Guys, I'm so sorry this took so long.

I don't quite know what to say to you, except for the fact that it's been a hard year where writing is concerned, for me. I'm so happy so many of you seemed to keen on the story, it really encouraged me.

Especially HalfPastLate. Thank you so much.


Allows the wand to become a source of light, by conjuring a small ball of fire. Used primarily for illumination.


"Good morning to you too," she said as the class seated itself.

There were murmurs of good morning, and Fred Weasley winked at her cheekily. Molly rolled her eyes. "That is quite enough, Mr. Weasley. Please submit your assignments on the properties of Moonleaf as of now."

Molly knew that some of her colleagues collected assignments through a flick of their wands, however, she didn't feel quite comfortable doing that. It felt so forced.

Everyone shuffled over to her desk and submitted the assignments. Fred Weasley seemed to have written it last night.

"Now, how far along are you with Professor Holmes?" she asked. "I suppose you ought to have finished your work with half formed animal transformations?"

"What does a half formed animal transformation look like?" asked Aubrey Downs.

"What do you think, Aubrey?" asked Molly. "It looks quite half human, I'll have you know. Victor Krum used it for the second task in the Triwizard Tournament a long time back."

There was a small discussion of appreciation.

"However, that is not our concern. You will have to find the properties in plants that mirror these transformations. One very interesting study is the effect of the moon, as well. Werewolves suffer transformation during the full moon – and, plants also transform and change through the cycle of the moon."

She paused.

"But, we won't be studying that today. Open your books to chapter twelve, please."

The classroom rustled with the opening of books.


She woke up in the morning, with a vivid image of her dream. Holmes had been involved, she knew. She was trying to write a paper, and he was telling her that the topic was quite stupid, when her paper turned into frogs. When she asked him what had happened, he said he had turned the research into frogs because it was useless. Professor McGonagall had entered her study, nodding with a lot more vigour than Molly deserved. She then gave her chocolate frogs to compensate for the loss, but for some reason, it wasn't very compensate-y.

She rubbed her eyes.

She had become friends with Holmes – well, sort of. They worked a lot more comfortably. The silences were companiable, they worked quietly. He didn't constantly insult her intelligence, and in turn, Molly supplied him with samples (she didn't quite know what he tried to achieve with some of the experiments, yet, she did what she could to maintain them and keep them away from her students.)

She slipped off her bed, taking out clothes to get ready. Unlike most people, Molly preferred to shower in the mornings. The staff bathrooms were quite comfortable, each bedroom came with an attached bathroom – and an array of bathing options that Molly liked. She quite believed in baths, they were intimately relaxing. Today was not the day for bathing, however – she had to settle for a shower.

She entered one of the bathrooms, turned on the warm water, and drowned herself. Water had that ability – making you forget everything, believe in a world where nothing but water existed.

Baths were the best.

Until they were interrupted.

Molly groaned as she heard the knock on the door. She put her dressing gown on and left the bathroom, trying to make sure she didn't make the whole floor wet.

Holmes swooped in.

"If you were about to die, would you use something as unreliable as muggle methods to off yourself?" he said, by way of greeting.

"Good morning to you too," said Molly wryly.

"Morning," said Holmes shortly. "Of course, if you were dying, why would you want to off yourself?"

"Holmes," said Molly patiently. "It is seven in the morning."

"You don't have classes till the afternoon, do you?" he asked.

"Yes. Hang on – how do you know?" asked Molly.

"And anyway," Holmes ploughed on, "If you wanted to off yourself, a hanging is the most painful of them all? If you wanted something peaceful, someone with the smallest amount of potions skills would be able to concoct a decent death potion."

"Holmes – I – you – what on earth are you on about?"

"Why aren't you dressed yet?" asked Holmes, only just realizing she was there.

"Because – and listen to me when I say this – it is seven in the morning."

"Attendance begins at eight, Molly, we must give it and leave at once."

"What?" asked Molly, in a panicky voice. "Why?"

"Because there's a murder to solve. Have you not been listening?"

"Holmes," she said finally. "Not that I'm not – erm – very thrilled to see you in the morning – um. I – I – would – the thing is, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh. Of course. The banalities," said Holmes. "McGonnagal has given me permission to leave the school periodically to solve cases, as long as I don't miss classes and finish everything on time. I am allowed one willing assistant. Congratulations, John is unwell. You may accompany me."

Molly looked at him irately. Her arms were crossed, and her foot was angled outwards.

