Chapter 16 Finding mom
Seraphina POV
I took a carriage somewhere near Baker Street. Getting off after paying the fare. I was trying to investigate what happened to my mother in this world, afterall, magicals do not just…die of childbirth in a muggle orphanage unless they experienced some sort of trauma. A bit of digging around old newspapers and passive legilimency while talking to the a few people mentioned in the odder cases in the newspaper was enough for me to find out that they were all solved by someone who meets them at the corner of 230 Baker Street, before taking them upstairs. It was quite odd how the detective's name is hidden in their minds by a fog, kind of like how a boggart's true form is hidden, so that even if you do manage to catch it and you completely off guard and glimpse its true form, you would not be able to tell anyone what it truly was. The street name also seems to ring a bell in the back of my mind, but I can't really remember why.
Nonetheless, I showed up at the quaint Baker street, wand within my reach. I am walking into a place where the owner is able to obscure their name. They might be a powerful mage for all I know! Walking past each house, I briefly glanced at their windows. Most of the curtains were drawn, the few that were open displayed either signs for shops, or domestic scenes. When I reached 200 Baker Street, I paused. If I were a detective, who specialised in odd cases, I would imagine that being paranoid is what keeps me alive. So if I were a detective capable of modifying memories, I would try to confuse people as to where I actually set up shop. By agreeing to meet at a convenient street corner, I would be able to mislead most people, allowing me to get a sense of their character before meeting them. Keeping my eyes peeled, I watched every house I passed by. Oddly enough, I passed by two medical practices right next to each other on the 219 and 223. I paused.
Something was not right.
I forced myself to look at the upstairs window of 221 Baker Street. Sure enough, I saw the silhouette of a man smoking a pipe right next to the window. Looking across the street, I noticed that it almost faced 230 directly. If I were a paranoid, top of the line detective, that is what I probably would do if I am setting up an observation station.
Steeling myself, I approached the mysterious 221 Baker Street and knocked on the door. On the mailbox, I saw the word Hudson engraved in gold. I guess that must be the last name of the owner. Immediately, I heard the rapid pattering of light footsteps. I saw a man in the window, so I guess this is either his maid or maybe a landlady. The door opened, and in front of me stood a woman in her late forties with a kind but stern face.
"Good morning." I greeted.
She looked me up and down.
"I suppose you are here to see Mister Holmes?" She asked.
Wait, what? OH MY GOD! How could I have been so blind? Baker Street, the weird cases, Victorian London, Hudson, DETECTIVE!
The man I have been looking for was Sherlock Holmes!
Of course the man exists in this universe. What's next? Is the Phantom of the Opera real here too?
"Yes." I replied, giving her a polite smile.
"Well then, come on in, he is in his flat, the first one upstairs with a B on the door."
"Thank you."
I followed Mrs Hudson; because there is no way that this lady is anyone else, into the house, trying not to be excited. Who am I kidding? I am asking Sherlock Holmes, THE Sherlock Holmes, to find out what happened to my mother!
"Up those steps." She pointed, before heading towards the kitchen.
Okay, deep breath, it's not like you are meeting one of your favourite characters of all time from a previous life. Wait…I should probably keep my wand in my hand, just in case he is a powerful wizard who tries to attack me. I loosened my grip on my wand, allowing it to slip further into my hand. Swallowing my nervousness, I walked up the stairs. Just when I reached the last step, a vision flashed across my mind, I was opening the door, when suddenly a loud bang echoed throughout the room, and a sharp pain in my head overtook me before I fell into darkness. I paused, what if they did think I was an assassin? I was so excited that I most likely would have forgotten to knock and barged right in. Right, don't do that or there is a chance that you might get killed.
Calming myself, I knocked on the door.
"Come in." A deep velvety voice called out from the other side.
I pushed open the door. Only to feel the cold metal of a pistol immediately pressed against the side of my head. I froze.
"Put down your wand." The man sitting in an armchair, his face half hidden by the shadows commanded.
Wait a second, how does he know I have a wand? Nevermind, stupid question, who is that and why does he have a gun pressed against my head?
"I mean no harm." I stated, placing my wand on the floor, I nudged it towards the person in the chair with my foot. If worse comes to worst, I can always escape using wandless magic.
Slowly, the man stood up, picking up my wand. I stiffened, please don't snap it, please don't snap it. But he only inspected it before placing it inside his pocket, nodding to the person holding a pistol against my head. The person dropped the pistol, before closing the door behind us and walking towards the other man. He was around thirty, with salt and pepper hair, and a slight limp in his leg. Judging by the militaristic air that he literally gave out, along with his pistol, he is obviously a veteran. He moved to put away his pistol, absentmindedly wiping his hands with his handkerchief, exposing the engraved corner.
