Chapter Three

I was rudely awakened the next morning by the scratching, wailing sound of a cat being swung around in a bag. I opened my eyes and peered furiously over the rim of the blanket. Sherlock was standing at the window in his dressing gown, playing the violin.

"What the hell?!" I snarled in disbelief.

"I'm composing, helps me think." he explained briefly and I buried my head in my pillow as the pitch increased. John stumped into the room.

"How kind of your brother to get you that for Christmas." he said darkly, slamming the fridge shut after he'd retrieved the milk.

"I'm learning, shut up." said Sherlock sharply and I pulled a second pillow over the first. With the unwelcome wakeup call over and done with I joined John in the kitchen to make some coffee.

"When does the Floo Network open?" I asked wearily and John checked his watch.

"In ten minutes." he informed me and I yawned.

"Right, I'd better get going then. I'll nip home, have a shower and then come back for work. Thank you, again, for letting me crash."

"No problem." John assured me. "We're going to talk to this Mark Bulstrode character this afternoon, want to come along?"

"Ok, I'll swing by after work." I agreed. As I left, I caught sight of Sherlock glaring at John pointedly. Slightly confused, I hurried down the stairs and through the early morning commuters towards the Leaky Cauldron. I pondered Sherlock's odd behaviour as I joined the queue to use the fireplace in the pub. I knew he didn't like me, but Sherlock didn't like anyone so that wasn't such a big deal. But in school he had always been content for me to hang around with him and John, what had changed now?

I wandered around in a stupor all day at the bank, earning me a reprimand from Griphook twice. But I didn't care and after my shift ended I made my way back to the flat. The boys were all ready to go and as usual Sherlock ignored me. But it was a kind of forced ignorance, like he was deliberately avoiding my gaze. Irritated, I spoke to John instead.

"So did you find out where Mark lives?" I asked once we were walking down the high-street again.

"Oh yeah, just down here." said John, indicating a side street tucked out of sight between Quality Quidditch Supplies and the Apothecary. I had never been down here before and I soon saw why. Contrary to its entrance, the street was very wide and open, with expensive looking town houses lining both sides. I gazed around in ill-disguised disgust.

"I can barely afford a change of clothes!" I complained. "How can Mark, who does exactly the same job as me, afford a place like this?!"

"His father is high up in the Ministry." said Sherlock. "And his mother dabbles in muggle stocks."

He said it grudgingly, as if he couldn't help himself from answering a question even if he didn't want to talk to the person who'd asked it. I let him go ahead before rounding on John.

"Ok seriously, what is his problem?!" I demanded angrily and John glanced over my head to make sure Sherlock couldn't hear before dropping his voice.

"You confuse him." he muttered knowingly. I stared at him but before I could ask what he meant Sherlock called,

"Here it is."

We walked to join him before house number ten. Sherlock pushed open the gate and walked up the marble steps to ring the doorbell. I heard it echoing inside, but no one came to answer it. We stood there for a while until John suggested,

"Maybe we should try again some other time."

But Sherlock wasn't paying attention. He was peering down the side of the house were the shadow of a ladder could be seen. I caught his drift at once and jumped over the wall into the alley below.

"Gwen!" hissed John. "We can't break in!"

"I'm not breaking in, I'm just checking it out!" I called back, jogging over to the ladder and starting to climb. The boys were right behind me and watched as I reached a balcony. There were a set of French windows at the back of the house and they were ajar. I peered through the curtains fluttering in the breeze uneasily. This didn't seem right somehow.

"Hello?" I called nervously, pushing the window open further and gazing around. "Anyone home?"

The sitting room was deserted and as I heard Sherlock climbing up behind me I entered the house tentatively. Everything seemed in its proper place, so I crossed to a door and opened it. Inside was a bedroom, and on the bed lay a dead body.

"Why is it," began Lestrade laboriously, striding up and down before us. "Whenever something happens it is always you three?!"

We exchanged glanced but none of us spoke. We were sitting on the sofa in a silent row as the Magical Law Enforcement Squad searched the house for clues. The body on the bed was Mark, and the evidence suggested that he had performed the killing curse on himself. Suicide.

