"Professor?"
"Ah, Harry. Excellent work handling that imp today. Your father was no good at jinxes and charms, but your mother was a demon," Professor Lupin said, chuckling.
"You knew my biological parents?"
"Indeed I did. I was actually one of your biological father's best friends."
"What were they like? I mean, I've read a few books about them but they're all vague and don't really talk about them in a personal way," Harry said. It felt a little strange to be talking about his parents like he didn't even know them. He'd always referred to John and Sherlock when talking about his parents so the words felt foreign on his tongue.
"Well, your father was a troublemaker to be sure. Him, two other boys by the names of Peter Pettigrew and… and Sirius Black, along with myself, formed a group known as the Marauders. The pranks we pulled were infamous. Your father was a brave man and a kind one. He was more stubborn than a donkey, though. Your mother was as clever as they came. She was kind to me when many others were not. I'll never forget her compassion…" Professor Lupin's eyes glassed over a little. Harry smiled.
"Would it be okay if I came by every once in awhile to talk about my parents, Professor?" Harry asked. Professor Lupin nodded.
"I would like nothing more, Mr. Potter."
Hogwarts' weather soon grew warmer. The grounds became bright green. The smell of pine drifted from the forest across the grounds. While the weather was getting nicer, classes were not. Many teachers seemed to be of the mindset that the closer the students got to exams, the more homework was required. Harry didn't mind more work, but it was time consuming.
"Do you ever get tired of the library?" Harry asked. Hermione gave him a look.
"You do?"
"I don't like spending too much time in one place. I want a change of scenery," he replied.
"We could go to the common room—"
"No we did that already. Let's go outside," Harry said, staring out the window.
"Why on earth would you want to study out there? Madame Pince won't let us out there with her books," she said, eyeing her large pile of books worryingly. Harry rolled his eyes.
"Maybe we could take a study break?"
"Harry! These exams are really important! If we don't pass, we won't be allowed in second year!"
"Pfft. We're the best in our grade. We're not going to fail," he answered, piling up all the books to bring to the librarian.
"But—"
"No buts. We need a study break. We'll bring Neville, too," Harry said, tugging Hermione by her arm.
They found Neville at the great hall, doing homework. He was easily convinced to have a reprieve from school work.
"I didn't realize how tiresome it could be to make something levitate but I swear, if I hear 'wingardium leviosa' one more time, I'll go mad," Neville said as the trio marched out the doors to the grounds.
There was a willow tree nearby the lake. Harry sat at the foot of the trunk. Hermione sat at his right and Neville at his left.
"Well, this sure beats the last time we were out here. I still get nightmares," Neville laughed. Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry smiled.
"Honestly I don't know how you two are so calm about that incident," Hermione said.
"I don't have to worry. Harry's here," Neville said, smirking.
"Shoot," Harry said.
"What?" Neville asked.
"I was going to say the same thing about Hermione," Harry replied. Hermione huffed.
"Boys…"
A little while later, Hermione pulled out a book that she somehow concealed from Harry. Neville went down to the shore of the lake to join some other students who were playing with the giant squid. Memories of his winter break flashed across his mind.
He could never really get the full complexity of the mind palace like Mycroft and Sherlock, but he certainly had a foundation for it. He was at a table with John and Sherlock. They were reading the tomes from Nocturne Alley. The more he tried to remember the words in the book, the more frustrated he grew. Specifics like books would always escape him.
"Urgh," he grumbled. Hermione looked at him oddly before turning back to her book.
Harry hoped since he'd returned to Hogwarts from the break, Sherlock and John made some progress. As a matter of fact, Sherlock did make progress, and he came down to only three conclusions as to stay alive after being fatally wounded, each more horrifying than the last.
There was unicorn blood, but that would require Voldemort to have a constant supply, which would be difficult to maintain. Then, there was the Philosopher's Stone, which could extend Voldemort's life indefinitely. But, Sherlock researched Voldemort's methods during the first war, and alchemy was never really mentioned. He'd have to ask Professor Dumbledore when he met him next.
Finally, and most horrendous of them all, there were horcruxes. They could be anything, and according to some speculation, that included living things. There wasn't a lot of information on them, since the last known user of a horcrux was Herpo the Foul. There was another thing he would have to talk to Dumbledore about. Hopefully, that was soon.
Moriarty was also pressing in. Apparently, he'd lost his patience as it seemed he was making his move. There were a total of five trained assassins currently living in the flats surrounding him. There was something off, though. If Moriarty wanted Sherlock dead, then he certainly would be. Why would he hire some of the top assassins if Moriarty wasn't going to use them to kill him? It unnerved Sherlock to the no end.
Harry would be returning to 221b soon and right into the clutches of Moriarty. This also worried Sherlock. Perhaps he should send correspondence to Professor Dumbledore sooner rather than later. With that proactive thought, Sherlock ventured to The Leaky Cauldron.
The dingy pub had very few patrons at the moment. Sherlock approached the barkeep.
"I need to speak with Professor Albus Dumbledore immediately. Is there any way I may be able to contact him?" he asked. The bar was the only magical place Sherlock knew how to get to. The barkeep nodded.
" 'course there is. You could just floo ta him," he replied. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
A brief trip through the fireplace later and Sherlock found himself head over arse on the floor of Albus Dumbledore's office. The headmaster looked over his desk at the man with an amused twinkle in his eyes.
