"Would you pass me the um… jinx book?" John asked Lindsay, laying down his quill to massage his hand.
She passed Jinxes for the Jinxed and glanced up at Professor Smith, who was sitting at his desk drumming his fingers.
"Professor," she said tentatively. "Are you certain you want us making your lesson plans? I'd think you'd want to control your own curriculum."
"And how exactly does it fit as a punishment for sneaking out?" John muttered.
"No, no," Smith said, putting his feet up on the desk. "I think this is a completely fair punishment. And since I'm the teacher, you'll have to take my word for it." He gave a chuckle and rolled his wand between his fingers. "I could get used to saying that."
Sherlock looked up from the parchment he'd been working on for the last half hour, eyes narrowing. John glanced at the parchment, and nearly came out of his chair.
"Oi!" he hissed, jabbing Sherlock's arm with his elbow. "You're supposed to be working on the third year exercises. What's this?"
"Actually important things," Sherlock replied, edging the paper closer to John, his eyes still on Smith. "I need to talk to Professor Sinistra. She'll have knowledge of planets within easy traveling distance, and until I have more data I can't narrow our search further."
"You're asking for help?" Lindsay asked, amused.
Sherlock made a face at her. John glanced at Smith and gave a quick flick of his wand. Muffliato. Sherlock had caught the movement, and his eyes flashed from John to Professor Smith and back to the wand that now lay as it had before on the table. He gave a nod of approval and turned back to Lindsay.
"I have been known to do so when someone has information I do not."
"Yes, and you admit to that being the case? On multiple occasions?"
"I try not to clutter my brain with useless information."
"Apparently not so useless.
"If this is all you're going to talk about -" Sherlock made a production of taking a fresh sheet of parchment and pulling Dark Beasts and Their Creative Killing Methods toward him.
"Actually doing what we're supposed to be doing. Quite the threat," John observed mildly, leaning back over his lesson plan for the 5th years.
"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be about breaking the rules. You two should have been in Hufflepuff," Sherlock muttered. "I bet you even asked Smith about what you missed in that mandatory meeting."
"They are implementing a zero-tolerance policy for inter-house heckling," Lindsay replied immediately, returning Sherlock's eyeroll with raised eyebrows.
"Are they serious?" John interrupted. "How are they going to police that when Quidditch season starts up?"
Lindsay shrugged. "McGonagall doesn't want any spats to get out of hand with everything so close behind us. Lots of students either lost family members or have family members now in Azkaban. It wouldn't take much to set them off."
"Rubbish," Sherlock said dismissively. "Victor's uncle is in Azkaban now, and he's never given it a second thought."
Both John and Lindsay had stilled at his words. Sherlock looked up at them in confusion. "What?"
"That's awful," Lindsay said quietly. "Must be hard to see everyone else so thrilled –"
"There are more students at Hogwarts now with a relative in Azkaban than not, I imagine, and you won't see a speck of trouble from any of them," Sherlock declared. "Most of Slytherin, and they won't dare make trouble for fear of getting chucked in, too.
"Are you sure?" John asked uneasily. "I mean, if I had an uncle who had just been sent to Azkaban, I wouldn't be fit within 100 yards of anyone I could hold responsible."
"So because someone you are related do did something that got him sent to Azkaban – justifiably so – you would take it out on your fellow students?" Sherlock asked.
"If I thought one of them could be partially responsible…" John took a moment to consider. "I don't like to think I'd do anything, but I know myself. There's a good chance someone would end up with a broken arm or sudden case of face tentacles or something."
Sherlock looked bewildered. "Sentiment?"
"Yes," John said, quite seriously this time. "And it's a powerful one."
"Well, the Slytherins I can't vouch for, Victor only cares about his potions. It's the only - " Sherlock began, but broke off as the door opened and Filch walked in.
Smith put his feet down immediately and rose to meet the caretaker halfway. Filch handed him a note and muttered something.
"Are you sure?" Smith asked. "I can come now –"
Filch shook his head, "Headmistress says you're not to interrupt anything. Just come when you've finished with this."
Smith nodded and turned back to his desk, brow furrowed. He looked up to see the three students staring at him, and responded with a wide grin. "How are those lesson plans coming along? Got the second quarter done yet?"
Sherlock startled both Lindsay and John by grabbing their completed pages and a respectable-sized stack marked with his own writing, and heading up to the desk.
"We're getting close," he said, putting on a very good imitation of a stereotypical Ravenclaw, thoroughly enthused with the intellectual task at hand. "It's been almost fun, going back through all these old topics. Almost makes me miss the lower levels."
John almost snorted, but contained it. Sherlock really ought to find a way to put that acting talent to good use. Smith was already grinning.
"Well, I wouldn't want it to be too fun," Smith said. "But I'm glad you enjoy the work."
"I was just looking at Fiendfyre, sir, and remembered hearing that Grindelwald used the threat of Fiendfyre to keep the Wizarding communities in Poland under his thumb. Is that true, sir?"
Sherlock was all wide-eyed interest, actually rising slightly on the balls of his feet as if anticipating the answer. Smith cleared his throat and looked around the room, any direction except at the Ravenclaw who appeared to be hanging on his answer.
