A Study in Magic
by Books of Change
Warning/Notes: This is a BBC Sherlock and Harry Potter crossover AU. The HP timeline and BBC Sherlock's timeline has been shifted forwards and backwards to match up. One major BBC Sherlock character's gender has changed for the sake of the plot. Readers beware!
Chapter Five: Ron and the Philosopher's Stone
To be honest, Ron didn't think his first year at Hogwarts would be all that cool. Because nothing cool ever happened to him.
He knew in the back of his head that Harry Potter was starting Hogwarts the same year as him, but that was about as relevant to Ron as the next Quidditch World Cup— something really cool, but at most he'd be a spectator and never a player. Sure, he'd probably see him in classes, but it wasn't like Harry Potter would want to talk to Ron.
Therefore he was shocked when he learned the pretty Muggle woman who talked to his Mum at the station was Harry Potter's adoptive mother and the black-haired boy standing quietly behind her was Harry Potter himself.
"Are you sure, Fred? How did you know?" his Mum asked.
"Saw his scar. It definitely looked like lightening," said Fred.
"The poor dear—no wonder the Muggles didn't look like him, I wondered. At least he was taken in by nice people."
"Never mind that, do you think he remembers how You-Know-Who looks like?"
Predictably, his Mum got stern at Fred.
"No, don't you dare. He doesn't need that kind of reminder on his first day of school."
"Fine, keep your hair on."
Once inside the train, Ron found himself in a fix. All the compartments seemed to be full, and he didn't fancy sitting next to the twins (they said their friend Lee had a tarantula, and no doubt they'd make him look—augh!). So he kept going down the train until he found a compartment occupied by only one person.
Ron couldn't decide if he was lucky or not when he realized the person was the black-haired boy from earlier.
"Anyone sitting there?" Ron asked a bit nervously, pointing at the empty seat. "Everywhere else is full."
The boy shook his head. "No, I don't mind."
Ron took the seat, and stole a look at his new compartment fellow. He could see the beginnings of a thin scar on the other boy's forehead, half-hidden under the fringe. Then he found himself being looked back, so he quickly turned his gaze to the window. After a brief moment of silence, Ron heard the boy shift forward.
"Hi, I'm Harry."
Ron quickly turned. "I'm Ron Weasley." Then unable to help himself he blurted out, "Are you Harry Potter?"
The boy nodded.
"Oh—well, my brother Fred said that you were, and I thought it might be one of his jokes," Ron babbled. "And have you really got … you know…"
Harry pulled back his fringe and Ron saw the famous scar in full detail. It really did look lightning, but unlike what he had imagined, it was slightly off-centre.
"So that's where You-Know-Who—" Ron asked.
"Yeah, but I don't remember much," said Harry.
"Nothing?" asked Ron eagerly.
"Just a lot of green light and … someone laughing I think."
Ron shivered. "Wow."
Ron found himself staring again, but instead of getting offended, Harry gave him a wry little smile.
"So are all your family wizards?" Harry asked.
"Er, I think so," said Ron.
He rambled about his Mum's second cousin who was a Muggle accountant. Then he found himself rambling again after Harry said that he wished he had wizard brothers and sisters – how having so many older brothers to live up to made it difficult for him to do anything cool, and he had pretty cool people for brothers: Bill had been head boy, Charlie was Quidditch house team Captain, Percy was now a prefect, and while Fred and George messed around a lot, they were very smart and very popular. He then complained about never getting anything new because he had five brothers – he got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat Scabbers, who might have died and no one would tell the difference, he was always asleep. Percy got Hermes for being made a prefect, but his parents couldn't afford… Then he realised just how much he'd been talking, and felt his ears burn. He hadn't meant to let out how these things were bothering him, least of all to Harry Potter, but it felt nice to complain about these things, and Harry didn't seem to mind.
"I don't think there's anything wrong with getting hand-me-downs," said Harry, much to Ron's relief. "I mean, before John and Sherlock took me in, my Muggle relatives made me wear my cousin's old things, and they never gave me real birthday presents. My old Mum and Dad left me a bit of money, but I didn't know that until about a month ago. I'm glad they did, though, because I know John's been worrying about how to pay for my things. John's not allowed to work, you see, and Sherlock works freelance, so his income's irregular, and these last two years he couldn't take a lot of paying jobs because he was busy fighting the Muggle world's Voldemort—"
Ron gasped.
