Methods Beyond Magic

Obviously He Doesn't Know What He's Saying

    They walked down to the pitch together, avoiding the staff section as much as possible. John protested a little bit, claiming he didn't want to be with the unruly students, but after Sherlock pointed out that Snape and McGonagall would probably break out into tears, John reluctantly agreed to a corner in the back. As Sherlock was walking past the locker rooms, however, he heard his name being called, and turned to see Victor running out. He looked very professional, with leather gloves and quidditch robes on, his hair combed back so that it wouldn't get in his face, radiating an air of dominance over the rest of the crowd.
"Sherlock, glad I caught you." He muttered. John made a little noise of disgust, which he didn't even bother trying to cover up as a cough or anything.
"Victor, shouldn't you be getting ready? It's about to start." Sherlock pointed out.
"Like I haven't noticed." Victor laughed. "I wanted to give you this, show your spirit." He held up a Slytherin scarf and handed it to Sherlock with a hopeful smile.
"I shouldn't make my favoring very obvious, I feel like..." Sherlock muttered, but stopped talking when he saw the hope in Victor's eyes. "Ya, alright." He decided, tying the scarf in a knot around his neck.
"There we go, a true supporter of the Slytherin team." Victor said proudly.
"Hey, good luck out there, you'll be amazing." Sherlock assured, patting Victor encouragingly on the shoulder.
"I'll do my best." Victor muttered nervously, his eyes not looking nearly as sparkly as they usually did.
"Trevor, get back here!" called a rather angry looking Slytherin player from the locker rooms.
"I've got to go, see you after the meet!" he called, giving them one last smile before running off into the locker rooms.
"You look atrocious; you'll take that thing off, won't you?" John asked as they climbed up the bleachers.
"I told Victor I'd wear it, and he looked pretty happy to see me in it, so I'll keep it on." Sherlock shrugged.
"You're not supposed to show favorites." John depended, in a sort of sour mood now.
"Yes well, you're not too discrete with your least favorites." Sherlock pointed out. John scowled a little bit, but settled himself in the uppermost corner of the bleachers, a good distance away from anyone else.
"Are we reclusive now?" Sherlock asked with a sort of laugh.
"It'll fill in, just give it time." John insisted.
"I recon you've been to more quidditch matches than I have." Sherlock guessed.
"You've been hear all seven years, I was barely here for one." John insisted.
"I know. But I never went to the games, I found them appalling." Sherlock decided.
"How come?" John asked.
"Usually the stars were the ones that were making my life miserable, and I wasn't too anxious to cheer them on." Sherlock decided.
"That's a bit...dark." John muttered.
"Well, I never said my life was all sunshine and rainbows, did I?" Sherlock asked with a small laugh. John just rolled his eyes, not answering the question and scanning the crowd.
"Do you think anyone else was able to work out what I am?" John asked. Sherlock's head snapped back nervously, studying John's face to make sure he wasn't joking or anything.
"You say that like it's a bad thing." Sherlock decided.
"Well, being a squib isn't sunshine and rainbows. The first years are more talented than I am." John insisted.
"Liar, you're brilliant." Sherlock assured.
"Well, I'm glad you feel that way Sherlock." John muttered, not sounding convinced.
"And to answer your question, no, I don't think anyone else has worked it out. Honestly, I wouldn't have known myself if I hadn't spent time with you." Sherlock shrugged.
"Sorry you had to spend time with me then." John said.
"Come on, what's got you all down?" Sherlock asked, smiling rather obnoxiously to get John in a better mood.
"Nothing, I'm fine." John sighed.
"Now you sound like a cryptic woman, lying about their feelings. What's wrong John?" Sherlock asked, shaking John's shoulder lightly in an attempt to liven him up a bit.
"I feel like we're here to praise Victor, that's all." John muttered.
"Well, that's kind of the reason I came. I'd be here to praise you as well, if it makes you feel any better." Sherlock pointed out.
"I didn't play quidditch, I played football. Somehow I managed to be good at that though, I had a knack for that sport." John decided.
"Hey, you're kind of lucky, getting the best of both worlds here. You get to play football and watch Quidditch and go to muggle school and work at a wizarding school, it's like you're a double agent or something." Sherlock decided.
"I'm a rubbish double agent then, if someone found out my secret identity so quickly." John decided.
"I know you best around here, of course I'd find out, but it's nothing to be ashamed of." Sherlock insisted. He didn't want to say that it wasn't exactly him that had figured it out, but he had done the approaching. Thankfully, whatever depressed answer John had was cut off by the announcer starting the lineup calls. Sherlock clapped for everyone (if not a little bit more for when Victor walked out) and watched as the two opposing teams lined up in the middle of the fields, mounting their brooms and getting ready to take off. On the start of the whistle, both teams shot into the air, kicking off furiously and going for blood. The game was fast, faster than Sherlock had ever seen a school quidditch game (then again, he's only seen one), but still he was impressed at how fast that quaffle was moving. But if the quaffle was moving fast, it seemed the Victor was the only one that could properly keep up with it. Where the quaffle went, Victor followed, intercepting it out of the air, throwing and passing and catching, he was amazing, he truly was. So it was no surprise when he swooped through the air, dodging a defender and throwing the quaffle through the center post, narrowly missing the fingers of the Gryffindor keeper, and sailing right through. The Slytherins burst into cheers, along with Sherlock, who clapped widely until he saw the sour look on John's face.