J. Watson.
The stitches were parallel, and fairly evenly spaced, but obviously not done by a professional. More like, surgical stitches…a doctor, then. So this guy has to be John Watson, if he is Watson, then the man in the chair must be Sherlock Holmes.
"Dr Watson, Mr Holmes." I greeted, staring at each man in turn. Watson's eyes widened by a smidgeon while Holmes only stared at me from the flames.
"Please, take a seat. To what do I owe the pleasure of a witch?" Sherlock Holmes asked while gesturing to a chair in front of the fireplace.
Watson gasped and stared at me with a mixture of fear, apprehension and curiosity. I raised an eyebrow slightly at his display. I guess Holmes is not a wizard then. Moving to sit in the chair he indicated, I finally got a good look at Sherlock Holmes.
What I saw almost made me gape like Watson.
He was tall and lean. With dark hair and oddly bright blue eyes, high cheekbones and a hooked nose. He looked really similar to Barnabus Lestrange. Scratch that, he looked really similar to the rest of the Lestrange family. Except for his eyes.
"Lestrange?" I whispered involuntarily.
His demeanour instantly changed. His form tensed, his eyes meeting mine. Suddenly, I felt the tell-tale foreignness inside my mind. Crap, a legilimens. Oddly enough, there was no aura of magic around him, the probe did not even feel human. I slammed down my shields, trying to push him away, but it felt like pushing smoke, eerily similar to how a boggart gets my worst fears. I wonder if it would be easier if I treated it like a boggart's attack? I quickly imagined a strong gust of wind inside my mind, blowing away all smoke and fog. I watched as Holmes slightly recoiled.
"I have not heard that name for over twenty years. Ever since I was kicked out of that house." He said.
Ah, Sherlock Holmes must be a squib Lestrange. Oops. I really should have been more careful. But then, how did he perform legilimency?
"I'm sorry, I did not know." I replied.
He raised an eyebrow.
"You are not here to kill me then, I take it."
"No."
His demeanour changed again. He leaned forward and pressed his fingertips together. His posture relaxing and morphing into one of intrigue.
"How may I help you then, Miss…?"
"Astrum."
"Miss Astrum."
Okay, straight into business. "I would like to find out what happened to my mother. " I began. While Watson watched our changes with a look of absolute bafflement.
"I was born on the first of December, 1881, in Angels Haven Orphanage. My mother died a few minutes after my birth. I would like you to investigate the events that led to her death."
Holmes listened to my tale silently with half lidded eyes.
"Do you have a photograph of your mother, Miss Astrum?" He asked when I was done.
"I would need my wand back for that." I replied.
Studying me for a few seconds, Sherlock Holmes finally relented, taking my wand out of his pocket and placing it on the tea table between us. I grabbed my wand, its magic humming happily as it reunited with mine, Watson watching me suspiciously. Slowly pointing my wand to my lap, I concentrated. What I am going to do is extremely difficult, instead of casting my spell through my wand, I am going to create the illusion of me doing that. Fixing the one blurry memory of my mother right after she gave birth to me onto the forefront of my mind. I grabbed my magic and shoved it around the wand, creating a wandless lumos at its tip. Watson gasped as my wand glowed, slowly, a photograph formed on top of my lap. When it was done, I took a look at my work before handing it to Holmes. It was a wizarding photograph, my mother smiling tiredly, as she reached for my face, in this case, the edge of the photo. Her blond hair spread messily around her face. Her bloodshot hazel eyes, a few shades darker than mine looking adoringly. She was thin and pale, her face gaunt and sweaty. The photograph showed her closing her eyes. Her hand dropped, only to rise once more. Unlike in real life, where she did not move again after that. This is the clearest image I have ever conjured of her. Seeing her properly for the first time, I am not exactly sure how I feel.
Watson jumped up when Holmes took the photograph, finally startled out of his haze.
"W-Witchcraft!" He yelped, much to my bemusement.
"Indeed, Dr Watson. As Mr Holmes stated, I am a witch." I replied calmly.
This is fun, seeing him freak out. Technically I am breaking the Statue of Secrecy, but I stopped caring when I was eight. If magic is the only thing that can protect me and make me stronger than the muggles, why should I have to hide? Besides, he lives with a squib, he is bound to get dragged into my world sooner or later.
"Sit down, my dear Watson, she will not harm you." Holmes stated.
Watson sat down warily, "How are you so calm about this?" He hissed at him.
