Just a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor: No More, No Less

7:00 PM
Sherlock adjusted his reflection in the dusty mirror, a hint of satisfaction playing on his lips at the sight of the man staring back – a man burdened by a hidden sorrow. In the study behind him, a muffled curse echoed from behind the ornately framed painting.
Unfazed, Sherlock grabbed his wand and a leather-bound book, then swiftly shut the study door. He settled onto the plush sofa in the living room, the very picture of composure. The original owner of this body, he surmised, was an emotionally reserved individual, someone who wouldn't reveal his true feelings even to the esteemed Dumbledore.
This led Sherlock to a daring hypothesis: the study must be the man's private sanctuary, off-limits to outsiders, perhaps even Professor McGonagall, the stern Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. Thus, Sherlock chose the living room as their meeting point.
7:20 PM
No footsteps announced the visitor's arrival, but a sharp rap on the door shattered the silence. Guests were here.
Taking a deep breath to quell the rising tension within, Sherlock concealed the ancient book and strode towards the door. He swung it open to reveal a tall woman with an air of quiet authority. Her square glasses perched on a prominent nose, her silver hair pulled back in a tight bun, and the emerald robes adorned with a tartan pattern proclaimed her identity – Professor McGonagall.
Her stern expression, etched with the passage of time, held a hint of surprise as she addressed him, "Good evening, Sherlock." It seemed their relationship transcended mere formality.
Sherlock, maintaining a carefully constructed facade of indifference, offered a curt nod and a mumbled greeting, "Good evening, Professor."
Professor McGonagall entered the room, seemingly oblivious to the subtle shift in Sherlock's demeanor. "You should get out more, Sherlock," she sighed, gesturing towards a chair. "Being cooped up all day isn't healthy. Perhaps visit your father? He is your only remaining relative, after all."
Her words confirmed Sherlock's suspicions. Theirs was a connection deeper than mere colleagues. While the diary offered only fleeting mentions of Professor McGonagall, the familiarity in her tone spoke volumes. It was the gentle chide of an elder concerned for a younger one.
A flicker of unease sparked within Sherlock. The closer he got to these people, the greater the risk of exposure. He had no frame of reference for their relationship with the original owner, no understanding of his past emotions. There was no turning back now; he had to play his part.
"My affairs are of no concern to you," he replied, his voice laced with a practiced coldness. "Your letter mentioned a development in my discussion with Professor Dumbledore. What was his response?"
He steered clear of directly asking about the Order of the Phoenix application. Revealing too much knowledge could betray his ignorance. If the original owner had discussed something else with Dumbledore, something not mentioned in the diary, Sherlock's act would crumble.
This approach cleverly shifted the burden of explanation to Professor McGonagall. After all, the current Sherlock perfectly embodied his usual aloofness, only warming up in Dumbledore's presence.
Professor McGonagall, seemingly unaware of the inner turmoil brewing within Sherlock, offered a rare smile. "Dumbledore has accepted your request to join the Order of the Phoenix. He recognizes your abilities and character."
A wave of relief washed over Sherlock, quickly followed by a well-rehearsed display of surprise. "I knew it! A brilliant mind like Professor Dumbledore wouldn't reject my application." He quickly masked his elation with a nonchalant shrug. "Though surely a simple letter would have sufficed. No need for a special visit."
Professor McGonagall chuckled, a hint of exasperation in her eyes. "Sherlock," she began, her voice turning serious, "there's something sensitive I shouldn't be discussing. But you are Sally's son, and this concerns your safety. Joining the Order is not like joining a Hogwarts club."
Her gaze held his. "This year, there's been another incident. Being a member of the Order puts you in constant danger, even risk of death."
Sherlock's mind raced. This year marked the end of Harry Potter's first year, signifying the conclusion of the Philosopher's Stone events. Voldemort's presence must be escalating, hence the danger Professor McGonagall alluded to. The Order of the Phoenix, after all, was formed to combat Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
Backing out now was not an option. The original owner's blind loyalty to Dumbledore wouldn't allow for such a retreat.
Feigning annoyance, Sherlock retorted, "Of course I'm aware of the risks, Professor. If I wasn't
This year coincided with Harry Potter finishing his first year, signifying the conclusion of the Philosopher's Stone events. Voldemort's presence must be escalating, likely explaining the danger Professor McGonagall mentioned. After all, the Order of the Phoenix was formed to combat Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
Backing out now wasn't an option. The original owner's unwavering loyalty to Dumbledore wouldn't allow it.
Feigning indifference, Sherlock replied in a slightly condescending tone, "Of course I'm aware of the risks, Professor. If I wasn't, I wouldn't have applied to Professor Dumbledore in the first place. Do you have anything else?"
Professor McGonagall, accustomed to his prickly demeanor, wasn't fazed. People unfamiliar with their dynamic might find Sherlock simply annoying. But for Professor McGonagall, his behavior sparked a flicker of pity beneath her stern exterior.
Despite Sherlock's clear dismissal, Professor McGonagall offered a surprising smile. Reaching into her robes, she produced a rolled-up piece of parchment.
"Congratulations, Sherlock. Dumbledore has also approved your application for Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year. Here's your letter of appointment. We'll be colleagues from this semester onwards."
Sherlock, initially relieved his acting held up, froze at her words.