Chapter 16
The War Council
[A/N: A thousand – no, a million apologies for the much-delayed update, and my heartfelt thanks to everyone who has read and/or reviewed this tale. I'll admit to having been stupefied after Season 4, but that's not really an excuse. I haven't yet figured out how to deal with it, either – but Mycroft's swordstick will definitely make an appearance. And I've been drowning my sorrows (reality sucks) in anime and manga. But I am back now, and hopefully, this will work out. Thank you all for the support; it really means the world to me.]
"Ah, this is so, sooooo good," Arthur sighed, scraping up the last spoonful from his plate.
The three Holmes brothers, Harry, John and Arthur were spread out haphazardly on the floor around a cosy round table Arthur had conjured, despite Mycroft's attempts to set up a "proper table". The table was piled high with food.
"There's plenty more," Harry said mildly as Arthur helped himself to another generous helping. "Uncle Mycroft got enough to rival a Hogwarts feast."
Mycroft flashed a self-satisfied smirk. Sherlock elbowed him. John glared at both and stabbed his broccoli moodily.
Emrys groaned. "Don't encourage him, Harry. He'll pig out and get sick."
"Aw, Em, lemme eat," Arthur replied with his mouth full. He swallowed happily and winked at Harry.
Harry could not help but smile back. Arthur's cheer was infectious.
Arthur turned to John and clapped him on the back. "So, Three-Continents-Watson, what's eating you?"
"Nothing," John snapped.
Arthur grinned and eyed Sherlock's plate. He leaned in and spoke to John in a stage whisper, "Your Holmes doesn't eat much, either, eh? I wonder how they got so tall?"
"Heaven knows," John grumbled. He reached out and dumped a generous portion of meat on Sherlock's plate. "Eat," he ordered, directing another stern glare at the detective.
Sherlock nodded meekly and obeyed.
Mycroft and Emrys exchanged a look.
"Are you still angry?" Harry asked John quietly.
John sighed. "Am I being unreasonable?"
"You are angry because you care about him," Arthur chimed in. "It is perfectly normal. It gets on my nerves, too, how mine thinks he is both indestructible and expendable."
"Mine isn't any better than yours. Must be a Holmes gene," John muttered.
Harry giggled. "Both of you sound like you are talking about your pets."
That made the ex-soldiers laugh. Sherlock and Emrys glared at them.
Mycroft huffed, exasperated. "Shall we return to the matter at hand?" he interjected.
Everyone sobered immediately.
"You could have let us eat in peace," Arthur grumbled. "What are you, the Ice Queen?"
Sherlock and John dissolved into peals of laughter. Arthur raised an enquiring eyebrow.
"Iceman, actually," John told him. "Jim Moriarty calls him that."
"Why?" Harry asked.
Five pairs of surprised eyes in the living room of 221B turned to the Boy-Who-Lived. Mycroft cleared his throat delicately.
Harry turned to his beloved uncle. "You are not cold," he declared loyally. "You are the smartest and the nicest person I know."
Mycroft turned red and everyone else gave up their attempt to hold in their laughter.
Emrys hugged Harry. "You are a delightful young wizard, Harry! I am so jealous Sherlock gets to keep you!"
Harry giggled as Emrys patted his hair.
Sherlock put down his plate and reached over to grab Harry. "That's my son, baby brother. You won't get him."
John patted Sherlock affectionately. "Good boy, Sherlock." The detective grinned at his doctor.
Arthur pulled Emrys to himself and patted him as well. "Don't worry, Em, you're a good boy, too."
Harry patted Mycroft's knee. "Uncle Mycroft is a good boy, too."
Mycroft smiled shyly at his nephew. "What a wondrous child you are…Harry is the best boy of all."
Emerald eyes sparkling, Harry asked, "Really? Uncle Vernon was wrong?"
Furious, Mycroft clenched his fists. "That obnoxious, pernicious, reprehensible, despicable ingrate!" he thundered.
"Just say 'fucking asshole', Mycroft," John suggested. Emrys and Arthur giggled.