"What is it, what did I say, why do you look cross?" asked Holmes, genuinely befuddled.

Molly sighed. "I'm getting my coat, but you're buying me breakfast."


She regretted it instantly.

Holmes tended to do nothing normally, including eating while he was on a case. Not breakfast, hardly any lunch. If she didn't have class after lunch, she wasn't sure when she'd be back.

"What on earth did Sherlock make you do?" asked Mary, carefully nursing a strained ankle.

"Oh, we had to apprehend a murderer!" said Molly, her voice high and slightly hysterical. "Chase him down the alley. And guess what, Mary? Holmes says my analysis of the poison and the anatomy of the body was excellent. Which means he will ask me again."

"Are you blushing?" asked Mary incredulously.

"What?" said Molly defensively. "No!"

"You are," said Mary, slightly in awe. "It's because he complimented you, isn't it? You had fun!"

"I was perfectly miserable," declared Molly loudly. "I'm red because of the exercise."

"You've not been red for the last twenty minutes," Mary countered.

"Allergies," Molly said quickly.

"You're not allergic to anything except peanuts."

"Pollen."

"Now, even I know you're lying," grinned Mary broadly.

Molly sighed, her shoulders falling quickly. "I hate you," she said. "This is not becoming routine!"


It became routine.

"Hooper," said Malfoy shortly as she entered.

"Hello," she said pleasantly.

"Molly, I need you to check the Monday samples," said Holmes, heading directly to the body.

"Sorry about this," she said to Malfoy.

"Not a problem," said Draco Malfoy, picking up a test tube and examining it in the light. "Potter said that he wanted this solved as soon as possible."

Molly laughed. "I always thought – erm, that, you know – Harry Potter would be able to solve his – well, his – own murders."

"He's perfectly capable, of course," said Draco – and Molly saw his lips twitch in humour. She saw it frequently, but it was still interesting to spot it. "But he's the head of the department now, and Weasley tells me the new crop of Aurors are rather fresh faced."

"I can't imagine Sherlock working with someone fresh faced," muttered Molly, putting her gloves on. "When you say – when you say - 'Weasley'…?"

"Percy. But I'm sure the other Weasleys are dying to have me as a dinner guest," said Malfoy wryly.

Molly wrinkled her nose. "I'm sure they'll have to have you sometime. Those three – Albus, Rose, Scorpius – they're, well – irritatingly close."

Draco smiled with that tiny bit of pride which was directed at his son.

"Anyway, what do we have today?" Molly said, changing the course of the conversation.

"Equipment is over there. Ask if you need anything," said Malfoy, retreating into himself again.

Ever since John and Mary started dating, Molly became a more frequent companion on Holmes' adventures. She loathed to admit that she found them fun.

Holmes really was incorrigible. He got her a pass for the Mortuary at St. Mungo's for consultations, and seemed to be a regular menace to the Healers over there. Draco Malfoy was, apparently, the only person in the Morgue who was willing to work with Holmes, which Molly found bizarre.

Meeting Draco Malfoy was… interesting. During school, Malfoy was a year below her, so she had virtually no contact with him. Luckily for her, she was able to leave the school before the Battle of Hogwarts. She had returned with Meena during the battle – and Malfoy had been a going name, the only family to not have been charged for their numerous war crimes. Molly had a fleeting memory of Draco Malfoy – of a rather subdued boy, who was quiet as she nursed him – and grateful when she would come on her rounds to read to the patients. He never said anything, but it was obvious that he was rather lonely.

The much older Malfoy was… different.

Draco Malfoy joked rather dryly. He was quiet, but in a rather steady, comfortable way. He was pretty decent company, if Molly was being honest. Besides, he had the patience to work with Holmes.

"You and Holmes," said Malfoy. "How long have you been working together?"

"The beginning of the student year now," she groaned. She began to mount the slides.

"Hm," Malfoy stated.

"What?" asked Molly curiously.

"Nothing," he said. "Hooper, try and get done by eight. I have to be home with my wife."

Molly would ask him some other time.


"And if you haven't been paying attention, do not bother to hand in anything that is half formed idiocy," concluded Holmes at the end of their joint lecture.

Molly frowned at Holmes. "Do not do that – unless you don't want a grade. Submit something."

"If you attempt something like that, send it exclusively to Professor Hooper."

"Holmes, I swear to God," said Molly. "Behave."

The class tittered.

"Any questions?" she concluded tiredly.

Fred Weasley raised his hand.

