Chapter 14

The trouble started like this, though it didn't look much like trouble at the time.

Sherlock was handing over the outdated coin currency when the door opened to let in more customers. That in and of itself might have been fine, despite the way the aristocratic man looked down his nose in John's direction. It was his offspring that started the real trouble.

The boy was around Harry's age, though bigger, with shockingly white hair. He followed his father into the shop and immediately took note of the other child. Normally, Harry would probably be staring back, half hidden behind John while he looked this new arrival over. But this time, he was too busy stroking Sophie's soft feathers and telling her all about their new home while John flipped through the owl book and tried not to jump whenever one of the still pictures suddenly decided to swoop.

So while Sherlock discussed owl food with the shop keeper and the newcomer glared impatiently towards them as he waited for service, the little boy strode with confident determination towards Harry.

"Hello," said the boy without a sign of shyness about him, "I'm Draco of the House of Malfoy. I'm four years old. Do you like snakes? Father wants a boring cat but he said I can look at snakes."

Harry listened uncertainly, not answering and still stroking Sophie through the bars.

"Come on," Draco insisted, grabbing Harry's hand, "Grownups are boring. The snakes are over here."

Harry resisted Draco's pull, looking towards John for signs of disapproval. Finally Draco let out an exasperated noise and said, "Fine, I'll go by myself." And he did just as he said, marching away to where a line of tanks held an assortment of serpents. Harry watched him go, one hand clutching at the cloth of John's pants. John looked at where Sherlock continued to question the harried shopkeeper with his owl questions and the other man stood waiting and staring down his nose at them.

"Do you want to look at the snakes, Harry?" John asked, seeing that they might be a while yet, and interacting with other children was always a thing to be encouraged, even if this Draco wouldn't have been John's first choice.

Instead of answering, Harry turned away from the other boy and the snakes and turned back to Sophie again, reaching out to resume stroking her through the bars while still clutching tightly to John with his other hand. He talked to her more quietly than before, almost like he was sharing a secret.

Then Sherlock finished buying owl food and accessories, and the other man took over the shopkeeper's attention with imperious demands and they left the store.

The trouble continued when, instead of going straight home, John suggested they stopped at a shop. The sign in front of it offered 'fire cream' which sounded a bit odd but looked, from the accompanying pictures, to be a form of ice cream that was served hot instead of cold. In fact, that was exactly what they received when John ordered a scoop of 'Dragon's Blood' (having been assured that it was not, in fact, made from blood and that the flavor was actually a delightful blend of spicy fire with a touch of vanilla), Sherlock settled upon a scoop of 'honeycake delight' and Harry, after long and cautious consideration, agreed to the enthusiastic server's suggestion of a scoop of 'pumpkin pastry'.

Their treats were served piping hot in a bowl with whipped cream, a roasted chestnut on top and a cinnamon stick sticking out of one side.

"You know, I could grow to really like magic," John remarked as he took a bite of what had all the texture and appearance of ice cream yet warmed him straight through.

"Glutinic energy," Sherlock insisted, eating happily for once as he attempted to deduce where the honey flavoring his fire cream was harvested from by taste alone.

Harry hummed happily, looking almost overwhelmed with riches as he alternatively took a bite of fire cream, checked on Sophie (who had her own treat from a newly opened bag of owl treats; it was that or Harry trying to share his fire cream with her), and took his new glasses off and on as he took in the world through them, obviously marveling at being able to see.

And so it was that they were still there when the father and son from the shop walked by and the father grudgingly agreed to his little boy's loud demands of a treat for being so good.

"One scoop, Draco, and you will behave or I'll leave you in the nursery with the elves the next time I go out."

And the blond pair took a table one over, the father demanding mulled wine and his offspring eagerly asking for pumpkin pastry. And like Harry, it turned out that Draco also had a new pet. His pet was not an owl.

More customers arrived, a boisterous group dressed in an odd combination of jumpers, jeans, and robes. They were also carrying brooms, and several had pointy hats. They looked, in fact, rather like they were playing dress up as witches but didn't bother with the full ensemble. John, who had been looking towards Draco's new pet with some trepidation, saw his father give the newcomers an even darker, haughtier look than he had given them in the pet shop. The group didn't seem to notice or care, exclaiming over the choices of fire cream with obvious delight.

