Hogwarts: A Mystery

Chapter Two: The Hogwarts Detective Agency

"I can't believe this." Oliver followed me down to the Gryffindor common room from the dormitory, slipping his sweater over his head as we came down the stairs. "You're really going to be studying with that pompous ass?"

"Oliver, you're just sore that Holmes lost us the first game of the year." We joined Sarah, who was already sitting at one of the tables near the wall.

She looked up from her books. "Not to mention twenty points from Griffyndor, John." She angrily scratched her quill across her parchment. "I can't believe you."

"You're the one who told me to sign up, Sarah." Oliver and I sat at the table, puling out our arithmancy books. "Besides, you saw what he did to Digby. Holmes can tell a botched potion from a twitching arm – it's incredible!"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Like you've said."

"A thousand times," Oliver added. "We get it, he's some kind of potions genius."

"Oh for goodness' sake, Oliver!" I looked up from my book to see Sarah grab one of Oliver's parchments from across the table. "If you spent half the time studying Arithmancy as you did on drawing up quidditch doodles, you'd be better than Professor Vector by now!"

Oliver snatched the parchment from Sarah's hand. "They're plays! I'm going to be team captain next year," he squinted his eyes. "Even if it kills me."

"It probably will," I added, unrolling my parchment in front of me. No sooner than it was open the paper began to emit a dull green light. Scrawling words were forming on the page.

Meet me in the library at one o'clock, if convenient. – SH

Sarah and Oliver gawked at my paper in amazement. "That's enchanted ink!" Sarah grabbed the parchment and held it up.

"That's actually pretty impressive, John." Oliver grinned, leaning over to look at the paper as the glow appeared again. Sarah set in on the table, revealing another message.

If inconvenient, come anyway. – SH

Oliver shook his head. "What did I tell you – an arrogant knob."

Sherlock Holmes set a large stack of books on the table in front of me with a thud. "Alright, Watson," he sat down across from me. "I'm going to tell you something that most students don't seem to understand." He pulled out his wand, which was bent and well-worn from use. "You don't need one of these to do magic." He set the wand on the table. "Potions isn't chemistry, John – it's a magical art. It takes just as much skill and thought as casting a spell or divining the future."

Holmes rustled around in his bag for a moment, pulling out a few vials and placing them on the table.

I pulled away. "Is that-"

"Goblin knuckles. Very rare and highly useful." He didn't look up from what he was doing.

"Um, you walk around with a jar full of knuckles in your bag?"

He looked up at me, his face very serious. "Where else would you suggest I keep them?" He didn't wait for a response, instead gesturing to the items on the table. "Each of these ingredients has a magical property – a spell of its own inside. When combined they can perform any kind of magic you want them to. But in order to understand the potion, you have to understand what each of its ingredients." He turned one vial over in his hand absent-mindedly. "It's a bit like baking a cake, really. I can't imagine how anyone goes about making anything if they don't know what they're using. But, alas, they do."

Holmes leaned back in his chair, rolling his sleeves to his elbows. I looked down at the books he had placed in front of me. Magical Plants and Herbs; 1001 Uses for Monksroot; Serums, Elixers and Other Potions. I picked up one of the larger ones. "A History of Chemical Alchemy? We were never assigned this in class."

Holmes shook his head. "Of course we weren't," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "Professor Snape is one of the most intelligent professors in the school. His ability to actually impart his knowledge to the students, however, is somewhat lacking. I assume it's because he hates them, " he added with a shrug.

At that moment Holmes and I both turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. "Holmes!" The voice belonged to a dark-haired boy quickly striding toward us through the library, his cloak billowing behind him. On his chest was they yellow badge of Hufflepuff. "I need to talk to you."

I turned to Holmes, who rolled his eyes at the boy, who was now standing at the end of our table. He gestured to our visitor. "John Watson, this is-"

"Gregory Lestrade," I said, recognizing the boy immediately. "Head boy of Hufflepuff, right?"

I held out my hand and Lestrade shook it firmly. "And you're the beater for Gryffindor. Shame about Digby," he added with a smirk. He turned back to Holmes. "Did you get my note?"

Sherlock pulled out a small piece of parchment from his pocket and held it aloft. "Oh, you mean this? Yes, along with the other eight notes you've sent me this week." He held his wand to the note, which promptly burst into a million tiny blue stars. "The answer is still no, I'm afraid."

Lestrade groaned in frustration, leaning on the edge of the table. "Holmes, please. We need your help. You'd be perfect for it."

"I know I would be," Holmes said, opening one of the many volumes on the table and skimming its pages. "And I'd consider it if I thought you and your friends could achieve your objectives with any sort of competency."

I looked from one boy to the other. Holmes was attempting to ignore him, but Lestrade seemed desperate. "What… what are you two on about?"

"The Hogwarts Detective Agency," Lestrade said, turning to me.

"It's idiocy."

"It's necessity." Lestrade shot Holmes an angry glare. "There's been a rash of crimes in the castle and no one's bothered to investigate." He turned to Sherlock. "We're not talking chocolate frogs here, Holmes. Someone's stealing wands."

Holmes looked up from his book. "Wands?"

I turned to Lestrade. "How could someone get into the dormitories?"

"That's just it – they can't. The locations of the dormitories are known only to the members of each house, as are the passwords." He stood upright, pulling back his cloak to rest his hands on his hips. "We might be looking at a group of students."

"A group?" Sherlock was giving Lestrade his full attention now, hands clasped in thought.

"Well, the wands were taken from different houses."

"All the houses?"

"All of them. As far as I know none of the professors are looking into it."

"That's odd," I said. "Now that you mention it, there have been a few more first-years looking for their wands than usual lately." I shrugged. "I always figure they've lost them."

Lestrade shook his head, "I don't think so. But none of the professors are listening to me."

We sat silently for a moment. I looked at Sherlock, who had picked up his wand and was now gnawing at the tip in thought. So that's why it looks like that, I thought. Finally he took it from his mouth.

"Fine."

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes, but I'm not joining your little club. I refuse to work with Anderson, he is insufferable." He closed his book and began packing his vials into his bag. "Watson, pack up your things, we're going down to the Hall."

I tilted my head. "Wait, you want me to go with you?"

"Of course," he said, vials clinking as he packed them away. "I need an assistant." He looked up at me. "That is, if you don't mind."

I only had to think for a moment. "Not at all."

"Good." He slung his bag over his shoulder. "Then let's waste no more time." He turned to Hufflepuff, who stance was proudly triumphant. "Thank you, Lestrade, I shall take it from here."

The boy's face dropped. "What? No. I'm coming, too, Holmes, this is my case!"

Sherlock shook his head at Lestrade. "Case? Really? I think you're taking yourself a little too seriously."

"Look who's talking."

Sherlock pulled at my arm, guiding me ahead of him. "Alright, let's go."

With that, the three of us headed out of the library toward the Great Hall.