Chapter IV: The wise man is not cowed by knowledge

Grimmauld Place, Buck Beak's room

"Harry's dying… I never thought I'd say that," Ron said as he sat by the door. He'd been designated as outlook since it was the only way to make sure he stayed as quiet as the rest of them. The twins sat in the middle of the room cross-legged. They looked to be fiddling with their inventions but weren't really; it was a way of keeping themselves busy. They hadn't spoken since the meeting.

"None of us have ever thought about it, Ron. Although, it shouldn't come as a surprise; not with everything…" Hermione couldn't finish the sentence. Buck Beak nudged her in comfort, She absently petted his neck feathers. She too sat cross-legged, but she was leaned against the wall near the fugitive hippogriff. All she could think of was that during the last winter holiday this was the room Harry had spent most of his time in; alone with just his thoughts and loyal Buck Beak. It was the only place he'd gotten any peace this last year; and that brought tears to her eyes. The same way all the memories of previous years brought forth tears.

To think this is how it'll end. After everything, it's just not fair, she thought trying hard to keep a stiff lip.

"He's never been in love," Fred murmured into the silent room. An awkward tension settled into the room.

"How do you know that?" Ron asked. He knew his best friend was gay and that was why the whole Cho fiasco had happened, but he'd figured something with Cedric…

"He turned Cedric down last year. Said that he only felt friendship. Same with us this year," George said. "He said he just felt friendship towards everyone. He's going to die without ever having fallen in love."

A shocked silence filled the room. Ron couldn't believe that neither Harry nor the twins had informed him of the potential triad. Hermione couldn't believe that Harry had only viewed Cedric as a friend; the Hufflepuff had been the one to want something more… That was not how everyone else saw it. Of course, Harry felt almost nothing for how people viewed him, he'd always had far more important things to worry about.

"He won't die," whispered Ginny from the doorway. The four looked up to see her. It seemed they weren't the only ones who eavesdropped.

"He won't die, he'll think of something… Dinner's ready," she said before running off. The four got up, numb and in shock at Ginny's conviction. They went downstairs to supper, even though none of them felt like eating.

Mind castle, library

Sherlock was staring at the quill with his head cocked. The quill had looked had taken down his and Harry's conversation verbatim. On it's own. So here Sherlock was, spending an exorbitant amount of time trying to figure the bloody thing out.

"PeterPiperpickedapatchofpickledpepperhowmuchcouldawoodchuckchuckifawoochuckcouldchuckwooditwouldchuckasmuchasawoodchuckcouldcuckifawoodchuckcouldchuckwood," Sherlock said without effort or mishap. The tongue twisters rolled past his lips without trouble but seemed blended together he said them so fast. The quill, he noted took down every word, just as he'd said it.

So it copies verbatim, I wonder if it takes direct orders? Sherlock thought to himself as he looked over the parchment scroll. He looked at the quill.

'I want you to rewrite what I just said with punctuation," he told the quill. It wrote his words down on the parchment, but otherwise did nothing. Sherlock furrowed his brow.

"Rewrite the last sentence without spacing between words," he reworded. Again the quill took his words down but did not follow the order. It seemed that it could only take dictation. Still, could be useful for note taking, Sherlock thought. He plucked the quill out of the air and snatched the parchment scroll before it could hit the ground. He wandered off into the library.

Where to start, where to start, he mused to himself. The library was grand, nearly as grand as his own, but this library was filled not just with muggle knowledge, but with magical facts as well. Sherlock chose the upper floor, climbing the winding staircase. The sign near the spiral stairs had indicated the entire upper-floor was devoted to magic; which seemed very relevant to Sherlock's current mood, so it was up he went.

The upper floor, just as the lower floor had been, was organised into different aisles of scrolls and books split into different categories. There were even an aisle labelled; school events. Sherlock placed his enchanted quill and the accompanying parchment on a table near the stairs. He wandered off in search of something he thought might be useful to know.

He'd wandered through the aisles labelled Transfiguration and Potions. He'd looked through some of the books and scrolls on potions, but hadn't understood much of the context. Not even the scrolls and books labelled, first year content. He figured that he needed to study the texts on magic theory, if he was remembering correctly—which of course he did—so it was that specific aisle he was looking for.

It was in his pursuit of the elusive aisle that he found the gated section of the upper floor. He'd noticed the gated section on the lower floor and had figured it was where traumatic events were kept. Here, however, the foreboding gate intrigued him. He reached out to touch the lock and was shocked, painfully.

I suppose I'll have to think about a way around that bit, Sherlock thought as his interest spiked even higher. The gated section below hadn't shocked him when he'd touched it. So that led to the question of why had this one done so? What was the young man hiding in this gated section? Sherlock had no choice but to allow the questions to fester as he moved on, in search of his original target. He'd discover the hidden secrets later.

