Methods Beyond Magic

    "Hello John, would you like a cup of tea?" Sprout asked, pretty much the same thing she had asked Sherlock.
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock snapped.
"I work here Sherlock, and this is the staff room." John pointed out.
"I mean, I thought you were at dinner." Sherlock insisted, giving the other teachers a bit of an annoyed look, as if trying to tell them he didn't know this idiot.
"Well, after what I had to dump out from the bottom of my bucket, I rather lost my appetite as well." John assured. Sherlock did his best not to smile, but thankfully John was distracted by Sprout, who was handing him his cup of tea.
"Thank you Mrs. Sprout." He said with a smile. Sherlock raised a confused eyebrow, but John went on as if everything was normal. That was a very odd way to address a teacher.
"Some idiot boy blew up an enlargement potion; I was shrinking heads all evening." Snape muttered, going on with their conversation as if John hadn't interrupted.
"First years?" Flitwick guessed.
"Fifth, if you can believe it." Snape sighed.
"Do you all gossip about first years behind their backs?" Sherlock laughed.
"Well, we don't purposely stereotype them..." McGonagall started.
"The short answer is yes." Snape said in a bored voice.
"I can never imagine having to teach those Rugrats, stomping mud all over the floors, moving in packs, knocking over my mop, they're horrible." John sighed.
"What in the world is a Rugrat?" Sherlock asked in wonder.
"It's a cartoon, a muggle one, come on, you didn't even watch that?" John asked, seemingly insulted.
"I was raised in a wizarding family, I didn't have muggle cartoons." Sherlock pointed out.
"You're missing out then." John shrugged, sipping his tea innocently.
"So, have you two been getting along, the two new professors banding together?" Flitwick asked in his squeaky little voice.
"Oh, well, sort of." Sherlock muttered.
"Of course we have. No one else to talk to around here." John insisted.
"You're talking to us." McGonagall pointed out.
"Yes, but you guys are my superiors, I have to be respectful around you." John pointed out.
"We're not any better than you, maybe a bit older, more experienced, but we're on the same place on the totem pole." Sprout assured. John opened his mouth to protest, but evidently thought better of it, and went back to sipping his tea. Professor Bins, now asleep, was drifting ever so closer to where Sherlock sat, the air around him getting colder and colder as the ghost moved closer. The rest of the staff room chat was filled with talk about the students this year, the classes, the predicted OWL exam scores, and Quidditch team. Since all heads of houses were present, John and Sherlock were the only two staff members who weren't terribly biased on the matter. McGonagall claimed that their team was stronger than ever, Snape boasted that all of his best players were returning (Victor presumably was one of them), Flitwick insisted that the Ravenclaws were working on a new tactic that would fool even the best of players, and Sprout said that their team's positive attitude would carry them all the way to the cup. Well, Sherlock doubted that last one, but it seemed as though Slytherins and Gryffindor were once again going to be neck and neck. Sherlock had always cheered for Gryffindor; it seemed as though everyone except the Slytherins cheered for the other houses, there were rarely any Slytherin fans that weren't from the house itself. But now, with Victor playing as the star chaser, Sherlock decided that he ought to be cheering for his team, leaving house stereotypes behind. When finally Sherlock couldn't stand any more of the small talk, he set his teacup back in its saucer and announced that he was turning in for the night, even though it was barely seven o'clock yet. As soon as he stood up, John decided that he too was going to leave, and they left the staff room together.
"Mind if I come up with you?" John asked.
"Why, scared I'm going to go running to the Slytherin common room?" Sherlock laughed.
"How about because I don't really feel like being alone so early on in the night?" John asked.
"That works too." Sherlock admitted. John followed him timidly up the stairs, as if afraid to make a wrong move and be sent back down to his lonely room, to spend the night all alone. But, as much as Sherlock hated to admit it, he kind of liked John's company, it beat being in solitary confinement at least. So when they got to the classroom, Sherlock sat on his desk and John sat on one of the student's desks, his feet barely touching the ground, his toes skirting the stone as he swung his feet back and forth.
"Well, it doesn't smell like puke, so I guess that's a good sign." John decided.
"Do you think that kid just had the stomach flu or something?" Sherlock asked.
"No idea, maybe he just had too much pudding at lunch." John guessed.
"That's reasonable as well, you never know with those second years." Sherlock sighed.
"They're not as bad as the first years though, they show me a little bit of respect." John admitted.
"Well, just jinx them." Sherlock suggested.
"You think Dumbledore would let me jinx some poor first year?" John laughed.
"I think he might, if they really deserved it." Sherlock assured.
