Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock.
221B Baker Street
"Ugh, the urchin again", Sherlock complained, his upper lip curling as he and John approached their flat after returning from Scotland Yard.
"Urchin?" John echoed in confusion before he saw who was standing outside 221 Baker Street, waiting for them.
Imogen was tired. It had been her second night sleeping rough and needless to say, she was struggling to get any rest. The sounds of automobile traffic proved to be quite different when one is used to the sounds of foot traffic. Leaning against the brickwork of the building, Imogen had one hand in her pocket, wrapped around her wand. While the other was holding a satin purple top hat. It was, without a doubt, the fanciest thing Imogen had on her. Other than that, she still wore the only muggle clothes she owned, faded jeans that were now stained with dirt and a long-sleeved shirt with holes on the bottom hem.
"That urchin", Sherlock informed his partner as he waved a dismissive hand over Imogen's waiting form.
"Sherlock-" John tried to jump in because one really shouldn't refer to poor people as urchins.
But like in most situations, Sherlock ignored his social conscience and kept going. "I already told you that I won't do it", Sherlock spoke directly to the girl.
Imogen remained still as John tried to catch up. "Won't do it? Won't do what?"
"Last night", Sherlock answered without taking his gaze off the child standing in between him and his flat. A runaway, but not starving. So, she mustn't have been on the streets very long. Right hand holding something in her pocket, just as she had been last night. Probably a weapon of some sort. But nothing too dangerous, given its size. Sherlock was certain. A screwdriver perhaps. "She came to our door and asked us to help her solve a crime. Surely you remember, John". Sherlock was starting to get annoyed. Partially because of John's lack of recall, but also because the purple top hat the girl was holding was throwing off his deductions. Were would a street urchin obtain a monstrosity like that? And why would she even want it?
"Last night", John repeated just to clarify as he glanced back and forth between Sherlock and the girl. Neither one of them was looking at him; too busy scowling at each other.
"Yes, last night", Sherlock all but growled. "Do try to keep up".
With a slight incline of his head, John pressed his lips together as the certain type of frustration he only felt with Sherlock started bubbling up. "Last night I was out on a date".
Sherlock's expression froze on his face as he let John's words sink in. "Oh, yes", he said after a moment. John had been absent. It had been his skull Sherlock had been conversing with last night.
Feeling slightly miffed, John turned his attention to the girl who was still silently standing before them. "What crime is this?" he asked in a slightly kind voice. Also known as his doctor's voice. After all, he couldn't talk to patients like how he talked to his flatmate.
But Sherlock answered for her before Imogen could even open her mouth. "Apparently there's been a string of child abductions that no one is doing anything about. The Urchin here thinks she's on this mysterious abductor's list. Oh, and magic is real". The mocking tone of Sherlock's voice was not lost on anyone. But neither Imogen nor john commented.
John's thoughts took a sharp turn at all the information Sherlock had just dumped. Firstly, a child abductor sounded quite serious. Sure, it wasn't a murder but it should still be an interesting enough case for Sherlock. But then Sherlock had said that last bit. "M-magic?" John questioned as his eyes took in Imogen's form once again. No longer was he thinking this was a serious case. It sounded more like a mental health problem.
"I'm ready to prove it this time", Imogen finally spoke up as she held out the purple top hat a little. Her voice was a bit raspy, but nothing a cup of tea couldn't sort out.
Sherlock eyed the purple hat as if he found it personally offensive. "You're claiming that this hat is magical?" He asked with a sneer.
Imogen was unphased by the reception she was getting. Coming from Knockturn Alley, she was quite used to it. "It's been charmed, yes", she agreed.
"Show me", Sherlock challenged. Very similar in the manner he had used last night when Imogen had made the same claim. Then, the girl had claimed she couldn't because she was underage and her government could track her if she used magic. Sherlock had kicked her out after that point with a very curt request that she did not waste anymore of his time. And he expected this instance to go the same way.
