"Now explain to me why we're out in the courtyard when it looks like rain instead of waiting for Professor Smith?" John asked as he and Lindsay half-jogged to keep up with Sherlock's darting progress around the yard.

"Because standing at the keyhole when he came out might look a tad suspicious, don't you think?" Sherlock replied, stepping up on a bench to get a view of a large knot of Hufflepuffs playing with a de-fanged Frisbee.

"Fair enough, but I thought we were going to tail him."

"No. What we need right now is Molly."

"Sorry, you mean Molly Hooper?"

John could see him roll his eyes before he even turned around to face them.

"No, Molly the barmaid in the Hogshead. Of course Molly Hooper! Do you see her?"

John stammered out a negative, whipping his head around to look.

"I could send a patronus," Lindsay suggested.

"Not unless you can arrange for it to only deliver the message if she's alone. A patronus would attract too much attention. There aren't many who can cast one," Sherlock said, heading down the hill toward the lake. "Lindsay, you're her homework partner, where would she be on a late Saturday afternoon?"

Lindsay furrowed her brow and stopped walking. John paused as well, clearing his throat so Sherlock would notice. He turned, heaving a sigh of irritation.

"She's not much of an outdoors type," Lindsay began. "With those clouds, I don't think she'd be out here."

"Alright, then, where would she be?"

"I didn't say I knew that," Lindsay retorted. "Just telling you I don't think she'd be here."

"She has a cat," Sherlock said suddenly. "The owlery. Let's go."

They didn't bother asking him to stop and explain, just headed back into the castle on his heels. Sherlock nearly bowled Molly over as they dashed around a turn in the stairs and met her coming down. He grabbed her elbow and turned to face the others before she had completely caught her balance.

"First weekend, little homework, she's a Hufflepuff, she'd write home on a rainy afternoon. She doesn't have her own owl, so she'd have to come up here."

Molly nodded mutely.

"We need to get into the kitchens to talk to the house elves. Can you take us?"

"Well, I – I don't –"

"I know how to get in," John volunteered. "I could have told you that if that's what you were after."

"But do the house elves trust you?" Sherlock asked.

John thought back. He'd started out on pleasant enough terms with them, but he and a contingent of Dumbledore's Army had sneaked in to coat the goblets for certain members of the staff with burning bitterroot powder, and several elves had gotten the stuff on their hands. No amount of apologies from the entire DA had quite made up for the incident.

Sherlock correctly interpreted his silence. "Very well, then. Molly, will you help us? There's been another incident with the elves."

"Another killing?"

"We're not sure, but we need to get in there before anything else can happen. Will you help?"

He was playing her, and well. If there was one thing John already knew about Molly Hooper, it was that she'd do just about anything to keep more harm from befalling helpless creatures. Her nod moments later came as no surprise.

"Tickle the pear? That's it?" Sherlock grumbled as they stepped through the door into the kitchens.

"Shh!" Molly warned, stepping behind a towering pile of potatoes. "If Noby is in charge right now, he'll kick us out. Says students only cause trouble in the kitchens."

John gave a guilty shift. "Besides, surely the professors will have someone down here," he muttered.

"Not necessarily," Sherlock replied, modulating his own tone to a whisper. "It would be just as easy for the house elves to bring the witness to whomever wanted to talk to it as soon as it awoke. Which is why we're down here first."

"But if the house elf is still sedated –" Lindsay began, but Sherlock cut her off with an emphatic motion of his hand.

Several house elves were rushing by with tea trays. Sherlock nodded at Molly, who stepped out to speak to them.

"Good afternoon, Gubby."

"Oh, Molly Hooper!" the one called Gubby exclaimed, nearly dropping the tray from above his head.

Molly steadied it for him while he regained his grip. "Umm… how are things?"

Gubby blinked at her from underneath the tray. "Not good, Molly Hooper. Not good at all. But nothing Gubby can do to help except stay away when he's told."

"Stay away?"

Sherlock stepped out from behind the potatoes, "From where? Where?"

The elf jumped, giving a terrified squeal. Molly grabbed at the tray, but missed. Sherlock shot an arm out and grabbed the teapot as the tray slid backwards and hit the stone floor. Cream spread sluggishly.

John and Lindsay joined the group, stooping with Molly to collect the rolling teacups.

"Where do they want you to stay away from?" Sherlock demanded.

Gubby merely stared at him. Sherlock turned to Molly in abject irritation. She waited till she'd picked up the chipped pieces from a saucer and laid them gently on the tray before speaking again.

"Gubby, we're here to help. We need to know about what happened here today."

