A/N: Hey there! Thanks for patiently waiting for this update. I hope it was worth it.

WARNING: This chapter contains violence against children and frightening situations.

Chapter 7: Tricks and Traps

"Oh my...you don't mean...but..." Molly's eyes went wide and her speech was fractured when she realized that Sherlock was implying that Professor Hope was the one who'd poisoned Jennifer Wilson.

"Yes. And that's not all. He kept fidgeting with something in his pocket when he wasn't talking. I think he was hoping you'd accept his tea offer, Molly, so he could slip the poison into your drink. That would also explain where Jennifer had been coming from before she collapsed."

"But it can't be! He's an odd bloke, yeah, but why would he do that? He's a teacher," John protested.

"Who else would it be? A student? None of our peers are both clever and malicious enough to do it."

"But a teacher-!"

"You seem to have forgotten what I told you about people being vile and entirely not what they appear to be," Sherlock replied coldly.

"It could just be a coincidence. It must be. I can't believe Professor Hope would ever hurt anyone, least of all a kid," Molly put in.

"Molly, your utter faith in people is frankly nauseating." This statement from Sherlock had the effect of immediately silencing the brunette. Her large brown eyes became excessively shiny and Sherlock went still. "Don't cry." There was the slightest hint of fear in those words and Molly reacted in a way that shocked both boys.

"Why not? Oh, right. Because Sherlock Holmes is disgusted by feelings," she retorted quite sharply. Placing Basil, whom she'd been petting, on Sherlock's knee, she stood and briskly strode out of the room. She paused outside the door long enough to hear John scold Sherlock and as far as she could tell, the Ravenclaw gave no response. An image popped into her mind of Sherlock rolling his eyes and her face really started to burn with the threat of tears. Without further delay, Molly rushed down to Hufflepuff Basement, brushing off the concern of her housemates in the Common Room to head directly to her dorm. Jumping onto her yellow and black fourposter bed, she buried her face in her pillow and let herself cry.

Broadly speaking, she'd had an awful day. Sherlock had been particularly ill mannered. That stuck out the most of all the things that had gone wrong. He'd been acting particularly horridly recently and she began worrying that something was happening to him again. She hoped he was alright. No, she couldn't go feeling sympathetic when he'd been so cruel. But maybe it wasn't really his fault. He didn't appear to be very close with anyone in his family. They probably hadn't taught him better (well, Mycroft seemed to try, but it wasn't very effective since Sherlock didn't respect his authority all that much). He was most likely right about Hope anyway. He was always right. She just didn't want to believe that a teacher could be a bad person. Typical Sherlock, dealing out cold reality.

With a sigh, Molly rolled over, wiped her eyes, and resolved that tomorrow she would find Sherlock and apologize for being rude to him. The trouble was, she couldn't find him in any of the usual places. She asked Ravenclaws if they'd seen him in their Common Room, but apparently he wasn't there either. Eventually, she became quite worried. How could she not after a student had been poisoned that year? What if Hope had found out what they were up to and killed Sherlock? The thought almost made her break down sobbing in the middle of a fifth floor corridor. Fortunately, she ran into John, who helped her keep it together and search for their friend, just as he always did. They went out to the grounds, wondering if perhaps Sherlock was mad enough to go out in such horribly cold conditions (or if other students were cruel enough to leave him out there). After only ten minutes of trudging through the snow, Molly and John could barely feel their fingers and toes.

To their relief, they found him not much later, climbing up a slope and holding some sort of small, grey ceramic pot or bowl in his gloved hands.

"Oi!" John called out and Sherlock looked up at them, a look of mild surprise on his face. "What're you out here for, Sherlock? You could lose a finger or two."

"I won't. I've got this." The Ravenclaw gestured with his pot thing as he came to the top of the incline to meet them.

"Ooh, that's clever," Molly commented in reverence as she looked into the container.

"What's clever- oh!" John's eyebrows rose in astonishment at the blue flames that merrily danced about inside Sherlock's pot thing. The dark haired boy smirked and continued on toward the school.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry for yesterday. I was upset, but that's not an excuse," Molly apologized and Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, clearly not expecting this.

"It's fine," he replied blankly.

"I-I believe you, by the way. About Hope. What do we do?" Molly's teeth chattered as she spoke, which she wished would be enough to cover up the nervousness in her voice.

