Another Sherlock and Harry chapter! I hope you like it. Lots of action and mystery in here. :3

(Also: yes I posted this earlier today but there were so many mistakes because I was so excited I posted it without really proof-reading, that I took it down. So this is fixed and final. Enjoy!)

ANOTHER EDIT: The date has changed since i last updated from December 11th to December 4th, still a Sunday, just one week earlier in the time line of this story. I had to move it back for Draco's exam schedule coming up in the next chapter...sorry for the confusion.

JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.

Chapter 20 – Sunday, December 4th, 2:48 p.m.

...

Harry Potter's brow was knit in a deep frown. He was crouched over the edge of a small crater-like pit in a forest just south of Hadrian's Wall. Reaching out, the wizard grabbed a handful of dirt and rubbed it between his fingers, letting the grit filter out to the ground. His frown deepened.

"What's different?"

Harry looked up at who had spoken. It was his odd companion, Sherlock Holmes. The two men had been traveling together for about a month, lurking in village back alleyways or sticking to the shadows along rural roads and woods, journeying in secret. Harry, for his part, was thrilled to be feeling the old sense of adventure he used to have when he was younger and Sherlock, well Harry didn't know what Sherlock was feeling, the man ever only seemed to get excited if they were talking deep magical theory, which, to Harry, was extremely dull. But looking up into the muggle's eyes, Harry saw what he always did: deep intelligence. "The earth here, it feels…different…odd."

Sherlock crouched next to Harry. "The same as in the other places?" Harry nodded and took out his wand. Casting a classification spell on the soil, the wizard waited for the magic to collect the information, Sherlock looked fascinated. As top Auror, Harry's wand was under Ministry jurisdiction like every wand was, but it was not regulated or watched by the government, nor did it have the restrictions of the Timed Magical Suppressant Law. For which he was very grateful right now.

The wand glowed blue. "Exactly the same. Topsoil is filled with Empty Magic." Sherlock nodded seriously at Harry's words. Empty Magic was the best describer both Harry and Sherlock had come up with since the start of their travels. It fit what they were studying perfectly. Once erupted, the Dark Pockets left behind tiny traces of space in its wake: literally Empty Magic. There was still magic left over in those spaces, but at the same time, it wasn't: non-present magic, like seeing someone without a soul.

"The depth and diameter of this hole is correctly proportional to a blast wave the size of 16th and 2 quarters Sect, which corresponds to the wave measured by your instruments on May 19th of last year." Sherlock rattled off the facts and math easily. Harry would have stared at the man in amazement had he not already been similarly impressed by Sherlock many times since the start of their journey. How Sherlock had picked up the magical measurement system and kept all those complicated dates and classifications in his head, Harry would never know.

The wizard stood up, brushing his hands together getting rid of the dirt. "Out of the half dozen or so craters we've seen-"

"Seven, to be precise," Sherlock interrupted.

"Seven," Harry amended. "I think it's safe to assume that we have established a correlation between them.

Sherlock stood up, looking down at Harry from his height. The man adjusted his scarf. "It is never safe to assume, Potter. But you are correct. Relying upon our many calculations and the amount of craters we have discovered, I do believe that we may call this pattern established." Sherlock turned and walked off around the edge of the hole.

"That's what I meant," the wizard grumbled, following after the muggle who was now standing still and looking down at a spot near his feet. "What is it?" Harry asked, coming up along side the man. He followed Sherlock's gaze and when he saw what it was, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. "Stay there, stay right there! Don't move, don't touch anything!" Harry took off around the rim of the hole at a run. It was cold, the winter air snappy and harsh in the grey light of the December afternoon, but even wrapped in his warmest cloak Harry was sweating in fear.

Directly opposite of Sherlock, Harry stopped at a spot on the edge of the crater and looked down. He swallowed hard as he checked the dirt around his feet. "Does it look exactly like mine?" Sherlock called from across the hole. Harry's mind was too numb to be impressed with the man's mental leap.

