Chapter Ten…Into the Frying Pan

There was a terrific burst of blue flame; a cloud of smoke, and Hagrid staggered backwards out of the fireplace, covered with soot, his beard smouldering. Sherlock Holmes, his coattails edged with glowing coals, followed him, his face besmirched black, and his eyes red with fury as he confronted Snape.

"What the devil have you done?" he bellowed. An unpleasant sensation at his backside caused him to swat at the back of his coat.

"Oof, sir, yer coat's afire!" shouted Hagrid, and proceeded to smack Holmes about the bum with the flat of his hand."

"Quit that! Get your hands OFF me!" roared the detective. "Your beard's burning, Hagrid!"

Snape reached into his sleeve for his wand and quickly extinguished Hagrid's beard and Holmes' coat with one economical, contained swish and flick. "It's luck, pure luck that I was standing here when you idiots were rejected by the Floo network!" he exclaimed. His eyes were obsidian slits. "It's you, Holmes. The Floo won't accept Muggles." He drew himself up, dusted off his hands and prepared to stalk away.

"Not so fast, Snape, not so fast!" Holmes hastened after the Potions Master. "What are you talking about, 'won't accept Muggles?' Give me a horse, man, anything to get me to town! I must contact Watson!"

Snape wheeled about. "And, I suppose, your precious Russell, whom I am weary to death of hearing about, Holmes? Your brilliant intern, who helps you to solve your mysteries and just happens to come up with solutions to puzzling problems?" He snorted. "In your absence, your paragon of an intern is probably gambling his last penny away with his mates, or drinking himself into a fine stupor in the neighbourhood pub!"

Holmes' fists curled loosely, he crouched slightly. "Now," he purred, his voice as silkily oily as Snape's, "why don't you toss about some new insults more fitting to a – a schoolmaster, Snape?" He became aware of three open-mouthed faces at his side: just what he needed, three students watching his set-to with their Potions Master!

Hermione, Harry and Ron had just entered the Great Hall at that moment, on their way to the library. Hermione quickly motioned to the boys to go on ahead when she saw the two adversaries: at it again? "Stop it!" she cried, running to Snape's side. "This is foolish, to waste time arguing!" She rounded on Holmes: "Mr Holmes, you must have a primer on magic immediately if we are to do anything. Have you heard of the Law of Contagion?"

Holmes looked down his nose at her. He was working himself up to a fine tear; bad enough he had been thwarted in his efforts to reach Watson and Russell; now he must contend with the school's official Know-It-All. Somewhere, Russell was laughing; he was sure of it. "Well, Miss Granger? What is it? I've never heard of it!"

Snape sniggered. "While you are expounding at excruciating length, displaying your comprehensive knowledge of magical theory, Miss Granger, I shall repair to my private office and do some real work on the problem!" Hermione hurried after him, dragging a reluctant Holmes.

"Now, here's how it works," she began, unconsciously assuming her "Know-It-All" pedagogical voice, "anything that is either a part of, or has had proximity to, an entity, whether it be a structure, a being, a natural phenomenon; a waterspout, say; or et cetera, is capable of taking on the properties of that structure or being or phenomenon, as a traveller will take a splinter of wood from his doorpost before setting out on a journey; through the Laws of Contagion, the splinter becomes the doorpost, symbolising—"

"Stop!" cried Holmes. "If you were not bent on running me to death up and down these interminable staircases, you will certainly put an end to me with your stultifying polemic! Have done with the lesson!"

Hermione stopped, as bid. She looked sharply at Holmes. "Indeed," she said. "One would think that Russell had schooled you better." She put her nose in the air and sailed onwards, towing Holmes behind her, muttering, "…damned intellectual prodigies…"

They stopped at the door to Snape's private office. Holmes looked down at the young woman. "Miss Granger," said he, "I apologise for my boorish behaviour. Russell would have beaten me severely; you have been most kind and patient with me. Now, before we face the Professor, tell me: how can we use this Law of Contagion (yes, I do understand it) to deal with the influenza?"