"Well, obviously we're going to have to snoop around his office for hard evidence of his crime. We need to be sure that he's the one and that we can prove he did it," Sherlock stated as if it was the simplest thing in the world. They entered the castle and other passing students complained of the gust of freezing air they'd let into the Entrance Hall. "We need to talk about this somewhere where others won't overhear." Too tired to argue, John and Molly followed Sherlock to their disused classroom, where he set his pot of fire on the floor before himself, drew his wand, and muttered engorgio. It grew big enough for its warmth to be shared between the three of them and they settled in, the other two paying close attention to Sherlock's plan. "We need to be sure he's out when we're in his office. We should give ourselves a lot of time. When will Hope definitely be out of his office for a notably long time? Next weekend is the Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin match. I have no doubt that he will be attending. It's the perfect opportunity. Unfortunately, it will seem a bit odd if I'm not there as well, so you two will have to do it."

At first, the pair heavily objected to this, but with a few more bits of irritatingly sound reasoning, Sherlock convinced them to do as he asked. They spent the week thereafter developing this scheme until suddenly it was Saturday morning and it was go time.

Molly sat in the Great Hall, staring at her toast as if doing so would make it disappear. It was giving her a not so motivational speech in Sherlock's voice until it was interrupted by Meena's worried tones.

"Molly, you can't chew and digest food by glaring at it. What's gotten into you lately? You've hardly eaten and you look nearly as pale as a ghost. Please tell me what's wrong."

"Quidditch," was the only word Molly could get out without feeling like she was in imminent danger of being sick.

"What're you worried about Quidditch for? It's not like Hufflepuff's playing tod- oh." A knowing grin spread across Meena's round face. "You really want his team to win, don't you?"

"Who?"

"You know exactly who I'm referring to. Don't deny it." This was enough to distract Molly from what she considered to be her impending doom and prompt her to give her friend a look of exasperation and a half lie.

"I only want them to win because he'll be grumpy for days and he's mean when he's grumpy. For the last time, Meena, I haven't got a crush on him." She really didn't. She was very fond of Sherlock Holmes, yes, but she didn't have those sorts of feelings for him.

"I'll believe you if you eat your breakfast." Providing Molly with sufficient motivation to do so, the first year tucked in and didn't think about what she would have to being doing later until she'd finished.

That suffocating anxiety came back the second she turned in the direction opposite all of the other students, who were heading out to the Quidditch Pitch. Skittishly, she made her way up to meet John, constantly checking to make sure she wasn't being followed or watched. She could hear her inner Sherlock berating her for being so paranoid.

"Molly." The sound of John calling out to her made her jump. It oddly calmed her to see that John was just about as nervous as she was. Soon, they found themselves at the door of Professor Hope's office. It was locked, of course, but a simple unlocking charm fixed that. The pair crept inside warily. Sherlock had warned them that a man as clever as Hope was likely to have traps or alarms set up in his office to stop people from snooping about, just as they were. Fortunately, they hadn't encountered any yet. The place was a mess, though, so he didn't really need magic for traps. His possessions themselves were enough of a hazard. A chair near the corner was stacked high with papers and a set of scales. More papers were strewn across the floor and other surfaces. The desk was a nightmare. Jars of unknown things, magical instruments of various sorts and sizes, quills and empty ink bottles, candle nubs, and other stuff cluttered that surface alone. Unfortunately, it was their best bet for anything incriminating, if the name Sherlock had spotted there was anything to go by.

John and Molly both wished that Sherlock had come with them as they surveyed the slovenly room. He was much better at searching for things than either of them were. On top of that, he was the one who would best be able to spot evidence, given his keen deductive powers. Jealous of Sherlock's role of watching Quidditch and supporting his house's team, the two grudgingly got to work.

Sherlock had told them to be sure to put everything back in its exact place. They couldn't risk Hope being given reason to suspect anything. There were few things that had the pressure of the task bearing down on them like that than every time they moved anything. John began with the surface of the desk, carefully lifting leafs of parchment, while Molly tried the drawers. Disappointment was found in all but the last one, which she discovered to be locked when she tried it. She whispered alohamora and heard a satisfying click, but the moment she tried to pull the drawer open, black ink explosively spurted all over her face. She let out a sputtering cry and John immediately came to kneel down beside her.

