Methods Beyond Magic

All These Things That I've Done

When he walked in, of course, the whole class was already there, waiting for him. Sherlock smiled rather guiltily, wiping his forehead off and walking to his desk, where his papers were arranged rather messily.
"Hello, sorry I'm late, I was down by the lake, I lost track of time." he admitted, looking over to the back corner, where Victor sat. Usually he got a cheery smile, or at least a nod, but this time Victor's face was cold, his eyes squinted suspiciously and his arms crossed. Maybe having lunch with John wasn't the best idea when you were already someone's boyfriend, but that's a bridge he'd have to cross later. In the meantime, Sherlock had a class to teach. They went over vampires a little bit more, handing in their essays before getting too far into the class period. Sherlock ruffled through the names, counting off to make sure everyone did it. There seemed to be all but one missing (if you didn't count the paper where someone simply drew a vampire sucking someone's blood).
"Mr. Trevor, do you have your essay?" he asked, looking to the back where Victor was frowning.
"Sorry professor, must have slipped my mind." He admitted, not a smile in return. Sherlock sighed, remembering that he had mentioned the paper to Victor the night previous. Then again, all that time he could've been spending on the paper he was spending pestering Sherlock, so that wasn't really a mystery why he hadn't done it. The rest of the class went smoothly; they went over vampires with the projector, looking at muggles' representations of the creatures and the real thing, talking about common misconceptions and their special abilities. It was all kind of interesting, Sherlock could tell that the class was attentive, but the icy glare on Victor's face was making him a bit uneasy. He couldn't be that angry, could he? It was only lunch; it wasn't like he was going to Hogsmeade with John or something. So when class was over, Sherlock waited at his desk, gesturing for Victor to stay behind. Victor looked as if he had intended on staying anyway, and went over to shut the door after the last student.
"Why didn't you do the essay?" Sherlock asked, starting off their conversation with accusations.
"I told you, I forgot about it, not really hard to do when I have such beautiful distractions." Victor insisted, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
"I reminded you last night; you said that you'd just tell me what you knew instead of writing it down." Sherlock pointed out, not amused what so ever.
"Want to hear it then?" Victor asked, staring his way over to where Sherlock stood.
"No, you don't get special treatment Victor, what we are outside of class doesn't apply to inside of class. You are a student, I am a professor, and you will follow my rules and do the work I assign you." Sherlock pointed out.
"No, that's where you're wrong." Victor decided, taking a step closer. Sherlock sighed, looking at the door apprehensively. His next class should be coming in soon; he wouldn't like them to walk in on he and Victor standing this close.
"I'm sorry?" Sherlock asked, rather taken aback by Victor's response.
"I said, you're wrong. You are my boyfriend, and I am your boyfriend, and that pertains to all aspects of life, and if I don't want to do my essay, I'm not going to do my essay, you know why?" Victor asked.
"Victor, you're mistaken, I have full authority..." Sherlock started, but Victor shushed him, and Sherlock was so stunned that he couldn't do anything except close his mouth.
"Because you said it yourself, you're a professor, and I'm a student. And I'm not sure you'll want Dumbledore to find out about us, now would you?" Victor asked, his blue eyes suddenly turning cold. Sherlock took a step back in defeat, suddenly his words getting caught in his throat.
"You're blackmailing me?" Sherlock asked, staring at Victor with disbelief. Victor bit his bottom lip and stared up at Sherlock with a look of power, a small smile working its way onto his face.
"I think of it more as, persuasion with consequences." He decided. Sherlock could barely process what he was hearing; this had been the same boy that promised never to take advantage of him.
"That's illegal." Sherlock muttered, but he somehow thought that didn't matter anymore.
"Yes, and so is having a relationship with a student." Victor agreed with a smile. "And you've already got one of those, haven't you?"
"Victor, I..." Sherlock's sentence was cut off with the first of the fifth years coming in, a gaggle of giggling girls. So he just stared at Victor, who had been so kind, so sweet to him, all the sudden he looked cold, like a block of ice carved to badly represent a human.