He raised an eyebrow, "Why, I expected her to kill me when she arrived. The fact that she handed over her wand and I am still alive should be proof enough of her intentions."
I nodded. Digging around in my purse, I hid a smile as I saw Watson stiffen and reach for his gun as Holmes stopped him. I grabbed five twenty dollar bills, slowly pulling them out.
"Will this be enough for the down payment?" I asked.
He took a long look at me before taking the money.
"This is enough for your entire payment. I will start investigating right away." He replied.
I nodded, getting up from my chair, grabbing a piece of parchment from my bag, I scribbled down my name and address.
"Any telegram or owl should be able to find me with that." I said while handing him the paper.
We shook hands before I left, feeling way lighter than before. Now I will finally know my roots in this world!
Watson POV
I was reading the newspaper and enjoying my morning coffee when Holmes drew in a startled breath, quickly walking towards the window.
"Are you expecting someone, my dear Holmes?" I asked, unperturbed by his unusual reactions.
However, he was silent, only staring out the window, letting out nothing but the occasional puff of smoke.
"Watson, prepare your pistol. We may have an aggressive guest." He said calmly.
Startled, I quickly wiped my hands on my napkin before grabbing my pistol from my room.
"Go stand behind the door, if I give you a signal, fire. If I nod, that means it's safe to put the pistol away. Ignore how our visitor may appear." He stated cryptically. I nodded. Years of serving in the military has taught me enough to know about ambushes. My experience solving cases with Holmes and the numerous times that he has saved my life with his quick observations has given me more than enough reason to trust his judgement.
Calmly, he took another puff of smoke before sitting down on an armchair, cross legged. The flames cast shadows obscuring his face. Slowly the stairs creaked, footsteps approaching us. Suddenly, they stopped. For a few tense seconds, it seemed that our mysterious guest may not show up at all, before the footsteps suddenly resumed. Two knocks resounding on our door.
"Come in." Holmes called.
The door slowly creaked open, and in came the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. How can such a beauty be of any harm to anyone? Remembering Holmes words, I steeled myself, pressing the barrel of my gun against the side of her head. She stiffened. Her hand twitched and what appeared to be a wooden stick dropped into her palm.
"Put down your wand." Holmes commanded. I frowned, a wand?
"I mean no harm."
Just as I began questioning the sanity of my dear companion, the girl slowly bent down and dropped the wooden stick onto the carpeted floor. Gently nudging it in the direction of Holmes. He picked it up gingerly, as if it pains him to do so. After taking a long look at it, he tucked it inside his pocket. Seeing Holmes nod at me, I tucked my gun back into my pocket. The girl stared at me with very peculiar eyes. They were gold, like burning embers, and she seemed to stare straight into my soul. When she finally turned those haunting eyes away from me, I suppressed a shiver.
"Dr Watson, Mr Holmes." She greeted. My eyes widened in surprise. I am most certain that I have never met her before. Maybe Holmes wrote to her before? But that seems unlikely, given his emphasis on the precautions we take.
"Please, take a seat. To what do I owe the pleasure of a witch?" Holmes asked casually while gesturing to the client armchair in front of him. I gasped. A witch? The vile creatures who deal with the Devil and bring harm to mankind? Instead of the immediate denial and taking offence at Holmes' accusation, she only raised an eyebrow… at my reaction. Sitting down, she looked away from me to face Holmes. Then she gasped.
"Lestrange?" She whispered.
The word made no sense to me, but Holmes stiffened. Was this some kind of insult that I never heard before? Holmes and the witch stared at each other for a few minutes in silence, all the while, the witch's expression morphed from surprise to annoyance and finally determined concentration. Finally, Holmes spoke.
"I have not heard that name for over twenty years. Ever since I was kicked out of that house."
House? Lestrange is a house? Holmes was kicked out of his own family as a child? Not for the first time, it occurred to me how little I knew of Holmes' life before our meeting. What type of monster would do that? And this girl knows his family? While this statement put me into a confused stupor, understanding dawned in the girl's eyes.
"I'm sorry, I did not know."
"You are not here to kill me then, I take it."
"No."
Holmes' demeanour changed immediately. Relaxing and morphing into one of intrigue.
"How may I help you then, Miss…?"
"Astrum."
"Miss Astrum."
Their brief exchange brought me into further bafflement. It is obvious now that the two have never met, yet their previous behaviour suggests otherwise.
"I would like to find out what happened to my mother. I was born on the first of December, 1881, in Angels Haven Orphanage. My mother died a few minutes after my birth. I would like you to investigate the events that led to her death."
Holmes listened to her tale silently with half lidded eyes.