"What happened?!" he inquired frantically, trying to help Molly wipe the ink from her face. Unfortunately, the liquid did not seem to want to come off.

"I opened the drawer and it spat ink at me," she said. John looked in the drawer in question. It was filled with what appeared to be items confiscated from students, like wind up chattering teeth that had been enchanted to say rude things and a prank wand that went floppy the moment one picked it up. In amongst the wide array of objects was a small bottle filled with a colourless liquid and labelled 'jed z Čech'. John frowned at it, not understanding. "John, I think we should go." Molly tugged at the Gryffindor's sleeve nervously. "Come on."

"Alright. Put your hood up. We don't want to risk anyone seeing your face," John replied as he hastily placed the bottle back in the drawer and pulled Molly with him towards the door. Her friends had come to trust the intuition she had. When she said it was time to go, it was time to go. This time, it turned out to be particularly important that John had listened to her because just as they were making it to the stairs, they heard Professor Hope's voice and looked over the railing to see the man himself coming up on a moving staircase below with Sherlock beside him. They were having a conversation and Sherlock's body language seemed to suggest nervousness.

"I think he's trying to stall Hope," Molly commented as she unconsciously pulled her hood lower.

"Come on!" John hissed in panic, grabbing the Hufflepuff's wrist and dragging her to the fourth floor where they hid in the abandoned classroom. About a half an hour later, Sherlock arrived, looking a bit relieved to see them...that is, until he spotted Molly with her hood pulled down over her face.

"Molly, lower your hood," he ordered. Slowly, she did as he asked, revealing her ink stained countenance. One would have seen her cheeks go red from embarrassment if they hadn't been covered in black. "What happened?"

"I'm sorry. Hope's desk was booby trapped. It sprayed ink on me when I opened it and it won't come off," Molly admitted in a small, upset voice. Sherlock reached out and wiped his thumb across her cheek. Sure enough, it came away clean.

"Did you leave anything behind?" he asked, eyes narrowing at her.

"N-No, I don't think so."

"Did you find any evidence?"

"I don't know," John piped up and Sherlock's gaze shot over to him. "I think we should worry about getting Molly's face clean first. Potential evidence won't do us much good if Hope hears about a student with ink all over her face," the Gryffindor hastily added as Sherlock opened his mouth to inquire about this maybe evidence. He paused for a moment, occasionally looking back and forth between John and Molly, before giving an accepting nod.

"A simple spell won't do it. We need a cleaning solution. Fortunately, I carry a bottle of such a potion with me," Sherlock told them, drawing said bottle from the pocket of his robes. The other two gaped at him.

"Why do you just happen to carry a cleaning potion around with you?" John asked incredulously. Sherlock shrugged.

"It comes in handy in rule breaking situations. Such as now." The Ravenclaw said it as if it were the most obvious, normal thing in the world, but John continued to stare at him. He ignored it and turned his attention entirely to Molly. Taking his handkerchief from another pocket, he dabbed a bit of green liquid onto it and started wiping off Molly's face. "Now, tell me about this possible evidence."

"I found a strange little bottle in the drawer Molly opened. It had a liquid in it and was labeled 'jed zee ketch', but I've no idea what that means." John explained once his brain caught up with Sherlock.

"It's pronounced 'yed z chekh' and what color was this liquid?"

"Er, it was clear like water."

"Then we have indeed found our evidence."

"What?"

"Jed z Čech means Poison of Bohemia in Czech. It's the less alliterative term for Bohemian Befouling Brew. It is, if brewed properly, colourless."

"Oh."

"What do we do now?" Molly asked, her voice sounding a little odd because Sherlock was busy rubbing ink off her nose. For a long moment, the Ravenclaw didn't answer. The other two patiently waited for him to speak, knowing better than to disturb their friend while he was deep in thought.

"We have to bring it to Dumbledore. He's the only adult who'll take us seriously," he said eventually. The other two nodded in agreement. "Hold still, Molly, or do you want me to poke your eye out?"

"Sorry!" The ink was proving slow in its willingness to be removed, but at least it was actually coming off. Sherlock was almost done, he just had to get around Molly's eyes and eyebrows.

"We'll go to Dumbledore right after lunch. People are always in a more receptive mood after they've eaten. Alright, Molly, I'm finished." With that, Sherlock drew his wand and set the handkerchief alight, letting it burn into nothingness. The three of them got to their feet and headed down to the Great Hall.

