Methods Beyond Magic

The Only One That Can Make Him Smile

Sherlock was simply walking down the tables in the Great Hall, he wasn't doing anything wrong, but he knew that something was coming. He had refused Victor the night previous, he had finally stood up to him, told him no, and forced the boy to leave. Sherlock had known that was a terrible idea, but if he had to so much at glance in that horrible boy's direction again he would burst into flames. He had to act on it. Suddenly all the heads were turning once again, whispers being passed, some more obviously staring at him than others, who just cautiously lifted their heads over their goblets of orange juice. But they all knew the same things, they were all thinking the same things, they knew what he had done. Sherlock walked up to his seat in the staff table and seated himself next to Snape and Sprout, both of which were looking very uncomfortable.
"So, you finally cracked." Snape muttered.
"I'm sorry?" Sherlock asked, pretending to be confused.
"We knew you would amount to nothing, we knew you'd be tempted." Sprout agreed.
"It was obvious that you were weak, that you couldn't keep your promises." John's voice agreed from behind him. Sherlock stiffened in his chair, feeling fingers brushing his shoulders from behind.
"And I knew that you couldn't resist a pretty face." Victor purred, suddenly standing right behind him, his arms wrapping around Sherlock's neck and embracing him for a moment before pulling back, strangling Sherlock in his seat. Sherlock suddenly couldn't breathe, he clawed desperately at the arms wrapped tightly around his neck but he couldn't do anything to get them away, he couldn't save himself from Victor's choke hold.
"Oh stop fighting it Sherlock, stop pretending like you have any reason to live anymore." John snapped, pushing Sherlock's hands away. Sherlock could feel his lungs shriveling; he could feel his head starting to get dizzy...
"This was always how it was supposed to end." Victor whispered, his mouth so close to Sherlock's ear that he could feel his breath... Sherlock woke with a start, shuttering violently, covered in a cold sweat. His blankets were all kicked to the end of the bed and he was clutching his chest as if he were having a heart attack, as if his lungs actually were fighting for their next breath. Sherlock breathed for a moment, enjoying the free air, the ability to breathe without someone's arms around his neck, but then again, he also felt like they were there. Now Victor's arms were always going to asphyxiating him, whether in the dream world, in the real world, in in the world of metaphors, Victor would always have Sherlock in a chokehold. Sherlock couldn't bring himself to close his eyes again, but he couldn't think of a thing to do at two o'clock in the morning. So he sat up in bed, pulled his slippers on, and shuffled out the door. The castle was dark, every other torch casting flickering firelight over the stone walls, looking more eerie than inviting. Sherlock didn't know where he was going, still in his fleece pajama pants and his robe pulled hastily over his thin cotton tee shirt, his hair in a rat's nest and his head swimming in the nightmare he had just had. But walking seemed to calm him down, just a little bit, the paintings on the walls snoring softly in their frames, not another sound except his shuffling footsteps echoing off the stone walls. It was very peaceful, and for a moment Sherlock nearly forgot what was wrong. Until he saw the figure on the banister. Sherlock ducked out of sight, embarrassed to show his face, if that was a staff member they would surely question him, and if it was a student then the entire castle would soon know what he wore to bed. Then again, he could always just give them a detention; he would love to take some points from the Slytherin house for someone being out of bed at this hour of the night. So he crept back into the hallway, drawing himself to full height and patting down his curls.
"Who's there?" he asked rather stupidly, walking quickly to the figure who was sitting with their feet dangling dangerously over the drop off. They turned, and for a moment Sherlock thought it was a student, until he recognized the familiar face of John Watson.
"John, what are you doing up?" Sherlock asked. John sighed, looking rather guilty.
"I couldn't sleep." He admitted.
"Neither could I." Sherlock agreed. "Feeling rather...suicidal?" he asked, walking over and hopping up on the banister as well, his slippers clinging to his feet for dear life as he hung them over the edge.
"By the way you joined me; I should ask you the same thing." John decided.
"You seem sad." Sherlock decided.
"Just tired I suppose." John shrugged.
"Then go to bed, it's two o'clock in the morning." Sherlock suggested.
"Well, not that tired I suppose." John admitted. His voice was very calm, drawn out even, as if he were forcing himself not to show any emotion, as if he hardly even dared to feel happy about Sherlock's presence.
"Are you alright John?" Sherlock asked.
"I told you, I'm just..."
