Methods Beyond Magic

    When Sherlock woke up, Billy was hooting impatiently at the window, which Sherlock had seemed to have accidentally have closed while going to bed. That poor owl was probably starving. It was still terribly early, but Sherlock dragged himself out of bed and opened the window for Billy to go out and catch a few mice. The wind was still chilly and damp, the sun barely peeking over the horizon and the black lake still reflecting the last of the morning starlight. Sherlock yawned, taking a quick shower to wake himself up and pulling on his robes. After hastily drying his hair, he grabbed his wand and walked aimlessly down the hallway to the Great Hall, not in a hurry to get there since he was sure he'd be dining alone. Thankfully though, Snape wouldn't be there, and that was pretty much his main goal, to avoid that potions master as much as possible.
"Professor Holmes!" said a familiar voice behind him. Thankfully though, when Sherlock turned around it was McGonagall that was behind him, looking just as tired as he was.
"What are you doing up so early?" Sherlock asked.
"I could ask you the same thing." she pointed out.
"My owl was making a racket, and I didn't really feel like going back to bed." Sherlock admitted.
"Well, I always get first week jitters; I'll be back to normal eventually." McGonagall shrugged.
"It's not too bad." Sherlock admitted.
"How was your first day on the job?" she asked.
"Oh, it was fine. The kids seem to like me; the first years were particularly annoying though." Sherlock admitted.
"They always are. I overheard a lot of conversation about your class in the hallways and in my own classroom, I got your second year bunch after lunch, and they were practically gushing out complements for you and your lesson." McGonagall pointed out.
"Oh really? What were they saying?" Sherlock asked proudly.
"Well, it was mostly how silly you looked impersonating the dragons, but also how you kept the class funny and interesting all while teaching them a little something about dragons." McGonagall pointed out.
"That's good, I guess." Sherlock admitted.
"It's excellent. It's not common for a new teacher to be welcomed so anxiously on their first day, especially by the student body." McGonagall pointed out.
"Well, I'm happy to be the exception." Sherlock agreed.
"I'll let you go off then, you seem hungry." She decided.
"Where are you off to?" Sherlock asked.
"Staff room, I need some coffee." She decided.
"Oh, I took that record player; John managed to get it working." Sherlock pointed out.
"That's good. No one seemed to be able to get it to play anything without a charm. You and Mr. Watson get along alright?" she asked.
"He's a bit, unnerving, but I suppose we're getting to be casual acquaintances." Sherlock shrugged.
"That's good, I was a bit worried about his ability to make friends around here." she shrugged.
"Why?" Sherlock asked.
"Never mind why, I was worried about you as well." She insisted.
"Well, I was worried about me too." Sherlock agreed.
"You scuttle along then, I'll see you later." She decided.
"See you too Professor." Sherlock agreed, turning away and continuing down to breakfast. Sherlock wasn't surprised when there was virtually no one in the Great Hall, a couple of younger kids scooping more and more pudding onto their plates, some older kids cramming in some essays as they finished off their breakfast, and a handful of professors staring sleepily into their oatmeal. Sherlock was the only professor on the right side of Dumbledore's chair, so he didn't feel bad loading his plate with bacon, eggs, and French toast since he didn't need to share yet. Sherlock was happy to see that a certain caretaker wasn't present at the table either, because he really didn't want to talk to John after all that he had been accused of doing. How was it even possible to fall in love with two people at once, or did John think he was multitasking? How was it even legal to fall in love with a student anyway? Sherlock most certainly didn't love Victor, and he absolutely did not like John, even if they were 'default friends'. He was genuinely offended that John thought he was 'coming on to him'; as if Sherlock would dabble in such useless emotions such as love. John, on the other hand, his emotions weren't as clear to Sherlock as his own. Was John actually flirting in some twisted way? Of course, Sherlock was the only person in John's age group that was available, and John seemed like the type of person that needed someone on his arm at all times, whether it be a woman or a man, it didn't really matter. So Sherlock moodily finished the rest of his breakfast, stabbing his French toast a little bit too aggressively with his fork as he thought of John once more. Sherlock decided to go take a little walk down around the grounds, to clear his mind and get a little bit of exercise. So he walked out of the Entrance Hall and onto the chilly, dew swept grass, walking down the hill towards the still Blake Lake. A couple of owls were soaring ahead, no doubt with the morning post, letters and packages from parents who aren't used to having their children eave for so long. Sherlock was expecting a newspaper, but Billy always seemed to know to bring Sherlock's mail to his room, since he was always at breakfast at unpredictable hours. So Sherlock went and sat on one of the driest rocks he could find, dabbing his fingers in the lake and trying to skip stones against the glass like surface. It was very peaceful, but as he sat there for a while, he could hear the castle start to come to life, the student's voices echoing all the way down to the lake, and even some of the students walking down the grounds to Hagrid's hut for care of magical creatures. So Sherlock got to his feet, wiping his muddy hands on his robes and hiking up to the classroom, walking into his classroom where there were already some confused looking fifth years waiting for him.
