Methods Beyond Magic

Could I Just Curse Him, Please?

           

It took only a moment for John to grab his new football, twirling it between his fingers like an expert and throwing it at Sherlock once more. Sherlock caught it rather fearfully, as if the ball were going to explode in his hands or something.
"You look terrified." John decided with a laugh.
"You look pathetic." Another voice chimed in. Sherlock saw John's face drop, and there was only one person that seemed to be able to do that so quickly. So he turned, and, to no surprise, Victor was standing there, looking rather venomous.
"Hello Sherlock." He said with a small 'I'll deal with you later' kind of look.
"Victor." Sherlock agreed, hugging the ball rather close to his chest, as if Victor were going to try to take it. John stiffened up a bit, gaining maybe half an inch when he straightened his back.
"Mr. Watson, entertaining our mutual friend I see?" Victor asked. "With muggle rubbish, I wouldn't expect anything more." He muttered, his eyes sweeping over the rather dull looking football in Sherlock's hands.
"I happen to like football." Sherlock snapped, taking a step closer to John, as if to defend him.
"You don't know a thing about football." Victor insisted.
"Doesn't mean I can't like it. It's better than quidditch." Sherlock snapped. A dangerous smile played across Victor's lips, and Sherlock wanted to take a step back, to avoid his wrath. But of course, Sherlock knew there was no stopping him now, not after the words had been said.
"Sherlock, drop that pathetic ball and let's go." Victor decided.
"Sherlock doesn't have to follow you around; he can make his own decisions." John insisted.
"Yes, and right now I'm sure he wants to come with me." Victor insisted, his blue eyes flashing dangerously.
"I..." Sherlock started, but John cut him off, stepping forward.
"You talk about him as if you really know him, well you don't!" John demanded, his face getting red with anger and his fists balling up. Sherlock was nervous about the outcome of this, if they got in a fight, should he break it up? Would John even have a chance against a trained wizard?
"You talk about him as if he actually likes you." Victor said with an air of aggression. Obviously this was enough to make John snap, because he jumped at Victor, fists flying, and hit him right in the nose, throwing the boy to the ground and pinning him there with his elbow. Sherlock screamed, but didn't seem to be able to do anything except hold the football even tighter to his chest, hoping that John somehow managed to get the hold on Victor. He was doing alright, as much as Victor struggled and kicked, John was still able to get a couple of good punches in before Victor managed to get his hand into his robes, pulling out his wand and shoving it under John's neck. Immediately John stopped, pulling away a little bit as if repelled to the touch of the wand. Victor knew he had won, but he didn't move his head up or anything, he just laid there for a moment, staring up at John's defeated face.
"I would expect nothing more from a squib." Victor said with an evil smile, his mouth shining red with the blood oozing from his nose. John went a bit white, looking over at Sherlock with his mouth partially open in shock. Sherlock stepped back once again, realizing how this might look. As far as John knew, Sherlock was the only one that figured out he was a squib, he was the only one who John had ever told, and if Victor knew, that meant Sherlock must have told him. The look of betrayal on his beautiful face was enough to make tears well up in Sherlock's eyes, staring to stutter out words of defense. But obviously John didn't want to hear it, because as soon as Sherlock opened his mouth, John looked sadly back at Victor, who still looked as if it were Christmas.
"Hands up, Watson." Victor snapped. John turned back to face Victor, raising his hands and slowly getting to his feet, Victor's wand still jammed dangerously against his neck. Victor got to his feet as well, wiping his bloody nose with his free arm, still smiling evilly, his teeth stained with blood.
"Now, you're going to take your bloody football, and you're going to leave the two of us alone, do you understand?" Victor asked, slowly taking his wand away from John's throat and elbowing him into the wall. John didn't even resist, he looked beyond beaten, he looked broken, and he wasn't even the one bleeding.
"John, I..." Sherlock started, but John just ripped the ball out of his hands and walked into his room, slamming the door behind him without a word.
"I do hope we won't have to see him again." Victor muttered, as if bored by John's poor offensive strategies. Sherlock took a step forward in anger, but Victor just raised his head once more, looking at Sherlock without much interest.
"Oh no, Sherlock, don't make me threaten you as well. You're in as much trouble as it is." Victor sighed.
"You knew, you knew he was a squib." Sherlock snapped.
"Well of course I knew, I was the one that planted the idea in your mind. It's not hard to follow someone in a crowded hallway." Victor decided.
"He trusted me; he didn't think I would tell." Sherlock snapped.
"Oh you haven't, but he doesn't know that. I think it'll be great fun, listening to whatever excuses you try to cough up to make him believe." Victor laughed.
"You're so..." Sherlock started.
"Horrible, evil, twisted?" Victor suggested.
"Maybe a mix between the three, I was thinking more, psychopathic." Sherlock offered.
"I like that yes, that fits me well." Victor decided. "But for now, to you at least, I'm all you've got, I'm the love of your life and I will always be....the love of your life." Victor breathed deeply as he said those last words, as if treasuring the movement of his lips, as if he just loved to say it.
