Methods Beyond Magic

    Sherlock's life, now that he knew John was officially his, suddenly seemed a lot more bearable. Victor would come, who cares, John liked him, the students were annoying, what does it matter, John kissed him; Snape snarled at him when he tried to get his morning toast, Sherlock couldn't care less. It had only been one night since Sherlock had seen John in the hospital wing, but if all went well, John would be released tonight and the two of them could have their first uninjured kiss, something the two of them had been waiting for a long time for. Victor was watching him from the Slytherin table during breakfast, as if Sherlock was suddenly going to get up and leave, or tell something to Snape, or announce to the entire school that he was being blackmailed. The best thing Sherlock could possibly do was look happy, that would get Victor furious because he would know that something was making Sherlock happy, something other than him. So that left only one option, John, and then Victor would go on and get John and suddenly the only thing that made Sherlock smile would be destroyed by the thing that made him frown. So he didn't smile, although he felt very much like he could smile without even thinking about it. There was an obnoxiously happy feeling in the pit of his stomach, something that he had never felt before, nagging him to go see John, begging him to go to the hospital wing with flowers or something stupid, and insisting that he fast forward his life to just skip to the part where he and John could settle down and loved each other forever and ever. But then again, he couldn't fast forward, and even if he could, he wouldn't. He would miss all the fun parts, the part when he finally got rid of Victor, the part when he and John have their first kiss, when they announce to everyone that they were a couple, when Sherlock was able to see the confidence melt out of Victor's pathetically blue eyes. That is the part that he definitely didn't want to miss. So, when breakfast was over, Sherlock walked up to his classroom, ready to start the day on another lesson on boggarts. He hadn't been able to get John to find a boggart yet, but he was planning on asking around the staff, see if anyone's heard anything about an infestation around the top floors. It would be a fun experience, of course, but Sherlock was also mildly worried about what might confront him. It would give away too much, wouldn't it, if it focused its attention on him? Would Victor come at him, would John fall down the stairs, would Dumbledore fire him for having an affair with a student? Either way, his personal life would be revealed, so he would have to stand far away as to not show too much of his life outside of the classroom.
"So, boggarts, again, anyone have any idea where to find one?" Sherlock asked the very inattentive class in front of him. They stared blankly, and Sherlock just stared idly back.
"Come on, I know some of you have brains, where would I find a boggart if I were to go looking for one?" Sherlock asked, leaning on his desk and raising his eyebrows. Slowly someone raised their hand, as if not quite sure whether or not their answer was correct.
"In dark, confined places? I think my grandfather found one in an old cabinet in his attic." He muttered.
"You know that's where the whole 'monster under your bed' thing comes from? I'm sure a boggart was attracted to the darkness under a poor muggle child's bed, and when he looked down..." Sherlock left his sentence to fill in the blanks, and the class gasped.
"Do boggarts kill people?" one asked curiously.
"Well, I assume somewhere along the road someone got too close, maybe they were scared of sharks and weren't particularly good with a wand, I'm not sure. Boggarts do have the potential to kill, everything does, but it's believed that their transformation is more of a defense mechanism, to scare a predator off before it gets too close." Sherlock decided.
"What would a predator be afraid of?" asked another student. Finally the conversation was getting interesting.
"I'm not sure, I'll ask one." Sherlock said with a smile. "My guess is a bigger predator."
"If your biggest fear is, say a basilisk, would you die if it looked you in the eyes?" a curly haired girl wondered. Sherlock smiled proudly, finally someone was actually thinking.
"No, just because it takes the shape of a basilisk doesn't give it the powers; their stares would be maybe, stunning, but not paralyzing and definitely not deadly. A boggart is still a boggart." Sherlock decided.
"What if a boggart looked in a mirror?" piped up a boy in the back.
"I have absolutely no idea." Sherlock admitted.
"You're the teacher!" they defended.
"Doesn't mean I know everything! Honestly I'm about as hopeless as all you in potions." Sherlock defended.
"This isn't potions." Someone pointed out.
"Stop questioning me." Sherlock snapped, and the class fell silent, looking scared that he would hit them or something. Sherlock sighed, trying to look apologetic.
"Sorry, just, let's get some notes." He decided, tapping the projector while the students shuffled through their bags for parchment and quills. The class ended, and then another, which was quite the same except there were less scholarly questions, just some rather odd ones about what the teachers might see if they were faced with the bogart. The class (including Sherlock) all came to the mutual decision that McGonagall would be most afraid of a dog, since she could turn into a cat, Flitwick would be scared of tall shelves, Binns would be scared of the Ghost Busters, and Snape would scared of shampoo. Thankfully they left Sherlock and John out of their discussions, although he was sure that it might be discussed out of the classroom. So, after those students trickled out, Sherlock was left sitting at his desk, turning off the projector and picking up after the messy students, spare pieces of parchment on the floor and some ink spots on the desks, such barbarians.
"If you ever lose your job, I suspect you'd make a great co-caretaker." said a familiar voice behind him. Sherlock smiled, turning around to see John behind him.
