Disclaimer: All the characters displayed in this fic are property of their respective creators, JK Rowling (Harry Potter), Moffat and Gatiss (BBC Sherlock), and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Sherlock Holmes).
By the way, my deepest thanks to all of you that reviewed, favourited or followed the story. It really warms my heart to see how many of you seem to like what I write. I promise I will continue working on this amazing story.
Please see the Notes at the end of the Chapter.
NOTE: Edited 8Nov2020
Chapter 9: "A study in magic"
The first time Hermione visited Chiswick Cemetery, precisely five years ago, it had been during an unusually warm day. Several people had been enjoying the rare rays of sun that February afternoon, but she had been too preoccupied watching over her shoulder to fully appreciate the serenity of the place. Today, as she crossed the gates with her gloved hands in her pockets, she noticed she was almost alone. The cemetery had been opened for a little longer than an hour, and Hermione only found a couple of runners in their morning jog as she walked past the headstones. In the distance, she spotted a red coat, a splash of colour against the bleak sky. Hermione approached Mary and stood next to her, shoulders brushing against each other in a silent greeting. Mary did not move. Instead, she kept looking down to a simple marble gravestone, where a fresh bouquet of purple freesias and white roses lied.
Mary Elizabeth Morstan
Born Asleep
6 October 1972
"I often wonder if her parents are alive," said Mary after a while. "If they come often, and wonder who might leave these flowers to their daughter. If they've got other children -"
"If they remember her," finished Hermione. Mary nodded.
"Five years ago, I had no one that would remember me if I was gone. And now…" Mary sighed and smiled at Hermione. "John said he loved me last night."
Hermione laughed and took Mary's hand. "And you are freaking out." Mary shrugged. "You've never freaked out before."
"This is different, those people weren't… I knew they were temporary. Jesus, David drove me insane, do you remember? But John… He's different." Hermione watched Mary bite her cheek and how her eyes watered. Mary brushed her fingers against her eyes, removing the tears. "I have this thing here," she said, putting a hand over her stomach. "That tells me this is it, he is it. And he's opened a door I didn't even know could exist in my life, that I didn't even know I wanted." Mary licked her lips and shook her head. "And now I'm terrified of my past ever catching up with me. With us."
"Wait, you mean -"
"I can't tell him, Hermione!" interrupted Mary. "John would hate me. This is not a job for Mycroft, not a spy movie, I…" Mary dropped her voice as a woman sprinted near them. "I was a mercenary. A gun for hire. If he knew half the things I've done, he would despise me, and with good reason. Rosamund died the moment I reached your door. He can't know. Promise me."
"I promised you years ago your secret is safe with me, Mary."
"It's not you who I'm worried about."
Hermione crossed her arms. "Mycroft has nothing to win from John knowing who you were. He's gone over the top, protecting him, all because he wants to honour his brother's memory."
"Mycroft Holmes has no allegiances to anything but England." Said Mary and Hermione dropped her arms and looked away. "There's something, isn't it? Your gut is telling you there's something wrong. Otherwise, you wouldn't have asked me to look into The Empty Hearse."
Hermione shifted in her place. Around them, the cleaning crew and the caretakers had started doing their rounds, so Mary linked her arms with Hermione's, making their way to the exit.
"Mycroft has a lot of resources. He's the master puppeteer," continued Mary. "I mean, he completely scrapped my past, gave me a new identity, a backstory, college degrees… All of that before my stitches had even healed properly."
"What are you trying to say?"
"Is it really such a farfetched idea?" They had arrived at the gates and then turned left towards the rail station. "Have you seen how Molly reacts when someone mentions Sherlock?"
"Molly?" Asked Hermione.
"Yes, Molly. Molly, who prattles about anything under the sun, changes subjects quicker than a card shark when someone so much utters the 'S' word."
"Why wouldn't she? She did his autopsy."
"Maybe."
They walked in silence until the quaint brick building of the station was in sight. Hermione stopped.
"It can't be. Mycroft would have told me."
Mary did not answer and kept walking.