"I would never love you." Sherlock snapped. Victor's eyes flashed and he tapped his nose with his wand, the blood clearing.
"Come Sherlock, up to your classroom, we have a lot of catching up to do, my love." Victor decided, turning and starting off down the hall. Sherlock growled a little bit, but had no choice but to follow, so he cast one last fateful look at John's door before marching off behind Victor. They walked in silence; Sherlock was keeping enough space between them so that Victor didn't grab his hand or anything. Victor would look back every so often to make sure Sherlock was following, but now that John was off limits, he had nowhere else to go. When they got to the classroom Sherlock closed the door softly behind him, and Victor stood in the middle of the room.
"Come here Sherlock." He decided, holding out his arms for a hug or something. Sherlock very regretfully walked over, letting Victor wrap his arms around his stiff body, taking long, deep breaths as if trying to take in Sherlock's scent.
"Oh, I do miss when you felt warm, inviting." He decided.
"I do miss when we had a minimum safe distance." Sherlock muttered.
"Hug me back Sherlock, don't be shy." Victor insisted. Sherlock sighed, but hugged Victor very softly back, so as to almost leave his arms hovering. "Now tell me, what were you doing with John?" he asked, not breaking the hug but going rather cold, as if there was business to attend to.
"I had gotten him a present at Hogsmeade, and I wanted to give it to him." Sherlock decided.
"So that's what you got at Spintwitches, I was rather confused; I never believed that you were buying anything for that broom of yours." Victor breathed deeply again. "The first time you ever wrapped your arms around me..."
"Back when I thought you were human." Sherlock snapped, wanting very much to shuffle away. Victor's hug didn't feel like an embrace, it felt like a prison. As long as his arms were wrapped around Sherlock there was no escaping.
"Back when I thought all hope was lost." Victor agreed. "I don't want you meeting with that man any longer, although,  I doubt he'll ever want to see  you again anyway, you snitch."
"I never told him that." Sherlock defended.
"He thinks you did, and that's all that matters. The truth seems so small compared to such a powerful lie; a lie that only took one sentence, a couple of meager breaths..." Victor decided.
"I'll tell him the truth, he'll believe me, he knows what you are." Sherlock insisted.
"You'll tell that squib nothing, you hear me? If I find out about you leaking our secrets, well, I'll leak some of yours to someone who might just do something about it. Maybe I'll tell the students first, start a rumor, start it simmering, then maybe Dumbledore will come to you." Victor decided.
"John thinks Dumbledore is gay as well." Sherlock pointed out.
"Oh, that's nice, that's just...lovely, now John won't have to be alone. I'll have you and he can go hold Dumbledore's wrinkly old hands, that's nice." Victor decided.
"This won't be as obscene as it would be for someone else, for straight people." Sherlock pointed out.
"No, it's obscene, for whatever sexuality. You're the monster in this fairytale, even though you look like a prince..." Victor breathed, pulling away ever so slightly so that his lips could find Sherlock's cheek, pressing soft, venomous kisses onto his skin. Sherlock dared not move, for fear that he could somehow upset this monster, he stayed perfectly still as Victor's kisses finally moved over to his own lips.
"You're a terrible kisser Sherlock, I remember better from you." Victor pointed out, his words slurred against Sherlock's lips. Sherlock didn't say anything; he stayed as still as before, not wanting to give this boy what he wanted. Even though Victor might be passionate, Sherlock's heart was very still, he felt no emotion, he was feeling nothing more than hate. Finally Victor pulled away, letting his hands slide across Sherlock's robes before letting them fall back at his side, walking over to the window. Victor gazed across the grounds, where figures on brooms where just visible zooming over the quidditch pitch.
"They look like flies, red and gold flies, oh how I wish I could just swat them." Victor decided, slamming his hand against the glass rather forcefully.
"You already did." Sherlock pointed out, wiping his lips on his sleeve in disgust.
"Oh, we beat them, certainly, but it would be a real honor to be the one to push one of them off of their brooms at fifty feet." Victor decided.
"You're so violent." Sherlock insisted, thoroughly terrified of this boy. How could he have ever thought Victor to be a carefree, innocent, lonely boy?
"Thank you." Victor decided, tapping his fingers against the glass as the figures kept zooming around.
"When's your next match?" Sherlock asked.
"Next weekend, and I expect you to wear the scarf." Victor decided. "Then maybe we can try again near the forbidden forest."
"Oh no, I'm afraid I can't make it." Sherlock sighed.
"Why not?" Victor asked with a bored tone.
"I'll be sick." Sherlock sighed.
"No you won't Sherlock." Victor decided, turning his head lazily over to where Sherlock stood.
"Oh, I think I will be." Sherlock agreed.
"Don't test me Sherlock." Victor sighed.
"Once the secret goes out, what more do you have? You'll have to save it for something special, the ultimate betrayal; obviously little things can't hurt me." Sherlock snapped.
