Enjoy!

CHAPTER 3

Sherlock spent Saturday and Sunday doing very little. He was bored out of his mind, mostly, but he spent nearly the entire weekend on a high, so it bothered him less than normal. When he woke on Monday morning, he rolled out his shoulders and vowed to get a cot for his office. The couch was all well and good, but it wasn't a bed. He rubbed some of the sleep from his eyes and pulled himself up from his seat. Going through the motions, he made himself some coffee, actually forced himself to eat a slice of toast to make his stomach shut up, and got a shower. He dressed hurriedly and pulled a skull from his trunk. Soon, the halls would be filled with students, so he needed to set up his wards now.

Rushing down the stairs, he set the skull carefully on the desk and pulled three vials of his own blood from a cupboard. These were followed by several potions ingredients. He laid out his materials, set the cauldron in its place, and began to prepare the potion. It took about half an hour to complete and used more of the blood than he would have liked. Cursing under his breath, he set the finished product aside and set about drawing more blood.

Feeling weak, he poured the vial into a stone bowl and fished a paint brush out of a drawer. He coated the door and windows, as well as the sills and the floor around the entrance way then painted the remaining potion around the drawers and cupboards he didn't want tampered with or opened. Satisfied with his work, he used a finger to clean out the dish and smear it onto the base of the skull. He then picked up the blood and a clean brush and pulled out his Runes notes. Methodically, he began to paint the intricate patterns, weaving, thread by thread, the magical barriers and alerts that he wanted. He'd finished the door, windows, walls, ceiling and floor and was well into the cupboards when he heard footsteps outside in the corridor. As the figure approached the door and stopped, Sherlock immediately deduced their identity. Before they could knock or enter, he stopped them with his near-shout.

"Do not touch the door." Hearing the figure stop, he continued his painting and speaking. "Professor Dumbledore, how very good of you to come by. Unfortunately, I am in the middle of setting up rather delicate and complex wards. An outside touch would reverse the whole morning's work." He carefully left out the part about the wards being tied into his blood and the fact that it would take weeks to safely accumulate enough blood to start over and the fact that he didn't want the old man's DNA where it could accidently be tied into the wards. "If you would be so good as to leave, it would be very much appreciated. Would you care to make an appointment?"

It was clear that the headmaster wasn't quite sure how he should react. "Well, of course, setting up wards is well within your rights as a teacher, but could I ask what sort of wards could be so delicate?"

Sherlock sighed inaudibly and resisted the urge to childishly reply, 'you could ask.' For a moment. Then he stopped resisting. "You could ask, Professor," he said with the quirk of an eyebrow, "but it's hardly any of your business and I would be unlikely to answer."

"Ah," Dumbledore said from behind the door. "Well, would you be finished by three thirty? I really would like to discuss several things."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but continued his work. "It is likely. And you'll expect me to come to your office. Directions." None of what he said was a question.

Dumbledore smiled a bit at the straightforward manner, though Sherlock didn't see this. It was refreshing to find someone not in awe of the very ground he walked on. "Simply proceed down this corridor, take a left at the blue draperies, another left at the painting of Oswald the Fifth, and a right at the statue of Madame Luke. Proceed down the stairs, up the next set you see, and around the bend. Simply tell the gargoyle 'apple jelly.'"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the names-was he really expected to know these people?—but said nothing. After several moments, Dumbledore said, "Good afternoon, Professor Holmes," and walked away, his heeled boots clicking on the stone floors.

Sherlock took his time finishing up the wards, making sure every brush stroke was perfect. When he'd finally finished around every edge and corner, he stood and looked around the room, smiling to himself. Stepping carefully over to his desk, his socked feet not making a sound, he gently lifted the skull. With great attention to detail, he painted the necessary runes and symbols on its base before moving to the rest of the bone. He stopped only when he was sure the intricate design that would tie all of his work together was absolutely perfect. He placed the skull on the shelf over the small office fireplace with great care, positioning it so the symbols matched up exactly with the flow of the room. He inhaled quickly, then with as much magic as he could muster, he blew out, twirling in a circle to cover every crevice. The runes glowed as the magic touched them and they activated with a great warmth. Sherlock felt the tingle in his blood letting him know he'd been correctly linked into his work and he grinned widely, acknowledging his accomplishment. He sank into his chair and watched contentedly as the blood and potion faded into the surface it had been painted onto. It took only a few minutes for all evidence of his day's activity to become invisible to all but those who knew what to look for.

Glancing at the clock, he groaned and quickly threw his used materials into a washbasin to be dealt with later. Swinging open his office door, he stepped into the corridor, walked down it, and took a left at the blue draperies, his socks still not making any noise on the stone floors.

Sherlock took his time making his way through the corridors. It was hardly complicated, despite incomplete directions, but he didn't feel that there was any need to rush. He had a brief staring contest with the stone gargoyle before repressing a sigh, dramatically rolling his eyes, and spitting out the absurd password. He took the moving stairs two at a time for the sheer novelty of traveling upwards so quickly, then rapped smartly on the door before pushing it open.

Dumbledore looked up from his desk with a patient smile. "Professor, how good of you to join me. And what lovely socks. They look quite warm." He leaned back in his chair. "Do take a seat."

Avoiding the many obstacles, Sherlock sat gracefully in an armchair facing the older man and crossed his legs, utterly relaxed.