"Language, John," Sherlock admonished mildly.
Mycroft ignored them. "Child, you have nothing to fear. I swear I shall not let that swine touch a hair on your head as long as I live."
"Goodness, brother, are you drunk?" Sherlock asked, and burst out laughing.
"I do feel strangely mirthful," Mycroft confessed with a smile.
Emrys snatched a glass and sniffed at it. "There's a cheering charm in this lemonade," he declared. "A rather potent one." He proceeded to sniff every food and drink left on the table. "All of these are drugged. No wonder we are all so happy."
Mycroft giggled. "Maman, n'est-ce pas? À chaque oiseau son nid est beau."
Emrys nodded gleefully. "Yes, this has her magical signature all over. And you are definitely high, big brother, if you are lapsing into French."
"La pomme ne tombe jamais loin de l'arbre," Sherlock muttered. "John, would you…?"
John nodded and raised his wand. "Finite-" he began, but Arthur clapped a hand over his mouth.
"It doesn't harm us, does it?" he asked the Holmes brothers.
Emrys shook his head.
"Then let it be. It'll wear out on its own, and I daresay all of us needed some cheer, even if it was artificially induced," the once-and-future-king commanded.
"Cool," Harry said. "You looked like a real king for a moment, Arthur."
Arthur ruffled the boy's messy hair. "I am a king, my boy."
"Yes, your majesty," Harry intoned obediently.
Everyone burst out laughing.
"We shall be happy till the morning," Emrys declared. "We may as well adjourn the War Council meeting for today and start afresh tomorrow."
"War Council?" Harry asked, wide-eyed.
Sherlock ruffled his adopted son's hair. "We did say we will take of Voldemort, didn't we?"
Harry flung his arms around his guardian – no, his father's neck. "Thank you."
"Fear not, Harry, you are ours to protect," Emrys said, smiling broadly. "That's what families are for." Mycroft nodded sagely, his beatific smile eerily reminiscent of Dumbledore.
John, feeling that he was currently the sanest of the lot, conjured additional furniture and shooed everyone to bed.
XXX
Everyone woke up feeling refreshed the next morning. Harry wandered into the kitchen, hoping to find John and speak of Sherlock's health. Instead, he found Mycroft in his shirtsleeves, preparing breakfast the muggle way.
"Good morning, Harry," Mycroft greeted him warmly.
Harry stared at him. "You can cook? You?"
Mycroft smirked. "Is that such a surprise, nephew mine?"
Harry was saved from answering by Arthur's appearance.
"Something smells good," Arthur said and stopped short at the sight that met his eyes. Emrys, who was right behind him, bumped into him. The youngest Holmes brother sniffed appreciatively and sighed.
"It's been years since we had your special crepes, big brother," he told Mycroft.
John and Sherlock chose that moment to enter, and their reactions were the same as Arthur and Emrys, respectively.
"He used to love cooking before he decided he needed to lose weight and went on that silly diet of his," Sherlock told Harry. "I think the crepes are for your sake, Harry. He refused to make them the last time I asked him to."
Mycroft glared at his brother. "You were drugged out of your mind and vomiting blood, Sherlock. I was hardly going to make you crepes when my primary concern was your survival."
Harry stared at the detective in horror.
"Great, thanks, Mycroft. Congratulations, you have successfully made my son think I am good-for-nothing junkie who is either suicidal or too stupid to figure out when he overdoses," Sherlock snarled.
Mycroft sighed tiredly. "Really, Sherlock. You give Harry too little credit. And we all know you are clean." He narrowed his eyes. "Are you not?"
"Of course I am!" Sherlock snapped. "There are two children in this house, for God's sake! Even I am not that irresponsible, Mycroft!"
Mycroft smiled slightly. "Then it's all fine, isn't it, little brother?"
Sherlock looked ready to throw something at Mycroft's smug face. Emrys stepped in skilfully and pulled Sherlock away with an excuse.
"We'll set the table," John said quickly and dragged Arthur away.