Hermione did not have enough time to think about Mycroft or Sherlock's possible Houdini trick after that. A hex had zoomed past her ear as she and Mary and John left a restaurant after a light lunch that same day, impacting against the wooden sign with the name of the place on it. Everyone had shouted and taken shelter under the tables, and Hermione had run the nearest alleyway, trying to get the fight away from civilians. She had been moderately successful, as the former army doctor and the former assassin both followed her, while colourful light beams exploded around them. One of them broke the wall next to her forehead, and the pieces of brick, like shrapnel, had left a bloody wound in her temple.
Hermione rushed Mary and John behind her, at the same time that one of her well-aimed stunning spells hit a man square in the chest. She ducked and wiped some blood slipping down her eyelid with her sleeve. Hermione fished into her pocket and took out her phone.
"What is going on? What is that -" started John, but Mary interrupted him.
"John, now it's not the time."
The screen was damaged, and the bottom part of it looked useless, but she hoped the camera still worked. She tapped on the blue button in the middle of the screen and put her eye within the camera's reach. The phone gave three beeps; the screen turning blue with a completely different display then the iOS. She threw the phone to Mary.
"Write a message to Mycroft. Don't worry about the positions, they'll track us."
She looked down to her wrist. A small feather, tattooed in her pulse point. A two-way communication method. The type of magic which had branded hundreds of death-eaters was the best idea Hermione could come up with when Mycroft requested a panic button would she ever needed it. She traced the rune symbol to activate it. The lines bulged against her skin, and a chill ran through the length of her spine. Somewhere in London the ring linked to her tattoo was heating up, warning its wearer that something had happened.
Another hex lit a dumpster nearby on fire. Hermione gripped her wand tighter and cast a shield over the alley. The sound of a gun cocking made her look behind her. Mary had stopped texting, and John had drawn a gun from somewhere.
"John, what-"
"Now it's not the time," repeated John, and stood by her. "Look, I don't know what this is about, but I know we need to get out of here. So while we wait for Mycroft fucking Holmes to decide whether he wants to help us, we need to do something."
Hermione nodded and slipped into her professional facade. She moved her wand around, and a dim light left the tip of the wand. "I took one out. There are only two other distinct signatures, that means two other people."
"Copy that. You cover, I shoot. Mary, stay back, and try to contact that cock for heaven's sake."
Hermione couldn't stop a sound of surprise. "Aye captain."
The ghost of a smirk appeared in John's mouth. Hermione dissolved the shield and created one around John. John shivered but immediately raised his gun. "I'm ready when you are Hermione."
"Go." John stepped out of the alley, and a downpour of hexes clashed against the invisible barrier. John's hands were steady and waited until some sparks had dissipated. Then, she heard three quick shots, and the spells stopped. Hermione withdrew the shield, her heartbeat alive all over her body. Besides her, John was breathing rapidly, with the gun firmly gripped still. A few meters away, a man lay in a pool of his own blow, and another deep maroon puddle was coming from behind a lorry. Mary had come to them as well. People dressed in black had blocked the street, and the MI-7 response team was tracking muggles down. Hermione turned to John.
"I need your gun."
"Why?"
"John, you're a civilian. You both are. This was part of an active investigation, and if you want to leave here with your memories intact, I need your gun."
John was about to ask when Mary took it from him and gave it to Hermione. She cleaned it with her tee and then tucked it into the waistband of her jeans.
"Listen, speak with that guy," Hermione said, pointing at Aamir, a secret service officer. "I've worked with him. He will take you home. Oi! Aamir!" Hermione explained to the officer what to do with them and went into the alleyway and disappeared.
Aamir guided Mary and John to an official car. Even while in the car, en route to Baker Street, John kept turning his head to where Hermione had disappeared in thin air. She had been there one second and then not. He seemed to be about to say something, but then he hadn't. Mary understood. The first time she had seen magic, it had been at a smaller scale, a training so she wouldn't be surprised in the field when magic was called for. To this day, she still preferred not to see it at all.
"What is she?" Asked John.
"A witch. Hermione is a witch."
"Jesus," John whispered. "And you knew? How long have you known? Didn't you think it was an important thing to tell me, Mary?" His voice, barely above a whisper, was vibrating with anger.
"Do I have to remind you who was first in my life, dear?" Mary's answer was equally strong, jaw settled, and eyes hard. John, upon seeing it, let go of a breath and rubbed his hands on his face.
"Mary, we're a couple. We are supposed not to have secrets between us!"