"What?" Harry asked, looking befuddled.
"You said You-Know-Who's name!" Ron said, completely shocked. "I thought you of all people—"
"I'm not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name," said Harry, looking abashed. "I just didn't know you're not supposed to. See what I mean? I don't know how to think like a wizard and I don't know enough to even ask the right questions. I bet…" His shoulders sagged. "…I bet I'll be the worst in class."
Ron couldn't imagine this being the case. At any rate, he could totally sympathize about not feeling brilliant.
"You won't be," Ron assured him. "Loads of people come from Muggle families and they learn quickly enough."
Harry asked about Ron's older brothers Charlie and Bill and what they're doing now that they were out of school. Ron told him Charlie was in Romania studying Dragons and Bill was in Africa doing something for Gringotts.
"Did you hear about Gringotts?" Ron asked. "It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles—someone tried to rob a high security vault."
"I know, we've been getting the Daily Prophet since August," Harry said eagerly. "Do you remember the part that said the vault was emptied three days before the break in? Well, I went to Diagon Alley for my school things three days before the break in, and the Hogwarts person who came to help me emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen on the same day. Sherlock reckons the emptying and the break in are related since the dates match up and people would trust Dumbledore to hide things for them if it was important."
Ron's jaw dropped.
"My Dad said the break-in must have been done by a powerful Dark wizard," he said in a hushed whisper. "And they'd have to be, to get around Gringotts. I guess it makes sense Dumbledore would know about it and take care of it. I mean, he's supposed to be the greatest wizard alive and Hogwarts is probably even safer than Gringotts."
"Yeah," Harry agreed. Then suddenly he winced. "Sorry, John told me not to talk about this. You could get killed if bad people think you know something they don't want you know."
Ron shuddered. "Let's keep it a secret then."
They talked a bit more. Ron asked Harry about Sherlock and the Muggle world's You-Know-Who. Harry told him Sherlock was a Consulting Detective, which Ron had no clue about, and that he could tell a person's life story just by looking at them.
"Without any magic?" Ron asked incredulously.
"Yeah," said Harry. "I've seen him do it. It's really cool."
Ron goggled. He thought Muggles were interesting, sure, but he didn't think they could actually be cool. So distracted was he at the idea of Sherlock, he completely forgot about the question that popped in his mind immediately after Harry started talking about his Muggle family.
Around twelve o clock, Harry asked Ron if he wanted to eat lunch. Ron was certainly hungry and he said so, but he shuddered at the thought of showing Harry the sandwiches his Mum packed for him. But then he saw Harry pull out a brown paper bag also filled with lumpy sandwiches, so he relaxed. He pulled a face when he discovered what kind of sandwiches he's Mum made.
"She always forgets I don't like corned beef," he muttered.
"You too?" Harry said sympathetically. "Mrs. Hudson always forgets I don't like bacon. Want to swap?"
Ron was very tempted. "You don't want these, they're all dry." Then he stopped. "You don't like bacon?" He never heard of such a thing.
"I don't like pork in general," Harry said. "But I don't mind beef. Go on, take it."
They swapped. Ron took a bite of Harry's bacon sandwich and savored the taste. It wasn't bad at all. Then he looked at Harry. He seemed to be enjoying the corned beef sandwiches well enough. So Ron devoured the rest of the bacon sandwiches in peace. Harry let him try some of the Muggle fizzy drink he had, and Ron found it wonderfully sweet. When the lunch cart lady came around, Harry said he had some money for treats and asked Ron to help him pick the good stuff. Ten enjoyable minutes later, they came back laden with Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties.
"I didn't see these in Diagon Alley," Harry said as he opened a packet of Chocolate Frogs. "But then I wasn't really looking—hey, Dumbledore has a card, too!"
"Of course Dumbledore has a card, he's Dumbledore," said Ron. "Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa."
"Help yourself." Then to himself Harry muttered: "So Dumbledore's famous for defeating dark wizard Grindelwald and researching Alchemy with Nicolas Flamel…"
They ate their way through the cakes, sweets and pasties. It was nice feeling, sitting there chatting with Harry, who treated Ron like an expert of the wizarding world. Ron briefly wondered if this was what it was like to be cool—you just going about doing business as usual, and bam, people appreciate you for being you. It certainly felt that way. In the meantime, the scenery outside the window turned from fields and cow pastures to forests, rivers and dark green hills. The sunlight got weaker too, and the compartment's indoor lamps started to turn up.