"Yes. Don't move."

"It is a pressure sensitive magic spell?" Sherlock asked.

Harry looked up. "What? Oh no, nothing like that. Just hang on." Harry quickly waved his wand in a large arc around the air before casting a net spell across the entire crater. Sherlock shivered as he felt the magic settle around him. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it in his bones. He watched from across the pit as Harry swirled and danced with his wand, lips moving silently in complicated spellwork.

Finally, Sherlock felt a pressure lift from the air and Harry dropped his arm, looking exhausted. Sherlock noted his pallid color but was impressed when the man stayed upright. "For a minute there, it looked like you were about to," Sherlock called out, stopping when he saw Harry collapse in a faint. Sherlock rolled his eyes but smiled wryly to himself. I'm never wrong, he thought, walking around the crater's edge to revive the fallen wizard.

Sherlock bent over Harry and wished he had some water to splash on the man's face. Instead, the dark haired detective knelt to the ground and shook the Harry by the shoulders. It took a few moments, but Harry was revived, groaning as he clutched his head when he awoke to full consciousness. "Complicated bit of magic?" Sherlock asked.

"Just a bit." Harry adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

Sherlock thought. "Sourcing spell?"

Harry shook his head. "Containment." The wizard propped himself up on his elbows before gingerly rolling himself over and hauling himself to his feet. Sherlock didn't help. "In the dirt, directly opposite the other on either side of the crater, there are runes, sigils that are forbidden. Someone carved them into the earth to create this Empty Magic…and it's open. I mean, the channel between the spell caster and the spell, still leaking, feeding a different source, like a river to the ocean."

"So you stopped it?"

Harry nodded. "So I stopped it." He was feeling better now that he was standing up. He put his wand away.

"Why haven't we seen these markings before at the other sites?" Sherlock asked.

"The spell is timed, on a set schedule. Sucking magic from the surrounding areas at certain time of day, certain days of the month. I didn't noticed it until I had to cast the net spell, which I never would have known to do if we hadn't seen the markings. It was just dumb luck that we were here today when they were noticeable and you looked down."

Sherlock shook his head, uncomfortable. "I don't believe in coincidences." He lapsed into silence for a moment before he looked around, tapping two fingers against his lips. "I can only assume that wherever the magic was being drained to, whomever is controlling it, he or she is not very happy right now."

"I thought you said never to assume?" Harry grinned at the man who ignored his gaze.

"I said it's never safe to assume, Potter, but what we are dealing with right now isn't safe at all." Harry felt cold at the man's words. Sherlock turned abruptly and looked at Harry. "Shut up."

Harry looked taken aback. "I didn't say anything."

Sherlock frowned. "Your thoughts are interrupting me, so hush." Sherlock began to pace.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and let his mind wander, leaving the man to his peculiar musings. It hadn't taken Sherlock long to read the essential books on magic and magical theory, and even less time for him to grasp the concepts presented within the literature. The man had been particularly interested in the fact that some witches and wizards had the ability to See into the future. He had picked Harry's brain on the subject on their train ride up to Scotland. Harry remembered how the conversation had gone:

"Think of the implications," Sherlock had said, eyes alight with fascination. "Being able to see the next move, make accurate deductions of events not yet come to pass."

Harry had shaken his head. "It's not as accurate as you think, and you have to remember that not all of our society believes in these Prophecies as not many of them come true."

"Then why did you say it with a capital p?" Sherlock had asked smugly.

"How-"

"The way your lips moved when you said the word. Answer the question."

Harry had shrugged. "The Ministry collects all Prophecies made by Seers as best they can and store them within our vaults. They do have value, at least some of them do. The one about me certainly was very important, but…"

Sherlock had waited a half second before leaning on Harry to continue. "But what?"

Harry's gaze had been distant, remembering. "But there was another boy, a man…if things had been a little different…"

Sherlock had nodded. "Ah yes, Longbottom was the name, correct? I remember from your biography. Oh please, don't look so put-off. You know very well how famous you are and how people always want to write about the famous."

