up, have a cup of tea..." he suggested.
"I'm exhausted, and I have to make another test, so it's best you stay away." Sherlock decided.
"Alright then, but if I hear that John didn't get the same deal..." Victor muttered.
"Oh get out you little pest." Sherlock insisted with a laugh, shooing Victor out of the door.
"I'll see you later professor." He decided.
"Yes, I suppose you will. Study tonight, test tomorrow." He insisted. Victor nodded, pretending to tip a hat on his way out.
"Always Sherlock, always." He agreed, and with that he skipped down the hallway, kicking his heels together halfway down and making Sherlock laugh a little bit to himself before shutting the door. Faced with the empty classroom, he sighed, setting his wand down on the desk and staring at it in confusion. If John held that wand, would he even be able to charm something? Was he actually a squib? Of course, it would make sense, he had no idea about the castle, he managed to do everything without magic, he knew nothing about merpeople and the giant squid and magic itself, blaming it all on short term memory loss. But was there something more, was he actually a squib? Sherlock sighed, debating whether or not to ask him, and if so, how the best way to approach such a situation would be. There wasn't a polite way to ask someone if they were a squib, there wasn't a polite way to ask anyone anything anymore, but especially not something so grave. Squibs were pretty low on the food chain, they were non-magical people born to magical families. So John probably wasn't lying when he said he was a half-blood, but he was probably bending the truth a little bit about his education and his magical ability. It made a disturbing amount of sense though, John being a squib, Sherlock always wondered why he insisted on doing everything without magic, carrying record players, cleaning mud, and every day simple things that wizards just took for granted. John would probably have to get up out of his chair to get something from across the room while a wizard or witch would just summon it right to their hands. Sherlock really felt bad for him, especially since he felt like he had to beat Victor in everything. He needed to be the taller person (which he obviously wasn't), he needed to be the better flier (strike two), he needed to be the better wizard (and being a squib doesn't really help). The poor thing must think he's worthless, must think that Sherlock sees right through him, that Sherlock truly thought Victor was superior. But he wasn't, Sherlock knew that now. Victor was a great wizard, making his way through the wizard world normally. John was an even greater person though. He was a squib, and he was making his way perfectly through the wizarding world. In fact, he was so good at pretending to be a wizard that he had even his closest friend fooled. But how to approach him on it? Sherlock wandered over to his bedroom, where Billy was asleep in his cage, cooing very softly as he slept. Even though Sherlock changed into his pajamas and tucked himself under the covers, he could go to sleep. Too many things going on in his head, swirling and churning like a cauldron, John, Victor, and everything in between. Eventually though, exhaustion took over, and Sherlock's head slowed to a stop, letting him go wander off in dreamland.

Sherlock had a script in his head. Something he thought sounded innocent enough, it was almost a play, but John didn't know he was one of the main roles. On the rotating Victor/John calendar, this Wednesday was John's night, and Sherlock was prepared to spend it trying to find the truth about Victor's very convincing hypothesis. The pieces all fit, but Sherlock just needed to push them together, to make the whole picture. He wanted to causally knock something off the desk, an ink bottle most likely, and mutter about how his hands were all covered in ink and he didn't want to touch his wand. He would then proceed to ask John to quick wave his wand and make the ink disappear, which of course, John wouldn't be able to do. Then, Sherlock would causally ask him if he was a squib...no, that was too obvious, it sounded like a plan. Scrap the script. Honestly, Sherlock told himself he knew what he was doing, but as the day went on, he realized that anything he made up in his head sounded too interrogating, like he was trying to squeeze the truth out of John even if he didn't want the truth to be heard. But then again, he had to know the truth; it wasn't like he was going to judge John any harsher than he already did. John was a trooper, a miracle man to make his way through Hogwarts without being able to cast so much as one spark from his wand.

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