Snape wheeled about: "You have been nattering on behind my back; Miss Granger; apparently you lack the courage to face me. If we can obtain the influenza infection in its early state, that is, before the symptoms appear, we can use magical methods to craft a preventative potion, which will have the properties of' the infection as a splinter from a doorpost 'represents' the dwelling place. Come in, come in, don't stand there with your jaw hanging, Holmes." Snape pushed them into the office, and the door slammed in back of them.

Holmes' brow furrowed. Much as he disliked admitting that he didn't understand Snape, he was at a loss, and of little use to the investigation. Best handle this with some degree of tact; he didn't need Snape exploding yet again. "Professor," he said, in his most urbane and genteel tones, "please forgive an old chap. I've always relied on Watson for his understanding of things medical, and I am, erm, confused. Perhaps you could give an example…"

Snape inhaled loudly, and a "Here I go, explaining things to dunderheads" look appeared on his face. "Concentrate, then," he ordered Holmes. We obtain the blood of the person whom we know is infected but has not yet shown symptoms. We isolate the substance of the infection from the blood, and subject it to magical manipulations. The substance will still be influenza, but it will carry the magical markers we assign to it. When given to a witch or wizard, it will reverse the symptoms, the worst of which is the loss of magical powers."

"Thank you," said Holmes. "I begin to understand. How can we get the infection in its early state, as you say? We only know that someone is infected by the appearance of symptoms. By that time it's too late." He thought. "We need a controlled situation, and I'm not a doctor, I can't see how it could be done." He glared at Snape. "Our one hope was my contacting Watson, and now you've set that all into a pretty mess, haven't you!"

"Just a moment," Hermione interjected. "Muggles have been taking medicines for influenza and diseases like it for many years." She hitched up her robes and seated herself on a chair. "We need a subject who has just become infected."

Holmes stated: "I propose that I become infected. I shall shake hands with Madam Pomfrey, for instance, and since the contagion is fast acting, within, say, an hour I shall have the disease. Before the symptoms manifest, you can draw blood, and begin work on isolating the organisms. I trust that the condition will progress in me as it has in the others."

Snape, whose scanty patience was wearing thin with too much discussion, inadvertently provided the solution. "Damn you, you're a Squib already!" He stopped with his mouth open, in mid-roar. He shut his jaw with a snap and leaned towards Holmes in an almost confidential manner.

Holmes, whose fists were at the ready to make an acquaintance with the Potions Master's jaw, stepped back, his eyes flashing. "What do you mean, a Squib?" he snarled.

Snape snarled back at him. "A Squib is a wizard or witch who has lost his or her magical powers. Filch is a Squib. Now Pomfrey is a Squib, and her nurses, and Albus and Minerva…"

Holmes stepped forward rapidly. "Think, man! Wizards are losing their powers…it's contagious…if it isn't contained there won't be anyone with magical powers left! What does that mean? Who would benefit if the wizards lost their powers?

Snape reached out, steadying himself with a hand on Holmes' arm. "Yes – yes, it's obvious, isn't it…all the wizards, except for a chosen few, powerless..." He looked down. "That's why I didn't get the disease," he murmured. "I'm a Death Eater…"

Hermione clamped both hands over her mouth, and then dropped them in her lap. "Voldemort! It's Voldemort! He's done this!" She turned to Snape: "Don't you see it? If he renders all the witches and wizards powerless except for the Death Eaters, he'll rule the world! He'll kill the Squibs as well as the Muggles, no-one will be able to stop him!" She clasped her hands around her arms, but she could not stop shuddering.

Holmes put his hand out to her. "Miss Granger," he said, "I believe you're right. It's the only thing that makes any sense. Snape, what do you say, man? We must stop this maniac in his tracks."

"Easier said than done," intoned Snape. He smirked. "Damned clever, sending those two corpses here already infected with the disease. So that is why they didn't test as Muggles, or as wizards. They had become Squibs."

"I told you it wasn't poison!" cried Hermione, her eyes blazing. 'I take that back. It is poison; it's poisoned infection! I know what to do. We can make a vaccine, a weak solution of the infection. The Muggles have been doing it for years."

Snape moved silently to stand next to her. "Come, Miss Granger, to the laboratory. I must look at this thing." He swept out of the office and turned in the direction of the laboratory, his cloak billowing after him. He stopped and turned: "Holmes, I would be eager to know if any more corpses have appeared; perhaps you can find out."

