Methods Beyond Magic

I've Been A Blind Idiot

    They were silent for the rest of the night. The torches were lit, the windows locked, their eyes open, Sherlock's wand clutched feebly in his hand. The two of them stayed very close, lying together on the couch, their eyes never blinking, their ears straining, every sense they could manage was working on overtime, trying to detect the snake in the grass. But the clocked ticked on, and no footsteps were heard, there was no disturbance throughout the whole night, and when the sun rose once more, Sherlock and John felt like they had at least accomplished something.
"We need to get breakfast." John decided as Sherlock tried to shut his tired eyes for a moment.
"Victor will be down there, we can't." Sherlock murmured into his chest.
"We have to act normal, people will worry, Professors might get curious." John insisted. "And anything that we do to stop him, they might question more than usual."
"Good point, as always." Sherlock agreed, rolling off of John and to his feet, tucking his wand into his pocket and scanning the room. John got up and cracked his neck a couple of times, making Sherlock wince.
"He'll be down there, but we have to stay together, we'll go in the staff door, we'll sit next to each other even if we have to get Flitwick to move or something." John decided.
"Sprout will, we just have to convince her that we're so in love that we need to eat our meals together." Sherlock decided.
"Good thinking, she's on board with that rumor then?" John asked.
"It's not a rumor." Sherlock pointed out rather awkwardly.
"I know, as in...alright, I stand corrected, bad choice of words." John decided.
"Yes, very." Sherlock agreed, looking down on John to make sure he wasn't serious.
"We'll be alright, let's just go down, we'll be fine." John decided, going to take Sherlock's hand but stopping, as if remembering what happened the last time. So John just nodded encouragingly, and together they moved the table away and walked into the hallway. It was empty, but Sherlock was so scared that someone might be lurking in it, a certain Slytherin, that he stayed terribly close to John, so close that if a student had been walking down the hallway there would be a whole new batch of rumors starting. But, of course, there might be actual rumors soon, the truth might get out and the whole school would erupt. When they got to staircase, Sherlock had to give John his space, lingering behind the caretaker for protection. He was scared, beyond scared, but he kept his composure, standing up straight and even forcing a smile to the students he recognized. The two of them went around back, towards the kitchens and went into the staff entrance as to avoid walking through the tables, were Victor could easily pick them off and make it look like an accident. No, they needed to stay far out of his reach, far enough so that he couldn't hurt them without making a scene. There was an empty seat next to John, obviously Hagrid had been busy doing something else, maybe he was eating at his cabin, but Sherlock took this as an opportunity to sit next to his protector. The two of them sat down and Trelawney, who was sitting at Sherlock's right, looked rather confused as to why Sherlock was sitting next to her. John sat stiffly in his chair, ladling eggs onto his plate while Sherlock scanned the Slytherin table. He jumped a little bit when he made eye contact with the snake, those blue eyes watching him from the end of the table with a hungry look. Victor was smiling very confidently, looking up as if he was watching his prey eat their last meal.
"He's looking." John muttered.
"I know." Sherlock agreed, ripping his eyes away and picking at the bowl of bacon. It was disturbing how nothing in the castle had changed. Sherlock's life had been turned around, John's life was nearly ruined, Victor had his leverage and had the potential to either murder them or murder their reputations, which ever he found more amusing. But nothing changed. The professors all ate their breakfast carelessly, the students were doing essays under the table, the owls delivered the post, all was calm except for Sherlock and John, who were terrified.
"You need to eat Sherlock." John decided, trying to push the bowl of fruit in Sherlock's direction.
"I'm not hungry." Sherlock insisted, poking the single piece of bacon with his fork and watching the burned edges crumble.
"You are troubled Mr. Holmes." Trelawney said mystically, turning her head so that all the jewels on her necklaces clinked and clanked together.
"Wow, you really must be psychic." Sherlock snapped, inching his chair closer to John.
"It is a gift, Mr. Holmes, passed down centuries, for I am the descendant of the Great Cassandra!" she exclaimed, her arm flailing and nearly knocking over her goblet of orange juice.
"How wonderful." Sherlock muttered. Victor was still watching them, having not broken eye contact once; in fact, Sherlock doubted he even blinked.
"Sherlock, hurry up with your breakfast, he's making me uncomfortable." John muttered, stuffing a piece of toast into his mouth as quickly as he could.
"I'm done." Sherlock decided, getting to his feet.