"Sorry I'm late." Sherlock muttered.
"We're just early." shrugged a girl in the front. Sherlock was happy to see that she wasn't giggling. So he went back to his private bathroom and washed his hands, which now had dried mud caked underneath his fingernails, and sat at his desk, flipping through the pages on Unforgivable Curses to refresh his memory before sitting back in his chair and twirling his wand in his fingers, watching the last couple of stragglers come in.
"Alright, everyone ready then?" Sherlock asked as the students took out their quills and wands, looking up at him expectantly. There was no response, of course, but then again Sherlock hadn't been expecting one.
"Right, okay, I'm Professor Holmes, as you've probably heard from either the feast or from your fellow classmates." Sherlock decided. They nodded in agreement. "So, what we'll be learning first, is Unforgivable Curses, very fun, as you all probably know, interesting and horrible, it's a nice mix." Sherlock shrugged. And so the lesson was off, it was pretty much the same thing as the seventh year class, except the fifth years were a little bit more active. The seventh years barely moved, as if they had seen a basilisk, the fifth years however presented a lot of opinions and stories to the conversation, making the lesson a lot more interesting even for Sherlock. When they left, third years filled in, and when their lesson about dragons came and went, it was time for lunch. Sherlock sighed, looking over the empty desks and getting to his feet once more. Hoping he looked presentable enough to go in public, he walked out the door and into the mess of students, all heading down to the Great Hall.
"Mr. Holmes!" called a familiar voice, and Sherlock turned to see Victor making his way through the crowd. Sherlock smiled, stepping aside to let the students move past as he waited for Victor to catch up.
"Hello Victor." He said with a smile, walking alongside the boy as they moved with the flow of traffic.
"Hey, how's your record player?" he asked.
"Oh, it's good, John fixed it up." Sherlock agreed. Victor made a face of disgust, but Sherlock didn't get a good look at him, so he could've been smiling or grimacing, Sherlock couldn't tell the difference.
"Good caretaker then?" he asked.
"Oh, he's, well...he's alright. Kind of annoying to be honest." Sherlock admitted.
"Well, it's not like you have to talk to him." Victor agreed, looking slightly happier now that Sherlock voiced his dislike. Was Victor jealous of what little time Sherlock spent with John?
"I'm sorry I had to walk out like that last night, I didn't mean to be rude." Sherlock muttered.
"No, it's fine, the quidditch players were coming in, we would've had to pack it up anyway." Victor shrugged.
"Oh, so no harm done?" Sherlock asked.
"None at all Professor." Victor agreed with a smile. When they got to the Great Hall they had to say goodbye, Victor heading over to the Slytherin table and Sherlock heading up to the staff table, where most of the staff (including Snape) were already starting their meals. Sherlock walked over and sat very stiffly in his chair, as if scared that Snape would criticize him on his bad posture.
"Hello Holmes." Snape said rather spitefully, piking around at some beef stew.
"Hello Professor." Sherlock muttered, putting together a ham sandwich for himself.
"Good first day...I hope?" Snape said, sounding as if he were choking up a hairball or something.
"It was alright, how about yours?" Sherlock asked.
"Dreadful as usual." Snape sighed.
