This chapter was a weirdo. Most of it I wrote in a flash, then I spent two weeks trying to finalise it. Not for a lack of inspiration, mind you. I was almost tempted to put it off by a few days. Exams and projects and stuff have made my life hell for a month or so. Thank god I only have this week left and then I'll have time to write to my heart's content. *end of rant*
Without further ado...
Rating: Teen
Pairings: Past Sherlily, canon pairings.
Disclaimer: BBC Sherlock (c) Moffat & Gatiss, Sherlock Holmes and co. (c) Sir ACD, HP (c) J. K. Rowling.
Chapter Four – Try
Things were rapidly becoming a bit not good for one Harry James Potter. …if that was even his real name.
But how was it any of his fault that his life had just turned belly-up in the span of ten little minutes? Well, had just was probably an incorrect way to put it, considering he had escaped his suddenly-suffocating room at Baker Street an hour or so after the dooming confrontation and had been spending quite a few hours in London…
…he had been spending quite a few hours in London getting irrefutably and hopelessly lost.
Stupid, Harry thought angrily. How did he expect to coordinate through the maze of a city when he hadn't ever left the suburbs, save for the times he was heading to Diagon Alley, or the very rare occasion that the Dursleys brought him along during an outing. Baker Street was in the heart of London, on top of it all, and every dullard knew that the city centre was the most complicated to travel.
Still, he couldn't have stayed for one more moment. After he had retreated to his room, Harry had tried to sleep, but his mind kept racing with all kinds of thoughts, most of which were dipped in anger, betrayal and despair.
Didn't Harry have a horrible enough life? He muddled on all fours through his first ten years of life in the cupboard under the stairs, under the Dursleys' restricting presence. He had been given a respite when he was introduced to the beautiful, tempting seductress that was the Wizarding World, a world where he was no longer the odd duckling, the freak, where he could just be a normal boy and have a normal education with normal best friends.
Except even in the unique club, he had to be the Boy-Who-Lived. He was put on a pedestal from infancy and once he had been old enough to have his own wand, everyone kept having all these expectations, staring and whispering and comparing him with his oh-so-wonderful parents all the time.
'Oh, Mr Potter, you're all your father's son! But the eyes, the eyes are Lily's…'
'A natural at Quidditch, just like James!'
'He had the same unruly dark hair and skinny figure. If only you wore glasses, nobody would be able to tell you two apart!'
Harry snorted bitterly. As if.
If his time at Hogwarts wasn't uncomfortable enough as it was, now he was getting attacked yearly by a supposedly-dead Dark Lord! And people were just letting him defeating Voldemort on his own! What were the Aurors doing, playing Exploding Snap?
And when all had been said and done and Harry was finally adapting to his shitstorm of a life, now he found out the esteemed James Potter wasn't even his real father.
Thus, rest escaped Harry's grasp and so he got up, hastily grabbed his wand, jacket and a pair of trainers and exited the flat, carefully skipping the creaky, tattle-tale stair step.
He had been too angry, too frustrated to realise he hadn't thought for one moment where he was actually going. He merely decided that he needed a walk to clear his mind and make sense of everything that was going on.
Once he'd cooled down a bit, though, he'd realised he had gotten lost.
A moment later, he also noticed he was being tailed.
Harry didn't dare look around and identify his follower, but he had that unshakable feeling that he was being watched and that he had been for a while. What a sad thought it was that he knew what that felt like.
So he kept moving. Although it didn't improve his lost status, he subtly increased his speed and started taking sharp corners, in an attempt to shake off his tail. Once he was rid of any unwanted attention, he would find a police station or something and locate his position. That was the easy part, compared to his current task.
At one point, he noticed in the reflection of a window meters away from him that his tail was a nondescript, expensive looking black car that was moving at a suspiciously slow pace. He turned down an alley between blocks, as far from the road as he could.
After several fence jumps, a hissing cat and quite a few soda cans disturbed, Harry's breathing was increasingly burdened with exertion and a slight feeling of anxiety. Why did he still feel watched? He had ducked through tight spaces, even for him! He'd kept to the sidewalk! How the hell would a car ever fit through there?
His bright emerald eyes widened as he realised that this could be a wizarding individual. A Death Eater…? He panted shakily and his right hand drifted towards the pocket in his jeans that contained his wand.