"Yes, his name is Neville Longbottom. He teaches at Hogwarts now…"

The memory of their conversation faded as Harry thought of the magical school that was his home for so many years. He was a little glad that Sherlock hadn't gone to Hogwarts. Studying with the man would have been a nightmare. Harry let slip a small smile as he thought about how much more competitive Hermione would have been if Sherlock had studied magic. The thought of Hermione sent Harry's mind back into worry and churning thoughts.

"Fine, what is it?" Sherlock said, exasperated, sensing Harry's mind was back grinding gears. Trying to control how impressed he was, Harry re-entered the dialogue.

"It's Hermione, Alderman Granger," Harry clarified.

"Yes, I know who she is." Sherlock impatiently waved the wizard on.

"Well," Harry said slowly. "She's very smart."

"Yes? And?"

"And how does one of the brightest witches our society has ever seen let something as big as this," Harry swept his arms out to the side. "Slip through her notice? How does the entire Ministry let this happen?"

Sherlock clenched his jaw. "The problem is, is that we still don't know the full scale of what 'this' is. Listen for a moment. Tell me if I'm right, which I probably am." Harry waited for the muggle to continue. "Just fill in the damn blanks for me on the magic front, alright?" Harry nodded. Sherlock stood still, closing his eyes for a moment and collecting his many, many thoughts.

"Eight years ago, your world fought a war, a deadly war, you call it the Darkness, the Second Wizarding War. The battle took place at a school, one of the more important locations around which your society pivots, and you challenged and defeated a wizard called Voldemort, yes?"

Harry hadn't heard that name in years. He nodded solemnly, an ache in his heart. Sherlock continued on.

"Then came the Reformation, a time of rebuilding your communities, a time of peace. But it's never that smooth in any society; peace is against our natures, we relish chaos and drama and struggle. But all was looking bright until the Shortage, which has something to do with Dark Pockets?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "Yes, yes, but what the Dark Pockets are and what they mean is a whole other matter."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I do believe we've figured that out already. River to the ocean, and all that?"

The famous wizard twisted his mouth in a humorless grin. "But where is this ocean?" Harry looked around pointedly. "We know these craters are connected, they are the same but where is the magic going? It leaves behind Empty Magic; literally molecules that are magical black holes and brings it…where?"

Sherlock was suddenly stopped cold. Cautiously, not wanting to reveal what he knew yet to the wizard, he spoke, testing a theory. "When did your Ministry discover this Shortage?"

"We've been over this before, Holmes, about seven years ago. We found out that these Pockets were remnants from Voldemort and his followers, put into place and triggered to explode in the event that their side failed. Like a booby trap, a last resort."

"And the fallout from these 'booby traps'?" Sherlock pressed. He noted the way Harry's body fidgeted, as if uncomfortable, although his voice remained the same steady monotone.

"Magical creatures turning normal, disappearing, changing their habits and habitats. Difficulties casting spells, wands going dead, injuries, splinchings, deaths, unprecedented amounts of deaths..." Harry trailed off, voice calm and even, his body language dejected and in anguish.

"Tell me what happened then."

Harry seemed agitated even though his voice remained calm. "Chaos, like you said, but we didn't thrive on it and we didn't want it, it was just there: riots, terrorist organizations, foreign skirmishes, pure panic. Until Chancellor Zabini and Hermione came along and sorted it all out, we were lost."

"And then came the Timed Magical Suppressant Law, and MAG and then the guns, the weapons."

Harry looked down at his own transi-force pistol, Ministry issued and forced upon him for his journey by Ginny who had refused to let him leave the transi-tech at home as he usually did. "Yes," he said. "And then peace."

"No," Sherlock interjected strongly. "Then there were Repercussions, there were more deaths, from the Shortage."

Harry shook his head. "No, they are taken care of."

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. There it was. "By whom?" He watched as Harry's actions seemed to flip on themselves as he stood rigidly, his body straight as a soldier, but his voice full of fear and despair.