"If only I could Sherlock." John sighed, swinging his legs and looking sad.
"Hey, if they beat you up that badly, I'd be happy to get in there and call order, maybe hand out detentions." Sherlock offered, not liking John with such a pouty face.
"I can do that too, I think." John muttered.
"Why do I feel like I'll wake up tomorrow and see Slytherin lost one hundred points?" Sherlock asked with a laugh.
"What did the...oh, well, maybe." John shrugged with a laugh.
"Why do you hate him so much, you've never even met him?" Sherlock insisted.
"I saw him in the hallway one day; he gave me one of the worst looks imaginable, like he had just drunk my mop water." John pointed out.
"Well, maybe he was just having a bad day." Sherlock offered.
"I'm not sure; I think he sincerely hates me." John insisted.
"Well, he doesn't know you either. Are you a good flier?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, my parents tried to teach me, I'm alright I suppose." John shrugged.
"Got your own broom?" Sherlock asked.
"Ya." John admitted.
"Victor's going to try to teach me to fly this weekend, why don't you tag along, try to make nice?" Sherlock suggested.
"I'm not terribly keen on first meeting Victor while suspended fifty feet in the air." John muttered.
"No, of course not, you'll meet on the ground." Sherlock insisted.
"Why do you need flying lessons?" John asked.
"I'm, well, I'm a terrible flyer. Scared of heights." Sherlock admitted kind of quietly.
"You don't seem like one to be scared of anything." John decided.
"Well, I'm actually scared of a lot of things." Sherlock admitted.
"Like what?" John asked.
"Isn't that a bit personal?" Sherlock insisted.
"Well, I'm scared of failing, any more than I already have, getting excluded, loneliness, and dinosaurs." John offered.
"Dinosaurs, as in those big lizards that roamed around thousands of years ago?" Sherlock asked with a laugh.
"Have you seen a velociraptor before?" John insisted.
"Can't say that I have. Is this another stupid muggle cartoon?" Sherlock asked doubtfully.
"Worse. They're like dragons, I suppose, but they're about as tall as my waist, and they're fast, and they have wicked sharp teeth and claws, and they're ravenous." John insisted.
"Well, if they are still around, I suppose I'd be a bit nervous yes." Sherlock agreed.
"What are you scared of?" John asked.
"Well, I'm not sure. Heights, I suppose, I'm not scared to be alone, I'm alone all the time, social exclusion is just another part of my life, not being in control scares me." Sherlock decided.
"Not being in control of what?" John asked.
"My life, my actions. I never want someone to make me do things against my will; I don't ever want to be someone's puppet. That's why the Imperius curse scares me so much, the very idea that with one spell I would be under someone's complete control." Sherlock admitted.
"Well, there are blocks to that, reverse spells, right?" John asked.
"I'm not sure. You can be powerful enough to resist it, you can simply tell the caster no, but that's rare, and I'm sure I wouldn't have the will power." Sherlock admitted.
"Oh, wait; it was the killing curse that you can't block?" John guessed. Sherlock smiled at John's childlike ignorance.
"Yes, the killing curse." Sherlock agreed.
"That scares me too. Like, in the muggle world they license people for guns, like, muggle murder weapons, but here everyone carries around their murder weapon, their tool, their flashlight, wands are like the ultimate pocket knife." John said with a smile.
"You and all of your muggle lingo, how do you know so much?" Sherlock asked in amazement.
"Well, I do my learning. Just because I was raised in the wizarding world doesn't mean I have to be strictly a wizard. I could always venture into the muggle world and still know how to use their currency and dress like them." John insisted.
"Are you saying we can't dress like muggles?" Sherlock asked.
"You're wearing robes." John pointed out.
"Yes, well, I'm a professor. You can get away with a more casual look." Sherlock insisted.
"Are you saying I can't dress up for being the caretaker?" John asked, sounding slightly offended.
"Well, yes, I'd expect you'd get your mop water over your dress pants." Sherlock guessed. John obviously tried to look mad more, but a smile creeped onto his lips and he broke out into guilty giggles.
"You said that so seriously." John muttered, and Sherlock cracked a smile as well.
"It's true!" he defended.
"I know it's true, I know as well as you do!" John agreed.
"So why'd you bother arguing with me in the first place?" Sherlock asked.
"I felt like you were patronizing me, as if I was lesser than you." John pointed out sort of sadly.
"I'm not patronizing you, you're no less of a wizard than I am, even if you don't wear robes and you carry a mop instead of a spell book." Sherlock assured. John looked down at the floor, as if he were slightly ashamed of his status.
"Don't be sad John, come on." Sherlock muttered.