"Be warned, young professor, there is trouble in your future, there is a great loss, you must choose whether to destroy the life of another or destroy the life of yourself!" Trelawney exclaimed, rocking back and forth in her chair with excitement. Sherlock stopped, looking at her in wonder.
"A loss, a death?" he asked for clarification. But Trelawney's eyes widened in fear, as if she didn't want to be questioned, and turned back to her oatmeal.
"Come on Sherlock." John insisted, grabbing Sherlock's arm and pulling him into the back hallway.
"John, I need to leave." Sherlock decided as soon as the door closed.
"What do you mean, leave?" John asked desperately. Sherlock stopped, running his hand through his hair nervously.
"You heard her, didn't you, you heard my prophesy?" Sherlock asked.
"She's an old fraud, she predicts my death ever other meal." John insisted.
"But what if this was real, what if I do have a...great loss?" Sherlock asked.
"What if you don't?" Joh pointed out. Sherlock groaned, staring at John as if begging him to understand.
"John, the only thing here I care about is you. The only great loss I could possibly suffer is you." Sherlock insisted.
"You want to leave in the middle of the school year? Leave your students, the teachers, your pay, and me?" John asked.
"You can come with me." Sherlock insisted.
"Sherlock, where are you going to go, Hogwarts is your home!" John pointed out.
"I have parents, I have a brother, I have some money." Sherlock decided.
"You can't leave." John insisted. "Don't let Trelawney scare you."
"But I am scared. I'm not scared of her, I'm not scared of what she said, I'm scared of Victor and I'm scared for you." Sherlock whispered. John looked up at him with a desperate look in his eye, a lonely look in his eye, and Sherlock could only imagine how lonely John would be if he left.
"How would leaving help me? I'm a squib, I'm useless, I can't defend myself, it only takes a mop and a simple spell to land me in the hospital wing for three days." John pointed out. "I need you, just as much as you need me, and together we can get through this."
"You saw him watching us." Sherlock pointed out.
"I did." John agreed.
"Why hasn't he told anyone yet? I denied a direct order, I ran from him to you, that should be the last straw, why aren't ministry officials dragging me away by now?" Sherlock asked, looking around the corridor as if Dumbledore was waiting to stun him.
"Maybe he thinks there's still more that he can do." John guessed.
"Maybe he doesn't want the professors tied up in this, maybe he wants to handle me himself." Sherlock guessed.
"He won't hurt you, you said it yourself, he loves you." John pointed out.
"He said that he won't hurt me physically, but to mentally hurt me, he has to hurt you, and I think he wants me to suffer." Sherlock guessed.
"Let's just go back to your classroom, see what we can do there." John decided.
"He might be there." Sherlock pointed out.
"We have to face him eventually." John decided.
"Alright then." Sherlock agreed, taking out his wand. "Let's go."
"That's the spirit." John said with a forced laugh. There was nothing to laugh about, there was nothing to smile about, but together they walked up the stairs to Sherlock's classroom, prepared to fight, to win, to rid themselves of Victor forever. When they approached the door, they hesitated. There were no shadows moving under the door and there were no sounds, but Victor could be motionless, waiting.
"I'll go in first." Sherlock decided.
"No way!" John insisted.
"I have to, he won't hurt me, and I have a wand." Sherlock hissed. John nodded stiffly, balling up his fists, ready for a brawl.
"I'll get him." John decided.
"That you will." Sherlock agreed, his hand on the door knob. John nodded confidently, and with that Sherlock turned the handle and threw the door open, the two of them jumping into the room, fists and wands ready for action, but it was empty.
"Nothing." John muttered. Sherlock nodded.
"Should've seen that coming." He muttered, shutting the door behind him carelessly.
"There are still two rooms, he could be waiting." John insisted. Sherlock sighed, casting his eyes to the office and bedroom.
"I'll check, wait here." Sherlock decided. John nodded, and watched as Sherlock carefully walked through his office and room, prepared to stun any slight movement. There was a screech, and Sherlock yelled, starting to wave his wand at the corner of his room when he saw that it was just Billy, locked in his cage.
"What was that?" John called, running into Sherlock's room.
"My owl, it's alright." Sherlock assured, tucking his wand back into his robes and opening the cage. The bottom was littered with owl treats, and lying next to the cage on the floor was the empty bag, as if someone had been feeding him.
"He was here." John decided. Sherlock turned and looked over to where John stood, looking down on the bed, where the blankets were strewn and the pillow dented.
"Looks like someone just slept in it." Sherlock decided, walking over apprehensively.