"The Ministry of Magic."

Sherlock drew a sharp breath. He relished in the feeling of being validated, of having his many deductions finally confirmed, but he didn't dwell on it, it happened to him far too often for him to be especially proud of this moment. He had known it was the Ministry for some time, or at least, someone in the Ministry. Sherlock just hadn't known how spread out this man's power was. And it had all just been confirmed by the actions of the wizard before him. If an important, famous, skilled and treasured man of the magical community was vunerable to the control of the Dark Pockets, then the amount of people not under the control of this magic was a quickly shrinking group. I'm safe; I'm not magic, Sherlock thought. Which means that all other…muggles are safe too. But does that include…he trailed off, lost in his own musings.

"Potter," Sherlock finally said, not sure how many minutes had passed. "Potter!" he snapped, seeing the wizard still in a daze. Harry shook himself.

"What?"

"This is important."

Harry nodded. "Of course, what is it?"

"No, I mean this," Sherlock jerked his head to indicate around him. "This whole situation. If the Dark Pockets originate from the one you call Voldemort, the most detrimental thing to ever happen to wizarding society, it must warrant a high level of governmental interest."

"Absolutely."

Sherlock started to become annoyed at how slow brains besides his own moved. "Then I believe that would mean at least one Prophecy has been made relating to these strange and troubling times. We need to get to the place where they are kept."

Harry looked shocked. "Back at the Ministry? But we haven't even finished visiting the Dark Pockets? Let alone discovering the unregistered ones."

Sherlock smoothed the front of his coat and squinted into the distance. "While your sense of adventure and dedication to our journey is commendable, your flaw in only wanting this to be the rest of your life would prove this mystery's undoing. These are clues, Potter; London is where the magic is going and where our culprit is. We have gathered what we can and now it is time for us to return to our crime scene."

Harry looked dismayed. "Go back? But I…we…" Sherlock's patience ran out. The taller man strode off in the direction of the town they had come from and left Harry mumbling his words. Reluctantly, the wizard followed. "Do you always do that?" Harry asked, catching up to the man. Suddenly, Sherlock turned and took Harry by both his shoulders and pushed, causing them both to fall to the ground next to each other, Sherlock on his stomach, Harry flat on his back.

"Down, Potter!" Sherlock yelled. Before Harry had time to ask what was happening, he heard it: a crackle snap of a transi-force discharge hitting a tree, its path clearly having been aimed for them. Immediately, Harry sprang into action and passed over his transi-force pistol.

"Take this, it works like a gun," he directed Sherlock who had a satisfied grin on his face from being handed the weapon. "Point and shoot." Harry took out his wand and griped it tightly, ready to fight. "On three, then?" But Sherlock grabbed his arm.

"Wait," the man hissed. "Wait until they get a little closer. Count the footsteps…NOW!" Sherlock rolled onto his back and lifted his head, holding the transi-force pistol out over his body with straight arms. He saw Harry scramble to stand before casting a spell that emitted a red light.

Their attackers were dressed in dark clothing, one had a baseball cap pulled low over his face causing Sherlock to note that all five of the approaching men were dressed like muggles. One of Sherlock's bullets clipped a man with a black windbreaker in the shoulder and sent him to the ground. Harry's red light caught another's transi-force gun and sent it flying, disarming the man. There were three left, and in the brief moment that it took for the attackers to glance over at their fallen comrade, Sherlock got to his feet and shot the man with the baseball cap in the thigh, causing him to stumble and fall.

Harry was busy battling one of the men that also carried a wand and Sherlock kept his eye on the last attacker, who had darted behind a tree. Harry cried out as a spell got the better of him, fire starting on his left arm. Sherlock ducked behind a tree of his own, watching as the wizard angrily cast a spell that caused magical ropes to tie around the body of the man with the wand. The assailant fell face down in the dirt, his wand dropping and crunching under his body. Harry quickly doused the fire on his arm with water from his wand and ran for cover behind a tree near Sherlock.

