Albus Wulfric Brian Dumbledore prided himself in his ability to see the brighter side of any situation. No matter how much the dark crept in, Dumbledore would be there to shine a light. First it was Grindelwald, and then it was Tom. However, as he stared at the two eleven year olds in front of him, he was at a loss for words.

Hermione Granger had been reported as a prodigy. She was a perfectionist and went above and beyond in everything she did. She was determined and compassionate. There was none of that on her face now. It appeared as if someone has snagged the world from under her feet and she was still trying to process how to fall. Dumbledore thought this was sad. What he saw in Harry's face was sadder.

Harry's eyes were steely and focussed. With a minor probe, Dumbledore viewed Harry's thoughts shooting around rapidly, making impossible connections while the memory of Quirinus' death played over and over. Harry felt no remorse for Quirrell. He didn't feel happiness either. Harry just was. To be jaded to such terrible events at age eleven was truly unfortunate.

"Professor Snape tells me you two saw something quite traumatic tonight. Would you care to explain what happened?" Dumbledore asked, slipping into his grandfatherly persona.

"He would've told you the details already. What's the point in getting it from us?" Harry asked. Hermione remained quiet.

"Apologies, Mr. Potter. I prefer to collect multiple statements, from all witnesses if at all possible. Surely your father would agree," Dumbledore replied.

"My father wouldn't probe my mind, though," Harry said. His tone was not angry or aggressive. Instead, it was inquisitive. Harry wanted to know how exactly he did it.

"Apologies once again, Mr. Potter. I was merely curious."

"I completely understand, Headmaster Dumbledore. Next time however, warn me or simply ask. I don't believe in lying. The truth is rarely plain and never simple, just imagine how muddy lying is," Harry explained. Dumbledore nodded.

"A commendable stance. Now, would you mind describing the events that transpired tonight?"

"Yes sir. You see I noticed Quirrell didn't actually faint. It was a clever lie in order to get whatever is in that forbidden corridor. We followed him and as he was pacing in front of that beast, Professor Snape surprised us. Our noise must've distracted Quirrell long enough for the dog to maul him to death. It was quite gruesome, actually," Harry said thoughtfully. Snape looked appalled.

"It was horrific," Hermione spoke up. All three turned.

"Ms. Granger?"

"Sorry, I just… That was a very disturbing thing I heard. Harry covered my ears and moved me so I didn't see anything, but I still heard it a bit. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget the sickening sounds. Poor Professor Quirrell," Hermione whimpered.

"I wouldn't feel too much pity for him, 'mione. I believe he was housing some very dark magic," Harry said. Dumbledore's eyes furrowed.

"That's a very bold claim, Mr. Potter. To be a thief and to be a dark wizard are two very different things. What is your evidence?"

"Well, it's not concrete of course, but I saw a shadowy figure emerge from the bloody remains of Quirrell's corpse. I'm not sure I'd qualify that stuttering mess of a man a 'dark wizard' but he was housing some seriously dark power," Harry explained, shivering a little. That entity was definitely the thing he, Hermione and Neville encountered in the Forbidden Forest.

"Very disturbing indeed, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid it very much relates to you, as well. From what you told me, I believe you encountered Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore said. Harry looked incredulous.

"Excuse me, headmaster, but don't the stories go that he was destroyed by me as an infant? As hard as it is to believe that notion, being destroyed sort of prevents you from existing in the present, right?" Harry asked. Dumbledore nodded sagely.

"Before now, I would agree. However during the first war, Voldemort dabbled in very dark and ancient magic. Magic I myself would never consider, much less use. I theorized that Voldemort wasn't truly dead, but I didn't want to share my theory, as the public would likely not be able to handle a supposedly 'unkillable' dark lord. So, I sat in wait. Now though, he has shown his hand. We can prepare for him to try to return, properly," He said, stroking his beard.

"What do you suggest we do, Professor?" Hermione asked.

"Publically, we can do nothing but wait Ms. Granger. The public will not be quite so willing to accept the return of Lord Voldemort. Minister Fudge is a peacetime minister and will certainly not back any concrete proof of Voldemort's resurrection. However, I believe that I may have to call some old friends together," Dumbledore replied wistfully.

"But certainly there must be something we—"

"No, Professor Dumbledore's right, 'Mione. This is a game of chess and unfortunately, we must play the long game. We will wait for Voldemort to strike again. When he does, we'll be ready," Harry cut in. Hermione looked as if she wished to argue, but said nothing and looked at her shoes.

"I must say, you're taking this fairly well, Mr. Potter. I am surprised," Dumbledore observed. Harry sighed.

"This isn't the first time a madman has tried to kill me. I am not sure how aware you are of my father, Sherlock. He is a detective and is in the sights of one of the world's most intelligent and ruthless criminals. That's how we met actually. My father saved my life," Harry said, smiling bittersweetly.

"He sounds like a great man."

"He is."

"And on that note, I believe we have nothing more to discuss. I suggest on the way back to your dormitory, you ask Madame Pomfrey for a dreamless sleep potion. Goodness knows you two have had a very stressful evening. Goodnight Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said. He nodded to them over his half-moon spectacles with a knowing smile.

"Goodnight sir," They said in unison. They took Professor Dumbledore's suggestion and downed a dreamless sleep potion. Harry'd had enough nightmares about the ghoulish bodies and vicious killers he'd seen in London. He did not need to add Quirrell's shredded cadaver to that list, at least not tonight.