"In general. Are you alright?" Sherlock corrected. "And don't lie."
"I'm fine." John decided, but Sherlock could tell that they both knew that was a lie.
"John, I don't think you are." Sherlock decided.
"I didn't come all the way out here to be interrogated, I wanted to be alone." John insisted.
"Then I should just..." Sherlock decided, staring to turn around to leave.
"No." John insisted, grabbing Sherlock's hand quickly, almost desperately. "No, don't leave." he muttered. Sherlock nodded, noticing that once John had gotten hold of Sherlock's hand, he wasn't keen on letting go.
"We first met on these stairs." Sherlock decided, letting his fingers lace together with John's. Both pretended not to notice, but Sherlock could sense John's cheeks starting to glow.
"I thought you were a bit of a jerk." John admitted.
"And I thought you were a clueless child." Sherlock agreed.
"So we were both right then?" John laughed.
"Yes, I suppose we were." Sherlock agreed, smiling for the first time in what felt like years.
"I'm happy you're here Sherlock." John decided.
"Well, it must be fate that brought the both of us to the staircase at this hour." Sherlock agreed.
"No, I mean, here, as in Hogwarts. I'm glad you're here, I'm glad we're both knew, both inexperienced, both a little bit clueless. I would've been so alone if it hadn't been for you." John decided.
"And I need you as much as you need me." Sherlock agreed. "Well, now maybe a bit more."
"What's going on?" John asked. Sherlock sighed, looking awkwardly down at his shoes as they struggled to stay on his feet, threatened with a deadly drop down the staircase.
"Nothing, just, family stuff, but I'm glad I have someone to talk to, someone that only likes me for me, not what I can provide them with." Sherlock decided.
"Is your family forcing you to come to Christmas dinner?" John asked with a small doubtful laugh.
"Nah, I'm staying, just, they're a bit pushy." Sherlock admitted.
"Well, I won't be pushy I suppose, I won't make you do anything you don't want to do, Christmas dinner being one of them." John decided with a shrug, looking awkwardly down the railing as if embarrassed to look Sherlock in the eye.
"You say that as if we haven't met yet." Sherlock pointed out.
"I think we haven't known each other to the fullest potential." John sighed.
"Are you saying that we haven't loved each other?" Sherlock asked. John smiled a bit guiltily, but nodded.
"Not in a gay way, just, friendship love you know?" he asked. Sherlock nodded, but he sort of hoped for the first option, and he had a sneaking suspicion that John did as well. Judging by the way neither of them had yet pulled their hands away from each other.
"Speaking of gay, how's Victor?" John asked, changing the topic rather forcefully.
"Why do you associate Victor with being gay?" Sherlock asked, nervous that John had figured it all out.
"The way he follows you around, I would be surprised if he wasn't." John admitted.
"Victor's...fine." Sherlock sighed, pretty much forcing himself not to use any other word to describe that beast.
"That's good." John decided. It took all of Sherlock's self-control not to tell John everything, everything that had happened, how right John had been this whole time, how Sherlock shouldn't have even made friends with Victor, how everything that had happened so far had been John's prediction from the start. But Sherlock didn't want to tell John how he had kissed Victor, how he had spent the night with Victor, how he had even declared his love to that worm. He didn't want to see the heartbreak on John's face, hear the little disappointed 'oh', and see John hastily look away, as if he had known this was going to happen from the start. So Sherlock just tightened his grip on John's hand and told himself that this was probably the happiest he would ever be in a long time. They were quiet for a while, and soon Sherlock felt John's head drop onto his shoulder, his fingers going slack and his breath slowing, obviously he had fallen asleep. If they weren't sitting over a fifty foot drop Sherlock would've loved the closeness, the trust of it all, but then again, it took one wrong move and John would fall to his death, so Sherlock carefully shook his shoulder. John's brown eyes opened slowly, and he muttered something that Sherlock didn't really understand.
"Sorry, dozed off there..." John muttered, looking up at Sherlock without really moving his head.
"It's alright." Sherlock assured.
"I should probably get going, before I fall." John decided, finally letting go of Sherlock's hand and turning on the ledge, jumping onto the solid floor once more. Sherlock mimicked him, getting his balance and starting to walk over to his room.
"Sherlock...?" John asked rather reluctantly, staying over by the railing to descend back to his floor.
"Yes?" Sherlock asked.