"I daresay purple is a saddeningly uncommon choice in socks, but it matches your shirt." His eyes twinkled as he looked at Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly. "Well, down to business, then. Did you get your wards finished?" A cocked eyebrow was the only response. What an idiotic question. Sherlock wouldn't be there if he hadn't finished. Dumbledore seemed to get the message and hummed in response. "Yes, well, as long as it's nothing dangerous to the students." Not dangerous at all if they behave themselves. Which is highly unlikely. To the real reason we're here, though, we do need to discuss your plans for your classes."

Sherlock didn't even bother repressing the groan. The meeting was short, thankfully, but also quite boring. Sherlock explained that he'd basically be following the official lesson plans and interested students could come to him for additional assignments. He didn't bother to tell Dumbledore about his talk with McGonagall. Either he already knew, or the deputy didn't think it was relevant. Even his great mind, though, was at a loss to explain how he managed to leave the irritatingly loud office with several pairs of bright wool socks stuffed in his trouser pockets. The headmaster's parting comment rung in his ears for no discernible reason. "Do put on some robes, Professor. We'll see you before the feast!"

The last thing Sherlock wanted to do was attend a feast, but with very limited options, he decided it wasn't worth the effort. So despite the headmaster's request, he donned an expensive-looking muggle suit, pulled on some shoes, messed up his hair, and after pulling on his long dark coat and a scarf, lit up a cigarette. Only then did he proceed down the many stairs and to the entrance hall where the other staff were waiting.

As soon as the last straggling professor arrived, Dumbledore clapped his hands and spoke. "Another year is about to begin! Let's hop to it, shall we?" And then he started listing out assignments. He was sent to help check on the carriages to make sure the harnesses were secure. This evening was already awful. Pulling his coat more tightly around himself against the unusually chilly wind, he lit up another cigarette. Professor Sinistra glared at him. He rolled his eyes and blew a smoke ring in her direction.

With the work all done, the teachers all sat at the long head table and waited for the students to arrive. Several teachers attempted to engage him in conversation, but he shushed the first few, giving him his rude hand, and entered his mind palace where he could have a bit of relative piece. Smiling, he glanced around at the lab in his mind before bending over a microscope and carefully examining the ash he'd placed beneath it.

He was unfortunately nudged into awareness when about five hundred students poured into the hall. Dear Merlin, it was hell. All that noise. It was awful. Taking just a few minutes to adjust, he steepled his fingers once more and tuned out the dull proceedings. He was only vaguely aware that a hat sorted a bunch of new students into houses, he and the Defense professor were introduced, and announcements were made. When food appeared, he did not emerge.

It took several minutes of nudging, some heavy poking, and three hard slaps to wake Sherlock up enough to see the students talking to themselves, occasionally pointing at him or the other new teacher, observe the copious amounts of heavy food piled over every inch of the tables, and hear the professor's demands for answers about what he was doing.

"I was thinking!" he hissed at them.

They demanded he eat something. Apparently there were four students who had eating disorders already and he was setting a bad example. Grudgingly, he took several bites of fruit, ate a piece of buttered bread, picked at a piece of chicken, and drank a goblet of water before telling them all to leave him alone and receding back into his mind palace.

He allowed himself to finally be nudged back into awareness once more in time to hear Dumbledore say, "Off you go," and see the mass of students and teachers rise from their seats. Following suit, he rose, pulled his coat from the back of his chair, swung it over his shoulders, and strode off towards his tower without saying a word to anyone.

Sherlock would have loved nothing more than to get up to his rooms without speaking to anyone. Unfortunately, there was a large blockage in the hallway and he hadn't found the time to explore well enough to easily get around it. So, saying nothing, he leaned against a wall and waited, his eyes closed and his hands shoved in his coat pockets.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked down at a blond-haired boy with blue eyes who looked to be about thirteen. He said nothing.

"Sir, there's a blockage ahead. Could you-I mean, could you maybe get Peeves to move?"

Sherlock realized that his silent stare was probably rather frightening, or at least unpleasant, but he didn't stop staring. "Peeves?" he grunted.

"Yes, sir."

He continued to stare intensely, conveying that the boy should continue.

"The poltergeist, sir."

With a barely repressed eye-roll and a sigh, he pushed past the boy, cringed at the close proximity to other people as he made his way through the group, and looked upon a scene of complete chaos.

"Peeves, is it?" he asked with false sweetness. The ugly little apparition looked at him and grinned widely. "Ridiculous name, he continued. Not even inventive." The poltergeist was about to do something very stupid, but Sherlock raised a hand and continued. "The reason we have not yet had the pleasure of meeting is because my office, classroom, and quarters are warded against ones such as yourself." He paused for a moments for dramatic effect and several students gasped in obvious shock. "If you so wish, I could apply similar wards to the corridors. If not, I suggest you make yourself scarce." Peeves scrunched up his face in anger and disbelief, sputtered a bit, and then blew a loud raspberry and zoomed away from the crowd.

Sherlock was then faced with a crowd of admirers saying things ranging from, "Wow!" to "Bloody brilliant!" to "Only Dumbledore and the Bloody Baron can do that!" to "I thought he taught Divination?" Sherlock sighed, ignored the questions directed at him, and made his way up the next set of stairs towards his office. He needed to be away from all these people.

Classes will start next chapter! Thanks for reading! I love reviews, so let me know what you think! They make me write faster!

That was more exclamation points than normal. Oh well.

-MP