The next morning, the school buzzed with whispers about Halloween. Hermione seemed to perpetually blush whenever she thought someone was talking about it. Harry took a slightly different approach. He was spotted walking up to numerous individuals who whispered and pointed, and asking in the most naive way possible what they were talking about. Many would go pink and stop. Some would be honest but most would just shut up.

The most recent time, Harry strode back to the Ravenclaw table grinning. Hufflepuffs were the worst gossips. Some boy by the name of Cedric Diggory seemed like the only one who didn't buy into the gossip, so brownie points for him.

"Must you be so straightforward when confronting others?" Hermione asked tiredly.

"Yes."

While it seemed large at the time, the Hogwarts rumor mill churned Halloween night into a forgotten memory within a week. After all the excitement of Halloween, the days bled together until the first day it snowed. Winter had snuck up on Hogwarts and surprised them.

"Oh come on Hermione! Even Draco is joining in on the festivities!" Harry whined. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I greatly apologize that I'm not all for that outdoorsy stuff like you are," Hermione said, turning the page in her book.

"I forgive you."

"Really?" Hermione asked sarcastically.

"Yep. You can make it up to me by coming outside," Harry replied, grinning. Hermione snapped her book shut smacked Harry on the shoulder with it.

"Fine," she huffed, "but only because I can't read my book with you pestering me!"

"Wonderful!"

The snowball fight between Harry, Hermione, Draco, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Ron and two third years who went by Fred and George ("It's Gred and Forge!" they protested with cheshire grins) was a blast. It ended in a final showdown between the twins and Hermione. The twins were older and more magically powerful, But Hermione was a genius and Harry's ruthless idea of fun was starting to rub off on her.

Right when the Weasley twins had her pinned, she flicked her wand and muttered. The twins' fort caught fire. The flames didn't seem to melt the fort or burn anything, but it didn't stop them from yelping like children, jumping up from behind cover, and catching a snowball to the face, each. Everyone stared open mouthed at Hermione except for Harry. After all, she was his Watson and he expected only the best from her.

When Harry and Hermione returned from the snowball fight, Hermione dashed upstairs saying how she needed to get cleaned up. Harry noticed Hedwig stood on one of the nearby desks with white letter tied to her claw. The ink was red. After opening it, Harry smirked.

Dearest Harry,

It's so nice to officially send a letter to you! You can't imagine how secretive Sherlock and John are about you! I feel like I'm talking to a ghost. I love your bird, an intelligent girl to be sure. Anyways, I'm babbling. My name is Irene Adler. Sherlock might've mentioned me, and God knows John probably did.

I'm an international thief and dominatrix. When you get a bit older I'll explain what that is, if you don't know already. Sherlock told me you're a protege of sorts. I'm not sure how true that is but if you're anywhere near as clever as they seem to think you are, I'll only give you this one warning…

Stay out of it!

Things are happening that are beyond you and I know it'd kill me if I let a child get hurt directly because of me. If you choose to interfere, welcome to the game. I won't be going easy on you.

Much love,

Irene Adler (The Woman)

Soon, Christmas Break had begun. Harry, Hermione, and Neville boarded the train, with Draco promising to visit their carriage sometime during the ride. After the three of them put their trunks up, Harry and Hermione sat on one side while Neville sat on the other. Hermione leaned against Harry's shoulder, propped open a book, and began to read. Harry stared at her in confusion, then at Neville. He grinned and shrugged.

"Fancy a game of exploding blackjack?" Harry asked, opening an exploding snap set. Neville looked confused.

"I thought it was called exploding snap."

"I created a mixture between poker and exploding snap. It's exactly like poker, but higher stakes on your cards!"

"How'd you manage that?" Neville asked, poking the card on the top of the deck.

"Professor Flitwick helped with charms. He loves helping students with projects like that. Something about 'unlocking their creative charms potential'," Harry replied. Neville smirked.

"Alright then. You're on!"

LINE BREAK LINE BREAK LINE BREAK LINE BREAK LINE BREAK LINE BREAK LINE

"You'd better be glad Granger's good at regrowing eyebrows, Potter," Draco spat, smoothing his hair which had been slightly singed the last time Harry went over and the cards promptly exploded. Neville was still wiping tears from his eyes and Hermione smirked.

She, of course, heard the words exploding blackjack and instantly casted a fire retardant spell on her clothes, hair, and book. According to Harry that was being boring. Hermione begged to differ after the first time of the boys gained a receding hairline via fire.

"That's what happens when you barge into someone else's carriage, Malfoy," Hermione replied.

"I don't believe I asked, Granger."

"You know, maybe I'll take those eyebrows back. You looked quite funny without them," Hermione said, tapping her chin with her wand. Harry snorted and Neville stifled a laugh with his hand. Draco instantly covered his eyebrows with his hand.

"Fine! Fine! What childish game were you playing, anyways?"

"Exploding Blackjack. Want me to deal you in?" Harry asked, grinning.

Many rounds and explosions later, the train arrived at Kings Cross station. Students flooded out of the carriages and greeted their parents. Draco and Neville went off with each of their parents. Harry then helped Hermione find her parents and he promised to write after a glare from the bushy haired girl. Finally he approached two men, one with sandy hair and a small smile, and the other with a long coat and curly black hair.

"So," he said, holding up a white letter with scarlet ink, "tell me about this Irene Adler."