"I can never get enough of wizard photos," said Harry, as he admired his growing pile of Chocolate Frog cards and doing something with his mobile felly-tone (Ron's Dad had got a few recently, so he knew what they looked like). "Did you know in Muggle photos people just stay put?"
"What, they don't move at all?" Ron said, amazed. "Weird!"
Harry grinned. "Once the pictures start moving, it's not a photo anymore, it's a video. I have a few on my phone. Here, look—"
Ron eagerly looked at the mobile felly-tone's screen. The pictures were indeed moving, and it had sound too. Then he realised the video was a record of the time they spent at the lunch cart, deliberating over the sweets. It was very odd indeed to see and hear his own self talk about Chocolate Frog cards of famous witches and wizards and that when Bertie Bott's say every flavor they mean every flavor.
"This is amazing," said Ron.
Harry grinned again. "I'm planning on taking a lot of photos. I'm not sure if I'll have enough space." He studied Ron for a moment. "Hey, want to take a Muggle photo?"
Ron beamed as Harry took several pictures of him and Scabbers. Then they tried to take photos of the two of them together, and laughed at the badly taken photos that cut them off from top, left, right and center. He felt his ears burn again when Harry told him he was going to send the photos and videos to his Muggle parents right away. In the brief message, Harry had typed:
My friend Ron!
"Muggles are really fast about their mail, aren't they?" Ron said as he stared, mesmerized, at the new 'text' (as Harry called it) that came minutes after Harry sent his. It said: Hi Ron! SH&JW
"We still have paper mail, but for short quick messages, a lot of Muggles prefer text messages," Harry said.
"Can all mobile felly-tones do this?" Ron asked.
"Most of them can, but only in service areas," said Harry. "Mine's kind of special: I can call and send texts as long as I'm on planet earth, not stuck in a lead box and the batteries are still running." He paused. "Does Hogwarts have electricity?"
Ron shook his head. "I don't think so."
Harry was really distraught at the news. He sent a quick text that said:
Hogwarts has no electricity :(
The first reply said: Welcome to world of magic. Send owl for charger. SH.
The second reply said: Tell bird if item gets lost or damaged, she shall be eaten. SH.
The reply after that said: Don't listen to him we're not eating owls.
"Your Muggle parents are funny," Ron sniggered. Harry grinned.
The compartment door slid open. A round-faced boy and a girl with lots of curly brown hair and rather large front teeth stepped in.
"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," the girl said in a bossy tone.
"Nope, sorry," said Harry.
The girl did a double take.
"Oh, it's you! I thought I recognised you from somewhere. Harry Watson, right?"
Harry Watson? Ron thought as Harry nodded.
"It's really nice to have another person who's Muggle-born," said the girl. "It seems like there's only four of us this year. Were you surprised when you got your letter? I was, but I was so very pleased—I mean, Hogwarts is the very best school of witchcraft there is, I heard. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"
She looked at Ron, who couldn't say anything for a beat because he was felt winded at the speed of her talking. At length he muttered: "I'm Ron Weasley."
"So what have you been doing to prepare for Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, switching her attention back to Harry. "I've learned all the course books by heart, of course, and got a few extra books for background reading. I read Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century and of course Hogwarts, a History. I hope it will be enough. I've tried a few simple spells too, just for practice, and they all worked for me. What about you?"
Harry looked as stunned as Ron felt, which assured Ron a great deal.
"…My family started reading wizard newspapers," Harry answered at length.
"That's good. What about spells? Have you tried any?"
"Maybe the shrinking charm."
"So you have been trying magic. Let's see it then."
She sat down. Harry looked taken aback. For several seconds he just sat there, incredulous at the turn of events, but in the end he relented. Harry took out his wand from his inner jacket pocket, then, after some consideration, set aside a cauldron cake and pointed his wand at it.
"Reducio."
The cauldron cake shrunk to size of a pea. Hermione looked both impressed and satisfied.
"You've really been practicing, haven't you? I tried the charm myself, of course, and it worked fine too. Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad … anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."
Then she left, taking the toadless boy with her.
