Harry entered the underground tube that would take him from the edges of the East End to the heart of the city, where the Ministry of Magic had allotted him a small flat to stay while they investigated the goings-on at Hogwarts. After so many years of riding the Hogwarts Express and rubbing shoulders with fellow wizards, being so completely surrounded by Muggles in such close quarters transported him back to his early years, trotting along in the firm grip of Aunt Petunia as she ran errands.
Harry found an open bench and took his seat. The doors hissed shut, and the car hurtled down the track in the narrow tunnel. The lights flashing by lulled Harry into a daze. He leaned against the window, totally relaxed. Sounds around him faded as the car cruised on.
He saw the Dementor just before he realized his body had gone cold. The Muggles around him didn't even flinch. The spectre floated in front of Harry, and he felt a pulling sensation dragging his whole body, his life energy, into the gaping maw of the Dementor. Harry was slipping, but his incapacity for magic left him vulnerable. He barely noticed the car come to a stop as the people around him shuffled off and on. He was nearly dead...
Someone cried out.
Harry heard the voice just as warmth and sound returned and he woke with a gasp. A man sat next to him, in a wool overcoat, and the Dementor still hovered over them, having been forcibly diverted from its victim. The man stared at the Dementor with keen blue eyes. A smile played about his lips.
"Well now," he murmured, "That's interesting; what have we here?"
The Dementor shrieked at him and Harry braced himself, wondering what exactly he might do if the Dementor started to drain this man who had saved his life. Just then, the car pulled to a stop and the doors opened. The Dementor flew right at the man's face with an ear-splitting scream, and was gone. The man stumbled against Harry, and he could feel the iciness of the man's touch. The Dementor was gone, but the man looked even paler than before, and he shivered.
"Let's get you out of here, eh?" the man mumbled through stiff lips.
Harry and the man disembarked, and Harry could see particles of frost already forming on the man's thick, dark hair.
A hand on the other side caused Harry to flinch. Instantly, the man was reaching in front of him to release the hold of one of the other passengers who blindly grasped at Harry's arm.
"Leave off," the man ordered.
Behind him, a woman in a small knit cap came up, her tiny shoes clicking against the pavement.
"Hello, Harry," she said sweetly, "come with me."
"Not today!" the man shielded Harry with his body and encouraged him
out of the crowd.
They emerged at street level and the tall man guided Harry to a small table outside a cafe.
"Sit."
Harry did. The man took the seat opposite him.
"Right then," the man began briskly. "That was by far the most disturbing tube ride I've ever taken. You're a young man with a very
singular scar the likes of which I can think of only three ways you might have gotten it, and none of them are plausible at your age and social class. You seemed unfazed by that thing that tried to kill you, and yet you showed more surprise at my intervention. The woman called you Harry, yet I could tell you trusted me-a man who just happened to sit in the seat next to you on the subway-more than you trusted her.
Would you mind explaining any of these things to me?"
Harry watched the man; his perceptions were as keen as a detective, yet he made no mention of working with or for the government at all.
Just behind him, he saw a tall man dressed all in black suddenly fold his newspaper and lock eyes with him. Another dark-clad man came out of the cafe and scanned the tables, stopping when he spotted Harry. Harry grasped the man's hand.
"I'll explain everything; but we have to run!"
The man jumped to his feet and pulled Harry down a side street. "This way! I know where to go!"
Harry and the man dodged down side streets and through alleys, shaking their pursuit. Finally, the pair slowed, and Harry saw the man stumble against the wall. His breathing was raspy and very labored. Harry saw the fingernails turning a dangerous shade of blue.
"Sir?" he stepped around to face the man.
The blue eyes came up and met his. "Have to get... Two-Two... One-B... Baker S-Street! Two blocks down, one North-"
His eyes rolled back, and he would gave fallen if Harry had not been there to catch him.
For the first time in his life, Harry Potter hailed a cab. The compact black vehicle pulled up to the curb.
"Where to, gov?" the cabbie asked.
"221B Baker Street," Harry answered. "Hurry!"
John had just settled down with his laptop to compose a new entry for the blog. Mrs. Hudson was down at the sandwich shop. Sherlock had stalked off to get something-or so he said. John never could exactly figure out what went on in that head under the great floppy mass of hair his friend possessed. He had a few hours of uninterrupted quiet to gather his thoughts.
"After pondering for a while whether or not-"
RIIIIING! RIIIING! RIING-RING! BAM-BAM-BAM! RIIING! RIIING!
Someone was alternately punching the doorbell and clanking the knocker. From the activity, it might be Sherlock, in trouble yet again. John waited, fingers resting on the keys. Let the man stew in the fruits of his own stupidity for a minute or two.
The door creaked open and a strange voice cried, "Hello there!"
John rolled his eyes; not Sherlock, then. One of his Network? He shoved the laptop onto the ottoman and clumped down the stairs.
"Yes I'm here; what do you-"
John Watson stopped and several expletives dropped out of his open mouth. Sherlock looked to be in the final stages of a stroke; his tall, gaunt form was pale as death, and leaned heavily on the shoulder of a dark-haired young man in glasses.