Just as he exited the tight alley, meeting a relatively empty street, he tried to round the corner only to find his path abruptly blocked by the ominous car screeching to a stop in front of him. Harry froze where he stood, his hand sneaking into his pocket and clenching his wand in a tight grip.
The back door opened on its own to reveal a partially shaded man. Before Harry could panic, though, a voice carried across firmly.
"Calmly let go of your wand, Mister Potter. Wouldn't do to commit underage wizardry for no justifiable reason."
Harry swallowed but made no move to take his hand out of his pocket, glaring defiantly instead. The voice seemed familiar, but Harry was too thrown, too agitated to bother to try and identify its owner from memory.
"And do get in, before your rather unsavoury admirer works up the courage to introduce himself," the voice ordered in a calm, but firm voice.
And indeed, with the corner of his eye, Harry spied a dark figure not enough meters away, not hiding but not conspicuous. At least to Muggles.
So he got in, the door closing behind him almost immediately, and the car taking off.
As he looked to his companion, Harry almost sighed in relief as he recognised the umbrella and the thin ginger hair. Almost, because Mycroft Holmes had still stalked him for quite a few blocks and nearly abducted him, so Harry couldn't be too sure of his motives. He certainly didn't seem the type to be following him on the other Holmes' instructions.
Thus he regarded Holmes senior warily, keeping a comfortable distance from him. If the man noticed, he didn't remark upon it. "That man has been following you almost the entire evening. Fortunately, he does not seem to be aware of your current residence yet."
"Thanks?" Harry muttered uncertainly. His unasked questions were lined in his tone of voice. He's a Death Eater, I can understand him. But why have you been stalking me?
Instead, Harry asked, "How do you know about the Wizarding World?"
The man looked at him slyly. "I hold a minor position within the British Government. Such knowledge is obligatory."
Which Harry translated as I'm so important even the Statute of Secrecy doesn't apply to me. But he accepted this explanation as it was.
The older man kept quiet for a few moments after that, during which he seemed to be searching for the right words.
"It was I who set Sherlock on that fateful search."
Emerald eyes fixated on him, anxious and anticipating at the same time. He sighed a little wearily. "While handling a matter related to my work, I found out… about you," he said this awkwardly, as if avoiding saying the words outright. "and dropped him a few hints, enough to give him something to think about, not enough for him to piece the entire puzzle."
Harry was unsure what to think of this, though a few choice words wandered through his thoughts. Holmes senior must have sensed this. "I suppose there were… more appropriate ways of proceeding with the given data."
The young wizard realised with wry humour that this was the older Homes' manner of apologising. He suppressed his grin and nodded in reply. "Alright."
Holmes senior's apology didn't solve his issue, though, and Harry found himself drawn back to conflicted contemplation. Suddenly, it occurred to him the he hadn't even asked the man where he was being taken.
His question was answered just as he was preparing to ask it, when the car slowly slid to a stop in front of 221 Baker Street. Harry's brows furrowed in turmoil at the mere sight of it, even though he knew he would have had to return there, eventually. At least to pack his bags.
To go to your loving aunt Marge, because if the dear Dursleys won't take you back and you won't settle with your illegitimate father, of course you've got other options, he thought sardonically. Or maybe you'll go to some doting grandmother out in the countryside, with a white picket fence and a golden retriever, while you're at it.
"My brother and I are not sentimental men," his companion's voice interrupted his self-pitying. Harry turned to look at him. He was not looking at Harry, though. He was focusing on his hands, which were shifting on the handle of his brolly rhythmically. "Sherlock's efforts this past week, however, are undeniable, baffling though they may be to me."
And he offered no more. His expression was unreadable as he turned to face Harry. "Good evening, Mr Potter."
The young wizard frowned, not quite having processed through what the older Holmes shared with him, and he was a little frustrated that he wasn't offered a proper explanation. Still, he opened the door of the car and got out shakily, just now fully realizing how exhausted he was. It must have been past 3 am. And his muscles were trembling after the earlier run.
Before he closed the door, though, he looked at the man inside the care one more time. "Thank you… uncle Mycroft."
Then he shut the door before he could catch said uncle's flabbergasted expression.