"Do you have a photograph of your mother, Miss Astrum?" He asked when she finished.
"I would need my wand back for that." Miss Astrum replied.
The two stared at each other for a few seconds before Holmes obliged, taking the little stick out of his pocket and placing it on the tea table between them. She grabbed the stick as I watched suspiciously, Holmes must have had a good reason to confiscate it from her. Slowly she pointed the stick to her lap, her face morphed into one of concentration.
For a few seconds nothing happened, then suddenly, the tip of the stick began glowing. I gasped, transfixed as a photograph formed on top of her lap before my eyes. She took a look at her work before handing it to Holmes. I gaped again as I took a look at the photo.
The person smiled and moved.
She reached towards the edge of the photo. Her blond hair spread messily around her face. Her bloodshot hazel eyes looked adoringly. She was thin and pale, her face gaunt and sweaty. The photograph showed her closing her eyes. Her hand dropped, only to repeat once more.
I jumped away from the table in shock.
"W-Witchcraft!" I yelped.
"Indeed, Dr Watson. As Mr Holmes stated, I am a witch." The girl, no, witch replied, bemused.
"Sit down, my dear Watson, she will not harm you." Holmes stated.
I sat down warily.
"How are you so calm about this?" I hissed at is a witch sitting in front of us for goodness sake! For all we know, she will be turning us into frogs next!
He raised an eyebrow, "Why, I expected her to kill me when she arrived. The fact that she handed over her wand and I am still alive should be proof enough of her intentions."
She nodded. She reached into her purse, instantly, I tensed, is she going to throw some potion over us now? I reached for my gun, only to have my hand pushed down by Holmes' who shook his head lightly.
"Will this be enough for the down payment?" She asked, handing over 100 dollars.
Where on Earth did a witch like her get her money? Did she steal it from a poor innocent? Yet Holmes only took a look at her before taking the money.
"This is enough for your entire payment. I will start investigating right away." He replied.
She nodded, getting up from the chair, grabbing a piece of parchment from her bag, she scribbled down something. What is she doing now? Casting a spell?
"Any telegram or owl should be able to find me with that."
The two shook hands before the girl left.
I slumped into my chair as soon as I heard the front door close.
"Wasn't that interesting, my dear Watson?" Holmes asked.
I exploded. "Interesting? Interesting? Our lives were at stake, Holmes! Who knows what evil that…that witch is up to! Forget the money! We need to report her to the church! Women who deal with the Devil like her should be kept under close watch! In fact, let's follow her now-"
"Calm down and sit down, Watson." He snapped, shocking me out of my frenzy.
I froze.
"As far as we are concerned, she is just another client. We do not know anything about her religion, just treat her like you would a person from a foreign country!"
I frowned, "But she is a witch! She could have been harming innocents-"
"So was my mother!"
I froze. Turning and slowly backing away.
"Y-You are one of them, aren't you? That's why you were not surprised by her. You recognised her! What are you doing here? Are you planning on killing me, now that I know?"
"Watson, if you would just calm dow-"
"Calm down? Calm down? Holmes, you just told me that witches exist! You are one of them? Aren't you? Say it. Say you are not, then I will calm down!" I yelled. I can't believe, the man with whom I have been sharing a room was a witch-
"I'm not."
I snapped my eyes up to him, he was slumped in his chair, in my rant, I had somehow walked towards him.
"I'm not a witch. I am what is known as a creature-born squib." He elaborated.
"I was born because of an accident. In the wizarding world, a person with magic is known as a witch or a wizard. There is a creature that takes the form of a person's worst fear known as Boggarts. My mother chanced upon one. Unfortunately, she was genophobic."
A creature that turned into your worst fear? That sounds absolutely appalling. I heard the term genophobia before…Oh.
"I was cast out from my home when I was seven for not having any magic. But I developed an odd quirk of being able to detect if a person was lying and what they feared the most, which I used to survive in the streets. Eventually, I was brought into the Holmes household, where I adopted their name."
Oh.
"I'm sorry for my outburst, earlier." I apologised.
His demeanour brightened, "Not to worry, my dear Watson, what do you say we go and get started in our hunt for information on this new peculiar case?"
"I'll grab my coat."
Seraphina POV
I took a carriage to Carrington Street before entering Diagon Alley. Now that I am officially emancipated in the muggle world, I am required to provide for myself. Gringotts laws state that that was the requirement for gaining access to a familial account for orphans. I just need to prove my identity.