"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it." Then Ron rounded on Harry. "You! You can do a spell like that and you're worrying about being last in class? How do you know that girl? And what's up with Harry Watson?"
Harry started rubbing the spot above his right eyebrow.
"Harry Watson is my name in the Muggle world—I changed it when John and Sherlock adopted me. I met Hermione in Diagon Alley and I was introduced as Harry Watson then. And I only know how to do that spell because Sherlock made me try it about fifty times until I got it right."
Ron chewed through that. "So you're Harry Watson now?"
"…No," said Harry. He seemed to be descending into gloom. "I'm still Harry Potter in the wizarding world."
"Well, what's wrong with that?"
Harry gave Ron an odd look—like he wanted to let something out, but after considering the climate outside, decided boarding the windows would be a wiser course of action.
"Nothing, I guess. I just have to get used to the name again," said Harry. Then more to himself he muttered. "And just after I finally got new parents, too…"
Ron felt awkward after hearing the last words. He suddenly remembered the way Harry introduced himself earlier in the train. He didn't wonder about it then, when Harry didn't say his last name as he said hi. Now he had to wonder if Harry did it deliberately: not wanting to say Harry Potter, but not allowing himself to say Harry Watson.
Suddenly Harry slapped his cheeks.
"Okay, enough of this," he said. "What houses are your brothers in?"
Ron was only happy to change the subject. "Gryffindor. Mum and Dad were in it too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."
"What's wrong with Slytherin?"
"What's wrong with Slytherin? Dark wizards come from Slytherin! You-Know-Who was in there too!"
Harry blinked. "Huh, I didn't know that." He scratched his head. "At least I know which House I don't want to end up in. Do you know how they sort us into Houses?"
"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."
A voice echoed through the train as Harry started to panic:
"We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train. It will be taken to the school separately."
"…We better get into our robes," Harry muttered, looking a bit white around the lips.
Ron felt just pale and nervy. "Yeah."
They crammed all the remaining sweets into Harry's trunk. Then they pulled on their robes and joined the teeming throng out in the corridor.
-oo00oo-
Within two weeks, Ron found himself repeatedly thanking his lucky stars for getting Harry as a friend. Not only was he fun to be around, he stopped Ron from doing some spectacularly stupid things.
Sorting had gone well. All they had to do was wear the old Sorting Hat and it decided which house you belonged to. Both Harry and Ron got sorted in Gryffindor. Harry had to deal with the inevitable hubbub from the student body once they realized he was Harry Potter. Dean Thomas, the other Muggle-born boy who got sorted into Gryffindor, wanted to know how come Professor McGonagall called him 'Potter, Harry' instead of 'Watson, Harry' ("I changed my name when I got adopted in the Muggle world, but in the Wizarding world I'm still Harry Potter. My old Mum and Dad were a witch and a wizard, you see."). Hermione Granger was upset Harry didn't tell her who he really was at the train ("I read all about you in those books you know!").
The welcoming feast after the Sorting Ceremony was excellent. Everyone enjoyed it, though Ron did notice Harry avoided the pork chops, bacon and sausages. The older Muggle-born students were surprised when they found out Harry's phone still worked in Hogwarts, and asked if they could borrow it here and now and then ("Dunno know if I can. John said this thing probably has fingerprint/voice verification." "Bloody hell, what does your parents do?"). Harry took many pictures of the Great Hall, the ceiling enchanted to look like the sky, the food and the ghosts. Harry was particularly fascinated by the ghosts, and kept asking Nearly Headless Nick, the resident ghost of the Gryffindor Tower, all sort of questions:
"How did you end up a ghost, Nick? Why do some people become ghosts and some don't? Do only wizards and witches turn into ghosts?"
"I really do prefer you called me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington," Nearly Headless Nick said, sounding very stiff and very uncomfortable. "And I do not think this is the right time or place to discuss such things."
Harry looked very putout at that, but he didn't press the issue.
After the feast, Dumbledore gave them a few warnings and announcements—no going to the Forbidden Forest, no magic in the corridors, and Quidditch trials on the second week of the term. His last warning, however, was rather curious:
"Finally I must tell you that this year the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
Ron didn't think Dumbledore was being serious until the third morning of the term. As he and Harry tried to find their way to the Charms classroom, they got lost and ended up at the entrance of the forbidden third floor corridor.