Imogen glanced up and down the street they were standing on. There were Muggles walking to and fro different shops. Muggles carrying umbrellas. Muggles talking into a rectangular box they were holding against their ears. Muggles everywhere! "Not here", Imogen said when her eyes landed back on Sherlock and John. "Inside", she gestured with her head in the direction of 221 Baker Street.
Sherlock scoffed with the roll of his eyes; ready to dismiss this nonsense just like he had done the night prior.
Recognizing that she was about to lose her audience, Imogen decided to push. "Look, Magic is a secret. I'm already breaking the law by telling you. I don't need to make it worse by letting every muggle I see on the street in on it".
Sherlock's face twisted at the mention of an unknown word. Muggle? He found it disconcerting that he couldn't work out its meaning. But before he could do anything about it, John caved. "Alright", the doctor agreed. "Our flat is on the second floor", he told the girl; waving his hand to suggest that Imogen should head up first.
"John", sherlock hissed as Imogen did just that; a relieved sort of look in her blue eyes. "What are you doing? You can't possibly-"
"Of course, I don't believe her, Sherlock", John snapped back in a low whisper. He pushed past his flatmate and started for the front door. "But she's a child. You said it yourself that she's homeless when you called her an urchin. We'll get her inside, call social services, and she can wait with us until they can send someone".
Outside of the gates of Hogwarts on a pleasant September day, Neville stood under one of the winged pig statues; leaning against a pillar. "Harry", he greeted once his old classmate popped into view.
"Thanks for meeting with me, Neville", said Harry as he held out his hand for a shake; his eyes glossing over the winged pig statues with reverence as he did some. There just wasn't anything like returning to Hogwarts. Even if it was only for a few hours. Hogwarts had been Harry's first real home, after all.
"Not at all", Neville assured him; accepting the gesture. The two old friends stood still for a moment as they grasped hands. But then they were moving forward in the direction of the school. "How are Ginny and the kids?" Neville asked as he held open the gate for Harry to pass through.
"She's good. They're all good", Harry answered as he and Neville began the trek up to the greatest place Harry had ever known. "Though after having the three, Ginny's been wondering how her mum ever managed the seven of them".
As birdsong aligned their path and gravel crunched under their feet, Neville chuckled. "I know what she means", he shared. "After I became a teacher, I often questioned how parents managed to care for a child every hour of the day".
Hogwarts castle loomed in the distance. Almost as if the sight served as a signal, the two wizards become somber. "I'm sorry you're here on official business". Neville spoke grimly. Missing children had been a concern when the war had first ended. Back then, whole families who had gone into hiding had to be tracked down and assured that it was safe to return. Some of the muggleborn students never came back. Many found their way to other wizarding schools in countries that had more laws protecting different blood statuses. While others learned that they preferred the mundane life of the muggle world. However, the case of Imogen had a slightly different flavor. Attending school during peacetime, and as an already established third year made her disappearance alarming. Especially when considering that her guardian swore Imogen had made it to Kings Cross on the first.
"Yeah", Harry agreed as he rubbed agitatedly at the back of his head. The thin file he had on Imogen Burke weighed heavily on his mind ever since he woke up that morning. Hopefully, more could be uncovered here. "Say, Neville. What can you tell me about Imogen Burke?"
Neville took his time to collect his thoughts. All the while the castle drew closer and closer. They'd be standing in the entrance hall soon. "There isn't a whole lot to say. She's in Ravenclaw, so I'm not her head of house. Cho might be a better person to ask". Neville paused only long enough to open the main entrance door that towered over the both of them. And when they were both standing inside, Neville continued. "Burke never had a problem in my class. A bit on the quiet side. There was an issue during her first year with Burke not turning in her homework. But that got sorted out with time".