"You've got admit, he's good." Sherlock insisted.
"Ya, I've got to admit it." John growled, looking like he was going to be sick. So the game went on, more and more goals were scored, some on the Gryffindor end, but mostly on the Slytherin side. Victor scored so much that Sherlock's hands were getting raw from clapping, tightening the Slytherin scarf around his neck and smiling widely as Victor flew by. The game ended when everyone's focus moved to the two seekers, breaking out into a dive towards a tiny golden speck, just visible near the ground. The entire crowd got to their feet, watching in a collective breath as both of the seekers nosedived right into the ground. But, Sherlock noticed, the Slytherin seeker was clutching the snitch in his hand, and the crowd erupted into cheers, the game was over, Slytherin had won! Sherlock clapped loud and hard as the team in green all landed in the middle of the field, rushing into a collective circle and yelling with joy. The Gryffindors all slouched back to the locker room, all looking disgusted and angry, but Sherlock didn't really care at the moment, not when he noticed Victor, getting pats on the back and congratulations. But the boy wasn't really focused on his teammates, he was too busy scanning the crowd, and when he found Sherlock in the stands, his face lit up, looking happier than Sherlock had ever seen him.
"He makes me sick." John decided.
"That's not very nice." Sherlock insisted, but when he turned to see if John had a scowl on his face or not, he saw that he was already half way down the stairs. Sherlock sighed, deciding that if John wanted to be grouchy and difficult then he should just go ahead and be that way, because Sherlock's attention was focused more on Victor right now, in congratulating him and telling him how amazing he had done. Most of the students, most with blue, yellow, and gold scarves wrapped around their necks, were looking rather like John, upset about Gryffindor's defeat, but the Slytherins were in awe, clapping and cheering and going on. Sherlock saw a pack of Slytherin girls, all looking absolutely delighted, laughing and giggling, and he couldn't help think that not all Slytherins were bad, especially not the one he was going to see. When Sherlock broke away from the crowd, he felt sort of awkward, walking over to the team when they were all chanting and carrying on, carrying the seeker on their shoulders and parading him around. But as Sherlock walked closer, one of the green robed boys ran from the pack, a big smile on his face, and attacked Sherlock in a hug of relief.
"We won!" Victor exclaimed in excitement, smelling like an odd mix between sweat and grass.
"I know, I saw." Sherlock assured. "You did amazing." He insisted, pushing Victor off of him and smiling.
"You must be my good luck charm, you and that scarf." Victor decided.
"Well, I must admit I was a bit warm, but I suppose if it helped..." Sherlock shrugged, starting to take it off, but Victor held up a hand to stop him.
"You keep it; you'll need it for the next matches. Besides, it suits you." Victor decided. Sherlock just smiled a little bit, leaving the scarf draping over his shoulders and nodding.
"Alright then. Well, I'll leave you to celebrating, I'm sure you're a hero to them." He decided.
"Oh, not really. More the seeker really, which makes no sense because I got the team up so high that the Gryffindors could've gotten the snitch and we still would've won." Victor shrugged, looking rather disappointed.
"Well, you should still go celebrate." Sherlock insisted.
"Nah, I'm not really in the mood, they're rubbish partiers anyway, all they do it smuggle in butterbeer and sit around talking crap about the other team." Victor shrugged.
"Well, you've got to have some fun; you deserve it after that performance." Sherlock insisted.
"Let's take a walk." Victor offered.
"I said fun." Sherlock pointed out with a laugh, his voice barely being heard over the roar of the crowd and the footsteps on the metal bleachers.
"I consider that fun. I haven't been able to spend much time with you, with the match coming up and all." Victor shrugged.
"Well, alright then, whatever the hero of the quidditch match wants then." Sherlock agreed.
"I like that title." Victor decided, and Sherlock just laughed.
"You deserve it." Sherlock assured, starting to turn towards the crowd, all heading back towards the castle.
"Let's go out the back way, towards the forest." Victor suggested.
"We aren't walking in the forbidden forest are we? We'll get eaten alive in there." Sherlock insisted.
"Next to it, it's much quieter over there." Victor decided. Sherlock sighed, but wasn't really in the mood to protest, so he followed Victor away from the crowd, slipping out through the abandoned back exit and heading off towards the edge of the forest, where all sorts of evil creatures lurked in the trees, waiting to devour any unfortunate passersby. Victor was walking with a skip in his step, humming a little song with a wide smile on his face.
"Did you see that sixth goal, when I nearly knocked the keeper off of his broom?" Victor asked proudly.
"That's a bit violent, don't you think?" Sherlock pointed out.
"Yes well, it's what I've got to do, it was legal and all." Victor shrugged. They walked all the way down to the forest, where the trees were still far apart and inviting, the sunlight managing to work its way through the thin canopy of leaves.