"I'll see you later professor." Victor decided with a smile, but all the warmth in that smile was gone. With that he walked out of the class, stepping aside politely to let a group of girls go past, all who looked thrilled at his kindliness, and left Sherlock standing, awestruck, in the middle of the floor. The kids were all starting to come in now, but Sherlock couldn't do much than walk over to his seat and stare at his desk, his head in his hands. This was it then, this was his final mistake? Everything he had done to prevent himself from ruining his Hogwarts experience, everything he had done to make sure that he wasn't taken advantage of in anyway, it was all gone because he had let his guard down for this demon with a kind smile and a pretty face. And now he was going to pay for it, because Victor had him on a leash, pulling him and choking him every time he wanted to do something that Victor didn't see as appropriate. Then again, it wouldn't be too hard to go to Dumbledore now, blackmail was illegal, although usually by the time you're in a position of blackmail, you don't really have any wiggle room to go blabbing to the headmaster. Sherlock might have done something wrong, but the very idea that Victor was using that one mistake to undoubtedly make sure he passed all of his tests, homework, and classwork without even picking up a quill. He was going to be the best in the entire class, and he wasn't going to so much as smile at Sherlock from across the room. Sherlock groaned silently, contemplating everything he shouldn't have done, when he noticed that everyone was sort of staring at him in the class.
"Professor Holmes, are you alright?" asked a nervous looking Hufflepuff.
"Yes, what, yes, fine." Sherlock muttered, blinking for a moment before standing up swiftly, his chair flying back with a bang. The entire class jumped, but Sherlock barely noticed it, his mind was in the clouds, in the clouds made of acid, raining down on him and making his life miserable.
"You're sure you're alright?" the boy asked again.
"Vampires." Sherlock agreed.
"I'm sorry?" he asked.
"Vampires! Open your notes!" Sherlock said rather aggressively, thrusting his wand at the projector and brining up a picture of a vampire hiding in the shadows. The class was horrible; and Sherlock was saying that from both his perspective and the class's. He could barely stay on subject, his mind racing; all he did was mutter about the creatures without getting really descriptive. Needless to say, when class was over, he wasn't the only one relieved. Sherlock sat at his desk once more, nodding farewell to the people that walked past him to the door, but he really wasn't paying attention. The projector was still on, the lightbulb clicking as it struggled to keep the image of the vampire up for much longer. What a piece of junk. What was he to do? Of course he couldn't see Dumbledore about this, he'd get fired, he'd get on some ministry list of pedophiles and never find a job or get money again. If worse came to worse, they might even throw him into Azkaban. The idea of Victor telling everyone Sherlock knew what he had done, Dumbledore, McGonagall, the student body, the look on John's face when he realized that Sherlock had always favored Victor over him...Sherlock ruffled his hair in frustration, not seeing a way out of this that didn't involve complying to Victor's wishes. Then again, what could be the worst thing that he could do? Sherlock didn't control the NEWTs, and Victor was only in seventh year, maybe people would just think that he studied really hard, and if he really didn't do any of his work then he would suffer on the NEWT exams, which are relied heavily on for future careers. Or maybe Sherlock could embarrass him, play review games with material Victor hadn't looked over, demonstrate spells that he obviously didn't practiced, maybe even fail a couple of his tests just to see what he would do. Sherlock decided that the only way he could properly assess his situation was to talk to Victor once more. So with that, he checked his reflection in the glass, to make it look as if he were having a perfectly normal, non-stressful day, and walked out into the hallway. It was sort of empty, but Sherlock was on the lookout for one person in particular, one person he would very much like to avoid. But thankfully Sherlock was able to make it to the Great Hall without hearing the familiar lose wheel of that bucket, and no caretaker called his name, so for now he was alright. Victor was sitting at his same spot in the table, looking very pleased with himself as he ladled mashed potatoes onto his plate.
"Mr. Trevor, a word?" Sherlock asked from behind him. Victor turned and his smile widened.
"Of course, professor, anything." Victor agreed, rising to his feet and making Sherlock really hate that extra inch he had. Sherlock wanted to tower over Victor, use the power of intimidation he usually had over people shorter than him. But he walked out of the Entrance Hall, out the oak doors and around the castle. Thankfully no one was out and about, the wind was blowing a very chilly breeze and the sun was sinking lower over the mountains.
