Methods Beyond Magic

Freedom in the Form of a Bottle

Sherlock ran up to his classroom, where John would be waiting, the book tucked safely under his arm and an accomplished smile on his face. As horrible, as disgusting as that was, he had done it, he had gotten the book and now their plan was in action. All they had to do now was get someone, preferably Snape, to analyze the contents of the bottle and they would be home free. Sherlock ran up the stairs and burst through the door. John was sitting at the desk, looking rather nervous and tracing the carved initials in the desk with his finger.
"I got it!" Sherlock announced, locking the door behind him and throwing the book onto his desk. A smile lit up John's face, and he got to his feet and opened the book.
"Amazing Sherlock, simply amazing." He muttered. "Do I want to know how?" he asked as he scanned the front page, a small smile on his face.
"It was terrible, but I stunned him, he's lying in bed, no one will know the difference." Sherlock promised.
"You're a genius you are." John insisted, smiling proudly at Sherlock.
"I did what was necessary." Sherlock muttered. John was tracing the index with his finger, looking for any type of love potion that might be hiding in the yellowing pages.
"Aha, love potion, page 221." John decided, flipping through the pages and causing dust to fly up from the book. Sherlock sighed, fanning his face as the dust collected in the air around him. John stopped at the page and looked at the potion, which included all sorts of odd ingredients, things that Victor certainly didn't have.
"So now what?" Sherlock asked uncertainly.
"Now we test the butterbeer, see what else it contains, and we can catch him." John decided.
"And we're going to have Snape do that?" Sherlock asked.
"I was thinking that maybe McGonagall knew some fancy spell work, something that can transfigure something into all of its original parts." John decided.
"You want McGonagall to do it?" Sherlock asked uncertainty.
"What did I just say, stop being mysterious, let's go!" John insisted, grabbing the butterbeer and the book and scurrying down the hall. Sherlock followed excitedly, knowing full well that if this all went well that he would be rid of Victor forever, and there was nothing he wanted more than that.
"Where would we find her?" Sherlock asked uncertainly, following as John ran down the hallway determinedly.
"Her office, of course!" John called back. By the time they reached McGonagall's office, Sherlock was already tired, leaning against the wall and catching his breath as John knocked on the door.
"Give me a moment." Sherlock insisted, clutching a stich in his side and taking deep breaths.
"You need to get in better shape Sherlock." John suggested, knocking on the door again.
"One moment please!" McGonagall called, and in about ten seconds the door opened. She looked rather inconvenienced, her lips pursed and a stern look behind her glasses.
"How may I help you boys?" she asked, looking from John, to the butterbeer in his hands, to Sherlock who was heaving in air like gold.
"Can you transfigure this to show all of its ingredients, bring it to its form before it was brewed?" John asked, holding up the butterbeer hopefully.
"I can certainly, but why? Hoping to brew your own?" McGonagall asked.
"No, we think...we think there's something more in it." John decided. McGonagall raised her eyebrows suspiciously, but opened the door wider, leading them inside. 
"Is this is more ghost superpower rubbish, I don't want a part in it." she decided, her heels clicking against the stone floor as she walked over to her desk.
"No, it's not; we think Sherlock had been drugged." John admitted.
"Wait, I'm sorry, I thought..." Sherlock started, but was silent when he saw the shocked, almost motherly look on McGonagall's face.
"Drugged? By whom?" she asked, her eyes glinting dangerously behind her glasses.
"That's beside the point, we think...we think it was a love potion and we need to be sure, before we throw around accusations." John decided.
"A love potion? I certainly hope it didn't work?" McGonagall asked, taking the bottle from John and holding it up to the light.
"Don't worry, my heart of stone can't be sculpted that easily." Sherlock lied.
"I don't believe that for a second Mr. Holmes." McGonagall insisted.
"Can you transfigure it?" John asked.
"What exactly are we looking for?" she asked. John opened the book once more, scanning the ingredients.
"It calls for a good number of Ashwinder eggs, some rose petals, peppermint, moonstone, and some other things." John muttered.
"Alright then." McGonagall decided, taking out her wand. Sherlock held his breath as she flicked it at the bottle, and suddenly there wasn't liquid in it anymore. It was filled with many things, simple butterbeer ingredients like sugar and wheat, but other things now filled the bottle, unusual things that you wouldn't find in a bottle of simple butterbeer.
"What on earth..." McGonagall muttered, picking up the bottle and examining the contents.
"What's in there?" John asked curiously, taking a step closer. Sherlock finally took a long breath, something he had been holding in for a long time.
"I don't know what the eggs look like, but I certainly see rose petals, mysterious slimy things, and what looks to be powdered moonstone, but I can't pretend to be an expert." She decided, handing the bottle to John to examine. Sherlock walked over cautiously, knowing that what was in that bottle was enough to free him from Victor forever.
"So, this is it?" he muttered, hardly daring to believe it.
"This is it Sherlock, this is it." John agreed.
"What's going on, you two have been acting very odd lately." McGonagall asked.
"We, uh, nothing, just trying to clear this up." John shrugged.
"Certainly the headmaster must know, if someone is slipping love potions then he needs to catch the culprit. Besides, Madam Rosmerta would need to know if someone is tainting her butterbeer." McGonagall pointed out.
"Sorry professor, but we know who's done it and we know they won't do it again." Sherlock assured.
"You're not going to tell Dumbledore?" she asked.
"I don't think he needs concern himself, I think we've got this under control. We're not students, not anymore." Sherlock assured.
"Why do I have a feeling that you two are getting yourselves in some trouble?" she asked with a sort of smile.
"Quite the opposite Professor, now we're getting ourselves out of it!" John said proudly, walking over to the door and opening it.
"Have a nice night professor." Sherlock added with a smile, and McGonagall could only shake her head with a laugh.
"You too boys." She agreed, letting them scamper out of her office with the bottle and the book. Sherlock and John regrouped over at Sherlock's classroom, John leaning against the doorframe and waiting for Sherlock to come panting along down the corridor, the short jog from McGonagall's office to his was the most cardio he's done in about a year.

           

"Don't make me run again." Sherlock pleaded. John smiled, an entranced look in his eyes as if Sherlock was simply the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
"I certainly hope you don't." John agreed, holding the bottle up to his eyes again and studying the obscure contents. Certainly not things you'd see in a normal bottle of butterbeer.
"So, we've done it then?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, yes, but Victor doesn't know that. As far as he knows, you've just made the biggest mistake of your life." John pointed out. Sherlock opened the door behind him, walking into his empty classroom and examining the rows of desks.
"It makes me wonder why he hasn't told Dumbledore yet. I mean, this could all go our way if he just tells Dumbledore." Sherlock insisted.
"Aren't you going to tell him regardless? I mean, that kid terrorized you since you got off the train, he blackmailed you, pushed me down the stairs, threatened you , forced you to do things you obviously didn't want to do, and now we just found out that he drugged you! That's certainly enough for a expulsion, maybe now a trip to Azkaban." John pointed out. Sherlock sighed, looking at the initials carved sloppily into his desk, imagining Victor Trevor bent over with a knife, working with a fire in his eyes to make sure Sherlock remembered him forever.