"Someone did." John agreed. Sherlock sighed, seeing the indent on the pillow.
"Victor spent the night." He concluded, throwing the blankets back even farther as if the boy had left something under the covers.
"He's disgusting." John decided.
"And he over fed Billy." Sherlock added, opening the window to let the owl fly out the window, soaring through the towers and columns of the once beautiful castle. Now it looked more like a warzone.
"He's toying with us Sherlock; he thinks this is all a game." John decided.
"A game that we are most certainly going to win." Sherlock agreed.
"Only if we play it right." John muttered. Sherlock turned towards the door and stopped immediately, his blood running cold. There was a tie, a Slytherin tie, tied around the door handle. A shiver went down Sherlock's spine as he walked up and examined it, too afraid to touch it as if Victor had laced his own tie with poison.
"Just like before." Sherlock muttered, taking a step back and steadying himself on the now empty owl cage.
"What was like before?" John asked. Sherlock nodded to the door handle, and John took a sharp breath, obviously he didn't know what he was looking at.
"Did he do this before?" he asked, coming over and gently untying the tie from the handle.
"That night, that morning I suppose, I woke up and saw his tie on the handle." Sherlock agreed, feeling the strong urge to throw up.
"So this is another cryptic message?" John asked. Sherlock nodded stiffly, feeling as though his legs wouldn't support him any longer.
"I'm going to go sit down." he decided, stumbling over to his office and sinking into the chair, staring at the wood. John followed from a distance, lingering near the door as if wanting to give Sherlock his space. This was all Sherlock's fault; none of this would be happening if he had chosen another compartment on the train, if he had never met Victor, if he hadn't gone to that quidditch game, if he hadn't given Victor another chance, if he hadn't opened his heart. Sherlock sighed, leaning his head on his elbows, about to lean on the desk when his knee bumped into a partially open drawer. Sherlock groaned, looking down and wondering what on earth he would've put in his desk, he never went into this office; all of his things were in his other desk in the classroom. Sherlock opened it very cautiously; worried Victor had put something in here, a severed head, a bomb, a wild creature, who knows? Instead, when the light hit the inside of the drawer, all Sherlock saw were two butterbeer bottles, both half full. His stomach dropped and he picked one up, the emptier one, the one he had drank that night.
"What are those?" John asked, walking closer. Sherlock sighed, putting his bottle on the desk with a strong urge to swat it, break the glass and let the butterbeer puddle on the floor.
"It's what I drank, I had saved them, I had no idea..." Sherlock muttered, taking Victor's bottle out as well.
"What, you drank this that night?" John asked. Sherlock nodded silently, staring at the two innocent bottles with guilt. "And Victor gave them to you?" John asked.
"Yes, he brought these, and Bertie Bott's beans, what he had been eating on the train when he first met." Sherlock said miserably. "If I had only just ignored him then, nothing would..."
"Stop being dramatic, this is it!" John exclaimed, a smile spreading on his face.
"What's it?" Sherlock asked, turning in his chair to see John examining one of the bottles.
"You said a cloud had washed over you, of love and lust, that you've never felt for him before and that you never felt again?" John asked excitedly, sounding genuinely pleased even in such a dark time.
"Yes, of course, don't rub it in." Sherlock snapped, taking John's happiness as a sort of insult.
"He drugged you, you idiot, he gave you a love potion!" John insisted. Sherlock's jaw dropped in shock.
"A love potion?" he asked in a whisper, not daring to believe it.
"Of course, how else could you explain your sudden, undying love, after you drank a butterbeer that he gave you? He's smart, he knows how to brew a potion, he was probably so crushed that you had refused him, so desperate to have your love, a twisted kid like that would go to the ends of the earth to win your heart!" John exclaimed. Sherlock's heart leapt in hope, could he have been this stupid? Of course, it all made sense, a love potion, a strong one, could alter Sherlock's feelings, it could make him see Victor as some sort of desirable god, someone who he just couldn't let slip out of his fingers. Victor was clever; he knew that one dose would have Sherlock in his grasp forever.
"Well then this is all we need; we can break his hold on me!" Sherlock exclaimed. "He can't blackmail me for something I did under a potion, this is all his fault, this makes it illegal!" Sherlock jumped out of his chair, nearly ready to sing. "I can get him!" Sherlock flung his arms around John's neck in glee, nearly strangling the poor caretaker in his grasp. John laughed, hugging Sherlock back, a wide smile on his face as well.