With his head clearer than it had been just after the revelation, Harry was able to think on the matter more thoroughly. His uncle's words held some truth to them, truth Harry was already aware of but which he had overlooked in his rage and disbelief.
Mr Holmes, even though he hadn't… fathered Harry in the most socially-acceptable of ways, had been good to him, indeed. Sure, he was an odd fellow and Harry wasn't entirely certain what his intentions were , but he had extracted him from an awful household and taken care of him ever since - and Harry was used to 'odd'. He spent nine months a year in a magical castle, for Merlin's sake!
Was it really so fair of Harry to completely reject his presence so recklessly, when Mr Holmes himself had not done as most fathers of lovechildren would do in his situation?
Swallowing uneasily as he returned to his great issue, Harry walked up to the front door to 221 Baker St. He opened it with only a split-second's hesitation, closed it softly. Took the steps with great care. The door to 221B was mercifully open, though.
And 221B was suspiciously empty. Harry ducked into the kitchen, to no avail. He was aware that Mr Holmes did not sleep much, so for him to be absent from the living room at this hour was thought-stirring. If he did go to bed, though, the lights would not be on.
He was interrupted by the sound of the front door closing not as quietly as he had closed it. Which actually meant quite slammed.
"…going to go back out… I am aware of the hour. It's even more of a reason to keep looking-… yes, I know, and you can retire if you have to, but I won't- I can't, John. I can't let anything happen to him, and it's already been-"
Mr Holmes' baritone cut off as he reached the living room and noticed Harry standing awkwardly in the middle of it. The hand holding the phone to his ear dropped away, the phone slipping from it with a dull thud the moment it impacted the floor.
And Harry suddenly found himself surrounded by dark wool and warmth. Long, bony fingers covered the back of his neck firmly and his eyes pricked as he realised he never wanted it to end. Harry had never been a cuddly person. He very rarely touched his friends out of his own volition, and when they initiated contact, he almost always kept it short. How could he feel so safe in the embrace of a man he had only known for a week?
Mr Holmes pulled away, his hands remaining on Harry's shoulders. Ever-changing eyes –currently blue and frantic – scanned him for a moment, then he sighed almost imperceptibly. "Harry, you… you cannot do this ever again… you cannot… you could've been…"
He had started out firmly, but his deep voice had only gotten shakier. He took a step away, leaving Harry's personal bubble. His lips moved, and although his voice was too low to be heard anymore, Harry thought he read Thank god.
The young wizard tried to find something to say, but words escaped him. He was sad, and angry, and confused and longing and hopeful and he did not know what to do.
Mr Holmes turned away. He took his coat and scarf off meticulously, then, after a second's contemplation, he strode over to his favoured armchair and sat on its edge, unable to get comfortable. Harry followed his movements, although slightly delayed, and sat slowly in John's old armchair.
The detective brought his hands to his lips in the characteristic steepled motion, though it did not hold the same air of detachment as it usually did.
"I can arrange for you to be placed with a foster family. A proper one, with a safe environment and the potential of a content childhood. Heaven knows this would be child's play for Mycroft," the last part was muttered.
Harry froze, his gaze unmoving from Mr Holmes' form. This is what I've always wanted, isn't it? A happy, married couple I could call Mum and Dad, a pet. A dog. Could be called Snuffles.
Strangely, the thought left Harry cold.
"It is much too late for me to enter your life at this point, one would claim. It is unfair to ask of you to accept my existence after all you've already gone through. And I should do the right thing by you and make sure you are taken care of, at the very least."
Mr Holmes shifted in his seat.
"But I…" and he paused. His eyes searched Harry's and the intensity of them threw Harry for a moment, the multitude of emotions they expressed. "I would like to make this work. I would like to…" get to know you take care of you watch you grow up be proud of you love you, "…try."
This was Harry's choice. Mr Holmes had grown quiet, only looking at Harry with anticipation, but also patience.
And Harry fisted his trousers over his knees, returning Mr Holmes' gaze in full, with nothing but honesty and fragile emotion. "…I think I'd like that, too. Yeah."
His hopeful smile was met with a small, but no less sincere one.
…
"Harry! Come eat your breakfast or I'll just use it in my next experiment!"
Experiment…?