The halls were void of any chattering school children; a sign that they were all in class. Which was something Harry was grateful for. There were still times his name and scar attracted the attention of admirers; a hindrance in his line of work. "What about friends?" Harry asked as they started climbing the moving staircases. "Who did Burke spend the most time with?"
Neville shook his head. "Sorry. Whenever I saw Burke outside of the classroom, she was always alone. But ask Cho. She might know more".
"Well?" Sherlock demanded with impatience as they stood in the sitting room of 221B. They had run into Mrs. Hudson on their way up. So, introductions had to be made. And then they had to listen to Mrs. Hudson's promise to bring up some tea and biscuits before they could continue upstairs. Manners, John called it. A maddening waste of time, if you asked Sherlock.
"Sherlock", John scolded lightly as he situated himself in his armchair, knowing that his warning wouldn't do anything to reign in the resident high functioning sociopath.
But Imogen didn't seem bothered. She did live with Mr. Borgin after all. Moving at her own speed, Imogen causally raised the purple top hat and placed it on her head. John blinked and in that time, the teenage girl they had welcomed into their flat became a headless teenage girl.
Sherlock's stiffened as John gaped; a sort of grizzled choking sound coming out of his mouth. "Wh…. Mmmm" he started to attempt to say before quickly having a change of heart.
Sherlock wasn't doing much better. His mind was spinning with a rush he only felt when he was on the heels of a killer or in a middle of a high. How was this possible? An illusion, surely. But the physics of it… How did it work?
"Do you believe me now?" Imogen's disembodied voice asked. To her credit, it only sounded vaguely amused at Sherlock and John's expense.
John cleared his throat before trying to ask again. "Wh…. Mmmmm". But he still found himself to be unable to vocalize actual words.
"Fascinating", Sherlock muttered to himself as he took a step closer to what appeared to be a headless body. "How does it work?" He asked himself. To test a thought he had, Sherlock raised one hand, and with his index finger, he poked at the air. Which ended up being Imogen's cheek.
"Yeah", Imogen drawled slowly. "My head is still here. It's just invisible".
"Breathe, John", Sherlock ordered over his shoulder when John started to make a croaking dying sound. And then to the teenager that still appeared to be without a head, Sherlock said, "An amusing parlor trick".
But his flippant response didn't fool Imogen. With the same hand that put the hat on, she removed it; making both it and her head visible once more. "So", Imogen started just to summarize all the important bits. "Magic is real, as I've just proven. Meaning that I'm not a liar and that I really do need your help".
Sherlock wasn't looking at Imogen. In fact, he was barely listening to her. All his attention was focused on the purple monstrosity in Imogen's hand. The mathematical principles of such an invention alone were intriguing enough that Sherlock felt himself growing excited. How had he never seen anything of the like before? Did Mycroft know of such inventions, Sherlock wondered. In one fluid motion, Sherlock snatched the top hat out of Imogen's hand. "Magic is not real", Sherlock insisted as John continued to recover in the background. "And I'll prove it once I've studied this", he said in reference to the hat he was now holding.
Imogen quirked the left corner of her lips as confidence flooded into her eyes. "Sure", she agreed before she issued Mr. Holmes a challenge. "But if you can't by the end of the day, you have to help me".
The tip of Sherlock's tongue flickered out as he licked his lips. It annoyed him that this little urchin would even suggest that he couldn't solve this puzzling hat, but he was too eager to get started to refute her. "Fine", he agreed; already turning away from Imogen to get started.
Satisfied with Sherlock's one word of consent, Imogen leaned slightly to the left so she could see John looking a bit pale and slumped over in his armchair. "Can I use your bathroom?" She asked the doctor.
"Uh…", John tried. But Sherlock was quicker.
"May I use your bathroom", he corrected absent-mindedly as he placed a closed fist inside the hat to see if that would make his hand invisible.
Imogen sounded like a complete teenager when she quipped, "Well, you hardly need to ask permission to use the bathroom in your own home".