"You seem tense." Victor decided.
"Well, I can't imagine why." Sherlock snapped, giving Victor a hateful glare. Victor's smile, however, didn't waver; he had Sherlock right where he wanted him. "You know what, actually, tell me why. Tell me what I ever did to you, to make you use me?"
"That was never the intention Sherlock." Victor assured. "I loved you and I still love you and I will always love you, but I can tell that the feeling is not mutual. I can see you doubting yourself, regretting yourself, the small sigh on your lips when you see me enter a room. I don't want to ever lose you Sherlock, and I think I found the perfect way to keep you by my side."
"Love isn't about captivity, it's about feelings, hearts connecting, how is this love?" Sherlock defended.
"I gave you my heart, and you gave me yours, that night when you begged me for forgiveness, when you kissed me so lovingly. I'm just not willing to return it so quickly, I want to keep it, I want to feel it beat, I want to feel it quiver..." Victor muttered.
"You're sick." Sherlock decided, taking a small step back.
"And you're trapped." Victor agreed. "This is how it ends, or doesn't end, forever Sherlock, you told me that, and now I'm keeping up your end of the deal."
"I never told you forever." Sherlock hissed.
"Maybe you don't recall, but I definitely heard you mutter it through my lips." Victor decided. Sherlock yelled in frustration, throwing the boy against the stone wall and holding his neck in place with his elbow. Victor didn't look scared, he didn't even look fazed. In fact, he only seemed happy to see Sherlock so close.
"Now you listen to me Victor, you leave me alone! I don't want anything to do with you and I never did!" Sherlock growled.
"Never say never." Victor whispered, and it took all of Sherlock's self-control not to take out his wand and stun him right now. It would be a lot more convenient to be honest. Sherlock felt Victor's cold fingers running through the small curls on the back of his neck, and he couldn't seem to do anything except throw his arm away and clench his teeth, like a wolf preparing for a fight.
"You won't get away with this Victor." He insisted.
"Oh Sherlock, my love, you see, I already have." Victor purred, leaning in to press a kiss onto Sherlock's lips. But Sherlock pulled his face away in disgust, hating every inch of this miserable boy. "No, no, no Sherlock, kiss me." he insisted.
"Why would I ever do that?" Sherlock asked, his voice cracking with anger.
"Because I don't think you'll ever want your fellow professors to ever know the details, I don't think you'll want them to know just how many times you've kissed me, how many times you've said that you loved me..." Victor breathed. Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on Victor's blue ones, determined not to show weakness, not to show defeat. "So, kiss me." Victor insisted. Sherlock clenched his fist, but saw no other option, no possible way to save his entire life if he didn't kiss this boy. So, with all the anger and disgust in the world, he pressed the smallest, most unworthy kiss onto Victor's lips and tore away from the boy. Victor, however, seemed pleased, but Sherlock didn't care. He practically ran up the stairs to his classroom, locking each and every door that was separating him from Victor, going all the way to his bedroom and closing the shades. Oh, what has he done? Billy's cage was empty once more, but he would have to sleep in the owlery tonight, Sherlock didn't like the idea of the window open, as if Victor would fly up in his broom and sneak through... a shiver went down Sherlock's spine at the very idea of that boy coming anywhere near him again, his lips touching Sherlock's, his hands holding Sherlock's, his disgusting skin, his disgusting existence. What type of sick, twisted person would use something as pure as love against someone? Turning happiness and carelessness into fear and paranoia? This was no way to live; this was no way to love. Sherlock was sure there was such a thing as a healthy relationship, and holding someone against their will with blackmail probably didn't fit in that category. And John, poor John, what would become of him when Sherlock was being towed around by Victor? Were the two of them ever going to get a proper conversation in? Was Sherlock going to have to avoid John once and for all, was John going to think that he was second best, that Sherlock had drifted away even after all of those promises? Was he going to think that Sherlock abandoned him? Sherlock felt a tear roll down his cheek, hugging his knees to his chest and letting another tear splash down from his eye.
"I'm sorry John." he muttered ever so quietly. "I'm so sorry."