A moment later, the first floor kitchen window was close enough to reveal a tall, lithe man with wild curly hair leaning over the stove, dumping the contents of the pan in his hand into a clean plate. He then placed the meal on the overly-clustered table in the middle of the room. The mess around the plate seemed to have a system to it, because it conveniently left just enough space for said plate and maybe even a glass- oh, there came the glass of orange juice.
Every movement of the well-dressed man held a certain elegance, from his turns to his determined stride to his bending. Said man then stopped, pursed his lips and turned to the archway.
"Harry!" he called, more stern than shouting. Mumbling, "Who names their child a nickname? How am I supposed to assert my authority if his name's Harry, for God's sake," he prepared to call again, placing his hands over his waist.
"'m here, you can stop. You'll wake up Mrs Hudson."
The familiar voice gained a face as a skinny form in rumpled PJs entered the kitchen. Young Harry James Potter was half-heartedly smoothing over his uncontrollable disaster of a hairstyle as he yawned and dropped into the seat facing the table.
"Mrs Hudson faces no such risk, I assure you. The only one to still be sleeping at this hour of the day is you."
"Hey, I'm on summer vacation! Sleeping in is a must."
"Close your mouth while you're eating. It's disgusting."
She watched the scenario enfolding in front of her with great befuddlement. She had engaged into this little venture with no small amount of trepidation, which she had been entitled to. What was one supposed to think when the Boy-Who-Lived simply vanished from his relatives' care?
Just two days ago, she had entered the Headmaster's office unannounced only to find him deeply troubled by some matter or the other. As was custom, she nagged him until he surrender the truth. During patrol, an Order member checking in on Privet Drive Number Four had found that Harry Potter was not only no longer residing with the Dursleys, but that he had left them over two weeks earlier.
Albus Dumbledore had, of course, studied the issue from all angles and found out all that he could about what happened and had ultimately decided to do nothing. She had argued with him over it, but he would be unmoved, refused to tell her anything.
"Harry's fate is his own. We must not interfere."
Up yer erse wi' tha', she growled inwardly and promptly decided to see for herself what was to be done. After all, this would not be the first time the Headmaster would make a mistake. He was used to taking morally-dubious decisions for the greater good, but he seemed not to be aware of the fact that it, more often than not, resulted in collateral damage. Or maybe he chose to ignore it. Whatever the truth, she refused to see one of her treasured pupils suffer for it.
Harry had always had a spark of brilliance, and she had gotten annoyed with him numerous times for the fact that he seemed to have no intention of tapping into that dormant potential. His grades were just slightly above average in all subjects, as a matter of fact. But she couldn't fault him for that. He'd not had the most encouraging of backgrounds.
And that brought her back to the matter of the Dursleys. Many times among the years she'd checked up on little Harry while he was staying with his aunt and uncle, and every time she'd left she was deeply disgusted and self-loathing. How could Albus just allow that to happen? Was there really no other way?
Unfortunately, it seemed so. As Albus had explained patiently each time, because of the blood wards, Harry was the safest with Vernon and Petunia Dursley, no matter how much of a farce that sounded like.
Until now.
As she gazed upon the peculiar man and the mistreated wizard sitting together at the table, completely comfortable with one another, she wondered how many times she had seen Harry look so… content. Had she ever seen him smile so easily, so openly?
She knew not what to make of this new, though suddenly so important person in Harry's life, but she could sense no malice in his intentions, and he seemed good for Harry's health.
"It's rather cold outside today. Do come in. I'll put the kettle on."
She was startled from her musings to see the older male staring at her. Not beside her, but straight at her. He was looking at her expectantly. But how…? He should not be able to… Harry shot him a confused look, before turning to gaze at his companion's point of focus. The boy's striking green eyes widened in recognition. Probably the glasses-shaped markings that gave her away.
"That's…"
She had no choice anymore. Stepping off the windowsill and onto the counter, she leaped down to the floor, turning into her human form. The aging witch pinned the detective with a piercing stare, her lips a thin line of defensive disapproval.
"Mrs… McGonagall, if I recall clearly," the man completed him calmly, standing to prepare the kettle. "Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Have a seat."
To be continued…
Hope you enjoyed this! Follow, favorite and review to show your love, if you did. See you in two weeks!
-Noxi