The only response she got from Sherlock was the dismissive flap of his hand. Deciding that John was still her best bet, Imogen kept her focus on him. "Yes", John managed to get out after he cleared his throat for a second time. "It's just down the hall". To help, John pointed with a shaking hand to the hall he was referring to.
Smiling in thanks, Imogen turned. But before she could enter the bathroom Sherlock called after her, "Wash while you're at it. You smell like a gutter".
"Sherlock!" John interjected as the bathroom door closed behind Imogen. "That's not something you should say to a guest".
Sherlock chose to act like he hadn't heard his partner. "Put off calling social services, John", Sherlock said as he turned the hat around in his hands; studying it from all angles. "You can call after I've proven her wrong".
With that said, Sherlock decided to try the hat on. In the same moment, Mrs. Hudson appeared in their doorway with her usually "yoo-hoo", carrying a tray complete with tea for three and a healthy amount of biscuits stacked on a plate. But her signature greeting quickly turned into a blood-curdling scream of horror as she took in what she perceived to be the sight of a bloodless, beheaded Sherlock. The tray dropped and clattered to the floor as Mrs. Hudson waved her hands in the air near her face. The teacups shattered as the tea itself spilled out onto the floor; ruining the biscuits in the process. Still screaming, Mrs. Hudson turned heel and ran for the safety of her own flat on the first floor.
John watched Mrs. Hudson's retreat with his mouth slack-jawed. While Sherlock took the hat off his head and lowered it slowly until it was against his chest. "I take it that the hat worked then".
"Yes, it bloody worked!" John exclaimed. More irked by Sherlock's lack of concern for their landlady than he was for the fact that Sherlock had looked to be headless seconds before.
"Fascinating", Sherlock repeated himself as he took to staring at the hat in his hands once more.
Running a hand over his tired face, John gave himself a brief moment to reflect on his life choices. "You're cleaning that up", he told Sherlock; nodding to the spoiled tea tray.
"Haven't the time, John", Sherlock said as he moved into their kitchen. Why? John didn't have the foggiest. "Didn't you hear the urchin?" Sherlock asked as he continued to talk to John from the other room.
"We really should find out her name", John commented.
"I only have until the end of the day to figure out how this hat works", Sherlock continued as if John hadn't said anything at all. John was unbothered. He was, after all, very used to it.
"Potter", Hogwarts' headmistress welcomed him as Harry stepped into her office. The space was slightly less clustered than it had been when it had belonged to Dumbledore. But other than having fewer knick-knacks, Harry decided that it didn't really feel that different.
"It's good to see you, Professor McGonagall", Harry returned in kind as his eyes couldn't help but search out Dumbledore's portrait amongst all the others.
With an open-hand gesture, McGonagall motioned for Harry to take the seat across from her desk. "I only wish it was under better circumstances", she said once Harry was seated.
"I interviewed Burke's guardian last night", Harry started; getting straight to business. He knew that promptness was something McGonagall appreciated. "Other than stating that he had last seen Burke on September 1st when he dropped her off at Kings Cross, Mr. Borgin couldn't tell us much about his charge". At McGonagall's pursed lips, Harry knew that she felt that was off just like he had. "And I talked with Neville on my way up to see you. He didn't have a lot to say. Only that Burke was quiet in class. So, I'm hoping that you'll have something to add".
McGonagall nodded as she pushed a file (A thicker one than Harry had) across her desk in his direction. "I have her school record here". Harry was happy to accept it from her. As he started to flick through it, McGonagall explained its contents. "It has all her grades and exam results. The permission slip Mr. Borgin signed for Burke to go to Hogsmeade is in there. This year, Miss Burke had selected to take muggle studies and arithmancy as her electives. And there's also documentation of every visit Miss Burke paid to the hospital wing. But she wasn't a frequent guest, like yourself".