Gubby looked at the remnants of the tea service. "Gubby was told not to speak. Professor McGonagall said Gubby was to stay away from the flue and keep Winky comfortable until she is wanting to speak to her."

Sherlock had hopped over the tray and was heading toward the large fireplace before Gubby finished speaking.

"It's okay, Gubby. Thank you," Molly said, patting the elf's shoulder. "Can I help you fix up another tray?"

"Oh no, Molly Hooper. You know Gubby won't let you be helping with his work," Gubby said stoutly. "Gubby will let you and your friends look around as much as you want." He turned to Lindsay and John, who were putting the final broken pieces on the tray, and saw John.

John attempted to smile, but the house elf recoiled instantly and looked up at Molly, ears drooping as though he felt betrayed.

"Molly Hooper has unfortunate friends," Gubby said finally. "But Gubby will let them stay."

Sherlock dashed back from the fireplace. "Did you say you're keeping Winky comfortable till McGonagall has time to talk to her?"

Gubby nodded.

"So she's awake."

"Winky likes her butterbeer, sir," Gubby said. "Madam Pomfrey gave her a potion, but Winky drank a whole butter beer instead. She is sleeping now, and Gubby will tell Professor McGonagall when she wakes, even though it isn't –"

"So we could wake her now," Sherlock interrupted.

"Sherlock," Molly protested faintly.

"There's almost nothing to learn from the flue," Sherlock said. "One of the clawed things came down it, smothered the banked fire, scattered the ash on the floor, and climbed back out the same way. The footprints that might have been there are gone because those elves already swept, but you can see a scattering of ash over to the right. It would have had to have been swept there, likely by the creature's tail. The elves would have cleaned it up if they'd noticed scratch marks are a little closer together than we saw them before, but that's probably due to the fact that a vertical ascent requires more careful navigation than across a rafter. It appears to have been the larger one. Other than that, your busy little friends have obliterated everything."

"Fantastic," John breathed.

"Now," Sherlock said, turning back to Gubby. "Will you take us to Winky?"

"Winky is not wanting to talk to - "

"Never mind, just tell me where she is. I can find my way."

Gubby looked imploringly at Molly, who was avoiding his eyes. Then he sighed and shuffled off to the left, beckoning them to follow. "Winky will be upset, maybe even angry," he warned as they approached a veritable honeycomb of elf cubby holes built into the walls.

Each space was large enough for a comfortable elf nest, with little rungs built into the dividers so the elves with higher accommodations could reach them. There were a number of beds filled, the elves who did the night cleaning, John assumed, and a concert of snores built as they ventured further.

Sherlock had spotted the dark end of a butterbeer bottle sticking out of a middle cubby before Gubby gestured to it, and was already crouching to peer inside.

"Winky," he said firmly. "Wake up."

The little elf opened her tennis-ball-sized eyes blearily and let out a squeak of terror at the group of students clustered around her cubby.

"It's okay, Winky," Molly said soothingly.

She edged around Sherlock to hold out a hand, beckoning Winky to sit up. Sherlock reluctantly gave her a few inches to coax the elf to the edge of the cubby, where she sat weaving slightly and rubbing her bloodshot eyes.

"I need to know exactly what you saw this afternoon," Sherlock rapped out. "As much detail as you recall. Don't leave anything out."

Winky's face collapsed into distressed wrinkles. "It was an evil, evil thing. Winky is lucky to be alive. Winky could have been taken, too."

"Taken?" Lindsay asked.

"Th-the thing came down the chimney and stung three elves while Winky watched."

"Stung?" Sherlock interrupted.

Winky nodded, and winced at the motion. "With its tail. Snap, snap, snap, and they all fell over. It grabbed them and jumped back up the chimney before we could do anything. Winky was just going to build up the fire for cooking when it happened. If Winky had been closer, it would have gotten her, too." A few giant tears splashed down on Winky's blanket.

"When? Specifically."

"Just after lunch. Winky doesn't know what time."

"Has it done this before?"

Winky shook her head, but cautiously.

"Has it been in the kitchens before?"

"W-winky does not know," she said miserably, putting her head in her hands. "Eight elves were attacked before school began, but Winky never saw… that before."

"Did anyone?" Sherlock moved forward, shouldering Molly out of the way. "Another elf we could talk to?"

Winky shrunk back from him, shaking her head so her ears flapped. "It is an evil thing and it hides so no one can see it. Like no magic Winky has ever seen."

"Yes, we assumed that much," Sherlock said, motioning her to continue. "Describe it."

"Winky thought it was a bear," she said, drawing her blanket up to her chin. "It is furry and big and has claws like bears. But its eyes..." Sherlock was on the verge of urging her on when she took up the narrative again. "Big and red, and –" she groped for words. "Like bug eyes."

