Chapter Text
“You look fine. No – you look good. Great, even.”
Sherlock sighed and tugged at his collar. He gave John a half-worried, half-annoyed look.
“It’s not meant to lie perfectly flat, Sherlock. Look – here.”
John adjusted the brushed velvet collar of Sherlock’s new teaching robes then smoothed his hands down over his shoulders.
Sherlock turned again and faced the mirror in their Hogwarts quarters.
“Spiffy,” opined the mirror. “But are you sure you want to wear the black when the green ones bring out your eyes so well?”
“No!” John said, grabbing Sherlock by the shoulder as he turned, most certainly intending to change again. “Black is perfect for the first day. Anyway, the house elves have the green ones. In case you’ve forgotten already, you spilled gravy on them at the feast last night.”
“I haven’t forgotten, and Hagrid did the spilling, not me. Dropped the entire gravy boat in my lap. Then tried to mop it up with his handkerchief. That was – disturbing.”
“He means well,” John said, grinning.
Sherlock gave John the side-eye. He peered into the mirror again and tucked a curl behind his ear, then thought better of it and pulled it out and shook his head.
“You’ve got firsties first, Sherlock. They won’t be paying the least bit of attention to your robes or your hair.”
“They’ll be bored to tears. They’ve just arrived at Hogwarts – the last thing they want to do is sit in Muggle Studies class. They’ll want to do magic, John. Brandish their wands about and hex each other.”
“Then do magic. I’m sure you can work it into your lesson plan. What are you covering with them today, anyway?”
“Electricty. After an overview of the term’s syllabus and a ‘getting to know you’ game.”
John very nearly choked on his tongue.
“A game? You’re planning a game?” He put his hand to Sherlock’s forehead, checking for a fever.
“Is that so hard to believe?” Sherlock retorted.
“Yes.” John laughed. “So – tell me. What kind of game?”
“Each student stands and tells me his or her name. I then impress the class by associating that name with a famous Muggle criminal or crime victim.”
John stared at Sherlock. “You’re serious.”
“Of course I’m serious. Association is a proven way to – ”
“That’s not a game, Sherlock.”
“Why not? It’s fun for me.”
“How about something fun for them too? Maybe ‘Two Truths and a Tale.’”
“Boring.”
“Not boring. And you don’t even know the game. Admit it.”
“Fine. Enlighten me.” Sherlock pulled aggressively at his collar again. John batted his hands away.
“Each child stands and makes three statements. Two are true, one not. The class guesses which statement is false.” He raised his hand as Sherlock tried to interrupt. “For example – I might say ‘I served in Afghanistan, I love Brussels sprouts and I live with a crazy person.”
Sherlock stared at him, unamused. “The game is ridiculous. The class won’t need to guess – I’ll know.”
“No you won’t. You don’t know these children.”
“I’ll deduce.”
“You’ll deduce that they don’t have a brother named Reginald or that they hate Brussels sprouts?”
“Everyone hates Brussels sprouts. And no one names their children Reginald anymore.”
“Not everyone hates Brussels sprouts. I’ve personally seen Mycroft order them.”
“He doesn’t count. He’s not normal.”
John laughed. “Look – you’re going to be late if you don’t get out of here. Play the game – my game. The kids will love you.” He stood in front of Sherlock and looked him over, up and down, admiring the perfectly tailored robes, then pulled him down into a kiss. “Can’t wait to hear about your first day when I get home.”
“John – wait!”
John, already pushing the door open, turned back and looked at Sherlock.
“What the hell was I thinking? I don’t know a thing about children.”
John grinned. “Don’t ever let them hear you say that,” he said. “They’ll eat you for lunch.”
“Stay?” Sherlock asked. He took a step closer to John and reached out his hand.
John touched his fingers. “I wish I could,” he said. “You’ll be fine – really.”
He left then, giving Sherlock a final wave as he hurried into the corridor. He turned the corner and walked down a flight of stairs, then ducked into a classroom.
“I really appreciate this,” he said in a low voice to Harry Potter, who was sitting in a desk near the back of the room.
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Potter said. He stood up and peeked out the door. “Did you lose him?”
“Yes – bit hard to get away but I managed.”
Potter smiled, and with exaggerated flair, pulled a shimmery piece of fabric out of his robe pocket and shook out his famous invisibility cloak.
“Wow,” said John, touching the fabric with a good bit of awe. “Sneaking around Hogwarts – I feel like a Gryffindor again.”
“To old times,” said Potter.
Then he threw the cloak over their heads, and they disappeared from sight.
ooOoo
Surely the assembled children couldn’t be first-years? They looked more like pre-schoolers. Barely people at all. Had children of this age and size even acquired basic language ability? Were their fine motor skills developed enough to hold a quill – much less a wand? Did they even have teeth yet at this age?
Wait.
Children.