Holmes' mouth turned down at the corners. "I shall make enquiry," he said. "I have some thinking to do." He sighed. "If only I had my pipe…"

Hermione put her hand on his arm. "Please, sir, don't take it personally. Professor Snape is always, well, rather theatrical. Let him work alone for a bit; it'll be best."

Holmes eyed the young woman, one eyebrow raised. "As you doubtless know, Miss Granger, the Professor prevented me from trying to obtain the medications that helped palliate the influenza symptoms during the epidemic. I deduce that there is something about my milieu that disturbs him, and I have a feeling it has something to do with the mysterious conditions under which I came to Hogwarts."

Hermione bit on her lower lip. "I think you may be right, sir. It's nothing to do with either Doctor Watson or Miss Russell personally, but – but…" She looked away for a moment, and in that instant, her native genius roared to life. "Mr Holmes," she said, taking his arm and walking towards the staircases with him, "Your milieu, as you say, has suffered wave upon wave of influenza epidemics. It's almost uncontrollable, and no-one's been able to prevent it." She drew a deep breath, here goes nothing…."I do know someone who may be able to help us. She's a Muggle, and they've been inoculating themselves against influenza, as well as against other diseases, for quite a long time."

Holmes stopped and turned to her. "You tried to say that before, and Snape wouldn't listen. Doesn't he know, as you do, about Muggle medicine? Stubborn ass!"

A dimple appeared in Hermione's cheek. "One of the Professor's less endearing qualities is his bigotry towards Muggles," she stated. "He's a Pureblood, and although he's nowhere near as fanatic as some others of his kind, he knows little about them and doesn't want to know more. I'm a Muggle-born witch, and to me, Muggles – like my parents – are just like anyone else, but they don't practise magic."

"Very astute, Miss Granger. There are people I know who can't ride a bicycle, or are colour blind. They're just like anyone else, aren't they? A Muggle, you say, can't practise magic. But Muggles can and do inoculate themselves against diseases? What about your friend, the Muggle? Please contact her immediately." He started to stride off toward the laboratory. "Well, come along! We must inform the Professor that the game's afoot!"

Hermione fished around in her wardrobe, finally extricating what looked like a small green card with brightly coloured beads and pieces of wire stuck into its surface. She sat down at her desk and propped the card against a mug with the remains of last night's hot cocoa. Mr Holmes, you would be most interested to see the Law of Contagion in operation…

"Like to like, remember thee,

Of where thou wast, and bring to me

Thy parent's likeness, strong in power

For all to be my servant this hour."

Swish, flick, and the green card glowed brilliantly purple, and became a neat laptop computer – her father's computer, actually. He had shown it off proudly on her last visit home: "Your Uncle David gave it me when he got his new desktop system in his office. I've even taken a course in computer repair, and I replaced the bad card by myself!"

"Fascinating!" Hermione patted her father's arm. "May I have the card? It would be interesting to show my chums."

"Of course, my honey," said her doting father. "Mind you, those little wires are sharp; don't cut your fingers, love. Maybe you'll fix it magically, eh?" He hugged her around her neck and gave her cheek a smacking kiss.

Hermione wasn't exactly sure what she'd done to the card, but she knew how a computer worked, and had conjured up the clone of her father's second-hand laptop a few months ago. She had wanted it desperately; her foray into the Russell/Holmes books had whetted her appetite; she was keen to visit the mystery series' website, and the rest, as they say, was history.

"Enervate!" she pronounced, and the computer's screen filled with a blue, cloud-filled sky. A hum began as the fan whirred on; a loud chord of music announced the opening of Windows, and Hermione clicked her mouse's pointer on a little picture of a girl with auburn hair. Oh, Maura, be there, she pleaded.

"WHAT?" Maura shouted. "Oh, God, I hate shots! I've never gotten a flu shot before! My cousin Phyllis got one and she came down with the flu itself!"

Hermione was chewing on her lower lip, twisting the edge of her sleeve nervously in her hands. "Maura, you have no idea how terrible this is! I thought all we had to do was solve a murder. It's far beyond that."