"Father," Draco said, also staring at the newcomers, "Why do they have baby brooms?" His voice was loud and carried, but though several of the newcomers glanced over, none looked offended. If anything, they gave the small boy the indulgent sort of look that small children often receive when they do something generally considered rude in polite society.

"Don't look at them, Draco, and eat your fire cream" his father answered sternly.

"But why?" Draco continued to demand, still staring though he did obediently scoop up another mouthful of his treat.

"They are Muggles and beneath our attention; do not honor them with your gawking." Draco's eyes went wide and, if anything, he stared at them harder than ever until his father's cane banged against the floor, dragging his attention away. "Do not make me regret this reward, Draco."

The newcomer's looks were less indulgent now, several of them giving Malfoy senior annoyed glares, one going so far as to make a face at him, sticking his tongue out. That was wasted, though, as after his initial look, the man had taken his own advice and was determinedly looking anywhere but at their table with stony disapproval.

"They're not glutinic sensitive," Sherlock murmured helpfully to John, seeing his confusion at the drama unfolding around them, "Those brooms are a Hoaxwood design; most Hoaxwood brooms are children's training brooms, pre-programmed by glutinic energy to respond to specific commands and hover a few feet off the ground. Hoaxwood also caters to non-glutinic sensitives with brooms that will fly higher, but the broom design is similar to the toys. It's a bit like a bike with training wheels…or an adult sized tricycle. I've been considering getting us some, but I'd prefer a custom-made design. That particular model I believe is called a 'squib cycle'."

Harry looked at the newcomers too with the same amount of caution he always gave large groups of loud people, but mostly he continued to play with his glasses and pet Sophie.

"A fine looking bird, there," one of the women in the group commented towards them with a friendly smile towards Harry. Harry ducked his head but Sherlock smiled back in such an un-Sherlock manner that John had a hard time not bursting out with laughter and ended up choking on his fire cream.

"Thank you," this odd version of Sherlock answered, sounding perfectly sincere as he wacked a choking John on the back, "We thought Sherrinford could use a familiar."

And if fortune had been on their side, that is how the day would have ended. They would have finished their fire cream, given a friendly nod towards the nice strangers one table over while avoiding looking at the rather less friendly man and his son at the other table. They would have gone home, probably never met the strangers again, and introduced Sophie to their flat before going to bed. That is not how the rest of their day went.

They did finish their fire cream and Sherlock paid. This time, John took more notice on the odd currency, asking questions and asking if they didn't accept credit cards and feeling altogether rather as though he'd somehow gone on holiday abroad even though they hadn't left London. So Sherlock was paying, and John was doing maths in his head to try and figure out whether their fire creams had been reasonably priced or ridiculously expensive when Draco's pet got away from him.

The pet was meant to be in a small, finely meshed cage, but, just as Harry kept petting Sophie, Draco seemed unable to resist playing with his own pet. The pet was not an owl. It was also, thankfully considering the boy's previous interest, not a snake. It was, in fact, a pure white kitten and when his father wasn't looking Draco had managed to pull it free of its cage to play with it.

John, Sherlock, and Harry were just standing up and making sure they had gathered all of their belongings when the tiny ball of fluff, alarmed by Sophie's soft hooting, went from docile fluffy cuteness to a demonic ball of claws and teeth and tore away from Draco in a desperate streak. Draco screamed, both in pain from his scratched hand and because his new kitten was running away.

John grabbed for it on instinct as it darted past his foot, managing to stop its flight but getting a handful of sharp claws for his trouble.

"Kitty!" Harry said, beaming at the demonic fluff ball clinging to John's hand.

"Ow," John said, and attempted to pull its claws out of his flesh so he could give it back to Draco. Sophie was not helping as she watched from her cage, the look in her eyes very much the sort of look an owl might give a mouse. He managed it at last, in spite of Harry's attempts to help and Sophie's continued hooting. "Here you go."

"Babbitty!" Draco exclaimed, reaching out to reclaim his pet. Mr. Malfoy gave them all a displeased look but probably would have let the incident go if Harry hadn't decided, for once, to be sociable. Draco said nothing more, but simply grabbed the cat and cuddled it to his chest.