"Anyone who has nothing to ask about our romantic life," said Holmes boredly.

"Holmes!" reprimanded Molly again.

"What?" asked Sherlock. "Molly, he will ask you about –"

Molly glared.

"Fine," sighed Holmes. "Weasley?"

"Professor Hooper, how are you doing that?" he asked, rather incredulously.

"What?" asked Molly.

"That – thing –" said Fred Weasley, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

"I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about," said Molly quickly. "If no one has any other questions – for – um – obviously, the topic we studied – class can be – erm, dismissed."

Holmes turned on his heel as soon as the children shuffled out, and looked at her. "Do you think that Felicity Boot seemed rather pale?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded.

"Plus, the long sleeves – constantly keeping them far up, near her wrists. She's not been sleeping, either. I would guess chronic nausea, from the weight loss."

"I handled it," Molly said. "I've asked McGonnagal – well, I thought it was ideal to speak to her – um, their head of house is Watson – not that – not that Watson isn't a good teacher!"

Sherlock waited patiently.

"He's rather – um, tactless," concluded Molly helplessly. "So – erm, I think – John and the Headmistress – are going to – well, to speak to her and try to get her to speak to the school counselor. I'm unsure if she wants us to write to her parents."

Sherlock nodded perfunctorily. "Good. Are we meeting to study tonight?"

"Mm," said Molly, in agreement.


"Meeting to study?" cackled Meena. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Molly beat her away with a thick book.


"Well, boys," said James Potter, rubbing his palms. "Time to open that bookkeeping log, am I right?"

"I have five galleons on the end of the year," said Kristy Brown immediately.

"Christmas, minimum," added someone else.


"Scalpel?" Holmes asked.

Molly handed it to him, without a word. She continued reading a trite Muggle fantasy.

"Why do you read that nonsense?" he asked.

"Why do you classify tobacco ash?" said Molly, pushing her glasses up her nose. She got more comfortable in her chair, and didn't look up at him.

"Tobacco ash classifications have practical use," he said.

"Good for you," said Molly. "Now hush."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and returned to his dissection.


The students had managed to come up with their final year projects, eventually. Some of the abstracts were rather excellent, despite Holmes sighing every time they sat down to check them. November faded into December, and with the Christmas Holidays coming close, Molly enlisted the help of her students to put all the creatures and plants to bed.

Molly loved Hogwarts during the winter.

While she was in university, she missed Hogwarts the most in the transition to winter. September found her with a heavy heart, and then the light would become colder, the sun just a little farther and closer at the same time. The air becomes tentative, ready to become cold at one word – the Scottish atmosphere settling on the turrets and towers, misting the windows. Shadows begin to hide behind the glass, the fog rolling into the grounds. The silver of the moon touches the castle sharply during the night, cutting through the cold air and demanding entry into the world of magic.

On the first day of the holidays, Molly sighed. The castle had been bathed in white for a while, but today she could enjoy it. She grinned, forgetting about bathing or getting read. She didn't care much for robes as it is – her jeans were available on close hand, and her jumpers were warm.

She emerged from her quarters and disappeared downstairs, as the castle slept.

Everything became quiet during winters. The wind held its breath as Molly stepped on the grounds.

Before anyone could spot her, Molly laughed – heading to some of the more secluded corners of the grounds.

As soon as she was out of sight, she ran.

The small clearing at the edge of the lake was her favourite spot, since school and onwards. The ledge looked over the iced water, and the stone tended to avoid the cold sheet – making it a comfortable spot to sit in.

Molly's cheeks were pink from exercise, her breath winded, and her heart bursting.

She laughed again. "Oh, goodness, it's good to be here."

It was one of those moments between time, where everything was frozen – waiting for her to say something – something important.

She sat down on the rock, staring at the patterns on the ice.

"Good morning," came a voice from the trees.

Molly jumped back.

"Oh, God, Holmes," she said. "You terrified me."

Sherlock was wearing his customary black robes, and he had a cloak – unlike Molly, who had opted for Muggle clothing.

"Apologies," shrugged Sherlock. "I saw you walking on the grounds, deduced you might be heading here, based on your clothes and the direction you took – of course, I had to ask –"

"No!" said Molly loudly. "I am not going on any adventures with you today, Professor Holmes! I am putting my foot down. I am making eye contact. It's achieving results."

Sherlock smiled. "Are you being formidable?" he asked.

"It worked on John," said Molly, forlorn.

"Muggle advertisements work on John," said Sherlock, rolling his eyes.