Surely - surely he hadn’t deleted relevant facts about children?
Damnit! He was going to have to spend time with these children then go back to his quarters and and compose music to associate with them.
“Professor Holmes?”
He blinked. A small girl – well, to be honest, every person in this room was exceedingly small – stood in front of his desk. She had frizzy auburn hair and round glasses and was looking up at him, clearly disapproving.
“And you are…?” He raised an eyebrow and looked at his list, pegging her for “Hazel Pinkerton” – Ravenclaw.
“Hazel Pinkerton, Ravenclaw.” She extended a hand to him and he stared at it.
“You’re supposed to shake hands when meeting someone new. Muggles do that, you know.”
Hazel Pinkerton clearly was an all-business know-it-all.
“Muggles may do that, but as we are all witches and wizards in this class, we will greet each other as witches and wizards do at Hogwarts,” he said, speaking – and thinking – quickly. The rest of the students were staring at the brazen Ravenclaw and their new professor, some of them with mouths agape.
Little Miss Pinkerton frowned.
“We didn’t learn a special greeting yet,” she said, folding her arms in front of her chest.
False bravado, thought Sherlock a bit smugly.
“But this is our first class!” said a squeaky voice from somewhere in the second or third row.
“Exactly!” exclaimed Sherlock. “We will learn the greeting as soon as I call roll.”
“Is there a bell?”
Another child was at his desk now. Clearly Scottish – Ullapool, if he wasn’t mistaken. He scanned his class roll again. Morogh Maccruim.
No, not mistaken.
“Well, is there, Professor? Do bells ring at Hogwarts?”
Sherlock had absolutely no idea.
The little boy was bouncing on his heels and holding on to the front of the desk with grubby little hands.
“Sometimes,” Sherlock said, hoping he sounded confident.
It was a good answer, really. Obviously bells didn’t ring all the time. The noise from their constant peal would be annoying and distracting. But surely there were bells here. He made a note to bring in a hand bell just in case.
Fortunately, at that exact moment, a bell rang. It was nothing like any school bell he had any recollection of ever having heard. It was soft, lilting almost, and seemed to emanate from the air itself.
The children, including Hazel and Morogh, scrambled for their seats, though Hazel scrambled in a dignified manner. Sherlock pulled out his wand and shot a quick Scourgify at the butter and jam stains left on his desk from Morogh’s hands.
“Good morning,” he said, clearing his throat and projecting his voice so that it boomed around the room.
Several of the children cringed. One or two covered their ears.
He lowered his voice.
“My name is Professor Sherlock Holmes and this is Muggle Stu….”
“I knew it! I told you! I told you ALL!”
“I said it too! I said it too!”
“I saw him on the telly. And once at Tesco!”
“My mum said he had to be a wizard. She got into an awful row with my dad over it all.”
“Are we going to learn crimes?”
A boy was standing on his desk chair now, hand in the air, jumping up and down. “Are you going to teach us now to look for clues? Are you?”
“Is Doctor Watson coming? Can you bring him please? My mum’s quite smitten with him. She’d like a photo, please.”
“Oh! My grandmother reads his blog!”
Sherlock may not have known much about children, but he certainly understood how to command the attention of a roomful of people.
And what were children but miniature people?
“Quiet!”
He hopped up onto the teacher’s desk and surveyed the class. The students went silent.
“As I have already informed you, I am Professor Sherlock Holmes, your Muggle Studies teacher for this term. Some of you seem to have recognised me – before coming to Hogwarts to be your professor, I lived in London where I worked as a consulting detective.”
“The world’s only consulting detective,” said a red-headed girl to her seatmate in an exaggerated stage whisper.
“As you are all bound by the Statute of Secrecy, you will, of course, not reveal to anyone that I am, indeed, a wizard.”
“So you were cheating? You used magic to solve crimes?”
“No – of course not! I would never – never –”
“But….!”
“It’s complicated!” Sherlock said, very loudly. “And it’s time for a game!”
“What kind of game?” asked a voice from a back. Sherlock looked back at a pudgy boy with a flat-top haircut. He looked like he didn’t much enjoy games. He looked like he’d rather sit in detention than play games, or possibly visit the dentist for a root canal without anesthesia.
“You will each stand up, one at a time. You will tell me three things about yourself. I will then deduce who you are and equate each of you with either a criminal or a victim from a case I’ve worked, or a famous case in Muggle history, based on what I deduce about you.”
“That’s not really a game,” said Hazel. Hazel, apparently, was a person of strong opinions, rather like his mother. “And I’m not sure I’d like to be a criminal or a victim. Are you sure this game is appropriate for children?”
“Can we play Two Truths and a Tale instead?”
That voice came from the back of the room. Sherlock looked up, narrowing his eyes.
The children obviously liked that suggestion. They seemed to latch onto the idea. “Two truths and a tale. Two truths and a tale,” they chanted.