"Good to see you can still stand." Sherlock said with a laugh, balling up the parchment and levitating it over to the trash can.
"Oh, now you're just showing off." John decided.
"Nah, that's not showing off." Sherlock shrugged. He waved his wand once more, feeling strangely like a muggle magician, and a single rose emerged from the tip. "This is showing off." he decided, walking over and handing the rose to John. The caretaker took it rather cautiously, making sure not to prick himself on the thorns, but smiled all the same.
"You're so sweet." He decided, rather sarcastically. Sherlock nodded, watching as John tucked the rose to stick out of his shirt pocket, like some sort of decoration.
"So, you were cleared?" Sherlock asked, feeling a bit awkward because they both knew what was coming.
"Ya, Madam Pomfrey finally gave in, only after McGonagall came in and started yelling that we needed our caretaker, mud tracked all over the hallway, Peeves destroying the trophy room, it's been a bit of a mess." John admitted.
"So why aren't you out there, cleaning up mud or containing Peeves?" Sherlock asked. John shrugged, his cheeks going rather red. Sherlock could only laugh, because he felt his own cheeks blushing as well.
"Oh, well, I had a promise to keep, and you know how I hate to break promises." John pointed out.
"I'd hate it if you broke your promise." Sherlock agreed.
"So would I." John agreed, taking a large step forward and grabbing the back of Sherlock's head, pulling him down to his level and kissing him once more. But this kiss was different than the one in the hospital wing, that one had been desperate, hopeful, and terrifying. This one was more loving, more intimate, they both knew what they were doing and they both loved it and neither of them wanted to stop. Finally John could run his fingers through Sherlock's curls; finally Sherlock could hold John in his arms, hold his face in his hands and kiss his beautiful lips. John was everything Victor wasn't, John was an angel and Victor had been sent straight from Hell. It felt like Sherlock's heart might just stop all together, it was beating so fast, in unison with John's, his breath was slow and rushed, he wasn't able to get enough air but he wasn't willing to stop and take a deep breath, he wasn't willing to trade this kiss for his own wellbeing. Finally though, John pulled away ever so slightly, his fingers still tangled in Sherlock's hair, they were still so close, standing among the rows of desks, their breathing heavy, their hearts beating for each other, both yearning for another kiss but too stunned to act upon it.
"Sherlock, you okay?" John muttered through breaths, his face so close that their foreheads were almost touching.
"Yes, of course, god, I've never been better." Sherlock assured, studying the beautiful brown eyes, alight with love. If all Sherlock saw, every day, was John's eyes, he would be extremely happy.
"I should go." John decided, starting to pull back even farther, but Sherlock grabbed his shoulder so that he couldn't get away so fast.
"John, you're...I mean, I feel like I should say something." Sherlock decided.
"What do you need to say?" John asked, looking rather curious yet slightly amused.
"I have no idea, I just feel, something's eating away at me." Sherlock admitted.
"Well then, you better get that checked out." John decided. Sherlock laughed a little bit, letting go of John and fixing his hair the best he could without a brush or a mirror.
"That was amazing." Sherlock added as John started away. The caretaker stopped and turned, looking very accomplished.
"You know what, it was, wasn't it? It was very amazing." He agreed, and with that he walked out the door, leaving Sherlock to smile stupidly and sit on top of one of the desks, knowing that in less than thirty minutes it would be occupied by a student, sitting unknowingly next to the spot where his life had been renewed. Sherlock spent the third period class in a sort of happy daze, having skipped lunch since he couldn't get a smile off of his face; it was rather odd to be in public after such a wonderful time of solitude. Solitude plus one, that is. Of course the class wasn't exactly used to seeing their teacher so happy, but Sherlock caught his eyes wandering to the aisle where they had been standing and he would look down at his desk, as if embarrassed to show any emotion in front of the students. But when fourth period came, Sherlock discovered that there was in fact a very effective way to get his smile off of his face, for good. It was the seventh years, Slytherins no less, and that meant...
"Mr. Trevor?" Sherlock muttered as Victor's hand waved in the air, sitting in the front row. There was a confident, almost playful smile on the demon's face, as if he really loved seeing Sherlock this uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry Professor, I was just wondering if we were going to have the opportunity to fight a boggart. I would be ever so curious to find out some people's biggest fears." Victor asked. A chill went down Sherlock's spine as his eyes met those blue ones, and he knew that by 'some people', Victor meant Sherlock.
"Well, I'm not sure, I was trying to ask our caretaker if he had seen one in the castle, but he suffered an accident very shortly afterwards." Sherlock snapped, glaring accusingly at Victor.
"That's old news Professor; I just hope he keeps his balance next time." Victor shrugged. Sherlock sighed, tearing his eyes away and tapping the projector.
"Get your parchment out for notes." Sherlock decided, turning his back to Victor so that he didn't have to look in his direction, so that Victor couldn't see the fear on his face. But Sherlock could feel his eyes on him, watching him as he busied himself with the projector, watching him as his hands trembled ever so slightly. The whole class went like this, Victor didn't volunteer again, he spent most of his time watching Sherlock with a very unnerving look in his eyes. Sherlock avoided eye contact at all costs, distracting himself with his notes, the projector, and looking around the room. Anywhere he could look except Victor, who was most certainly looking back anyway.