"It won't open," Ron had said, pushing at the door.
"Maybe you're supposed to magically unlock it?" Harry wondered. He pulled out his wand and tapped the lock, saying: "Alohomora."
The lock clicked and the door swung open—and they saw, quite clearly, what would cause the 'very painful death' Dumbledore warned them about.
The door wasn't hiding a classroom. It hid a corridor, and ten feet in there was a monstrous dog, a dog so large that it filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. As if that wasn't enough, the dog had three heads. Three pairs of mad rolling eyes stared at them, three noses twitched and quivered as it sniffed, and three drooling mouths bared six rows of sharp yellow teeth.
Harry slammed the door shut as the dog started growling like rumbling thunder. Then they turned and ran to the other direction as fast as their legs could carry them. They toppled a couple of suits of armour and left Professor Quirrell, the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, sprawling on the ground in their rush to put as much distance between them and the nightmare dog as possible. They didn't stop running until they reached the entrance hall, where they collapsed into a sit at the stairway.
"What do you think they're doing, keeping a dog like that locked up in a school?" Ron asked shakily as he took deep recovering breaths. "And how did you know that spell? You said you only tried the shrinking charm!"
Harry looked mentally weary as well as physically winded. "You'd know that charm too if Sherlock made you try it on a hundred sixty-three different Muggle locks." At Ron's look of disbelief, Harry said. "I counted."
They avoided the out-of-bounds corridor after that. They did discuss it though, and agreed the dog was probably guarding whatever it is the Hogwarts staff took out from vault seven hundred and thirteen. With that minor mystery solved, Ron and Harry turned their attention back to their classes.
The classes were an ordeal, and that was without even counting the challenge of finding the bloody classrooms. Ron had learned to read and write and do arithmetic from his mother at home, so he'd never been in a classroom until he got to Hogwarts. He was warned sitting down, taking notes and listening to what the teacher was nattering about for hours on end was going to be difficult, but no amount of warning could have prepared him for the real thing. Ron thought he doomed until Harry, who went to Muggle primary school and so was used to this sort of thing, let him copy his notes and poked him awake if need be. Each class was different, thus called for different coping mechanisms. Some were as boring as death, like the History of Magic (which was ironic, since Professor Binns, the history of magic teacher, was a ghost). Some sounded cool, but turned out to be a joke (Defence against the Dark Arts; Professor Quirrell's constant stutter and trembling didn't make him sound very credible). Some were doable and occasionally interesting (Charms, Herbology and Astronomy). Others promised lots of hard work and never broke them (Transfiguration).
As Ron suspected, Harry turned out to be quite brilliant. Not like Hermione, who loved to show off in class, did all the spells correctly on the first or second try, and frequently wrote double the length required for their homework assignments. Harry never raised his hand in class, but if the teacher asked him, he usually knew the answer. He was very good at spells too, better at Transfigurations than Hermione even, and would usually figure out what he needed to do well before the class was over. He also had an absolutely brilliant reason for never writing more than strictly necessary ("Think about the poor teacher who has to read the same information over and over again."), thus giving Ron an iron-clad excuse to never write a longer than necessary essay. The only class Harry had trouble in was Potions, and it wasn't Harry's fault, but the teacher's.
They had their first double Potions class on Friday. Harry's owl Hedwig delivered the charger Sherlock had promised that morning. It looked like a book without pages— its covers were made of two shiny dark metal panels stuck inside white plastic casings, and a small blue box with a narrow rectangular opening was attached next to the spine. Harry also got a note from Hagrid, who invited him for tea in the afternoon. It was a good thing they had the charger and tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because Potions had been a disaster.
The potions classes were held in the dungeons. It was creepy place, both colder and darker than the rest of the castle, and covered wall to wall with jars of pickled animals and sinister looking plants. Professor Snape entered soon after Ron and Harry settled at the workstation next to Seamus Finnigan and Neville Longbottom's. Snape started class by taking a roll call. He paused at Harry's name.
"Harry Potter," he said softly. "Our new—celebrity."