"If I had written it myself," answered Maura, "I couldn't have written it any worse. So the Dark Lord plans to take over the Wizarding World? That would mean the end of Hogwarts."

"Not just Hogwarts, but every witch and wizard in the world who isn't Voldemort's lackey," said Hermione. "The last time this happened – oh, you've heard of the Dark Ages, haven't you?"

Maura nodded. She sat with her chin on her fists, gazing at Hermione's face in the monitor. "I can't believe we can pull this off." She found a piece of gum on her desk, put it in her mouth and chewed reflectively. "What about you – I hope you don't get it!

"Maura, I want you to write the 'flu vaccine into Hogwarts, as you wrote Holmes here. Find a way to get it to Snape, perhaps as a phial that unaccountably appears in his laboratory." Hermione's brows drew together. "I'm not going to get it."

Maura rubbed her hands together and flexed her fingers. "I can do that. But I'll have to clear the screen…"

"Not necessary, just get your story up," suggested Hermione. A few clicks of Maura's mouse, and the screen filled with a document. Its title was, as might be predicted, "All Will Be Revealed." Maura pressed the Control and End keys, and the end of the document appeared:

Sherlock Holmes had seen the amazing structure directly he exited from the most unpleasant forest he had ever traversed. "I know of no castle in the vicinity," thought he, and pulled out his pocket Baedeker of Scotland to confirm it.

Nevertheless, there it stood, surrounded by well-kept orchards, fields of grain and magnificent gardens and flowering trees. How could he never have seen it before? Ayrshire was a favourite vacation spot, and surely such a castle, situated on a lovely lake (which was likewise unknown to Baedeker), would be a popular attraction. He walked down the finely gravelled path towards the huge double doors, which opened to show a welcoming committee. Holmes stopped in astonishment…

A small window opened on the upper left of the screen. "Brilliant!" exclaimed Hermione. "I can watch what you're doing!" On Hermione's computer, the document occupied the right half of the screen, with Maura's image on the left.

"Here we go, " said Maura. She put her pencil behind her ear, swept her hair out of her eyes, and typed three asterisks, then hit "Enter" twice, to start a new paragraph.

Maura put her head down on her crossed arms. Her eyes burned. On the screen, in her little box, Hermione's frown threatened to take over her whole face. "I can't understand it! As soon as you hit the Enter key, everything you've typed disappears!"

"And if I don't hit the Enter – if I try to make everything one huge paragraph – it falls apart just as quickly!" She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Hermione, something doesn't want me to write that vaccine to Hogwarts."

"Rubbish! Oh, I'm sorry, Maura. I didn't mean that what you were saying is rubbish, I just can't imagine why you shouldn't be able to write it. After all, you did write Snape's set-to with Holmes, didn't you?"

"I've already tried to write this stuff at the end of that file. Nothing doing; it's the same." Maura blew a large pink bubble, which burst and plastered itself on her nose. Picking away gum fragments disgustedly, Maura said, "Well, if I was writing the reason why I can't write the vaccine to you, I'd say that crossing interdimensional space and time was harmful to the delicate substance."

Crossing interdimensional space and time is harmful to the delicate substance.

Maura looked at Hermione: "Did you just write that?"

"No! I was going to ask you the same thing!" Hermione tried unsuccessfully to push her cloud of frizzy brown hair back behind her ears. "If it won't survive the crossing, then we have to make it here," she stated.

"Maybe that's why I can't write it there. There are different strains of 'flu, and how would I know which was the right one? You've got a number of infected people," said Maura. "Between you and Snape, I'd say you could get blood samples and isolate the organism. Then you can make a vaccine and also something to reverse the no-magic situation."

"Okay," Hermione replied. "We've got to give it a try. I have a feeling the Professor will be less than thrilled, but I'll make him see the logic of it."

"What about Holmes? While you're doing that, he's going to be snooping into everything and anything, trying to find out how Voldemort managed to get those infected Squibs into Hogwarts without compromising them in interdimensional space and time."

Hermione giggled. "Yes, I believe that's just what he'll do. It'll be a challenge to keep him out of Hogsmeade and away from telephones and telegraphs." She looked down, then up again. "It would serve him right if we brought Russell here."