"It wasn't my secret to tell John."
"Mary -"
"John, I love you, I really do," Mary stopped him in a tone that left no room for rebuttal. "But please, do not make me choose between you and her because you might not like the answer."
"I am not making you choose!" His yell drew the attention of the driver who looked at them over the rear-view mirror. "But this is serious. We could have died in there!"
"Well, not as different as when you were running around London with a detective!"
John went quiet. Mary took his hand and interlaced her fingers with his.
"We have a very particular taste in friends, John," Mary said, and there was something in her smile that was as thrilling as a gunshot. That was what he had seen in her the first time, something like a mirror image of himself. "We are drawn to danger, apparently. That's what we like."
"I... Couldn't she be normal?"
"I think we can't do normal, darling."
Meanwhile, a black car turned from Whitehall and into Scotland Place. As soon the engine stopped, Mycroft exited, followed by Hermione. She was holding one of Mycroft's monogrammed handkerchiefs to the gash in her forehead, struggling to keep his pace. Mycroft made his way to a rundown red phone booth, his firm step being punctuated by the sound of his umbrella knocking on the pavement.
"Mycroft, this is ridiculous." Entering the Ministry in the middle of the afternoon was not something she wanted to do. Mycroft ignored her and opened the booth's door. She gripped the hand holding the handle. "Do we really have to do this now?"
"You better than anyone know the protocol. Every time civilians' lives have been put at risk, we launch an investigation. It's time for the Ministry of Magic to understand they are just a Ministry. They wanted to play by the Government's rules and wanted a seat amongst adults. Well, there are consequences when you fail at your job."
He gestured for her to get inside. Hermione reluctantly stood in front of the telephone. He entered after her, pressing her farther in and closing the door. She could feel his hands position themselves on top of the wooden umbrella, waiting, brushing her back. She swallowed, and with slightly trembling hands pressed 62442. As the dial whirred smoothly back into place, a cold female voice sounded inside the telephone box.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."
"Mycroft S. Holmes from the Government of Her Majesty the Queen and Hermione J. Granger, Special Agent from the MI7. We are here to see the Auror in Chief. "
"Thank you," said the voice. "Visitors, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes. Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."
Mycroft scoffed at the badge and dropped them into his breast pocket. They did not need a badge for everyone to know they did not belong in the Ministry. No wizard Hermione had ever met wore a three-piece suit, at least not a colour coordinated one. And she was covered in red and white brick dust, with dried blood all over her face. She would be surprised if they let them go through security without arresting them. The box shuddered and started sinking into the ground; the pavement beginning to obscure the glass windows. The booth moved its way down the earth, taking a good minute until the light started streaming through the box again. Hermione glanced at Mycroft, who was stoically looking ahead, but his knuckles around his umbrella were slightly whiter than they had been on the surface. Under his golden band, his skin was red and raised. Burnt.
"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," said the woman's voice.
The door sprang open, and Mycroft cleared his throat, prompting Hermione to go out. Once they both touched the floor in the Atrium, the box disappeared into the ceiling, back to its original position, leaving them in the middle of a crowd that was doing its best to avoid them. Mycroft put a hand on Hermione's shoulder. She understood and steered them to the lifts, catching one that was going up. Hermione pushed the number "2" in the panel. She tried to avoid the curious eyes and the murmuring, although it was clear everyone on the lift was talking about them. Besides her, Mycroft peered at a man carrying a cage from which smoke was coming out of a small hole. The mechanical voice announcing the levels was the only thing that could be heard above the light talking, and they were little by little being left alone.
"Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."
Hermione left first, followed by Mycroft, and followed the signs towards the Auror headquarters. Hermione had been there a handful of times during her short stint at the Ministry, fresh out of Hogwarts. When she pushed the oak doors open, she found it was exactly as messy as she remembered. The cubicles seemed to have been taken out of the props department of a seventies journalism film, cluttered with yellowish folders and teacups. There were memos zooming around the room like small rockets.
"Where can we find Chief Potter?" Asked Mycroft to the closest junior auror, a boy that couldn't be much older than a Hogwarts graduate, with peach fuzz on his upper lip. He gulped and pointed towards another set of doors. Hermione could read the sign next to the door which read 'Department Head's offices'. As they came closer, they could hear noise coming from behind the doors. Mycroft looked at her.