"Who won the match, by the way?" John asked as they passed through the Entrance Hall.

"Slytherin," Sherlock responded, sounded more than a little displeased.

"Damn. If Hufflepuff doesn't win against them, they'll probably take the Cup." This put the three of them in a rather sour mood that only got worse when they came into the Great Hall.

"Where's Dumbledore?" Molly frowned heavily and the boys just stared at the empty seat where the headmaster should have been. Suddenly, Sherlock went dashing up between the long tables, John and Molly following once they realized what he was doing. They came to stand before Professor McGonagall, who eyed them in a somewhat disapproving manner.

"Excuse me, professor, but where's Dumbledore?" Sherlock asked in a hushed tone. Many of the other students and teachers had their attention on them and being overheard would only make matters worse.

"Professor Dumbledore is conducting business at the Ministry of Magic," McGonagall answered and she watched the trio as they exchanged alarmed looks. "What reason could you have for wanting to see him that would justify running?"

"It's about Jennifer Wilson, professor." John spoke this time, perhaps thinking that since he was in the Transfiguration teacher's house, she would be less sharp with him. Upon mention of Jennifer's name, the thin witch abruptly stood up.

"You three had better come with me." She gave no more detail than that and they were left to follow her and wonder what she was going to say to them. As they exited the Great Hall, the other students who'd been watching them began to murmur to one another and that did nothing to calm the three first years' nerves. Once they were sitting in the privacy of McGonagall's office, the feeling only intensified. "Now, whatever you've got to say about Jennifer Wilson can be said to me." None of them said a word in response. "Well, out with it. It must be important if it required dashing about."

"Professor, we think we know who poisoned Jennifer," John admitted. The sharp featured witch's eyes widened.

"Who, then?"

"Professor Hope, ma'am."

"Mr. Watson, that is a very serious accusation. How have the three of you managed to come to such a conclusion?" The trio shared a few uncertain glances before Sherlock answered.

"We have reason to believe that Jennifer was coming from Hope's office before she collapsed and that he has a vial of poison in the lower right drawer of his desk."

"And you'd rather not say how you came by this information?"

"Yes, but we promise we wouldn't say anything to you unless we truly believed it." Molly and John could hear how much effort Sherlock had put into making that statement sound as sincere as possible. McGonagall seemed to take a minute to consider these words and she sat back in her chair once she arrive at a consensus.

"Very well, I will see the matter looked into, but in the mean time, I want you to promise me that you will not speak of this to any but myself and the headmaster. You must understand that this is an extremely serious issue."

"We promise, professor," Molly replied with a little reaffirming nod.

"You're free to go, then." With that, they hurried out of McGonagall's office and down to the library.

"We'll, that went better than expected," Molly commented optimistically.

"No, I would say it went considerably worse than we'd hoped," Sherlock shot back grimly, earning him a look of hurt from the Hufflepuff, but he brushed it off. "McGonagall won't take immediate action like Dumbledore would. That'll give Hope time to catch on and dispose of his incriminating evidence. On top of that, he'll be able to figure out that we're the ones who are onto him, if he hasn't already."

"Well, when you put it like that..." John trailed off when Molly put her face in her hands. "Molly, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm just...keeping myself steady," she responded carefully. "What do we do?"

"Right now, there's nothing we can do but wait." And so they did. It was probably the most nerve wracking few months of Molly Hopper's life thus far. It got to the point where she had to brew herself some Calming Draught two weeks before final exams. Professor McGonagall by then had told them that she'd found no poison in Hope's office and that made it clear that the DADA teacher knew they had found him out. It was only a matter of time before he would confront them. Their fears were realized when Hope informed them that they would be taking their final exam in his office after dinner. Before going that evening, they met up in the abandoned classroom to discuss what was about to happen. "Either we'll just take our exams and be on our way, or he's got something planned for us. We have to be on alert at all times. No else will be around, so it'll be an opportune moment for him to strike," Sherlock explained.

"I don't understand why we can't just tell somebody about all of this. Dumbledore's been back for a good long while," John complained. Even he, who was stone faced and unyielding in the face of adversity, was rattled by this situation.