"Don't forget about me." John muttered hopefully, and Sherlock's heart broke just a little bit.
"Never John, never." Sherlock assured, and John nodded. With that Sherlock nodded goodnight and walked back over to his room, feeling slightly more cheerful, or at least slightly less depressed.

Sherlockdidn't really sleep the rest of that night, partially because he couldn't, andpartially because he wouldn't let his eyes shut for more than a minute beforejerking himself back awake, for fear of more nightmares. But Sherlock knew thatthe only real nightmare was going to become reality when he walked into theGreat Hall, when he saw the demon he used to call a friend. When the sun roseit was officially Friday, which was good for some reasons, but also terriblefor others. Friday meant that it was the weekend, but the weekend also meanthis Hogsmeade trip with Victor, the one he had promised before he knew that theboy was the worst possible companion. Sherlock knew, of course, who he would go with if he hadn't been forcedto go with Victor, he would go with John. That poor caretaker was so dependentof Sherlock for friendship, he was so lonely and only wanted someone to talk toand Sherlock had a terrible feeling that he wouldn't be talking to John inpublic anymore. Victor would surely cease their conversations eventually, oncehe figures out the sheer power of his blackmail, once he figures out thatSherlock would do virtually anything to keep his job and reputation. But thenagain, how important were those things? What if Victor asked Sherlock to dosomething obscene, like kill someone, or torture someone, or somehow punish aninnocent person such as John? What if Victor tells Sherlock to tell the entireschool the truth about John's lack of magical abilities? Sherlock sighed,sitting up and bed and ruffling his hair back to its normal spot on his head,not ready to face another day plagued by that evil boy. So he skipped breakfast in an effort to avoid Victor, which proved to be affective because the second years trampled in and none of them wore Slytherin ties, so Sherlock was, for now, free of Victor and anyone that might have come in contact with him. They went over more shield charms, this time Sherlock had the kids practice on each other with simple jinxes like the Jelly leg jinx and the singing charm, so that there were no real injuries should the shields fail. Unfortunately, Sherlock spent most of the class preforming anti-jinxes on the poor souls who couldn't get their shields to work properly, catching kids that had wobbled over and silencing anyone that had a particularly horrible singing voice. When the class was over, Sherlock waited at the door, prepared to charm anyone who still needed fixing, but thankfully all limbs were intact and no one had been sent to the Hospital wing, so Sherlock considered that a win. Next he had sixth years, learning about vampires. There really wasn't anything to demonstrate, there were no curses that helped stop a vampire unless there was some garlic curse that he wasn't aware of. So they watched a muggle film of Dracula, which made everyone laugh when the stupid vampire was repelled by crucifixes and turned into a bat. Sherlock, however, couldn't bring himself to laugh anymore. He sat at his desk, pretending to grade papers when he was actually just staring at the parchment, his eyes glossed over, contemplating all the mistakes he had made and the terrible things he was going to have to do to because of them. When that class was over, Sherlock waited at his desk, his stomach growling for some lunch, but his brain telling him to wait a while, so that he didn't see Victor in the hallways, or maybe the boy would be done eating by the time he snuck into the door behind the staff table. Sherlock was just finished grading one of the papers when the door opened. Sherlock looked up hopefully, hoping to see John, still with circles under his eyes from the late night conversation. But no, Sherlock's heart dropped when he saw Victor strut into the room, closing the door softly behind him. 

"Hello Professor." Victor said with a smile. Sherlock rolled his eyes and didn't say anything, putting the finished paper aside and taking another one.
"I said hello Sherlock, it would be in your best interest to say hello back." Victor decided, coming over and sitting right next to Sherlock's pile of papers, so that his feet were gently kicking the legs of Sherlock's chair.
"Hello Victor." Sherlock muttered, the words like poison on his lips.
"You haven't forgotten about tomorrow, have you? Hogsmeade?" Victor asked hopefully.
"I wish I could." Sherlock said with a forced smile, and Victor just laughed his sinister laugh, as if this were some great joke.
"Oh no, no Sherlock that's not the right answer. You're thrilled; you're positively bursting with excitement to spend the whole day with me, with someone you love." Victor decided.
"I'm thrilled. I'm positively bursting with excitement to spend the whole day with someone I love." Sherlock repeated in a very monotone, unenthusiastic voice, as if he were a recorded phone operator.
"We'll work on that." Victor decided.