But I remembered the last time a death had been passed off as suicide, it had turned out to be the work of a serial killed so I decided to keep an open mind. Lestrade moved away to talk to someone and Donavan took his place before us.

"Why am I not surprised to see you here freak?" she asked Sherlock. She glanced at me and snorted. "And you're still tagging around after him are you? Typical."

"Yes, thank you Donavan." said Mr Potter as he strode over to us. I stood up at once.

"Mr Potter, I'm really sorry! We just wanted to talk to Mark but he wouldn't answer so we just…" I trailed off under his stern gaze.

"I don't want to know why you were in here, I'll just accept that you were." he said firmly and I sank back down onto the sofa guiltily. He turned to Sherlock.

"I had a feeling I'd be seeing you again Mr Holmes. So what have you got for me this time?"

"Obviously a murder." sighed Sherlock, gazing over at the half open bedroom door where we could just see a sliver of the body. Harry blinked at him.

"Obviously?" he repeated wearily.

"Bulstrode was left handed, and yet the curse was inflicted on the right temple, takes quite a contortion act to perform a spell like that. Everything in this house is oriented to suit a left handed owner."

I glanced around but couldn't quite see what he meant and decided just to take his word for it. Lestrade it seemed did not share Sherlock's point of view.

"Look, he was banker right? So maybe he lost a lot of money, these things happen all the time! Just another Gringotts suicide."

"Mark didn't work with money, he was a trainee tomb breaker like me." I said, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. Sherlock glanced briefly at me and I could have sworn he wore the glimmer of a smile. But Lestrade seemed determined not to take advice from 'some kid' who was fresh out of Hogwarts and even Mr Potter didn't seem to think that the left handed thing was enough to go on. The case was closed before we'd even left the house.

They took us to the Ministry to write up statements and then Harry took me home via side-along apparition. I was quiet at dinner, only picking at my food until Lilly turned to me.

"You've been hanging around with Sherlock again haven't you?" she asked accusingly.

"What?" I asked distractedly, looking up from my soup. Lilly sighed.

"He has this effect on you every time! You don't talk for ages, you just drift off into a trance."

"I'm just thinking."

"Yeah so am I." Lilly snorted. "That you need a night out to take you mind off the weirdo."

That sounded like a very good idea so I agreed. Lilly and I left the house at eight and apparated into central London. There was club called 'The Wizhard' which was only visible to witches and wizards and was owned by a Hogwarts drop-out of a few years back. By the looks of things, he was doing well for himself. It was a hot spot for recent graduates and I saw several people I knew from school within about five minutes of arriving. Lilly was asked to dance by the former Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and I was left to stand by the bar, nursing a fire-whisky.

"Oh cheer up Gwen!" Lilly said, once she returned with her cheeks flushed pink and a phone number clutched in her hand.

"I did just find a dead person today." I reminded her and she scowled.

"You know, before Sherlock Holmes came along, you and I would never get into crap like this!" she complained. "But since meeting him you've seen two murders, an attempted murder, manslaughter and a bank break in! I'm telling you, the guy is a bad influence. Just stick to Curse Breaking Gwen and you'll be fine."

But the more people told me to stay away from Sherlock Holmes, the more I wanted to see him. It wasn't pleasant being patronised all the time or running into crime wherever you went, but it was a damn sight more exciting than my life at the moment. Lilly and I didn't stagger out of the club until well past midnight.

"You go on Gwen!" Lilly giggled, clutching the arm of Mr Washed Up Quidditch Captain. "I'll see you tomorrow."

I watched the pair of them swaying down the street with a half-hearted desire to talk some sense into my best friend. She would most certainly regret it in the morning if she went home with him, but then again, she was a big girl. And in the state she was in now, it was unlikely she would listen to me. With a sigh I turned to look for a muggle cab, and found a man standing before me. He was quite tall, with the cheeks of a person who might once have been chubby. He was dressed oddly for a night out on the town, a sharp suit with a waist coat and a pocket watch chain dangling from the pocket. He was leaning on his cane with his legs crossed, watching me.

"Good evening Miss Williams." he said in a cultured kind of voice. "I would rather like a word with you. I'd make some kind of threat but I think the situation is quite clear to you. Take me hand."