"You're just a little ray of sunshine aren't you?" Sherlock laughed.
"Just because we share the same status doesn't mean you can torment me, Holmes, I'm still your superior." Snape spat.
"Well, according to Professor Sprout, we're equals, Severus." Sherlock muttered.
"That made even me uncomfortable." Snape decided.
"Ya, that didn't feel quite right." Sherlock agreed with a bit of a laugh, and went on with his lunch. Thankfully Snape didn't try to make any forced conversation, because Professor Sprout came and told Sherlock all about her mandrake growth. When finally Sherlock was able to slip away from the dreadful conversation, he walked back up to his classroom. He didn't really feel like being late to his next class, where he would have his first batch of sixth years. From there, he thought, the houses get mixed, like how he had Slytherin and Gryffindor seventh years yesterday, that meant the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff seventh years are still yet to have defense against the dark arts. Sherlock wasn't sure if the classes and years went on a schedule or not, but that would certainly make his lesson plans a lot easier. So Sherlock mingled around his bedroom, seeing the Daily Prophet on the ledge outside of his window, presumably delivered by an owl, so he started to read that at his desk as the students started to walk in. Of course, nothing interesting ever came from the Prophet; it was all a load of rubbish that the numerous editors and writers tried to stir up into a big deal. And the things that did matter, like ministry scandals and dark wizards, they were all pushed to the back, courtesy of the minster of magic, who liked his reputation more than he liked the common good. Sherlock looked among the sea of judgmental faces, all staring back at him as if expecting him to burst into flames or something. But, as usual, once the class got started, everyone lightened up and started talking about curses once more. Unfortunately this class had a large group of giggling Ravenclaw girls, and whenever Sherlock would even glance in their direction they would start blushing and giggling and curling their hair on their wands, as if that was going to seduce him or anything. On the contrary, their giggling and failed flirtation made him sick, the idea that they thought he was going to sink so low as to hook up with a sixth year was disgusting. But then again, Victor was right; they considered it a challenge, with a reward at the end. Yuck. When that class was over, Sherlock got his favorites, first years, this time from different houses. Thankfully the first day jitters seem to have worn away, and if anything they were strangely quiet, as if the fourth period class was already past their bedtime. Thankfully though, the girls were as quiet as the boys, and Sherlock didn't hear one flirtatious giggle the entire class. Sherlock wasn't feeling particularly hungry at the moment, so he sat at his desk and finished reading the paper a bit more, hoping that maybe he could avoid any more forceful conversations with Severus. That had probably been the worst decision he ever made, acknowledging that fearful professor in such a manner. So, when Sherlock thought he had given it a good chunk of time, he started the decent down the hallway. Thankfully there were no students walking down the hall, but as he started down the stairs he recognized a familiar humming voice coming up the stairs. Sherlock panicked turning and starting to run up the stairs when John's voice stopped him.

    "Running away from me?" he laughed.
"I was trying to." Sherlock admitted.
"Why?" John asked, catching up and smiling almost tauntingly at Sherlock.
"Because I'm not really in the mood to talk with you at the moment." Sherlock admitted.
"I'm starting to think you're never in the mood to talk with me." John guessed.
"Well, you're right." Sherlock agreed.
"Why do you hate me?" John asked, sounding genuinely hurt. Sherlock frowned, but he didn't like to see John looking upset. In fact, anything but a smile looked almost wrong on his happy face.
"I don't hate you." Sherlock admitted.
"Then why are you always so moody when I try to talk to you? Please take into consideration that you're the only one I feel comfortable talking to." John pointed out.
"Why just me?" Sherlock asked.
"Because you're my age. I can't quite have a conversation with Flitwick about the quidditch playoffs can I?" John asked.
"I don't know much about quidditch." Sherlock admitted. John laughed, thankfully looking a bit more cheerful.
"It was an example." He insisted.
"Oh." Sherlock nodded, looking around awkwardly. Some of the paintings looked like they were paying attention; the witches all huddled to the front of the frame in an attempt to get some more gossip. That was the last thing Sherlock needed, all the paintings thinking he had a thing with John Watson.