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 Eight: The Perils of Deduction
Severus regarded his opponent warily. His opponent circled around him, poised to strike. Severus knew he had little chance of winning, but he couldn't escape. He willingly got into this mess, so it was his job to get out of it.
"Impedimenta," he whispered as he quickly stepped sideways, his next hex on his lips.
But his opponent was quicker. The curse was avoided using only the smallest of movements. Before Severus could adjust his aim, his opponent already was upon him. A quick grip, a powerful throw, and Severus hit the ground hard. On the next beat, his wand arm was outstretched between two strong legs that pinned him down and his hand was twisted so viciously he let go of his wand. Severus tapped the ankle twice to signal his submission.
"Don't stop fighting just because you're down, Snape," Watson chided.
Severus groaned when he was released. As he felt the aches and pains in his body, which was no longer young or, indeed, built for this sort of activity, Severus had to remind himself why he had to go through this.
On the evening after the guided tour in Diagon Alley, Severus brought up the subject of Muggles skilled in martial arts to Dumbledore. After witnessing Watson's memorable demonstration, it had occurred to Severus that a highly trained Muggle who had even a rudimentary understanding of magic may trump a wizard in a fight, and easily bypass wards only designed to prevent magical attacks. It was a security hole Severus couldn't afford to overlook, and one the Ministry of Magic may not take seriously since it gave Muggles more credit than they were accustomed to giving. Dumbledore agreed, and suggested they ask Watson for help after he finished warding 221B. Watson was bemused but interested, especially when Dumbledore insisted on paying tuition. Watson warned them the training would neither be easy nor pleasant, so the trainee better be up for the challenge. Then Watson asked who was going to be the (un)lucky trainee.
"Why, Severus of course!" said Dumbledore cheerfully. "He's the youngest and most fitting of my people!"
Severus's outraged protests were duly ignored.
But the Headmaster had a point. Severus was the youngest qualified and available wizard Dumbledore trusted. He also had not inconsiderable knowledge and experience in wizard duelling, especially its darker aspects, which would give Watson a better idea of what to expect in a fight against dark wizards and curtail the attacks accordingly.
So there he was, travelling to London each week — minus a week break after Halloween due to three-headed beast dog induced injuries — to be thrown, kicked or grappled to the ground by Watson without once getting a successful curse. It was maddening.
"Okay, let's wrap up," Watson announced, "Wide push-ups. Two sets of fifty."
Severus cursed. He cursed again when he couldn't get up after number forty-six. Watson finished all one hundred wide push-ups in a disturbingly short period of time.
"Your cardio is improving," said Watson. "You still need more weight training. Work on those legs."
"This is too much," Severus grumbled to the floor.
"Well, we are building from ground zero," said Watson. "What was that spell, by the way? Some kind of obstruction curse judging from the incantation."
"It will slow you down to a halt."
"Brrrr," Watson shivered. "That's a good one. I would've been a sitting duck if I got hit."
"Why don't you try fighting while you're cursed?" Severus groused.
"No thanks. I rather like beating you up," Watson flashed a grin before turning serious. "You're still pulling your punches, Snape. I haven't seen you cast spells that would cut me to ribbons or vanish half of my organs—and don't tell me there aren't curses like that or that you don't know how to cast them."
It was disturbing how much battle intuition Watson had. Severus was willing to bet the Powers Above made Watson a Muggle because otherwise the world would have had a harmless-looking undefeatable monster on its hands.
"Do all spells travel like a beam of light?" Watson asked as Severus hobbled over to the sitting room table (a longer trek than usual, as the sitting room was magically expanded and warded to accommodate flying curses and flying Snapes). "It'll be a lot harder to avoid spells with an effective area that looks like a wide cone."
Severus thought about it as he sat down. It wasn't something he would've considered, but it made perfect sense that a Muggle, whose best weapons were speed and distance, would think about it.
"Most of them do travel like beams of light, except perhaps the Killing Curse," said Severus before adding: "If you ever hear the words 'Avada Kedavra', find hard cover."
"Unblockable?" asked Watson.
"Very," said Severus.