“Boring,” Sherlock said, jumping down from the table. “But yes – fine. Two Truths and a Tale it is.” He looked down at his list. “Oscar Heimos – you will be first.”
“Wait – Professor Holmes! What about the Hogwarts greeting you’re supposed to teach us?”
Sherlock stared at the child who had asked the question. She looked concerned.
“Aren’t you supposed to teach it to us?” asked the child directly behind her. “This is our first class ever!”
“Right.” Sherlock was nothing if not quick on his feet. “Thank you for that reminder.” He nodded at the child. “Everyone stand.”
Chairs cooted backward and the students got into position. He looked down at them, waiting patiently. They really were quite small. He imagined they required almost nothing to survive – a wedge of cheese, a few peas, perhaps a sip or two of water.
“When a wizard or witch is introduced, at Hogwarts, to another wizard or witch whom they have never before met, they will assume this position.”
Here, he demonstrated, grasping his hands together in front of his chest and standing up straight as if about to launch into an aria.
The children looked at each other, but most of them assumed the position despite it seeming quite ridiculous. Sherlock glared at the rest until they got into position.
“Now, turn to face your desk partner and bow slightly – from the waist – until your heads touch. Yes – exactly! That’s it!”
“Are you sure this is right?” asked Hazel. “It seems rather ludicrous when we could just shake hands.”
“Hands are unsanitary,” Sherlock declared, glancing at Morogh. “They spread disease.”
“Aren’t we going to play the game?” whined someone from the back of the room. Sherlock glanced up again. He still couldn’t place the voice.
But nevertheless, the game commenced. Oscar was called upon again to inaugurate the activity, and, obviously familiar with the game already, he quickly stood and stated.
“My mum is a Muggle. I have three sisters. My cat’s name is Morgana.”
“Dog,” said Sherlock. “You don’t have a cat.”
Oscar’s face fell. He sat back down glumly.
“Willa Nunnley,” Sherlock said, reading a name randomly from the roll.
A blonde girl with braids wrapped around her head stood. She worried her bottom lip as she considered, then finally spoke.
“I know how to ride a bicycle. My grandmother raises Crups and last summer I jumped out of an aeroplane.”
“You’ve never ridden a bicycle,” Sherlock said while the rest of the class was muttering something about aeroplanes.
Willa sunk back into her chair looking chagrinned.
“Tomas Petrillo.”
The boy stood. This one clearly had an attitude. He looked around to be sure everyone was paying attention to him before he began.
“My father works for Gringotts. My mum plays professional Quidditch. We live in Edinburgh.”
“Clearly, you do not live in Edinburgh,” Sherlock stated, rolling his eyes. “However, your father does not work for Gringott’s either.”
Petrillo’s mouth dropped open.
“You know, this isn’t really fun for us,” piped up a small voice. “I thought this was a game. Do only you get to play?”
“Everyone gets to play!” exclaimed Sherlock. He beamed at the children, then checked his roll again. “Orville Watson.” His eyes quickly travelled the room, focusing on the dark-haired boy who reluctantly stood. “Watson. Watson.” Sherlock paced forward, studying the boy intently. “Common enough name, I’m sure. Still…we shall have to get to know each other better.”
Watson sat.
“The game, Watson! The game is on!”
Watson hopped to his feet again. “Um – my wand is made of hawthorn. I like football. I’m Muggle-born.”
“Your wand isn’t made of hawthorn,” said Sherlock, smiling at the boy fondly.
“How did you know?” asked the boy, obviously impressed.
“Elementary, Watson!” exclaimed Sherlock. “Process of elimination. What Muggle-born boy doesn’t like football?”
“This really isn’t all that fun,” complained a girl who hadn’t yet spoken.
Sherlock glared at her. “I’m having fun.”
In the next forty-five minutes, Sherlock passed out the syllabus, discussed his class objectives and expectations, then launched – with gusto –the first lesson of his teaching career.
ooOoo
John, leaning comfortably beside Harry Potter against the rear wall of Sherlock’s Muggle Studies classroom, covered by Potter’s invisibility cloak, choked back a laugh. At the front of the class, Sherlock, holding up what looked like a Barbie doll with its hair teased straight up like some sort of bride of Frankenstein, jerked his head around and stared at the wall behind them.
John and Harry froze, holding their breath. Sherlock stared in their direction as he went on with his lesson, brandishing the mock-electrocuted doll in one hand like a weapon.
“Seen enough?” Potter whispered.
“Never,” answered John.
But he let Harry Potter pull him out of the room, and he walked down to the gates of Hogwarts on a sunny day on the second of September, thinking that maybe – just maybe – he’d put in for a short sabbatical once he got in to work this morning.
He just couldn’t imagine Sherlock having so much fun at Hogwarts without him.
Fin