"I have so many things on you Sherlock. I can just tell them that you held my hand while I was stuck in a detention with you, that you hugged me goodbye, maybe then I'll go into how you forced me to kiss you, and then I'll tell them about that glorious night we spent together. I can tell them how a Professor had an affair with a student, but not only that, I can tell them that I was under the Imperius curse. How I didn't want to..." Victor hummed. "That's Azkaban I'm sure." Sherlock took a deep breath, once more realizing just how much trouble he had gotten himself into.
"You're a monster." Sherlock muttered.
"Yes, yes Sherlock, but in the public's eyes, you're the monster." Victor pointed out.
"And you're my handler." Sherlock agreed.
"I'm your victim." Victor muttered. With that he turned back around towards the window, gazing out once more as if fascinated by what he saw.

            Sherlock had already kind of hated his life, considering that he finally had the dream job and it was ruined by one mistake and one monstrous, miserable, blackmailing worm. But even with Victor around, Sherlock had always had John to look forward to. Whether it was just a glance down the hallway, a quick smile across the Great Hall, even just hearing the bucket dragging around on the floor above, John's presence had always been that small ray of hope Sherlock could rely on when things got too bad. And now Victor had ruined that too. Ever since that morning, when Victor had finally overpowered John once and for all, the caretaker was either hiding away or doing a very good job at avoiding all contact with Sherlock. He wasn't around the closests when Sherlock went wandering, he wasn't in the Great Hall when Sherlock was eating, he wasn't even in the corridors when Sherlock deciding that maybe he ought to run into him 'accidently'. Sherlock hated the idea of John hating him, not for his own selfish, lonely reasons, but purely because John was now lonlier than Sherlock. Sherlock had Victor, of course, who was absolutely terrible, honestly he was a poor excuse for a companion, but at least he was there when Sherlock needed to talk. At least he was someone for Sherlock to interact with, while John only had his mop. That poor guy probably hadn't said a word in days, and that broke Sherlock's heart because he knew that the only thing John didn't want was to be alone. Which, of course, made Sherlock think to what John did want, or at least, he had wanted. The fact that Sherlock's most heart renching desire was to beat Victor senseless and John's was to love someone really said a lot about their current situations and personalities as a whole. John was a kind hearted person who only wanted a friend, and Sherlock really, really wanted to spill some blood. Then again, Victor was asking for it. But maybe John's heart had desired Sherlock above all else, and right now, that really appealed to Sherlock as well. Sure, John was clumsy, annoying, and kind of clueless, but he was also sweet, and charming, and an overall loveable person, not to mention his looks beat Victor's by miles. Sherlock could only wonder if John looked in the mirror, would he see something different? Sherlock wanted to avoid Victor at all costs, and nowadays, he was getting kind of desperate. So he was sitting in a squishy armchair, not unlike the familiar old chairs in the Ravenclaw common room, staring at the fire in the staff room, sipping some very sugary tea and trying to have a conversation with Professor Binns. Of course, this was like trying to talk to a chalkboard, however maybe the chalk board might be a little bit more interesting.
"So, how are the students doing in your class? Good grades I hope?" Sherlock asked, stirring his tea once more to try to make the floating grains of sugar sink to the bottom.
"Yes, I suppose." Binns sighed, floating lazily through his chair. Sherlock thought that was a big waste of an armchair, because while someone human, alive, and deserving would very much appreciate longing by the fire in a big squishy chair, Professor Binns probably didn't notice a difference between that and a cold percaline toilet.
"They're doing quite well in my class as well, some failures, of course, but overall the grades are quite intelligent." Sherlock decided.
"The first years are always so tired." Binns sighed, staring into the fire with his dead eyes as if this were some great tragedy.
"Yes, well, their attention span is .2, so that's bound to happen." Sherlock decided. Not to mention you're duller than a foam sword.
"You like teaching?" he asked, his words so long and drawn out it made Sherlock want to sleep as well.
"Yes, well, it has its ups and downs I suppose." Sherlock shrugged.
"That's good." Binns breathed.
"You?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes, been doing it a while now. Long time." he sighed.
"I can tell, since you're all...dead and stuff." Sherlock muttered, laughing a little bit. Binns didn't show any emotion, in fact, he often made Sherlock wonder if he could do anything more than stare blankly. Was he capable of smiling or even frowning?
"Dead is more peaceful. Dead is less stressful, they cannot fire me if I cannot leave." Binns sighed.
"That's always a plus. I'll keep that in mind." Sherlock decided with a laugh, but he doubted the professor was joking.
"Not that they would fire me." Binns muttered.
"Right." Sherlock muttered, tapping his fingers a bit anxiously on his tea cup, looking around to see if any of the more interesting staff were mingling around. And he had a funny feeling that Binns would not be leaving anytime soon. Trelawney and Sinistra were having a very loud conversation about the suns and moons (their subjects kind of contradicted each other, so Sherlock was sure this was a regular argument among the two), and Flitwick was kicking his little legs off of the chair while he graded some essays. Other than that, the staff room was empty. Sherlock sighed, looking at the clock and deciding that he couldn't stand another hour of 'talking' to Professor Binns, so he excused himself and set his mug on the counter, cleaning it with a meager tap of his wand and heading out the door.