Methods Beyond Magic

Our Darkest Fears Realized

    Since Sherlock hadn't fallen asleep, he could only wait for Victor to wake as the sun started to rise. He was trying not to move too much, since he preferred the sleeping Victor much more so than the awake Victor. The sleeping one didn't threaten him, or invade his personal space, or kiss him even though the last thing Sherlock wanted in the world was to kiss him. But then again, if Victor was awake that meant that maybe he would leave, and Sherlock wished that very much. He was about done with this weight on his chest, making it harder to breathe, hard to move, and nearly impossible to reposition his arm, which had gone completely numb from blood loss. So finally, when Victor started to stir, his electric blue eyes opening ever so slightly, Sherlock had to be relieved.
"Well, that was the best night I've ever spent in the hospital wing." He decided with a sleepy smile. Sherlock frowned, wanting very much to push the boy off of him.
"I can't feel my arm." He decided, very unamused.
"You look tired Sherlock." Victor pointed out, shuffling around so that Sherlock could finally pull his arm out from under Victor and let the blood flow back through his veins.
"Yes well, that usually happens in the morning." Sherlock snapped.
"You look as if you hadn't slept." Victor corrected.
"Well, you'd be right. I haven't." Sherlock sighed.
"Why not?" Victor asked, looking genuinely worried, as if Sherlock's wellbeing concerned him.
"I felt like, if I did fall asleep, a certain someone would slit my throat." Sherlock pointed out. Victor sighed, a small smile on his lips.
"No Sherlock, we went over this, I'd never hurt you." He assured, running his fingers softly against Sherlock's throat as if to prove that he wouldn't slit it. Even though Sherlock would normally be ticklish around that area, he kept a straight face. Victor's fingers weren't laughable; they felt like steel wool scraping against his skin.
"You should really get going." Sherlock decided. Victor sighed, but obviously he couldn't argue very much.
"Yes, I suppose I should." He agreed, rolling out of the bed and getting shakily to his feet. He was still wearing his school clothes, so he could slip out a bit earlier, as to not cause suspicion.
"Make sure no one's in the hallway when you leave, I don't want those rumors started." Sherlock demanded, crawling out of bed and making sure his legs were steady enough to hold his weight.
"You certainly don't. I don't know, I kind of hope a caretaker is wandering around, I want to see the expression on his face." Victor decided with a dreamy sort of smile. Sherlock bit his tongue, wanting very much to say a few choice words about what he thought about Victor.
"Goodbye Victor." He decided.
"Goodbye Sherlock." Victor agreed with a smile, and with that he walked out of the room, closing the door gently behind him as he went. Sherlock groaned, moodily changing into his regular clothes and brushing his hair and teeth, deciding that breakfast was a luxury he was not going to have, at least not this morning. Not only did he want a little bit of time without Victor, but he felt like if he gave his stomach something he'd throw it right back up. So he sat at his desk, scribbling lesson plans down and making sure the stupid projector worked alright. They were started a new lesson this week, boggarts for the upperclassmen, assorted jinxes for the younger kids. It was getting harder and harder to find new spells that were worth an entire lesson, especially ones safe for kids in first year to be doing to each other in the common rooms. Thankfully there were no seventh years on his schedule, so Sherlock could have a Victor free day if he managed to sneak around the castle in the evening. The first students to come marching in were fifth year Gryffindors, yawning widely and muttering about how they hoped it would be a fun lesson, or complaining that they still hadn't done an essay for Snape yet. Sherlock watched with some amusement as a couple of them tore out some parchment and wrote with lightning speed, undoubtedly about absolute rubbish, just to hand something into Snape as to avoid his deadly glares. When the rest of the class filled in Sherlock got to his feet, walking around the edge of his desk and leaning on it with a smile.
"Well, everyone looks awake." He decided, noticing some yawns and even some kids with their heads leaned tiredly on their desks. No one responded. "Well, it's a good thing I've got a fun lesson planned out, I'm sure everyone's heard of boggarts before." he decided. A couple of people in the class oohed in excitement, some looked very confused, and others looked downright terrified. A hand wagged in the air, and Sherlock nodded at a mousey looking boy with wide, fearful eyes.
"We're not going to fight one, are we?" he asked with a trembling voice.
"Well, I'd love to honestly, find out all your biggest fears, although I'm not really keen on seeing Snape walk around my classroom more than he has to." Sherlock muttered. A couple of people chuckled, but were obviously waiting for his next line. "If I can get my hands on one, then yes, I suppose I'd bring it down for you all, maybe Mr. Watson might be able to find one hidden in a desk somewhere on the topmost floors." A couple of girls in the back row made eye contact and giggled a little bit.
"Something funny?" he asked, kind of sick of giggling by now.
"Oh nothing, what are you two doing on the topmost floors?" one asked with a squeak of laughter. The other girls slapped her, looking very red and apologetic.
"Nothing, of course." Sherlock sighed, brushing the question off as if he didn't understand. "Anyway, boggarts, can anyone tell me what they are?" Sherlock asked. A boy raised his hand rather apprehensively. Sherlock stared at him, cuing him to start talking.