"So, who do you guys play next?" Sherlock asked.
"Ravenclaw, I think, but I could be wrong." Victor admitted.
"Are they very difficult?" Sherlock asked.
"They're the second biggest threat, but only because Hufflepuff sucks." Victor laughed.
"I'm sure they're fine." Sherlock insisted.
"They care too much, every time I bump into them they apologize, as if they were the rude one." Victor shrugged.
"That's something I do. Apologize to everyone and everything, even inanimate objects." Sherlock assured.
"Speaking of inanimate objects, where'd that caretaker go? I thought he was tagging along with you?" Victor asked.
"That caretaker has a name. And he went back up to the castle, said something about the mud and the mess from these packs of students coming through the grounds." Sherlock insisted.
"Did you ever ask him about that squib thing?" Victor asked.
"What, oh, no, kind of slipped my mind actually." Sherlock admitted.
"That's alright, I'm pretty sure I'm correct." He decided.
"I don't know, but either way, he does a fine job of keeping that castle clean, magic or no magic." Sherlock admitted.
"Yes, but he makes it hard on himself doesn't he?" Victor laughed. Sherlock sighed, looking through the trees and purposely not responding. He didn't like to lie to Victor, not when he was in such a radiant mood.
"So, are we walking around the lake then?" Sherlock asked. Victor unconsciously picked up his speed, looking at the ground as if nervous again.
"I feel good Sherlock, I feel really good, really lucky." He decided, stopping his walking so suddenly that Sherlock almost ran into him.
"Lucky, huh?" Sherlock asked. "What are you going to do, run into the forbidden forest and take on a werewolf?" he laughed, gazing over to the forest. But he felt Victor's eyes on himself, not the forest, as if he couldn't give any care for the trees or it's monsters.
"Something a lot riskier I presume." He muttered. Sherlock looked back in slight shock, his eyes narrowing once more. Victor looked nervous, almost as nervous as he had looked before the match, which didn't make sense. What had happened to that big, intoxicating smile? What had happened to his cloud nine mood, why did he look like he was about to throw up?
"What could be riskier than going into the forest?" Sherlock asked a little bit apprehensively. Victor just smiled weakly, taking a step closer and picking up one of the ends of the scarf, still draped around Sherlock's shoulders.
"You know, it really does suit you. They should've put you in Slytherin, just because your eyes match so beautifully to the color combination." He decided. Sherlock felt his cheeks get hot, suddenly aware of how close Victor was getting.
"I would hardly call them beautiful." Sherlock laughed nervously. Victor's blue eyes stared up at him with a look Sherlock had never seen on another human before, somewhere between longing and love, or maybe determination, or anger.
"No Sherlock, they're beautiful, just like you." He insisted. Sherlock opened his mouth in shock, but couldn't even think of a word to say, his cheeks glowing like torches. He was looking for a smile on Victor's lips, something to symbolize that he was just joking around, just pretending, but he looked dead serious.
"You're...um, I mean...." Sherlock muttered, feeling the urge to step back a pace, his heart racing in fear.
"Yes." Victor agreed, looking at his feet once more and laughing a little bit to himself. "I didn't know what to do, honestly, I still don't know. I thought that maybe once I started, it would flow easier, but it doesn't seem to want to come out. It wants to hide, because I know this is wrong, but, there's nothing I can do anymore. The look of your eyes, the sound of your voice, the mere sight of you, the thought that your beautiful attention is focused on me, it's a drug Sherlock, and I need the proper fix. I'm getting tolerant to your stares, I'm getting used to looking at you when you think no one is watching, and I'm ready to see you as I want to see you. I want to be as close as I want to be to you, as loved as I want to be from you." Victor looked back up at Sherlock, his blue eyes turned illuminating, a new light source of radiance. "And I want you to see me as I see you; I want you to feel the way I feel about you, I want you to love me, the way I love you." Victor said confidently. "And now I want to test my luck one more time." With that his hand moved from Sherlock's scarf ever so slowly to the side of his face, Victor's smooth hand gliding over Sherlock's cheek, and he was moving ever so closer. With every step, Sherlock's breath was kicked out of him, like he was getting hit in the stomach with the quaffle over and over again. And Victor's face was coming closer as well, closing the gap between them, his lips coming closer and closer to Sherlock's, he could feel Victor's quick breaths escaping his lips, until finally Sherlock was suddenly woken from the odd sort of trance he had been in. You could call it shock, or denial, but finally Sherlock blinked and stepped back, Victor's fingers falling away from his face weakly.
"Victor, you know....you know this is wrong." Sherlock muttered, his voice getting caught fearfully in his throat, as if the words just couldn't get out.
"Then why doesn't it feel wrong? Why does it feel so right?" Victor whispered. Sherlock shook his head slowly, feeling rather sick. This didn't feel right at all, this felt like the very definition of the wrong thing to do.
"You can't, you know I can't...I should really go." He decided.
"No, Sherlock, please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please don't..." Victor started sounding desperate, but before he could even finish his sentence, Sherlock took off.