A pale blond Slytherin boy and his two troll-like cronies sitting like bookends to his either side sniggered behind their hands. Harry drew his eyebrows together in a small frown and started worrying the inside of his mouth. After Snape finished calling their names, he looked at the class, sweeping his cold black eyes over them.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," said Snape. Though he spoke barely above a whisper, his voice carried over without effort. "There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in the class. As such, I don't expect many of you will understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron and the delicate power of liquids that creep through veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses … I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death— if you are the select few who can handle my instructions and prove not to be the usual dunderheads I have to teach."
Silence followed this little speech. Hermione was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to prove she wasn't a dunderhead.
"Potter!" Snape barked suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
As usual, Hermione's hand shot up in the air, but Snape ignored her. Harry nibbled on his lower-lip a few seconds before he answered a bit hesitantly: "Draught of Living Death?"
Snape looked displeased that Harry knew the answer.
"Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar, Potter?" he asked again.
Harry sounded more certain this time: "A goat's stomach."
Snape's lips thinned.
"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Harry looked stumped. Ron privately thought it was amazing he lasted this far—he hadn't known the answers to any of Snape's questions. Hermione, in meantime, actually stood up, her hand stretching towards the dungeon ceiling.
"I don't know, sir," said Harry quietly.
Snape's lips curled into a sneer.
"Didn't finish your reading, have you?"
Then suddenly he switched into a forbidding expression.
"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, and also go by the name of aconite. Asphodel and wormwood indeed makes a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. I'm surprised that you actually knew that a bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, Potter, but you have failed to mention that it can save you from most poisons. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"
This triggered a rush to rummage for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "A point from Gryffindor for your incomplete preparation, Potter."
The Potions lesson just went downhill from there. Snape put them in pairs and set them to brew a simple boil-curing potion. He swept around in his long black robes, looming over them like a ominous bird of prey as they prepared the ingredients, criticizing almost everyone except the blond Slytherin boy who laughed earlier, Draco Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. In the middle of class, Neville somehow melted Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion seeped across the stone floor whilst generating clouds of poisonous green smoke and burned holes in people's shoes. Snape shouted at Neville, calling him an idiot for putting the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire. After ordering Seamus to take the whimpering and boil-covered Neville to the Hospital wing, Snape rounded on Harry.
"You, Potter, why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Did you think it would make you look good if he got it wrong? That's another point from Gryffindor."
It was so outrageous even Harry opened his mouth to argue. Ron had to kick him behind their cauldron to stop him.
"Don't push it," Ron hissed. "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."
The remaining hour was nothing short of torture. Snape increased his acidic commentary and his unnerving stare, concentrating on Harry in particular. It was miracle they didn't flub the potion like Neville, and Ron felt hugely relieved when they submitted their vial of potion for grading.
"He hates me," Harry said flatly as they climbed the stairs out of the dungeon at the end of class.
"He hates everyone I think," said Ron, trying to cheer him up. "Snape is always taking points off Fred and George."
Harry disagreed. "He hates me especially."
Harry continued to look depressed until they returned to the Gryffindor tower. There, Harry recovered his spirits as they examined the mobile phone charger Sherlock sent that morning. Ron couldn't believe his ears when Harry told him the charger used sunlight to generate electricity (how? how?). Once Harry figured out how to use it and recharged his phone, he had a short conversation with John.
"Yeah, I just had Potions with Professor Snape," said Harry. "You were right. He sounds exactly like Sherlock when he talks to Mr. Anderson. I never thought I'd be in that position."
Later Harry gave a typical example of Sherlock talking to the mysterious Mr. Anderson. So Snape-like was the 'Anderson, don't talk, you'll lower the IQ of the entire street!' George actually came over and asked them if Snape was harassing a kid named Anderson.
"You know, the more you talk about him, the nastier Sherlock sounds," Ron said as they headed over the Hagrid's.
"He can be," Harry admitted. "But he only comes off that way because he's terrible at being good."
They made it to the small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest Hagrid lived in. When Harry knocked, they heard a frantic scrabbling from the inside and several booming barks. The sound reminded Ron and Harry the thee-headed hellhound in the forbidden corridor and they winced.
Hagrid's large, hairy face appeared in the crack as he opened the door. He let them in while struggling to keep hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound named Fang. There was only one room inside, and Hagrid, who always looked too big to be allowed, seem to fill the entire space. Hams, pheasants and stoats were hanging on the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on an open fire, and in the corner there was a massive bed covered with a patchwork quilt.