The two men looked at each other silently counting to three in their heads and then nodding. Sherlock darted out to the left while Harry flanked the right, both running as they approached the hiding spot of the last assassin. Sherlock pulled the trigger, shooting in empty air as he rounded the tree, hitting the roots: the man was gone. "Quick!" Sherlock yelled. "Check the others!" Harry turned to run back to the man he had bound, but he was gone.

"They're all gone," Harry announced, shocked. He spun around again. "Sherlock?" he said to the empty air. A loud crack echoed through the forest followed by a cry of pain. Another transi-force pistol shot rang out followed by a thump. Harry followed the first noise and rushed to the undergrowth. A discharged transi-force weapon lay among the leaves, but no owner. "Shit," Harry swore. The gun was from the man Harry had disarmed. Harry turned and sprinted to where the second gunshot had come from, fearing the worst.

"I'm okay, just a graze along my ribs," came Sherlock's voice. He was sitting with his back propped up against a small oak, clutching his side. "Is the last one gone?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "You knew the one I had disarmed hadn't left, didn't you?" Sherlock nodded, looking self-satisfied even while injured. The whole event had shaken Harry a bit into reality. "I think it is time to go back to London, after all." Harry stooped down and tugged one of Sherlock's arms over his shoulders, helping the taller man stand.

"Good choice," Sherlock said, his voice cracking a little in pain. "I know an excellent doctor back in the city."

"I don't think your wound will wait that long. We'll have to get you patched up here before we go back." Harry held onto Sherlock's wrist to keep his arm from slipping.

Sherlock grunted as they began to walk. "You may be right there, Potter. But let's try to get this taken care of as soon as possible. I really like this coat and I would rather not bleed on it." Together, the two men started to make their way back toward the town. Harry kept his wand out. "They were dressed like muggles," Sherlock said after a while.

Harry was surprised to hear Sherlock say the word. "What?"

"I've seen what you people wear and those men were dressed differently, trying to blend into their surroundings. Each of them are probably stationed in towns near Dark Pockets, ready to attack anyone snooping around them."

"But not Ministry officials?"

"Obviously, otherwise this secret would have been found out ages ago. No, they lie in wait for those who are not authorized by the Ministry to come sniffing about and then they strike. Loners, all living in separate villages across England and Scotland."

Harry frowned. "Loners? There were five of them."

"Clearly," Sherlock sucked in a breath as he took a hard step, jostling his gunshot. "They were all transported here when the alarm was triggered. What do you call it? Oh yes, apparating."

"You can't apparate anymore, it's impossible, there isn't enough magic." Harry said firmly.

Sherlock sighed lightly. "Well apparently you can."

Harry was silent for a moment before he spoke up again. "What alarm did we trigger? We've been around many other Dark-oh, my spell."

"Spot on," Sherlock said through clenched teeth.

As they picked their way through the forest in the darkening light of the winter afternoon, Harry's heart sank the more he thought about everything that had just happened. "I honestly thought I missed this," he said to the muggle. "But it's different now, it's like…"

"You have a family now," Sherlock finished. "The stakes are higher than just friends and a grand 'save the word' mission. It's more personal."

"Funny," Harry said darkly. "I thought the last time was personal."

Sherlock would have given a short chuckle if he had had the strength. "Oh this whole thing, this little game, isn't about you, it isn't personally aimed at you. You're just personally invested in it. Two very different things."

Harry let Sherlock's words sink in as they crunched their way through the brush closer to town. He could see the road approaching them not five yards off. "Well, then who is it about this time?"

"That, Doctor Watson, is the true mystery," Sherlock mumbled before his head rolled forward in a blood loss and shock faint.

"Damn it," Harry said, hoisting Sherlock's arm to a better position over his shoulders. "I'm too old for this." His almost-grin turned to gritted teeth as he half dragged, half carried Sherlock to the town's muggle doctor for stitches before they could rent a car to drive back to London.

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