Harry gave a small smile at the memory. There were times he believed he would never leave the hospital wing. In the folder, he came across a student photo. It was a simple headshot of Imogen in her school uniform, blinking into the camera much as she had done in the picture taken by the social worker. "How recent is this picture?" Harry asked as he held it up for McGonagall to see. "Mr. Borgin didn't have any pictures and the only one I could find was taken when very Burke was very young".
"Last year", McGonagall stated. "It's something we started doing a few years after the war. All students now have their pictures taken at the start of the school year. So, Merlin forbid, if anything were to target our students again, we'll have faces to attach to names".
Harry nodded. A year-old picture wasn't perfect. Imogen was probably taller now. But it was better than nothing. "This will be a big help. Thank you, professor. I wanted to have Burke's picture printed in the Prophet so the public can be on the lookout".
McGonagall nodded as she folded her weathered hands on the desktop. "May I suggest that you also run the picture in some muggle publications?"
Harry quirked an eyebrow behind his glasses. "Muggle? Why?"
McGonagall's answer was so obvious, Harry was a little embarrassed that he hadn't thought of it. "From Professor Chang's report about Miss Burke never making it to the castle and from what you've told me about Miss Burke's guardian dropping her off at Kings Cross, I think it's likely Miss Burke isn't in the magical world".
Harry sat up straighter in his chair. "Whatever caused her to disappear must have happened between Burke arriving at Kings Cross and before she could get to the platform", Harry reasoned. That would make the muggle world more likely. "What about the train? Could Burke had boarded and somehow gotten off during transit?"
"No", McGonagall answered very adamantly. "Hogwarts has measures in place to protect the students once they're on the train. It would be impossible for anyone to leave before reaching Hogsmeade. And none of the other students reported seeing Miss Burke on the train or the platform".
Harry slumped against the backrest once again. "Making Kings Cross the most likely point of her disappearance". But Harry had more questions. "What about Burke's friends? Did they say anything once they learned she was missing?"
McGonagall sighed; her eyes forlorn as she gave a small shake of her head. "Miss Burke did not have any friends. There was a few her first year, as Professor Change told me. But they were quickly warned away from Miss Burke".
Harry squinted his eyes. "What? Why?" He asked.
"It's not surprising", McGonagall tried to explain. "Children like Burke often struggle to find a place in Hogwarts. Most children from Burke's background do not even attend Hogwarts". Seeing as Harry's expression continued to be befuddled, McGonagall continued. "Hogwarts is a private institution. In order to attend, families must pay tuition fees. And those fees do not include the cost of school supplies, books, and uniforms".
"But I never paid…" Harry tried to interject.
"Your tuition was set aside and paid in full in your parents' will. Every year, Gringotts paid your tuition out of your trust without you ever knowing", McGonagall answered.
"The Weasleys…" Harry tried again.
"Scrounged and saved in order to send all of their children to Hogwarts", McGonagall answered without pause. "In fact, they probably would have been well off, financially speaking, if they hadn't had such a large brood". Harry was silent as he processed this piece of information he had never considered before. But his silence made McGonagall decide to keep going. "Hogwarts does have a scholarship fund. But it is mostly reserved for muggleborn students. If you look at the numbers, you'll find that many children like Miss Burke, who come from communities like Knockturn Alley, do not attend Hogwarts".
Harry regained himself, and one question popped in his mind ahead of all the others. "How was Burke's tuition covered? Her guardian didn't seem like the type to send her to Hogwarts if he had to pay for it".
"You're right", McGonagall replied with a small inclined of her head. "Miss Burke had a benefactor. Much like yourself, her tuition was set aside for her before she was even old enough to attend".
"Who?" Harry asked. Surely this was a lead he could use. Whoever this benefactor was, maybe he or she took Imogen!
Pursing her lips McGonagall gave him a long look as if she was contemplating not telling him. Almost as if she didn't want to bring up difficult memories. But not knowing if this information would be important to locating Miss Burke, McGonagall steeled herself and gave her answer. "Severus Snape".