Watson shivered "Duly noted. Okay, Snape, refuel."
Severus regarded the—what did Watson call it, a smoothie?—in front of him with a mixture of disdain and nausea.
"Food is part of the training," said Watson sternly. "Drink up."
Severus reluctantly put the straw between his lips. The cold mixture tasted fruity, grassy and strongly celery—in short, disgusting.
"So how is Harry doing?" Watson asked with a smirk.
"Don't ask if you don't want a slow acting poison in your tea."
"Still at it then."
Severus covered his face. "If he intends to create the sort of potions I think he wants to create, you're not long for this world. Why on earth does he want to regrow your internal organs?"
"I don't know, because some of them are missing?"
Severus had to look up for that. "What?"
"Well, I'm missing a kidney," said Watson, ticking off fingers, "and part of my liver. My digestive tract had to be shortened when I got caught in an IED, and then there's my—"
"Why are you still alive?" Severus interrupted rudely.
Watson shrugged. "I ask myself that question every now and then. It's not fun, you know, living with intermittent pain. Speaking of," Watson gave Severus a frankly astonished look, "What the heck are you putting in those pain relief potions? I took some the other day then accidentally shoved Dimmock. He basically flew into two SOCOs, knocked them down, and then all three of them went skidding. I mean, it's freaking amazing, and I'm really, really grateful for the relief, but stuff like that is hard to explain."
Severus outwardly sniffed as he inwardly trembled. Ever since his training started, Severus had an idea that both fascinated and terrified him, therefore wouldn't leave him alone: how powerful would a fully healed Watson be? The current Watson would probably continue to trounce him unless he used an Unforgivable or if he caught Watson unawares. This plus the fact that Watson was capable of defeating Aurors before Dumbledore healed the damaged left shoulder almost guaranteed a completely healed Watson in battle would be a sight to behold. Though Severus was aware a healthier Watson would translate to more pain for him at the very least and prosecution for unlawful use of magic at worst, he couldn't help but meddle in Watson's recovery if only to see what Watson was capable of. That he owed Watson Potter's continued existence or that he found Watson's company surprisingly tolerable had nothing to do with it.
"The potion is supposed to address the cause of pain, not just numb it like your Muggle medications," said Severus dismissively. "Lower the dosage if it worries you. Now I would appreciate it if you told your child NOT to attempt potions that are beyond his plebeian little brain and he backed off his unfounded suspicion that I have designs to murder him. It's hard enough to save his bloody neck when he's not determined to get himself killed."
"Sherlock is talking to Harry. He'll mention you at some point," said Watson. "No comments on Harry's plebeian little brain since I know you're horribly biased. It would only help if you stop being such a bastard."
"Yes, and pigs shall fly without the benefit of a hover charm," Severus snarled. "I don't do nice, Watson!"
Watson just laughed merrily, "Same time next week?"
Severus groaned. Bastard!
-oo00oo-
Meanwhile, back in Hogwarts, three first years were out in the courtyard, shivering against the cold winds, as they huddled around a ball of blue flames and a mobile phone. The three were Harry, Ron and Hermione, and they were holding a teleconference with Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
"We have more evidence against Snape!" said Ron in a rush. "Snape was jinxing Harry's broom at the Gryffindor-Slytherin match!"
Sherlock let out a gusting sigh. "Don't tell me what you think. Tell me what you saw."
"I know a jinx when I see one!" said Hermione hotly. "I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all!"
"So you saw Snape's mouth moving and his eyes fixed on Harry, and Harry's broom acting abnormally during the match, is that correct?"
"YES!" said Ron and Hermione together.
"Describe the broom's abnormal behaviour."
"It tried to throw me off," said Harry. "Bucking and twitching. Flying up when I didn't even directed it to. And it vibrated a lot."
"Do you know what exactly Snape was saying?"
"No, but it's obvious, isn't it?" said Ron.
"THINK!" rang Sherlock's voice. "What profit is it to Snape to be at a Quidditch game, where most of Hogwarts are present, when the castle itself is nearly empty and the object of interest is still there?"