Everything was chaotic.
Aurors with half the uniform off and ties untied were running from one place to another, several voices stepping on each other. The desks in the middle of the room were full of papers and memos. No one paid attention to them. The offices were at the back, and Harry stood outside one of them, maintaining a heated argument with Sirius and Kingsley. Mycroft rolled his eyes. With his umbrella, he read for a mug on top of the nearest desk and pushed it over the edge. The crash made everyone stop and turn to them with their wands raised. Mycroft ignored the threat and started walking towards Harry, Hermione trailing behind, while the people retreated to the sides. Mycroft stood in front of Harry, looking down at him from his intimidating height.
"I believe we have business to discuss, Chief."
Mycroft stepped past Harry into the office. Harry spared a glance to Hermione and went in, followed by everyone else. Sirius had come towards Hermione and sat her in a chair. Gently, he took her face between his hands and removed the soaked cloth from her forehead. Hermione gripped his wrist, stilling him. He managed a grin before starting healing her cuts, while the rest of the main aurors and the Minister entered the room. Mycroft stood in front of the desk and waited until the last auror closed the door.
"Care to explain?" Asked Mycroft.
"They had laid down. We doubled-checked every shop, every known buyer, every provider." Harry was driving his hand through his hair, messing it more than usual. Malfoy had some reports in his hands and was rereading them. "We sent some of our agents to the black market, to everywhere they could go. No new potion batches were sold."
"They've probably been scouting new channels for delivery," said Hermione, stopping Sirius for a moment. "They knew they were being followed. These people have moles everywhere. They keep very close tabs."
Mycroft nodded to Hermione, agreeing with her. Kingsley was about to add something, but Mycroft held his hand up. "That's not important now. What's important is this: I have one of my best agents bleeding on a chair," he gestured to Hermione. "And the MI-7 has had to deploy the entire team of obliviators because never, in recent history, has there been this amount of non-magical people involved in a mission. There is going to be an investigation, and believe me, you won't like the outcome."
"What does that mean?" Asked Kingsley.
Mycroft looked around, and then directly talked to Kingsley. "You don't have the resources. You don't have the training, and more importantly, you don't have the mindset. When you made the request to the Government to be included in missions involving magic, I knew we were going to clean up after you. I never imagined a disaster of this calibre."
"You cannot come in here and berate us as if we were children," said Harry.
"I can, and I will!" Mycroft gave a powerful hit on the floor with his umbrella, his voice becoming harder, angrier. "While you are cooped up in this godforsaken building dealing with petty crimes, the real world has evolved to a level you can't even fathom. You are not prepared for these missions, and frankly, I doubt you ever will."
"With all due respect, Mr Holmes, I resent your words. We do more than dealing with petty crimes. A large part of us are war veterans," said Kingsley.
"And what good is that for?" Replied Mycroft. "You defeated a terrorist ten years ago. Congratulations. We face bigger threats than your Lord Voldemort every day, invisible threats, that would shake this nation to its core. Have you ever heard of them? No. Because we do our job, we research, we stay on top of how many ways can someone try to rig the system. So you don't get to give me lessons of anti-terrorism because your little population does not understand how the real world works." Mycroft looked at them. "You are released from any magic operation that involves the muggle world. You can complain all you want. You are still British, you still work under Her Majesty and the Government, and neither of them is happy. Be thankful you don't have the army sweeping this place." He turned to Sirius, who stopped working on Hermione's face but kept a hand on her shoulder. "From now on, you will be responsible for any of the misdeeds that happen around here when they involve any non-magical operation. If you think your relationship with Chief Potter is going to be an impediment to do your job, please say so now."
"It won't."
"I will not tolerate any more mistakes. Any foot out of the line and I would have no problem in auditing you."
"Understood."
"Good." He looked at Hermione, who had been paying attention to the conversation. He then addressed the Minister. "You really should thank Agent Black. She had taken down all the suspects before we arrived and saved you from a huge downfall. Were any of the civilians present to have suffered any damage, the responsibility would be on you."