John half-expected Sherlock to follow up on that description, but he merely nodded. "I understand. What else?"

"It was the color of the fireplace. Winky saw it turn from fire colors to brown while it stung the others."

"Yes, we know about that," Sherlock interrupted. "How many limbs does it have?"

"Limbs?" John repeated.

"It took three house elves and still managed to climb out the chimney. Did they just play piggyback?"

"It has four arms that Winky saw," the elf volunteered, letting the blanket fall back to her lap. "Two legs it stood on, and four for grabbing and climbing. And the tail. An evil, evil creature."

Sherlock nodded and backed away. "That's all we need. We can go now. Professor McGonagall will want to speak with Winky, and it wouldn't do for us to be seen around her."

"Thank you, Winky," Molly said, smiling at her and patting her shoulder. "You were very brave."

Lindsay and John paused to thank the elf as well. Sherlock was already halfway to the entrance by the time they caught up.

"Did you recognize the description?" John asked. "You seemed in an awful hurry to get out of here."

"No, but given the fact that the elves had finished cleaning up from lunch, we can assume the incident happened around 1:30, which means that, allowing for time for messages to be delivered and people to arrive, any tonic Madam Pomfrey would have given a creature that size will be expected to wear off within the next 10 minutes. I felt it best to be gone from the kitchens before we find ourselves surrounded by professors."

Molly stopped outside the door. "I'm going back to my room before dinner."

"Alright," Sherlock said, continuing on without stopping.

"Come along with us," Lindsay invited. "You've been a big help, and I'm sure –"

"This sort of thing isn't really Molly's area," Sherlock interrupted, coming back a few steps.

"Because you know her so well," Lindsay said shortly.

"No, he's right," Molly intervened. "I didn't really want to know as much as I do now, and I'd like to forget it as soon as possible. I'm going to see if I've got any more of the preserved flowers my mum gave me, so I can take one to Winky."

She waved and gave a very noticeable sigh of relief as she turned toward the Hufflepuff dormitory. The three others went the other direction toward the main stairs.

"Where now? To find Professor Sinistra?" Lindsay asked.

"I thought we'd give McGonagall's old study a go."

"What if Smith is still in there?" John protested. "I don't fancy my parents getting a letter from McGonagall because I can't seem to stay out of trouble. They got their share of those last year."

"Smith will be with McGonagall while they talk to Winky, right?" Lindsay answered, quirking an eyebrow at Sherlock to confirm. He nodded and took off up the stairs.

"How many letters?" Lindsay asked John as they jogged behind him.

John's mouth tipped up on the left side. "Six. Yours?"

"It was supposed to be 5, but McGonagall intercepted the last two and burned them. She knows how it is with my parents."

"She slipped a note in with my second one, explaining she supported my actions and the new headmaster was being excessive in implementing his new order. My parents took her word for it."

"Lucky," Lindsay said wistfully. "I got an inquisition with all of mine. And I couldn't tell them or they would have taken me out."

"And then just think how many pranks you never would have been able to pull on the Carrows."

"Just think of how dead you would be, you mean," she shot back, laughing.

"If you two are done reminiscing," Sherlock called impatiently from the landing. "We don't have all day."

They met Smith on the fifth floor. He nodded distractedly and continued on his way toward the gargoyle-guarded entrance to the headmistress' office. Armed with the knowledge he was gone, the trio moved even faster toward the Transfiguration study. Sherlock shook his sleeve down over his hand and tried the knob.

"Didn't really expect it to be unlocked," he muttered as the door refused to yield. He drew his wand and said, "Alohomora!"

The door did not yield. Rather than express frustration, Sherlock grinned.

"I actually thought that might be the only locking spell he'd be capable of producing," he explained to Lindsay and John. "But he has a more powerful spell than that on the door. Impressive."

"Finite incantatem?" Lindsay suggested.

"Most sealing spells don't respond to that if they're properly set," John protested.

"And we're assuming Smith properly set it?"

"Fair enough."

"Specialis revelio," Sherlock said, pointing his wand at the key hole. "Scarpin didn't realize that his Revealer Spell would work on anything, not just potions. It has come in handy…" His voice trailed off as he stared at the door.

A combination lock materialized above the knob with a large circular panel and interlocking circles, each with a unique set of dots, curves, and swirls. They stared at it, perplexed. Sherlock pointed his wand at it, but no spell immediately came to his lips.

"Is this one of those things that Muggleborns missed out on as kids? The magical circular locks?" John asked.

"No," Sherlock said, leaning closer to observe the circles. "It's definitely not of this world."