"Oh!" the three exclaimed.
"Exactly," said Sherlock snidely. "So what should you be looking for?"
"The people who weren't at the Quidditch match!" said Hermione excitedly. Then she deflated. "I don't think anyone was paying attention to that…"
"We could ask around," said Harry.
"That's going to be fun," Ron muttered. "Hey, were you at the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match? If you weren't, aren't you mighty suspicious…"
"Can we eliminate most of the students?" asked Harry. "Hagrid said only powerful dark magic could tamper a broomstick like my Nimbus, and you'd have to know a lot of magic in order to do that."
"That's reasonable," said Sherlock. "The thief is an adult, most likely an insider considering how quickly he or she was able to ascertain the object of interest is in Hogwarts and navigate around security, though an outsider with an insider ally can't be disregarded. Now—" Sherlock started to sound stern. "I want you three to stop making the same plebeian assumptions the police are so fond of making. You saw Snape head to the third floor on Halloween and then saw him with a bite mark on his leg. Base on this you assumed he was trying to get past Fluffy and let a troll in to create a diversion, when all you can deduce from the data is that he likely entered the forbidden corridor when the troll was let in. As I said before, there are two possibilities: either he was checking security or trying to bypass it. Do not deduce more than what the data presents, and do NOT let your emotions colour your deductions. Understand?"
"Yes sir," Harry, Ron and Hermione said, subdued.
Harry ended the call, just as he noticed Snape limping over to where they were. Hermione quickly scooped up the blue flames into a jar and hid it under her robes.
"And what are you three young Gryffindors like yourselves doing out here in a day like this?" Snape asked silkily.
Harry was tempted to say 'enjoying life', but decided he'd rather not risk fifty points from Gryffindor when Snape was obviously in a bad mood and looking for an excuse to tell them off.
"Just calling my parents, sir," said Harry, showing him the phone.
Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry, like he always did when Harry didn't give him any excuse to take off points. Harry calmly looked back, confident in his innocence.
"Get inside—and a point from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter."
"Cheek, is that his excuse?" Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped away. "Why is he still limping anyway, the bite from Fluffy must have healed by now."
"Dunno, but whatever it is, I hope it hurt him more than Fluffy," said Ron bitterly.
-oo00oo-
The Gryffindor tower was very noisy that evening. Fred and George had set off fireworks in a fit of boredom, and filled the entire common room with smoke and bouncing, star-shaped sparkles. The atmosphere suited Harry. People either too busy watching the fireworks or wadding their way through the smoke, so no one paid attention to his, Ron and Hermione's serious conversation.
They first discussed how they were going to find out who wasn't present at the Gryffindor-Slytherin match. The problem was how they were going ask, since the question could come off very badly. If Harry asked, he might look like a right prat who wanted to make sure everyone saw him play. Ron and Hermione didn't have this problem, but if they asked a stranger, the person might become suspicious. Even if they used the pretext of gushing over the game, doing it naturally required a very special kind of person. As much as Ron loved Quidditch, he didn't have the kind of reputation to make it look normal. Hermione they couldn't even consider—it was way too out of character.
"I guess asking people directly is out," said Ron. "So what do we do?"
"How about lifting fingerprints from the broom shed?" Harry suggested.
"No, that won't work," said Hermione. "Too many people have access, and the thief doesn't have to touch anything to jinx your broom."
They ran out of ideas very quickly. So they gamely tried to finish their Transfiguration homework instead (not so gamely for Hermione) as they watched the twins set off dungbombs on top of the fireworks.
Harry suddenly put down his quill.
"Fred and George."
Ron looked up. "What about them?"
"What if Fred and George went around looking for the people who weren't at the Quidditch match?" Harry said. "They have the right kind reputation, and people might cooperate so they can be part of the prank. Even if people don't, they're definitely resourceful enough work around it."
Hermione looked terribly worried while Ron looked terribly excited.
"I don't know Harry," said Hermione. "It could go very wrong, and how are we supposed to explain the situation?"