Hermione woke up as she arrived at Baker Street. The trip from Whitehall wasn't a long one, but all the tension had seeped in her bones, and the painkillers Mycroft had given her for her headache had made her sleepy. She looked up to the window. The lights were on. John was waiting for her in his armchair, with his hands curled around a mug which had long lost its steam. He lifted his head as he heard Hermione entering the room.
"Where's Mary?"
"I asked her to let us talk alone. I thought she might have sent you a text."
Hermione took her phone from one of her coat pockets and threw it on the table. The screen was completely shattered, and it had probably been dead for hours. Hermione opened her arms and gestured to herself. "This is it, John. I have no more secrets. This was the last piece of the puzzle."
"So you are…" John seemed to be looking for the right words. Witch carried a lot of ominous connotations in the muggle world.
"A witch, John. I can do magic, I carry a wand, I drink potions."
"Do you fly on a broomstick as well?"
"Never cared that much for it, to be honest. I'm not a big fan of heights." Hermione joked.
"Jesus," muttered John, shaking his head.
"How much has Mary told you?"
"Not much. She said you should be the one to decide how much… How much you wanted to share."
Hermione sighed and sat in the armchair. Without even thinking, she started talking. She started from the beginning. As the story advanced, John's face went paler and paler, his eyes big as saucers at the points Hermione had expected them to. Eventually, Hermione discovered her left arm and passed her wand over her skin. Words carved in her flesh appeared. She told him about the battle, the people she had lost, about her parents, about what came after. The more she talked, the more information kept coming, like a torrent she couldn't stop.
"When all ended, fighting was all I knew how to do. My PTSD went as far as being rooted in my very soul. I had no idea what to do with the person I had become. Sirius had started working with Mycroft. I did one research job for him, and I stayed."
"Mycroft took advantage of you," said John.
"Isn't that what Holmes do?"
John scoffed but did not answer. "You said something earlier. Something about my memories."
"People like you are not supposed to know about people like me. Sometimes we have to… erase people's memories if they see any magic."
"Then why do I still have them? Mycroft's courtesy?"
"Mycroft's best interests. You saved the day today. Mycroft has taken a calculated risk by letting you know."
"And Mary?" Hermione felt how the air was knocked out of her. She gulped.
"Mary and I were in a similar situation a few years back. It's tough to find someone who doesn't care about this. I asked Mycroft to make an exception. He was very clear there wouldn't be any more."
John seemed to fall back into his thoughts.
"Is it possible to…" He stopped himself. "Forget it."
"It isn't John," Hermione answered. "Magic is not infinite, and it still follows the rules of nature. Some barriers can't be broken."
John nodded. "Do you want to see something?" John looked at Hermione, and she took out her wand. John recoiled into his seat, just like Mary did every time Hermione did magic in front of her. Hermione closed her eyes for a second. Her parents' faces, much younger than the last time she had seen them, came to the forefront of her mind. Her father was smiling, wide and flashy, showing off the perfect teeth he had. Hermione remembered the dimples she had not entirely inherited stretching her dad's face. Her mother was holding a camera to her face, and Hermione could only see the unruly hair she saw in the mirror every day. Hermione was six, and her latest obsession had been The Sword in the Stone. She had taken a branch on her way home from school, and now was fancying herself, Merlin. Back then, when magic was not real, and it wasn't dangerous, and it hadn't broken her family, magic had been a game they liked to play. "Expecto patronum."
A mist erupted from the tip of the wand and merged into a beautiful otter, who playfully swam around John. Hermione watched how John reached for the animal in awe, and how his face relaxed under the influence of the light magic flooding the room. She let it warm her, the tendrils of the Patronus enveloping her in a hug.
Yes, this was quick! The last two chapters were written almost simultaneously as I changed some things back and forth. So, I hope two chapters in less than a week will get you through to the next chapter.
Next chapter is..."The Empty Hearse". Well, more likely, "The empty hearse-I". The next is, therefore, the first canonical chapter. I've calculated that each episode will span for 3 chapters, as they are very, very long episodes. Not everything that happened in the TV series would be explained or re-written though, as I also need to make space for Hermione in the story. I would probably put some resume like paragraphs here and there, but things will be slightly different. "The sign of Three" and "His last vow" are already written (you can expect some smut in TSoT), but THE still needs some work.
See you soon! As always, feel free to let me know what you think, either by review or PM.