"Interesting lesson." Victor muttered after the rest of the class had left, leaning over Sherlock's desk while the professor sat in his chair, fingering through his collected homework from the previous classes.
"I rather hoped it would be." Sherlock agreed.
"Your hands are shaking. They've been shaking through the whole class, are you cold?" Victor asked.
"I'm not cold." Sherlock assured, not looking up once more. Victor's hand shot out and steadied Sherlock's, sending chills of terror down Sherlock's arm.
"Then you're scared." Victor whispered. Sherlock looked up quickly, seeing Victor's eyes, those blue eyes that he once considered beautiful.
"You don't scare me." Sherlock snapped, but his voice was weak and very unconvincing, he barely convinced himself, much less Victor.
"Oh Sherlock, you shouldn't be scared, no, not of me of course." Victor assured, obviously trying to make his voice calming when it sounded like poison.
"I already said I'm not scared of you." Sherlock insisted.
"Good." Victor decided, his fingers creeping up Sherlock's arm, very slowly as if he was trying to cherish every inch of skin that prickled under his touch. Sherlock could only look away, shivering to Victor's touch, wanting very much to slap his arm away but only knowing that would only anger him.
"Stand up Sherlock, come around here." Victor decided.
"Why?" Sherlock asked.
"Because there's a desk in our way." Victor pointed out, his fingers running over Sherlock's forearm but no farther than that. Sherlock took a deep breath, but didn't move.
"Now Sherlock." Victor demanded, his hand clenching painfully around Sherlock's wrist, making the professor whimper and scramble to his feet.
"There we go, around here...there we go." Victor decided, as Sherlock stepped around the desk, Victor's hand still on his arm. "That wasn't so difficult, now was it?" he asked, starting to lean down to kiss Sherlock, but the professor jerked his head back, not yet willing to let Victor kiss him so soon after John had.
"We don't want to do this again, do we?" Victor sighed, as if this game was getting old.
"No, I really don't." Sherlock agreed, talking about the kiss, not the resistance.
"Oh Sherlock, but you do have to, you know you do and you know there's nothing you can do to stop it." Victor breathed, leaning in so close that his lips hovered a mere inch away from Sherlock's. "There's nothing you can do, or your little caretaker can do, or Dumbledore, or McGonagall, or anything. I control you now, my Sherlock, my puppet..." Victor muttered, pressing his lips very gently on Sherlock's. Sherlock winced, but there was nothing he could do to stop Victor from kissing him. Victor's kiss was nothing compared to John's, sure he might have been a lot more graceful, and maybe a bit more experienced, but there was no passion between them, and even though Sherlock was being forced to kiss him back, his heart wasn't beating, it was crying, it was calling for John, it wanted to be free of this cage. Victor was holding Sherlock's head between his hands, which would've been a romantic gesture if his fingernails weren't digging into Sherlock's skin. Sherlock felt like he needed to wrap his arms around Victor's neck, just to kind of pretend there was something more than loathing in his heart, he wanted Victor to be satisfied, so that he might leave, so that Sherlock could sneak away and visit only person he felt he needed to visit. The only person that mattered.
"Sherlock..." muttered a voice, and at first Sherlock thought it was Victor, but no, his lips were very occupied at the moment, he was too busy kissing Sherlock to realize that they were not alone. Not anymore. Sherlock pulled away immediately, not turning around, but seeing Victor's eyes light up. Even before looking, Sherlock knew who it was from the glee on Victor's face, from the twisted smile that was now appearing on that demon's lips. He knew that it had to be John. Sherlock turned slowly, seeing his John standing in the doorway, a bundle of flowers hanging limply from his weak fingers, his face pale and his mouth hanging open in terror. He looked as if he had been stabbed in his back, Sherlock wouldn't be surprised to see a patch of blood slowly spread from his heart.
"Sherlock, you're...I knew..." John could barely squeeze out the words, he could barely get his voice to work, his eyes filling up with tears. Sherlock could only take a step forward, trying to tell John everything through his eyes, trying to explain what was going on through a weak little whimper of apology.
"Oh, this is interesting." Victor whispered, as if there was no better entertainment than ruining Sherlock's life. And he had ruined it; of course he had, the most efficient way he could possibly manage. To ruin Sherlock, you had to ruin John, and somehow Victor had managed to destroy them both at the same time.
"John, I can explain." Sherlock muttered desperately, knowing that there was nothing he could do now, nothing he could tell except the truth.
"You disgust me." John decided, throwing the flowers down with newfound rage and running off through the corridors. Sherlock started to run after him, but Victor grabbed his arm roughly, pulling him preventing him chasing after the caretaker.
"Sherlock, you're going to stay with me, you're not to run." Victor whispered. Sherlock tugged his arm away in anger, staring at Victor with a look of utmost hatred.
"You monster, he's all I have left." Sherlock hissed, and with that he darted off down the corridors, hearing Victor's screams, hearing his commands fade off in the background. eFL-\