"Ah, Mr. Holmes. What a surprise," he said as if Sherlock didn't just shoot out of the man's fireplace.
"Professor Dumbledore," he acknowledged, "may I take a seat?"
The headmaster nodded. Standing up, Sherlock brushed himself off and pulled up one of the cushy chairs that faced the desk. Dumbledore pressed his long, thin fingers together.
"How may I help you, Mr. Holmes?"
"Please, call me Sherlock. I've been doing research ever since that incident that you informed us about, regarding Professor Quirrell. I have three theories as of right now that may interest you as to how Lord Voldemort survived."
"Really? And what would they be?" Dumbledore said, mildly surprised.
"Unicorn blood, philosopher's stone, and most horrifyingly… one or multiple horcruxes," Sherlock said, wincing slightly at the last suggestion. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed.
"I… see. I wondered just how clever you were Mr. Holmes, and I am not disappointed. Well, I can ease your fear of the second suggestion. Voldemort never put much stock in actually creating a philosopher's stone, so much as stealing the existing one. That is the reason Quirinus was devoured, after all," Dumbledore said. Sherlock nodded.
"What about the other two?"
"Hagrid did report one or two unicorns being killed recently in the Forbidden Forest, so there is credence to that. However, unfortunately I believe your other theory, regarding horcruxes, is how Voldemort has not been fully killed," Dumbledore answered. Sherlock frowned.
"What now, then? For all we know, his horcrux or horcruxes could be anywhere and anything!" Sherlock cried.
"Knowing Voldemort, having been his teacher in school, I doubt they were such things as simple or ordinary. No, they likely would have been objects of importance to magical society or himself," Dumbledore said. Sherlock frowned.
"Do we have any leads?"
"As of right now, only Quirrell. The man served as a sort of temporary horcrux for Voldemort. I have little doubt that he created only one, as disturbing as it sounds," Dumbledore said gravely.
"That does not help us much," Sherlock said flatly.
"Unfortunately, it does not. However, there are a few murders I know of committed by Riddle that might give us some hint as to what and where the horcruxes are." Sherlock nodded.
"When do we begin?"
"Does this weekend work for you? As headmaster of the school I find my time very much occupied during the weekdays," Dumbledore said.
"Of course. Let's say around noon on Saturday?"
"Very well, Mr. Holmes."
That Saturday, just as Sherlock prepared to go to the Leaky Cauldron, the once tame mantel flared a bright green, basking its most immediate surroundings, including Sherlock himself, in bright green light. He jumped in surprise and then took a step back. Albus Dumbledore, dressed in a bright purple robe with bright yellow stars on it and adorning a sort of sleeping cap stepped from the blaze.
"Ah, Mr. Holmes. I'm glad I caught you. I didn't want to tire you with traveling back to the Leaky Cauldron just to come to Hogwarts when I could just floo here," he said with mirth. Obviously he was laughing a little at Sherlock's surprise. Sherlock nodded.
"Of course, Professor Dumbledore. It is a pleasure to see you again," he said.
"And you as well. Shall we begin?"
"After you, professor."
The two men stepped into the flames, and Dumbledore cried "Little Hangleton!"
Sherlock and Dumbledore emerged from another fireplace. The room was empty and worn down. Sherlock looked around.
"No one's lived here in some thirty years, at least," he said. Dumbledore nodded.
"This house is apart of a small village that used to exist. However it's been abandoned by most, with only a few houses in the area. I am glad it was this one, as I prefer not to obliviate muggles," he replied.
"Where to?"
They ventured through the deserted village. Sherlock felt shivers run down his spine. Something was obviously wrong here. They stopped at the edge of the village at a rundown shack in a higher state of disrepair than their initial house.
"Care to explain this splendid location?" Sherlock asked. Dumbledore eyed him, twinkle gone.
"This was the Gaunt family's house, before Voldemort, known at that time as Tom Riddle, framed the last descendent for murder," Dumbledore explained.
"And you think that Voldemort placed one of his valued horcruxes here?" Sherlock asked, unimpressed, "how dull."
Dumbledore actually laughed at that before approaching the house. Sherlock stopped for a moment, shook his head, then blinked.
"Riddle must have placed an anti-muggle ward on the house. Fairly basic and easy enough to get through if one recognizes it," Dumbledore said.
"Just felt like I lost my train of thought for a moment. I doubt the anti-muggle ward was meant for one of my caliber, however," Sherlock replied, walking past Dumbledore to the front door.
"How humble, Mr. Holmes."
"Thank you."
They made their way through a darkened hall. Sherlock was reminded of haunted houses from horror films. The floorboards creaked with every step. Sherlock was glad that at the very least, if something tried to approach them, then they'd hear it before it reached them. They reached the sitting room. Moth-eaten furniture and a small table was all that greeted them.
"It's here." Sherlock looked at him curiously.
"How can you tell?"
"I've not felt this dark a presence in all my life. There's definitely something here," Dumbledore replied pulling out his wand. Sherlock closed his fingers around the cool steel of his pistol.
"Can you do some sort of spell to locate it?"
"A few. Give me a moment… here."
"What? Under the floorboards?"
"I would say so, Mr. Holmes," Dumbledore said. Sherlock eyed the floorboards Dumbledore's wand pointed to.
"Wonderful! Let's crack them open."
