30 Chapter 30: Teachers Get-Together

Being a professor at Hogwarts was no simple task; it was a taxing enterprise blanketed with the never-ending tasks of managing a curriculum and assigning homework for all seven grades.

Sherlock Forester had all his time occupied - he engaged in his responsibilities from dawn to dusk, from seven in the morning until eleven at night.

Additionally, he had to carve out pockets of time throughout each day for self-study and improvement, doing everything within his power to attain the level of magical prowess that was once possessed by his predecessor. There's nothing more empowering than self-improvement, he reminded himself.

The first week of school culminated in a Saturday. This particular morning was a rarity for Sherlock - he didn't have mountains of assignments to grade and could take a much-needed respite from the relentless waves of magical knowledge that constantly lapped at the edges of his mind.

He found solace in his office, engrossed in the fables from "The Tales of Beedle the Bard" - a well-known storybook that he had borrowed from the library. As he was absorbing the lessons from "The Warlock's Hairy Heart", he was interrupted by a gentle knock on his office door.

With an air of reluctance, Sherlock put aside the bewitching storybook, carefully placing it within the confines of his desk drawer. "Come in," he offered, his voice echoed lightly within the room.

To Sherlock's surprise, Professor McGonagall, the Head of Gryffindor, walked in, rather than one of his many students as he had anticipated.

"Do you have a moment, Sherlock?" she asked, her voice unmistakably authoritative. "On Saturdays, a few of the free teachers usually gather together for a drink down in Hogsmeade."

His instinct was to decline, but further words escaped McGonagall's lips before he had even managed to formulate a response.

"Horace Slughorn is joining us today," she imparted, causing Sherlock to falter in his objection. "You've not seen him since your mother's funeral."

The mention of Slughorn had provoked a vague sense of familiarity within Sherlock and evoked a sense of curiosity. He felt that he played a role in the original story, though what exactly that role was, he wasn't sure of.

Upon seeing Sherlock's flustered expression, McGonagall clarified. "It seems, Sherlock, that you might not remember him. He was the Head of Slytherin House and your mother, Sally, was one of his most esteemed students."

McGonagall further detailed, "After your birth, Sally and your father considered having Slughorn be your godfather, a role he was more than eager to embrace. He was with us at Sally's funeral, though you were just a toddler then."

"Following these events, Slughorn retired from his position at Hogwarts and chose to live a life of solitude, the whereabouts of his retreat remaining a mystery even to us, his friends and former colleagues."

"However, upon learning that you've joined Hogwarts as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, he immediately made his way to Hogsmeade with an evident intention to meet you."

Professor McGonagall's tone shifted, adopting a stern seriousness, "I do believe you should meet him, Sherlock. He should possess important information related to your parents and seems willing to share it with you."

As always, Sherlock felt a wave of hesitation wash over him.

His interactions with Snape could be considered…complex, to say the least. Snape's apparent lack of loathing for a fellow contender of the Defense Against the Dark Arts position was perplexing.

Whenever they would cross paths within the castle, Snape would seemingly look at him with an unexpectedly restrained hostility.

In those fleeting moments, Sherlock even glimpsed a hint of guilt in Snape's black, bottomless eyes – an observation that made him question his sanity. Surely, Snape — of all people — could not harbor guilt. (E/N.: wink wink surely~ not)

Such a predicament only made Snape a half an acquaintance. Counting up the three and a half professors, that he seemed to be acquainted with, could still only barely claim to understand what ran through the mind of the man whom Sherlock had replaced.

In his student days, Sherlock's predecessor had been reminiscent of a skittish hedgehog, his aloofness acting as an impenetrable barrier. Outside of his obvious admiration for Dumbledore, no one could definitively unravel anything unless Sherlock acted imprudently.

His reluctance mainly sprang from his rare opportunity of an off day and his disinterest in squandering this precious time and energy on needless socializing.

Nevertheless, when Professor McGonagall mentioned a possible meeting with Slughorn and his intention to discuss matters pertaining to the original's mother, Sally, Sherlock's curiosity was piqued.

Sally was the nucleus of the original owner's unresolved secrets. Sally should be the reason for the mysterious, crescent-shaped mark on his left arm, and Sherlock suspected she was also the key to understanding his convoluted past.

To decode the cipher that was his past, Sherlock decided that a conversation with Slughorn was pivotal. After making up his mind, he nodded to Professor McGonagall, "I'll be there."

A gratified smile appeared on Professor McGonagall's face upon Sherlock's agreement. "See you at 10 o'clock at The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. Filius, Hagrid, I and perhaps some others too will be there as well."

With McGonagall's departure, Sherlock glanced towards the clock, it was already 9 a.m., leaving him with just an hour before the meeting.

He decided to utilize that time to return some books to the castle's library. His ongoing plan for exam-oriented teaching this semester had the library's resources stretched thin with all the older students engaged in preparing for their exams, concentrating largely on Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The prior year's professor, Quirrell, had been rather incompetent, resulting in subpar exam performance by the students. To add to their woes, Sherlock had made the questions of his opening exam in the first lesson a tad more challenging, which sent the senior students into a tizzy.

Those bent on acing the exams had practically ingested the pages of the library's books in their desperation to understand the questions and improve their performance.

Upon seeing this drastic overhaul of the learning environment at Hogwarts, Sherlock was filled with immense gratification as he returned the overdue books.

After leaving the castle, he strolled down to the bank of the Black Lake. He'd heard rumors of a giant squid inhabiting the lake and, catering to his curiosity, Sherlock wished to verify it for himself. Alas, the elusive cephalopods declined to make an appearance, much to Sherlock's disappointment.

Just as he was about to make his way to Hogsmeade, a sudden uproar from the nearby Quidditch pitch caught his attention. The teams of Gryffindor and Slytherin were gathered in the midst of an apparently heated debate.