"What do you want, Holmes?" asked Molly, finally.

Sherlock Holmes walked closer, settling down next to her blue-jeans-ed bottom.

Molly's lips twitched with a smile.

"I confess, I'm unsure why I followed you."

Molly smiled in earnest.

"You're laughing."

"No, no," protested Molly, laughing. "I just – you know, Holmes, you with your – tobacco ash has practical purposes, coming down here."

"Not entirely my fault," said Holmes. "You were behaving strangely."

"How so?" asked Molly, pressing her fingers into a nearby patch of snow.

"You were laughing – and you started running."

"Brain like yours, I'm sure you were able to deduce the scene."

Sherlock didn't say anything.

Molly turned to look at him.

"You couldn't deduce it," gasped Molly.

"Don't gloat, Molly," he ordered.

"I have earned the right to gloat," said Molly.

"Yes, alright. I was unsure of your motivations."

"Oh, there you go again – having swallowed a dictionary. I sometimes – erm, well – come here when I'm alone, Holmes. There's nothing particularly mysterious about it."

He was looking at her funny. His impossible eyes were surveying her, and Molly felt slightly conscious.

"I – Hooper, there's a leaf in your hair," said Holmes briefly.

"Oh –" Molly searched her hair.

He reached for her hair, carefully picking out a leaf from it. Molly was sure her face was a little pinker than normal, but she didn't say anything.

"Any plans for the holidays?" she asked with a forced cheeriness.

"Not particularly," said Holmes. "John's gone to visit his annoying sister."

"Yeah, we might be the last two left in the castle," said Molly. "Mary and Meena have left as well. Irene said goodbye yesterday."

"You come here by yourself often?" he asked.

Molly nodded. "I was – well – you were in seventh year, I think. I was in my fourth year – no – um, third."

"Then I was in my sixth year," murmured Holmes.

"Yeah," Molly nodded. "I was – um. I was a bit sad, as we are when we were all thirteen. I think – Billy Wiggins had called me names or something. I don't – well, the usual. I found this place – and I spent the night, in the freezing cold out here. Meena was driven spare." She chuckled.

"Muggleborn?" asked Holmes, driving a stick into the snow.

"Orphan. Tainted blood, most likely," Molly said with a smile. "You?"

"Halfblood."

"Your mother was the Magical Theorist, wasn't she?" asked Molly.

Holmes nodded. "Adoptive parents?"

"Yes."

"I suppose I ought to leave you," said Holmes, getting up.

Molly watched him stand, feeling her face turn bright red. "Um – you can – you could – stay –"

"And do what?" asked Holmes, confused.

"Well – I was wondering – um, if you'd like – well, coffee?"

"Black, two sugars," he rattled off. "Not at the moment. But whenever you return – I'll join you in the greenhouses, there were some samples I had left.

And with that, he turned, leaving.

"Okay," said Molly to his retreating back. She gathered her knees, burying her face in them.


The staff coach of the Hogwarts Express was a good place for the teachers to wish each other a Happy Christmas, discuss their students, and go their own way.

Irene Adler bet Mary Morstan ten galleons that something would happen over Christmas between Molly and Sherlock. Meena Prakash decided on ten galleons for Easter, since, as she says, "Molly can be irritatingly angsty."

Christmas morning was always gorgeous.

Molly's rooms were decorated with some paper chains, a few lights, and a small tree. She loved the way Professor Flitwick used to do them when she was in school, so she had decorated it with pretty golden bubbles.

She began with her presents. Her Mum's was rather disappointing, but she was a bit of a disappointment to mother. Not that Molly didn't have any use for a tea set, but it was a bit impractical when she was permanently employed in the castle.

Meena and Mary had gotten together to buy her some rather expensive books on Herbology that she had been eyeing. She was rather pleased with them.

Irene had been raunchy again – sending her lacey underwear. Molly rolled her eyes.

Holmes always found her during inopportune moments. When the door was knocked at, Molly rolled her eyes. "Just come in, Holmes," she said.

Sherlock entered. He tilted his head at the racey underwear. "The Woman?"

"Obviously," said Molly. "What's up?"

"John told me to get you something for Christmas, because of everything I had been putting you through. I found that transparently insane, not to mention slightly bizarre – but I complied."

"Oh," said Molly, her voice becoming a bit high. "That's really sweet, Sherlock. I got you something as well, but it's in Greenhouse four."