"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid. As soon as he let go of Fang, the dog bounded over to Ron and started licking his ears and slobbering all over his robes.
"This is Ron," Harry told Hagrid, who poured boiling water into a teapot.
"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, looking at Ron's red hair and freckles through crinkled, beetle-black eyes. "I spend half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."
They talked about their first week of classes over tea and rock cakes so hard it almost broke their teeth. Like Ron, Hagrid told Harry to not worry about Snape, as he hardly liked any of the students. They then shared their mutual dislike of Argus Filch, the caretaker. Hagrid called Filch a git and accused the caretaker of ordering his horrible cat Mrs. Norris to follow Hagrid around whenever he entered the castle, much to Ron's delight. The conversation continued to revolve around such fun, harmless things until Harry confessed to accidentally opening the entrance to the forbidden corridor and seeing the three-headed monster dog from hell. Hagrid dropped his teacup in shock.
"You saw Fluffy?"
"Fluffy?"
"Yeah, he's mine— bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year. I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—"
"Yes?" Harry prompted.
"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."
"I'm just worried about security," Harry said. "You can open that door with a simple unlocking charm. That doesn't sound very safe to me."
"Rubbish," said Hagrid. "There's more than just a locked door and Fluffy doin' the protectin'."
"But Hagrid, if you can control the dog, it means someone else could possibly control it too!"
"That's ruddy unlikely!" said Hagrid hotly. "Now listen to me, Harry—yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel—"
"Nicolas Flamel is involved too?" Harry said blankly.
Hagrid looked furious with himself. Harry took pity.
"I'm not interested in meddling," Harry assured Hagrid. "And we're not going to tell this to anyone. People might think we know more than we actually do and that might get us killed. Right, Ron?"
Ron nodded. Hagrid relaxed.
"So how's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron loudly. "I liked him a lot—great with animals."
Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons. In the corner of his eye, Ron saw Harry fiddle around with his phone, which chimed three times. Harry quietly put it away after reading whatever messages he got.
Harry showed Ron what he'd been up to as they walked back to the castle for dinner, pockets full of rock cakes they were too polite to refuse.
"Fluffy's guarding a philosopher's stone," Harry said.
"A what?"
"A philosopher's stone can turn any metal to gold and produces an elixir that lets you live forever," Harry explained.
"You figured it out?" Ron asked in disbelief.
Harry shook his head. "I didn't, not really."
He held up his phone. Ron read through the text exchange:
Heard the name Nicolas Flamel over tea. Sounded familiar. Do you know?
Flamel alchemy research partner of Albus Dumbledore. See chocolate frog card of AD. SH
Google: Flamel's main pursuit philosopher's stone. Wizards: Flamel has only philosopher's stone in existence. SH
FYI: philosopher's stone turns all metal to gold & produces elixir of life, making drinker immortal. SH
By the time Harry showed him the photo of Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog card, which he sent to John and Sherlock in the train, Ron's jaw was hanging somewhere around his collarbone.
"No wonder Dumbledore is keeping the stone guarded. Anyone would want it!" said Ron excitedly. "So what do we do now?"
"Nothing," Harry said firmly. "It's bad enough a bunch of first years like us figured it out in a week."
Ron felt a little cheated. "But—"
"Is there anything for us to do?" Harry asked. "We'll just get told off if we said anything to the teachers, and if the dark wizard who broke into Gringotts gets wind that we know this much, he might take us hostage and being a hostage is not fun."
Ron reluctantly agreed. Still, all this mystery solving was quite exciting and he was very keen for another one. It was good thing he had Harry to stop him from doing things based on that feeling, because otherwise he would have taken up Malfoy on his challenge to a wizard duel, and that would have been a disaster.
But that was story for another time.
-oo00oo-
FinalNotes: I was actually planning on turning this to a three part interlude of the trio, but then Ron got really, really mouthy. So there will be three chapters instead. I have no idea how long I can keep updating every five days, but I plant to keep it up as long as I am able. Harry knows all the difficult stuff featuring Death and Poisons thanks to Sherlock, but doesn't know mundane things like monkshood. ;-) And the solar charger featured in this fic actually exists. You can buy it off amazon.
A lot of people have trouble picturing SIM!John. So for your imagination, I upload how SiM's John looks in my head (eliminate all spaces): akito-shi . livejournal . com (dash) 2738 .html