"Thank you," Harry told him sternly in just the tone John got on such occasions where Harry needed the reminder. Unfortunately for all involved, Draco did not take the hint and offer his thanks to John. Harry was not dissuaded, but came closer, repeating in again, "Thank you!"

"It's fine," John tried to tell Harry. Draco, noticing at last that a boy his age was repeating 'thank you' at him, looked to his father to see how to deal with such an unprecedented situation. Draco's father had an unpleasant sneer on his face.

"Put that animal away, Draco, I told you not to let it out."

"Thank you," Harry repeated at Draco, obviously still expecting him to take the hint.

"It's fine, Ha…"

"Sherrinford is perfectly right," Sherlock intruded before John could finish, "We are trying to raise our son to be polite." And he looked pointedly at Mr. Malfoy. The unpleasant look on Mr. Malfoy's face darkened.

"The day my son goes around thanking Muggles is the day I disown him," he said scathingly, "Now kindly take your mudblood offspring away before I show you exactly how inferior your magicless blood is!"

The fire cream shop was completely silent, even Sophie not uttering a sound, as though the entire universe was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next. John felt something hot and cold run through him, something dangerous.

"What did you call him?" he asked, his voice low and soft and deadly. Sherlock pulled Harry backwards which was good, more than good, because if John was going to react the way he wanted to react then he didn't want four year olds anywhere near. It was just as well that Draco didn't move or John might already have had to drive his fist home.

"Not in my shop!" the shop owner cried, suddenly running between them, "I won't have brawls in here!"

"You let that filth eat your food, you invited trouble," Mr. Malfoy answered, pulling a stick from his robes and finally remembering his son enough to push him behind him. Draco peeked around the back of his father's robes, eyes wide.

"Hey now!" exclaimed one of the people at the other table with the Hoaxwood brooms, "All he asked for is a few manners; there's no call for name calling!"

"Not in my shop!" the shop keeper exclaimed again, and with an annoyed growl Mr. Malfoy muttered what sounded to John like utter nonsense. The stick in his hand sparked and suddenly the shopkeeper flew backwards.

"Hey!" John exclaimed, that electric hot feeling running beneath his skin exploding at the sight of this needless violence, and even before he realized he was doing it, his fist was flying into contact with Malfoy's face.

Malfoy stumbled backwards, his eyes wide with shock, and somewhere behind John the people at the other table let out a cheer.

"You really shouldn't anger him," Sherlock told Malfoy in his matter-of-fact tone, "I'd choose him in a fight over a dozen fully trained aurors any day."

With a snarl, Malfoy raised his hand and shouted at them, swishing his stick.

"Protego," Sherlock said, suddenly holding his own stick in front of them, and there was a bright flash and John felt something like a cool wind ruffle past him. Then Sherlock started to move his stick again, saying, "Expelli…"

"Serpentesortia!" Malfoy was faster. And from his stick there came a writhing mass of black things that tumbled to the ground before them, rolling and writhing and untangling itself to reveal no less than three serpents. John stared in shock as a snake reared up and…

"Protego!" it struck, glancing off something solid and real in the air before them, before darting away beneath a table. Somewhere behind them, Harry screamed but John didn't dare turn around to see, not when an enemy was still standing in front of them. The room was full of the sound of panicking people, and Malfoy just watched a cruel smirk on his face.

He continued to smirk right up to the point when John bent down, grabbed the dazed snake off the floor by its neck, and seriously considered lobbing it in his direction. If it weren't for Draco hiding behind his father's robes, he would have. Instead he merely held it as a threat, his arm moving back as though getting ready to throw. Malfoy flinched, the smirk falling right off his face.

And that's when the aerial attack came. Two of the people from the other table had mounted their brooms and one of them threw their bowl at Malfoy's head. Malfoy managed to bring his stick up and shattered the bowl in a spray of light, but he completely missed the presence of the second flyer, who simply swooped down, bowling him over.

Draco stared, open mouthed at his father tumbling over a chair while the second flyer dumped a pitcher of pumpkin juice over their heads. John approached, serpent in hand, and Malfoy looked up at him, eyes settling first on the snake and then upon the deadly look in John's eyes. Above them, broomed flyers whooped and hollered.