"Happy Christmas," said Holmes, handing her a present. Molly smiled, turning a little red with pleasure. She flicked her hand for tea to start brewing over the fireplace. "Sit," she added. Sherlock sat down.

Molly's quarters were very close to the greenhouses. Her attached office was very close to her bedroom, and Molly had been intelligent enough to place a few armchairs near the fireplace to make the room cosy. She settled down next to Sherlock, clutching her present.

Molly carefully pulled out the spellotape, unfolding the wrapping paper one by one. Eventually, after layers of care – Tolkien's Lord of the Rings emerged.

"Oh, Sherlock," she whispered.

"I saw you checking it out of the library. I assumed you would want your own copy."

"Thank you," she said, her voice a little hoarse. "I'm afraid my present will be inadequate now."

"What is it?" asked Sherlock, disinterestedly.

"Dried Bubotuber, for dissection," she said. "And a few other things."

Sherlock stood, at once. "Put your shoes on, Molly. It's Christmas!"


It was far too close to Christmas to be doing this.

"Thank you so much, Draco," said Molly, rubbing her arms for a bit of warmth.

"Do you people not take a break?" asked Malfoy. "I know I pay the school for my son's education, but I don't do it so that you spend your free time here, showing up at my workplace four days after Christmas."

"I'm sorry," Molly nearly wailed. "Holmes – you know how he is –"

"Yes, fine."

Malfoy entered the Morgue, making his way to the bodies.

"He said he'll join us in a bit."

Draco snorted in derision. "Mr. Walters, was it?" he asked.

"Cheery fellow, isn't he?" said Molly.

Draco looked at her stonily.

"Tough crowd," said Molly. "I just – need to run some tests on his skin and hair."

"Knock yourself out. I'll help you – only because I want this over with."

"You are the best," muttered Molly gratefully.

Molly put on her gloves, depending on Draco to manage the skin cell samples. Draco took a swab of cotton, while Molly plucked a few hair.

"What on earth is Holmes on about this time?" asked Draco.

"Sherlock said something about the potion leaving traces of calcium and potassium on the hair and skin, if he has deduced the right potion. I have to run a blood panel, as well."

"I hate that man," muttered Draco.

"Join the club."

Draco snorted again, just as derisively as before.

"What?" asked Molly.

"Oh, nothing."

Molly took off her rubber gloves, putting her samples on a tray and dragging it away with her. She rubbed her eyes, pushing her hair back in frustration, and turned to him.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"I'm sure you can. I wouldn't recommend it."

"You won't – you're not Mary – or Meena – or Irene. You won't – you won't make a big deal, right? I can have an honest conversation, right?"

"I highly doubt it, but I support the dream."

"Draco – I'm serious!" said Molly. "I have a bit of a secret, here."

Draco faced her, waiting.

"I have – I have a bit of a crush on – well, Sherlock."

Draco paused. "I'm sorry, is this the secret? This is what I am expected to take to the grave?"

"Yes!" said Molly emphatically.

"Molly," said Draco patiently. "Believe me when I say this – I am not trying to insult your intelligence, or your subtlety when I tell you that everyone knows."

"What?" asked Molly. "No they don't!"

"At least you're better at hiding it," he said.

"Who else is hiding anything?" asked Molly, confused.

Draco looked at her long and hard. "I know you were top of your class in university. You are not a stupid person. You know who I am talking about."

Molly blinked in befuddlement.

"Holmes, Molly! He's terrible at hiding it."

Molly laughed openly. "Sherlock has nothing to hide. He doesn't feel anything for me."

Draco looked upwards – his arms gripping the table, while he bent forward, shaking his head in perplexity. When he looked up, he looked rather – well, rather young. As if they were in school, bonding over… gossip. Which was ridiculous, Molly and Draco would never be in the same circles in school.

"Merlin, give me patience. Molly – Holmes is far more obvious than you are."

"You're ridiculous."

"Oh, fine. Be that way. Did you know there's a betting ring around when you both get together?" asked Draco.

"What?"

"Scorpius told me. Apparently, the upper classmen – lead by James Potter, I don't doubt – have a few bets running."

It was in this moment that Sherlock entered the morgue. Molly jumped a mile, nearly dropping a slide.

"Don't be careless, Molly," said Sherlock. "You aren't wearing gloves, either. It's cold, if you haven't noticed."

"Um," said Molly.

"Borrow mine," he added. "I have large pockets."

Draco raised his eyebrows at her. Molly's eyes couldn't shift from her shoes, out of sheer embarrassment.


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