Mycroft sighed and returned to the crepes. Harry moved next to him quietly, offering to help. They worked silently. Arthur and Emrys returned a few minutes later and helped them to carry the food to the living room, where John had conjured a nice breakfast table with six seats. Sherlock was already seated. He caught Harry's eye and patted the chair next to him.
Harry glanced up at Mycroft instead, ignoring the guilt welling up in him at Sherlock's hurt expression. Mycroft smiled sadly and nudged him towards his father. "I am afraid I must depart, nephew mine," he said softly. "I have things to attend to."
Harry caught his arm. "You can leave after breakfast, Uncle Mycroft. It won't take long. Or should I wrap a crepe for you to eat on the go?"
Mycroft blinked. "That would not be required, but thank you very much, Harry."
Harry bit his lip.
"Weren't we supposed to have a War Council meeting in the morning?" Arthur asked loudly. "We need you, guv."
"I shall be back in an hour," Mycroft promised.
Sherlock stood up abruptly and strode to his older brother. Wordlessly, the detective grabbed his brother's arm and all but threw him onto a chair. "You are not leaving until you have eaten and we have discussed Voldemort. Your minions can handle your work for half a day," Sherlock snapped. He turned to Harry. "Take a seat, child."
"Stop fighting this early in the morning," Emrys commanded. "You two are upsetting Harry."
"My apologies," Mycroft muttered.
Sherlock resumed his seat silently. Harry took a seat between them.
Mycroft sighed. "As I said last evening, I believe Lord Voldemort would not make any major moves until the Quidditch World Cup. However, he will soon realise that all his horcruxes have been destroyed, and he will seek to enhance his power immediately."
"How?" John asked.
Mycroft and Emrys exchanged a meaningful look. "We believe he will attempt to acquire the Deathly Hallows."
"What is that?" Harry asked. Sherlock quickly told him the story of the three brothers and the Elder Wand, the Ring of Resurrection and Death's Cloak.
"So, we need to find them before Voldy does?" Arthur asked. "Do you guys have any idea where they are?"
"Two are in our possession," Sherlock said softly. He looked up at Emrys. "Is the third one at Hogwarts?"
Emrys nodded.
Sherlock winced. "So Harry needs to…"
Emrys and Mycroft nodded.
Harry, John and Arthur stared open-mouthed at the three brothers.
"All right," John said finally. "Will one of you stupid geniuses explain to the rest of us what you are trying to say?"
"The ring, John," Sherlock said impatiently. "The ring horcrux is the Ring of Resurrection. Harry's cloak is the other one."
Harry started. "But…"
"That cloak has been in your family for generations, Harry," Sherlock explained. "Demiguise fur does not last that long."
"The Potters are descendants of the youngest Peverell," Emrys added softly.
"And the Elder Wand is at Hogwarts?" John asked.
"It's Dumbledore, isn't it?" Harry said quietly. "It can't be anyone else. He is the only one Voldemort fears."
Emrys nodded. "I recognise his wand."
"It is doubtful whether Lord Voldemort is aware of this fact, though," Mycroft said. "If he had known, perhaps he would have attempted to acquire the wand much earlier."
Sherlock hummed. "Voldemort was revived with Dumbledore's blood. Will that impact the ownership of the wand? The blood had to be forcibly taken, isn't it?"
Emrys rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It is possible."
"Hold on," John said. "Isn't the ownership of the Elder Wand transferred by killing the previous owner?"
Emrys laughed and shook his head. "Killing isn't necessary. Humans are inherently violet beings and prefer gory tales, hence the modification."
"So, if Harry simply disarms Dumbledore, the Elder Wand will recognise him?" John asked, incredulous. "And no one knows this?"
"Not exactly," Emrys said, looking uncomfortable. "I will explain later."
Arthur whistled. "There are benefits to having Merlin himself on our side, eh?"
The three brothers smirked.
"You know, it strikes me that you three could easily be the three brothers yourself – the invincible, the sentimental and the wise," Arthur said.
"I am hardly invincible," Mycroft said quietly.