"I'm not sad." John assured, smiling confidently at Sherlock, who was genuinely worried about offending the caretaker.
"Are you good for Saturday then? I think it's Saturday, I'll tell you in the Great Hall I suppose." Sherlock decided.
"I'm good with it as long as Victor is. I don't want to, interrupt anything." John said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
"Honestly John, get your mind out of the gutter, there is nothing between Victor and I, we're friends, just like you and I are friends, there's nothing more!" Sherlock insisted.
"Does he share that viewpoint?" John asked with a laugh.
"I'm sure he does, you can just go ask him!" Sherlock insisted.
"Maybe I will." John agreed.
"No you won't." Sherlock laughed.
"Ya, you're right, I don't really want to meet him for the first time alone, he's rather intimidating." John admitted.
"Well, I'll sort out times I suppose." Sherlock decided.
"Make sure he's alright with it, because if I show up with my broom, I'm sure he'll experiment with the killing curse." John insisted.
"Of course John, of course." Sherlock assured. Well, when Saturday came, Sherlock was sure he was forgetting something. He had arranged to meet Victor at the Quidditch pitch, broom in hand, at nine o'clock Saturday morning. It wasn't until he found John in the Great Hal when he realized that he just might not have mentioned to Victor that they were going to have company.
"Hey Sherlock, you ready?" John asked with a smile, handing him a piece of toast and eating one himself.
"I certainly am." Sherlock agreed rather apprehensively. He was carrying his broomstick, a rather old model considering he never really used the thing. Sherlock really didn't want to fly, he hated the idea of being off the ground any more than two feet, he didn't like the idea that this was probably going to be the last time he was in the Great Hall with both of his legs present.
"You look like you're going to throw up." John decided. "Don't make me go get my mop."
"I'm fine, just nervous. I told you, I'm scared of heights, deathly scared of heights actually." Sherlock muttered, throwing his toast onto someone's empty plate so that he didn't have to eat it. He was sure if he did eat breakfast that it would make a guest appearance once more during his flying lesson.
"You'll be fine, I'll be there, Victor will be there, and you've got a wand, you can do that whole hover thing right?" John asked.
"Not quickly, my reflexes aren't as fast as gravity." Sherlock admitted.
"Well, maybe Victor's are." John guessed, saying that as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. They made it out of the entrance hall, leading down the dew covered grounds towards the quidditch pitch.
"I'm sure you two will like each other, I mean, you both decided that you were enemies the moment I mentioned you to each other." Sherlock pointed out.
"Yes well, I think we're both rather, competitive." John admitted.
"For me?" Sherlock asked with a laugh.
"I don't know, more like your attention." John shrugged, looking rather awkward.
"I'm no reward, trust me." Sherlock insisted.
"Oh I know, you're a bit of a loser, but you're all I've got." John agreed.
"Wow, thanks a lot John." Sherlock laughed, and John just rolled his eyes.
"I say loser in the nicest way possible." He decided.
"That makes it a lot better, yes." Sherlock muttered. They were silent the rest of the way down. The quidditch pitch was empty, except for one figure zooming over the stands, just high enough to be seen from the grounds. John made a little noise of disgust, but Sherlock's smile widened. They walked into the field, and as promised, the lone figure had green robes on, descending towards the ground right in front of them. It was Victor, of course, and he looked very confused to see John.
"You must be the...caretaker." Victor decided, dismounting and walking over to the two of them.
"Sherlock told you I was coming, right?" john asked, looking from Sherlock to Victor apprehensively.
"I uh...well...oops." Sherlock muttered, switching his broomstick from one hand to the other just for something to do.
"Oh, that's just, brilliant, thanks Sherlock." John snapped.
"That's fine, he didn't do anything wrong, the more the better I suppose." Victor assured. Sherlock smiled thankfully, and John stood up, if possible, even straighter. Even at his maximum height, however, Victor was still a good head taller than him, smiling a little bit tauntingly. Maybe this hadn't been the best idea? Ah well, they were here, what's the worst that could happen?
"So, what's first?" Sherlock asked, breaking the very tense silence as the two stared each other down.
"Well, before you learn to fly, you need to learn to mount the broom, to make sure you don't fall off in midair." Victor decided.
"Yes, that would be quite bad." Sherlock agreed, and John just snorted.
"So, just, swing your leg over, hold onto the handle, and make sure to get a good kick start." Victor insisted, getting onto his broom and kicking off into the sky.
"You got that?" John asked as Sherlock clumsily got onto his broom.
"I'm going to die." Sherlock decided, but with that as his last words, he kicked and shot off into the air.