"Well," he began slowly. "Do you know, I can't quite recall? I was a bit busy around that time with the troubles in the Muggle world and –" he broke off. "Look, why don't you ask Professor Binns? I'm sure he knows much more about it than I do."
"You were busy?" Sherlock prodded, still leaning forward in studious attention. "But Grindelwald was in power 70 years ago…" his voice trailed off, leaving the question silent.
"I've done a great deal of study on that time period in the Muggle world," Smith said, sounding almost as if reciting a memorized line. "I find the parallels between our world and theirs fascinating. I think you may be right, Sherlock, but you'll need to confirm it with Binns. Let me know, won't you?"
Sherlock came back to the table, scarcely able to contain his grin of delight. Lindsay and John looked at him, waiting for an explanation. He flicked his wand to reinstate Muffliato and leaned closer to them under the pretense of reaching for another book.
"We've just made excellent progress."
John looked over at Lindsay, who seemed to have understood. "Sorry? Why is finding out that he doesn't know a bit of Wizarding history 'excellent progess'? Ask any wizard in Hogsmeade, they couldn't tell you what Grindelwald did in Poland."
"No," said Lindsay and Sherlock at the same time. They stared at each other for a long moment, then Lindsay waved him on, leaning slightly back to show he could continue.
"But, a wizard who claims to be an expert on both Defense Against the Dark Arts and that time period in Muggle history would know. Almost assuredly. And Grindelwald never even attacked Poland. He used the threat of Fiendfyre to control the wizards living in the Black Forest because a rampaging forest fire would not only force them out of their homes, but expose them to the Muggle community – simple and effective. It's one of the most commonly cited examples of wizarding warfare. Any competent wizard would know that."
"Since when have we considered Smith a competent wizard?" Lindsay interjected.
"Never, which is surprising, since Minerva McGonagall isn't the type to hire idiots just to have someone fill the job. And I don't think he's unintelligent, just singularly un-gifted with magic. Which begs the question: why is he teaching here?"
"You think he's connected to the attacks."
It was a statement, not a question. John, who had been reaching for The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, took a moment to try and close the gaps in reasoning.
"He's not a particularly gifted wizard, he doesn't look like most wizards, and he seems to be a bit out of step with the rest of us. He just now seemed to have insinuated that he was alive when Grindelwald was. You think an alien is behind Chimmy's death, and this fellow has all the earmarks of being… not human."
Both Sherlock and Lindsay grinned.
"Precisely," said Sherlock.
"So you're saying Professor Smith might have killed and apparently eaten a house elf?"
"No, I'm saying he might have killed and eaten four house elves."
"Beg your pardon?"
"The note he just received. He had it on his desk, which is why I asked him about Grindelwald in the first place – the handwriting was so slapdash I needed a moment to decipher it. Three elves disappeared from the kitchens this morning. One of the other elves seems to have seen something, but she's currently sedated because she was so traumatize. Thus the fact that McGonagall said Smith didn't need to come right now."
Lindsay leaned back even further, cutting a glance toward the teacher's desk. "That seems like a bit of a leap – from 'he doesn't know History of Magic like he should,' to 'he's an alien elf-eater.'"
"I don't have proof, but it's a theory that covers the facts as we know them. As we gather more facts, we'll know more."
"But that thing had claws and teeth and climbed rafters," John objected, then answered his own thought. "Animagus – or …"
"Some sort of shape shifter, yes," Sherlock said. "I plan to talk to Professor Sinistra by Monday, and until then, I think we should keep a close watch on –"
"I think this will be sufficient," Smith said from directly behind Sherlock. "It doesn't appear that you're getting much more done."
All three of them jumped guiltily.
"Sorry, Professor, we just got distracted," John said, handing him the one parchment he'd filled out since Sherlock took the rest.
"Well, I suppose two hours is sufficient. Now consider yourselves scolded for skipping out on the meeting and letting Peeves in and don't let it happen again. I don't do second chances."
They all smiled and nodded, resisting mightily the urge to glance at one another.
"Alright, then, off you go," he said, making shooing motions.
They all but bolted for the door as he drew his wand and flicked it at the parchment and books. The parchment flew up and wrapped itself around his head, while the books merely flopped a few inches down the table. Jinxes for the Jinxed fell off the end just as John closed the door.
"So what do we do?" Lindsay asked as they paused at the turning in the corridor. "Should we talk to Professor McGonagall?"
"Not till we've checked all the variables. It's not airtight yet, but it covers all the evidence we have. So what we need is more evidence. I technically have a way to check immediately, but I'd like to keep my brother out of this if at all possible." Sherlock looked almost conflicted as he said it, but didn't qualify his statement.
The door to Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom opened and Smith strolled out, looking concerned. Almost instinctively, all three ducked around the corner and waited. Rather than turning toward the stairs to the entrance hall that would lead to the kitchens, Smith headed down the corridor of classrooms, hands deep in his pockets and eyes on the ground. He walked past them without noticing their presence and continued to the next corridor turning to the left.
There was no need to ask each other. As soon as Smith had turned the corner, the trio followed. Sherlock dashed ahead and peeked into the corridor.
"He's headed for the Transfiguration study."
"McGonagall's old office?" John whispered.
Sherlock nodded. "He's got a key in his hand."
He looked back at them and grinned. "The game is afoot."