"And I am hardly sentimental, as John will attest," Sherlock added. "John calls me a machine."
Harry glared at John and grabbed the detective's sleeve. "You are not a machine," he said firmly.
"Indeed," Mycroft agreed. "Sherlock feels – to a frightening degree. It is most worrisome."
"No one denies that I am wise, though," Emrys said lightly.
That drew a smile from everyone.
Mycroft cleared his throat. "If our hypothesis is correct, and the ownership of the Elder Wand shifted when Albus' blood was taken, the title would have passed on to Dolores Umbridge, and then to myself. If we are incorrect, the ownership remains with Albus."
Sherlock added, "As a measure of abundant caution, I suggest Harry defeat both Dumbledore and Mycroft in a duel. Would that suffice?"
Mycroft and Emrys nodded, and Harry looked horrified.
"How the hell am I supposed to defeat Uncle Mycroft and Dumbledore?" Harry exclaimed.
"It doesn't need to be elaborate, Harry. Expelliarmus or Stupefy would work, I think," Arthur suggested, looking to Emrys for confirmation, but the youngest Holmes sibling didn't respond, seemingly lost in his thoughts.
"It will also stand you in good stead, for if Lord Voldemort does manage to get his hands on the Elder Wand, it will not obey him in a duel against you. His own wand would not work properly against you, either, since you share the same core," Mycroft said.
Emrys blinked at Mycroft's words, and nodded. "You could probably invoke Priori Incantatem against Voldemort." He glanced at his brothers. "There is another element we need to consider. Harry's wand core came from Fawkes."
Sherlock and Mycroft paled.
"Are you sure?" John asked.
Emrys nodded.
"So Voldemort's wand has a tail feather from Dumbledore's familiar, and now he's been revived with Dumbledore's blood?" John said. "What does that mean for us?"
"His resurrected form would be stronger than we previously imagined," Mycroft said tiredly.
"But it's still better than Harry's blood, isn't it?" Arthur enquired.
"Of course," Emrys said immediately. "That would have been the most potent."
"We need to move quickly, Mycroft," Sherlock said quietly. "Can you shift the Elder Wand's ownership to yourself properly?"
Emrys nodded thoughtfully. "That would make things easier. Harry is unlikely to be able to gather the required mens rea at the moment."
Mycroft blinked slowly. "Kill or defeat?"
"Defeat with the intent to kill should suffice," Emrys said absently.
"I understand," Mycroft said softly. "I shall take care of it today."
"I don't understand," Harry said. "What do you mean, intent to kill?"
Emrys sighed. "It is not good enough to simply disarm or defeat the owner of the Elder Wand in a friendly duel. You must cast you spell with the intent to kill or at least seek to harm with the intent to kill."
Harry, John and Arthur stared at him, horrified.
"Mycroft is the only one who can control his emotions adequately to be able to do that right now, I'm afraid," Sherlock muttered. "The Iceman does have his uses."
Mycroft rolled his eyes.
"Will you be in danger?" Harry asked anxiously, tugging at Mycroft's sleeve.
The Holmes brothers laughed.
"Not in the least," Emrys assured Harry. "Don't worry, kid."
"Shouldn't we also get Harry another wand which will actually work against Voldemort?" John asked.
Sherlock shook his head. "He won't need one."
"Why?" John asked.
Emrys nodded cheerfully. "We will teach him wandless magic. Wands can be lost, destroyed, stolen or disarmed easily." He patted Harry sympathetically. "You'll have to work more than usual, kid."
"I would be happy to," Harry replied, eager to learn from his father and his uncles.
"I shall arrange for Harry to stay here for a few days before he needs to return to Hogwarts," Mycroft offered. "Sherlock and Emrys can start with the basics. I will be back in the evening with better news, hopefully."
Emrys hugged Mycroft. "Good luck, big brother."
Harry, John and Arthur wished him, too.
Sherlock stepped forward as Mycroft picked up his coat.
"Bon chance, mon frère," he whispered.
Mycroft smiled. "Merci, little brother."