"We've been over this a thousand times, John. The proof has been removed. Even Dumbledore can't do anything without any proof. Anyone else will think we're trying to get out of our exams," Sherlock countered. Molly said nothing and began to look a little ill.

"What if he tries to kill us?"

"Seeing as we're a bunch of first years and he's an experienced adult, I think the best thing we can do is scream bloody murder and hope some hears before he can end our lives."

"We're gonna die," John moaned and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Honestly, John, it's not as if we're completely defenseless. I'm certain that I'm cleverer than Professor Hope and we have enough spells under our belts to put up a fight. Anyway, he might do nothing after all and we'll only be treated to another look around his office." This was met by silence from the other two, who didn't seem much comforted by Sherlock's words. John glanced at his watch announced that they had better go. If their first trip to Hope's office had felt like a death march to Molly, this was ten times worse. Still, she tried to keep a brave face and a steady gait. Before they went into the office, she took a deep breath, preparing herself for the sight of the calculating little eyes behind those thick glasses...only no one was there. The room was devoid of Professor Hope when they came in. Sherlock, being who he was, saw this as an opportunity to find more information, so instead of taking a seat at one of the three little desks that had been crammed into the space, he began to poke around Hope's things.

"Sherlock! Are you mad?! He might walk in any minute!" John hissed, but the Ravenclaw ignored him and instead examined what appeared to be a framed photo.

"Interesting..." he muttered.

"Sherlock..." Molly spoke in a very uneasy tone. She was getting one of her little bursts of intuition; she could feel it. "Sherlock..." She was louder and more panicked now, but Sherlock continued to be enraptured by the photo. John, who had been listening at the door, suddenly became frantic.

"He's coming!" This startled Sherlock into dropping the picture and dragging his friends with him under the large desk in complete panic. They huddled together, arms wrapped around each other, and went still when they heard the door open and close. There was a long moment of total silence that was broken by Professor Hope's voice.

"I know you're here. Come out, come out, wherever you are..." he called in a slow, staccato voice. The three children remain silent, even going so far as to hold their breath. Without warning, the desk seemed to explode around them in a flurry of wood splinters, glass, and parchment, leaving them covered in cuts and bits of desk. They let out cries of terror and huddled closer. "Well, if it isn't my star firsties. What were you doing under there? It's time for your exam." The old man shuffled into their fields of vision wearing a pleasant expression that couldn't be defined as anything but creepy. Sherlock whipped out his wand, but Hope kicked it out of his hand. "I see we have a volunteer to go first." The man grabbed Sherlock by the back of his collar and yanked him from John and Molly. The Gryffindor reached for his wand, but once again, Hope was faster, firing a stunning spell strong enough to knock the boy back into a large stack of books. Molly shrieked and trembled, but didn't move to defend her friends when Sherlock shot her a look that told her to stay put. "Now, this is how the test works," Hope began, taking two little bottles from his pockets and setting them next to each other. They both contained a colourless liquid and Sherlock's eyes went wide. "One is poison. The other isn't. You have to figure out which one's the good bottle. You choose and I'll take the other one as you take yours. Either you die or you pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts exam with flying colours." Sherlock neither said nor did anything in response. He only stood and stared up at the teacher blankly. "Well, off you go. See if you can outwit me," Hope urged. Sensing that there would be consequences if he didn't make a choice, Sherlock looked at the bottles carefully.

Molly watched in stunned silence, wondering if this was really happening. She looked over at John, who was unmoving under a pile of heavy books. That sight triggered something inside her that caused a pulse of orange light come off her and knock down Hope. Sherlock dove for his wand and Molly scrambled to her feet, scrambling to draw her own wand. As she made to disarm Hope, he knocked her legs out from under her and pointed his wand at her tie. It constricted around her throat before Sherlock could cast a spell of his own.

"Now, make a choice," Hope told him, picking the bottles up from the floor as he stood up. "Better hurry up. Ms. Hooper is suffocating."

"Do-Don't...Sher-...Don-...Sherlock..." the Hufflepuff girl begged before she passed out.

A/N: Ah, the bitter taste of a cliffhanger. But don't worry, I'm hoping to have the next chapter to you soon. It will end out year one (finally) and I will give a hint as to the major arch in year two at the end. Also, sorry if my Czech is a bit off. I always get tripped up on case and idiom. Feel free to correct me. Anyway, thanks for reading. ~T.Z.