"They take the shape of your biggest fear." he said.
"Correct! Has anyone seen a boggart before?" Sherlock asked. The class was silent.
"I hoped not, nasty things I'm told. Although, there's always part of me that wonders what my biggest fear would be." Sherlock admitted. Probably giant spiders, or creepy clowns, or even his nasty grandmother who force fed him prunes. Or just a giant prune, he wouldn't want to see one of those things either. "Anyone have any idea what theirs would be?" he asked. Someone raised their hand, a girl with shockingly red hair; as if someone had lit her head on fire.
"A zombie." She said confidently, shivering a little bit and eyeing the window as if a corpse would be slithering around on the ledge.
"A snake, I hate snakes." Another agreed.
"A giant bat!" another piped in.
"A ten page essay!" someone joked. The whole class told him their theories, some of them very stereotypical, like vampires and ghosts and things, others very strange, like whales, acid rain, and, Sherlock's personal favorite, socks and sandals.
"What about you professor, what would yours be?" asked a girl curiously.
"This class." He decided with a laugh. Thankfully no one got offended, they all laughed as if that was the most hilarious answer he could have come up with. "Honestly I have no idea, that's partially why I want to find one."
"We can ask around, see if anyone's heard anything, maybe you can buy one on Amazon." Someone suggested.
"Isn't that a rainforest?" someone muttered, looking rather confused.
"No, idiot, it's a muggle thing." someone chimed in.
"Let's not fight; we've got a lesson to learn. Everyone open their books, time to get serious." Sherlock decided, tapping the projector and starting up the lesson. When that class had left, the next was rather the same, a bath of sixth years who looked slightly more alert than the last, but all had very different views on a boggart. One of the boys had actually come across one in his attic, and said it had taken the form of a gigantic snake, slithering through the rafters in his house. He never really finished off the story, but Sherlock could only imagine it ended with the boy wetting his pants and calling for his mommy. When that lesson was over Sherlock finally got a breath of fresh air, sitting on his desk and deciding that maybe he should get some lunch. His stomach was growling in frustration and his head was a little bit cloudy. Maybe he could sneak in the staff entrance, steal some food, and eat in a secluded hallway, so that Victor didn't see him. No, that was preposterous, it wasn't like Victor could approach him in anyway while he was eating, Sherlock just had to be sure that he didn't make any unnecessary eye contact across the hall. So he joined the mess of students walking to the hall from their classes, getting pushed around and nearly trampled on his way down the hall. Thankfully though, when he got closer to the staircase, he heard some unnecessary shouting, the voice no other than John Watson. When Sherlock got closer he could see what the problem was, someone had dumped John's bucket somehow, and he was no happy at all. There was dirty water all over the floor, of course the students didn't care, it didn't slow them down, but John had to somehow mop it all up and that didn't seem to be going too well for him.
"Come on people, move, my god." He muttered, elbowing through a Hufflepuff who gave him a very nasty glare.
"You're a mess." Sherlock laughed, walking over and pulling out his wand to help. John looked up to see who was speaking, his brown eyes sparkling once he saw Sherlock standing over him.
"Yes well, so would you if you were in my situation." He snapped, trying to wring out his mop of the filthy water. Sherlock smiled, waving his wand and making all of the water on the floor vanish.
"You make it look so easy." John groaned, setting his mop back in the bucket and wiping off his hands on his jeans.
"Yes well, I'm sure the water will be all over their shoes, so I didn't do all of your job." Sherlock laughed.
"No, apparently not." John groaned, leaning up against the banister. The student flow had slowed down considerably, and Sherlock was sort of thankful they had, considering he was sick of hearing giggles every time he and John interacted.
"Hey, we're doing a lesson on boggarts, the older kids are, I was wondering if you've found one creeping around the upper floors recently." Sherlock asked. John thought for a moment, but shook his head.
"No idea what you're talking about." He decided with a laugh.
"Maybe you should sit in on a lesson or two." Sherlock suggested.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" John asked. Sherlock just smiled guiltily, shrugging.
"They take the shape of your worst fear, so if you think Snape's hiding in a closet up on the top floor, that's a boggart." Sherlock decided.
"How do you know what Snape does in his free time?" John insisted.
"Honestly I wouldn't know the difference. It would surprise me if everyone in the school's worst fear was Snape." Sherlock agreed.
"What I do if I find one?" John asked.
"Just get me, I'll deal with it the best I can." Sherlock assured.
"Alright, I will do that." John agreed with a smile.
"Then maybe you can take a crack at it, see what your..." Sherlock's sentence cut off when he looked down the stairs, at the crowd that was moving down. Except, one person wasn't headed to the Great Hall, one person was looking directly at them, with a look of triumph on his face. Victor.
"I have to go." Sherlock decided.
"What, are you alright?" John asked.
"Yes, I'm fine...just, be safe alright?" Sherlock asked, starting his way down the steps. John looked very confused.