Sherlock finally found the section on magic theory and gathered the documents labelled as first year content. Taking the scrolls and tomes off the shelves, he returned to his table and opened several at once. He resigned himself to having to read the relevant sections out loud to the quill, but that was fine.

Far above the consulting detective on the seventh floor, Harry walked down a corridor leading to dancing trolls. Harry had stilled when he'd been given the alert that the man had tried to get into his restricted section. The detective hadn't tried a second time, but Harry figured the man would try again.

He's just going to wait until he had a plan to get around the lock, Harry mused, half amused the man would try. Snape had tried too, he hadn't gotten through and was a master in the mind arts. It the Dungeon Bat couldn't get through the defence then the man called Sherlock Holmes would have a hell of a time trying; although Harry would rather not have to deal with the man's incessant curiosity; Harry vaguely wondered as he walked towards the room of requirement if this was how everyone else felt when Harry got curious about something.

Now isn't really the time to be thinking of this, Harry chided and cleared his head of all but one thought. He walked passed the dancing trolls thrice before a single wooden door appeared. It was of plain, old wood with iron for hinges and to keep the planks together. For an odd reason Harry felt an odd nostalgia whenever he saw the mideval door. He couldn't ever help but think that on the other side was a laboratory to some healer or other medical type of man.

Harry pulled open the simple door and walked into the room. There were shelves filled with ointments, poultices, herbs and poisons. The tables had books and scrolls spread everywhere, there were diagrams on the walls, a small laboratory and a simple library on the makeshift second floor that one had to climb a ladder to get to. Harry had never been sure why this was what the room created for him; but he always felt safe and at home here. Harry walked towards the door at the end of the room, and entered.

Inside there was a glowing pulsing light of gold. Harry couldn't find the source, he'd stopped trying long ago; and it hadn't been until third year magic theory that he'd learned of magical cores. The room was bare and dusty, as if it hadn't been used in centuries. Dusty clothes and large neckkerchiefs were strewn about the room, the cupboard not even used. Harry had always felt the room wasn't complete; there were things missing that Harry just couldn't put his finger on.

Harry stood still in shock at the doorway, however. Ever since he'd first made his mind castle the room had been dusty and dirty, with the pulsing light of the magical core being soft and rather dull. Now, the dust was gone, the dirt as well; the cupboard finally used—to a certain extent, at least. The starkest change, however, came from his magical core's light. It was bright, not unbearably so, and clean. As if something had tuned it like a violin. He'd visited the room only just before the fight at the ministry, so he couldn't understand what accounted for the change.

Perhaps something in the library will help, Harry thought.

Sherlock looked up from the scroll he was just about to read. Harry passed by in his peripheral and was heading towards the aisle on magic theory. Sherlock was just starting on second year content when he'd heard Harry climbing the stairs. Harry returned moments later with tomes that were filled with fifth year content. Harry was mumbling to himself, but Sherlock couldn't make him out.

"what are you researching on magic theory?" Sherlock asked.

"My magic core has changed, and I need to know why. What year are you on? Second? Oh, well, a magic core is something all beings that can wield magic have. You've read on squibs already, yeah? Squibs have them too, but theirs' are so small, and blunt so they can't channel any magic. Cores rarely change, so it's a big deal when they do. Mine's done so with no reason, so I need to find out why… I may have to look into the history of magic texts. Even at fifth year, magic cores are considered pretty advanced, so they aren't covered extensively," Harry rambled in explanation. Sherlock put his scroll down.

"Yet history of magic might?" he quipped. Harry gave him an exasperated look.

"Yeah. I told you, Sherlock, a magic core changing is really rare. Magical affiliation isn't really, because magic itself is neutral, you should be getting to that soon in the texts from second year. When a core changes it means that magic output, size, the entire structure of the core has changed, and that is rare. Rare enough for such instances to be recorded in history… If I'm lucky and memory serves me right," Harry said.

'Might I help?" Sherlock offered. If this core changed, it may hold a key to his and Harry's mind connection. Harry looked grateful but shook his head.

"You're on second year, Sherlock. You don't know nearly enough, besides, you still wouldn't know what to look for if you did know enough to help. Magic cores are so difficult and egmatic because they're personal. To the best of everyone's knowledge, magic itself creates each magic core. Only the mage themselves can fully understand their own. You just keep building your knowledge base. Once you're done with the core magic theory, start on the core classes; Transfiguration, charms, defence and potions. They each have specific theory that goes with them; not to mention you'll find them pretty interesting. If I need any help with the history texts I'll let you know," Harry said. Sherlock nodded, angry that he had to admit ignorance to something as important as this.

"Oh, and Sherlock?" Harry asked. Sherlock looked up into the face of a very solemn young wizard.

"Don't go near the forbidden section again without my permission. You wouldn't want to get stuck there on your own," he said and then went back to reading.

How the hell had he known? Sherlock asked himself in shock.