John was ready for a fight. What he was not ready for was Malfoy grabbing Draco and vanishing into thin air with a pop, leaving John alone in a room of panicking and flying people with a snake in his hand. At least the snake seemed to have resigned itself to its position as it stopped wriggling aggressively and instead wrapped its tail around John's arm.

"John!" Sherlock called, sounding as alarmed as John had ever heard him, "John, there're snakes!" John turned around. Sherlock was standing on one of the tables, as were most everyone still in the shop though a few more had the presence of mind to mount their brooms to escape the menace on the floor. The other two serpents were nowhere to be seen, which was rather more worrisome than if John had seen them poised to strike. At least if he could see them, he could evade them.

"Harry?" John asked, looking around wildly for the boy. He wasn't on the table with Sherlock.

"I've got the kid!" a man from one of the brooms called, and there was Harry perched on the broomstick and unexpectedly smiling.

"John!" Sherlock called again, "John, protego, damn it!" He threw the stick in John's direction in desperation, completely missing what he was aiming for. And then John saw the snake, right by his own foot, and he froze. This snake wasn't stunned like the one he was holding. John froze.

Sophie dove.

When and how the owl got out of her cage, John never knew, but she dove with deadly and silent accuracy. The snake never had a chance.

That was two snakes. There was still a third. John couldn't see it, but he knew that Sherlock probably could. Sherlock saw everything.

"Sherlock!" he shouted, "Where's the third snake!"

Sherlock's response was a noise rather like 'eep'. And then, at last, John saw the third snake. This one wasn't a threat to John. It had climbed onto Sherlock's table.

"Do you think the glutinic creation was endowed with the desire of its creator to damage those he conjured it against?" Sherlock asked, his voice oddly flat. It was what Sherlock did when confronted with danger. He deduced and deduced until his enemy was distracted into giving an opening. The snake wasn't going to be distracted though. There was nothing John could do. He went through everything he knew in his head about snake venom, his heart beating hard in his chest.

The snake reared its head.

Sophie was off with the first snake, not ready for another fatal swoop. The snake was going to bite and there was nothing any of them could do.

"No!" Harry screamed from above their heads, "You don't hurt my daddy!" And with a pop all the snakes vanished, including the one around John's arm and the one Sophie was dissecting in the corner. She let out a displeased hoot to be suddenly bereft of her prey.

John shuddered, suddenly realizing all at once that he had been holding a snake, that he had just been in a battle with a stick wielding maniac with Harry in the room. And he called Sherlock reckless for taking Harry to non-violent crime scenes.

Sherlock slowly got off the table. The man with Harry on the broom flew down, and Harry launched himself at Sherlock. Sophie hooted, flying over to land on Sherlock's shoulder, accompanied by the sound of ripping fabric where her talons grabbed for purchase.

"Thank you," John said to the man with the broom.

"No problem," said the man, "It felt good to stand up to one of those prejudiced bastards. You're a Muggle too, I take it?"

John frowned at him, still not sure about that term. Sherlock walked over to him and Harry reached to grab John's arm with a death grip, still clinging tightly to Sherlock with his other arm.

"I know it sounds demeaning," another man said as he, too, landed his broom, "But we're trying to reclaim it, you know, make the word our own. I'm Patrick, by the way, Patrick Gardener. I first learned about this crazy magic thing when my oldest got his Hogwarts letter. Talk about a shock!"

"It's really not all bad," a woman said, "We can fly! We even have our own quidditch team; Muggle Mounters. Stupid name, I know but it's growing on me!"

"Right." John said. He looked at Sherlock. Sherlock did not look inclined to explain things like 'quidditch' or 'Hogwarts' or any of the rest. He was still looking around the shop, assessing, arms clinging tightly to Harry. "Sherlock?"

"I think you had better look at the server, John," he said. From across the room, there came a groan.

All in all, it was two more hours before they managed to get home.

So in the end, John really didn't mind Sophie. She did save him from a nasty bite at the very least, possibly even his life depending upon how deadly the snakes might have turned out to be.

He still left it to Sherlock to explain her to Mrs. Hudson.

Author's Note: Quite Exploded has started a web comic based off my story. You can find it here: harrypotterofbakerstreetcomic . tumblr . com (take out the spaces of course to follow link, or I suppose just do a search in tumblr) Scroll to the bottom to find page 1. I very highly recommend readers of my story to check it out.