"What do you mean, be safe, who's down there?" he asked, scanning the students himself. But even as Sherlock scrambled down the stairs to explain himself to Victor, the boy had already disappeared, and Sherlock was left leaning against the stone gargoyles and running his fingers fearfully through his now sweaty hair. Victor had seen him with John, he had seen him breaking his promise, and now Sherlock was going to have to pay. Victor's next target was going to be John. Even as Sherlock sat at lunch, he was more afraid than he thought could be possible. He couldn't see Victor at the table, which usually would've been considered a win if he knew Victor wasn't up to something. But obviously the boy was delighted; he was finally able to demonstrate his wrath on one of the most helpless people in the school. Sure, John might be able to do a hundred some pushups, and he might have a very optimistic view on life, but even a first year could do more magic than him, and when caught in a duel, well he was just as able as a muggle. Sherlock merely stared at his empty plate, thinking of all the terrible things Victor can and will do to John. Would he blackmail him for being a squib? Would he push him off the astronomy tower, jinx him in the hallway, drown him in the lake? No, John would have to live, he's perfect prey, and obviously Victor liked to play with his food. A shiver of terror ran down Sherlock's spine as he imagined a miniature John scrambling around, tripping over himself and running frantically on a golden plate as Victor stabbed down with his fork, trying to impale him on the tongs. John, poor John, he had no idea what was coming, what had Sherlock done? Could he explain himself somehow, could he maybe tell Victor that he was merely looking for a boggart? Would the cool his fiery heart? It was worth a shot. So with the remaining couple of minutes, Sherlock got up and practically ran down to the dungeons, where he knew the Slytherin common room was. It wasn't too hard to find, considering there were students streaming in and out of the musty old dungeon wall. The dungeons were lit faintly with flickering torches, illuminating the moss clinging to the damp walls. Sherlock always wondered if there was a connection between where the Slytherin common room was and their reputation; could the door be shut, locking the entire house in there in case of emergencies? At this point, Sherlock would love to do that, as long as it ensured Victor's starvation and slow death.
"Excuse me, um, Smith, um..." Sherlock muttered, trying to get one of the older boy's attention. "Steller!" he called desperately, and the boy turned around, looking rather confused.
"Professor?" he asked, with one leg already in the common room. Sherlock jogged to catch up, trying to catch his breath before he stammered out an explanation.
"Victor Trevor, I need to talk to him." Sherlock explained in a breath. The boy, if possible, looked even more confused.
"Ya, alright, I'll see if he's in there." He decided, nodding and stepping into the common room. The wall shut and Sherlock was left in the dungeon hallway alone, feeling like a loser as he studied the algae creeping up the stone walls. This was pointless, of course, there was no arguing with Victor once he had made up his mind, but still Sherlock had to try, this was all a misunderstanding, their conversation had been purely business related, John didn't deserve to get hurt! What was he thinking, Victor was probably on his way with various torture devices now, what was he doing here, he should be with John, protecting him somehow... Just as Sherlock started to turn away he heard the wall slide open again, and Steller poked his head out of the opening.
"Sorry Professor, he's not in there, must be at his next class already." The boy shrugged. Of course, class, that was precisely where Sherlock should be as well.
"Thank you!" Sherlock called, nodding rather awkwardly before taking off down the hall. When he arrived at his class, the second years were looking very confused, all chatting and levitating certain objects to fly around the room.
"Sorry I'm late." Sherlock muttered, grabbing his quill out of the air and sitting on the edge of his desk. They all scrambled back to their desks, looking like cornered animals about to get hit by a car.
"You don't have to look so scared, I was the one that was late, it's not my fault you needed to entertain yourselves." Sherlock shrugged. They all looked very relieved when he said that. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the only line he got right the entire class. Even as he tried to go on about the reductor curse, his mind was somewhere else, where ever John might be mopping the floors, or dusting the trophy cases, not a care in the world to the threat that was currently sitting in a classroom, pretending to be listening but planning destruction. Needless to say, the lesson was absolute rubbish, and Sherlock felt rather bad for the second years, who obviously were very interesting in learning how to blow stuff up. So when the lesson was dismissed, Sherlock decided that maybe it was time he try to find either Victor or John, either warn John or explain himself to Victor, either would calm his mind just a little bit more. So he followed his class out the door, hoping that none of the fourth years broke anything while he was gone. He was walking through the hall, craning his neck to see if he could find any sign of that golden hair mingling a head below everyone else, or possibly hear the bucket dragging along the stone floors, when he heard something very different. A scream. It came from the staircase, a girl by the sounds of it, and it was followed by several more screams, the steady flow of students all backing up, all craning their necks to see what was going on. A chill went down Sherlock's spine as he realized that this couldn't be a coincidence, this had to be Victor's doing.
"Move, move, I'm a professor!" Sherlock yelled desperately, pushing the crowd of people, all swarming around the staircases and trying to see what was going on. "Move, come on!" Sherlock insisted, elbowing students out of the way and finding himself on a landing near the end, there were a couple of figures standing there, two girls, obviously the ones who had screamed, sobbing near the banister, and a figure lying on the ground, motionless. It was John, of course it had to be John, and of course he had to be lying in a puddle of blood.