Sherlock Holmes and John Watson never noticed the temporary listening charm I placed on the money. I have never even heard of a boggart born before. Now that I think about it, however, it makes sense. Sherlock Holmes has such a great skill in deduction because he uses a form of legilimency. Paired with his absurdly good observation skills, he appears to know everything. His oddly specific and niche interest makes a lot more sense too.
I walked into the Ministry and queued in the department of birth records, where they kept a record of every magical child born.
"State your name and business." The worker in front of the counter said in a monotone.
"Seraphina Antares Astrum, I am here to get a copy of my birth certificate."
The worker sighed. Bending down, he pulled a piece of parchment from a drawer.
"Sign your name here and here with this quill." He handed me a blood red quill that radiated magic. A blood quill.
I took the quill and parchment, reading over the form before signing. It was pretty standard, just saying that I consent to the use of my blood to confirm my identity and a 26 sickle fee for getting a copy of my birth certificate. I signed the form. Instantly, an itch started in the back of my hand, which quickly turned into a sharp sting. I watched as my name appeared briefly on the back of my hand in blood, only to quickly fade as if it was never there in the first place.
"26 sickles."
I handed over the money and the form. The worker stamped it without checking. The form folded itself into a paper plane, diving towards somewhere behind him. A few seconds later, another paper plane flew back, it unrolled itself in front of me. It was not very old, listed with only the name and date of birth of my mother and myself, with a big red official Ministry Seal on top. Simple, but good enough.
"Next!"
I left the ministry and walked to Gringotts. Walking in with the note in hand to claim my account. I am curious how much there is in the Astrum family? Is there a manor? Or libraries of books in the vaults?
"Next!"
I walked to the counter. The goblin sneered at me.
"State your business!"
"I am here to claim an account."
"Name and proof of identification?"
"Seraphina Antares Astrum." I said while handing him the note.
He took one look then placed it in one of his drawers. Within seconds, there was a crunching noise. He took the note back out of the drawer, but now, the wax seal was shattered. Undeterred, he turned around and walked into a hidden door. A few minutes later, he came back with a gold key.
"Three galleons for the new key."
I raised an eyebrow. Three galleons! That's like over half of my school supplies fee. They might as well rob wizards for that! Sighing, I handed the three gold coins over. He dropped the key into my hand.
"I would also like to inspect my vault."
The goblin snapped his fingers, and another goblin walked up to him.
"Hammerchoke! Take her down to vault number 517."
The new goblin sneered at me as it led me further into the bank. I climbed into the mine cart and we set off at a breakneck speed. Wow! I am stuck in between fearing for my life and enjoying the thrilling roller coaster ride. I wish I could try out one of the brooms, but they were ridiculously expensive to buy, each one being handcrafted by one of . The exception to this ridiculous pricing is the family owned ones. There were quite a few people in Hogwarts who brought them to school, they were usually older and were passed down from parent to child. Obviously Hogwarts does not have flying classes since no one without a broom could possibly fly, and people with brooms are assumed to already know how to manoeuvre it. (It would be like offering cycling lessons in high schools in the muggle world!) This made Quidditch matches a lot more interesting, considering both the high level of variance in broom quality and the players' familiarity with flying. And considerably more hilarious.
The goblin suddenly stopped the car, I lurched forward, slamming my hand into the handrails just in time to avoid breaking my nose. He jumps off, smiling smugly at me. I glared at him, why must all the goblins be so infuriating? We were in front of a level with three doors.
"Key?" He snapped, holding out his hand.
I handed the key over. He placed it into a hole in the door that I didn't even notice. Then came a series of clicks as the locks behind the door unravelled themselves. My heart was leaping in my throat, will there be books? Jewels? What will be in the Astrum family vault? The door slowly creaked open, revealing…
A single pile of galleons.
Really? That's it? I turned around and faced the goblin.
"Do you know if there are any houses in the Astrum name?"
He shook his head, picking up a list hanging on the wall. "You have…about three thousand galleons. Here, this bank statement shows the records of what has been done to your account."
I took the list. The most recent one, excluding the periodic fee of a galleon every two years, was a withdrawal of five hundred galleons. Before that was a deposit of one thousand galleons, with a note written in a slender script: Astrum Abode selling fee. Well, I guess that explains things a bit. My mother must have sold the house before taking some money and leaving. At least I have enough to live off without performing every day of the holidays, considering how hard it is to get deals without the orphanage's connections.
I took a galleon and placed it into my pouch. This should be more than enough for the rest of my year at school.
I walked towards the exit of Diagon Alley, ready to go home, when a pair of socks displayed at the window of Gladrags caught my eyes. It was red, with tiny lions roaring silently on it.
It would be perfect for Albus as his Christmas present.