"We don't have to tell them everything!" said Ron, warming into the idea. "We can just tell them we want to find the git who jinxed Harry's broom and let them know the person probably didn't go to the match to avoid suspicion!"
"The trick is convincing them Snape isn't the culprit because he was acting suspicious," said Harry. "Tall order, I know, but we can't have them barking up the wrong tree."
Hermione thought about it.
"This might work," she said. "Let's tell them we think someone jinxed your broom before the match. This person wanted us to blame Snape. Since performing a curse or a counter-curse looks the same from a distance, the person put a jinx only Snape would know how to counter and didn't go to the match to make Snape take the blame."
That was the story they told Fred and George later in the evening. Unfortunately, the twins were sharper than they were when it came to sniffing out flaws in a story.
"The person could've been at the match to make sure Harry's broom was jinxed properly and avoid suspicion," Fred pointed out. "And seeing your work up close and personal is just more satisfying."
"You might have a point about Snape, though," said George. "It's too obvious, and the chances of getting caught are too high. That's not his style."
In the end they got Fred and George's cooperation. They were bored anyway, and looking for the person who almost made them lose a Quidditch match was their idea of fun. Harry made them promise not to do anything unless they got definite names.
"I just don't want another repeat of the last match," Harry told them. "As long as the person doesn't do it again, I'm okay. I don't want revenge or anything."
"You might not want revenge, but we do," said Fred.
"Don't worry. We won't hurt them. Much," grinned George.
Harry didn't believe those words for one minute. But he did trust the twins to pull something quite spectacular.
In a week, Fred and George brought in the results.
"It was quite simple, really," said Fred smugly. "We first checked the tally sheet up in the Quidditch stands office."
"There's a tally sheet? Why?" Ron asked.
"To accommodate the spectators," said George. "Seating capacity of the Quidditch stands is normally two hundred fifty, but if there are more people, the stands are spelled to increase. The sheet adds up all the people in the stands and once it goes beyond a certain number, it triggers an extension charm."
"That's very clever," said Hermione.
"Why, thank you, Hermione," said Fred. "Anyway, the sheet recorded two hundred-eighty three people in the last match, so that means practically everyone was there. Of course the sheet can't tell you who was there. That's where these come in."
The twins produced what looked like a pair of brass binoculars that had all sorts of weird knobs and dials, and a stack of wizard photos.
"This is an omniocular," said George, holding up the binoculars, "It can record, play-back, slow-down and zoom-in whatever you see. This particular omniocular belongs to Roger Davies and he recorded the entire game so the Ravenclaw Quidditch team can study it later. He let us borrow it once we told him there's someone out there jinxing brooms and he might've recorded who."
They took turns looking at the match recorded in the omnioculars. It just was like looking at a Muggle video, only you had to twiddle the replay knob to change the sequence. Harry watched himself hanging on for dear life as his broom bucked around hundred feet in the air, and choke on the snitch he almost swallowed at the end of the game.
"And these are—" Harry said, pointing at the photos.
"Photos of the match—the spectators of the match, to be exact," said Fred.
"You triggered a photo craze Harry," said George, grinning. "Ever since you started walking around taking photos of everything, people started carrying cameras everywhere too."
Harry felt dazed. He started a photo fad? Him?
"We figured someone might've taken photos of the match," said George. "The Ravenclaws were pretty good about sharing theirs. They actually thought one of the Slytherins might be jinxing Harry's broom, so they snapped photos of the spectators for evidence. We went through the photos and we think most of the students were there, except for Laura Lyons and Nathan Garrideb. They're accounted for: Laura had to stay in the Hospital wing for shingles and Nathan is harmless—he just never leaves the castle if he can help it."
"That just leaves the teachers and staff," said Fred. "Most of them weren't there. Sprout wasn't there, Flitwick wasn't there—he usually doesn't go, he almost got trampled the last time—Trelawney, Quirrell, Vector, Madam Pomfrey… really, it's easier to count those who were: Just Burbage, Hagrid, Snape and McGonagall."
Harry shared a brief look with Ron and Hermione.
"Did you find anyone who had their wand out?" asked Hermione.
"We checked, but it was hard to make out that kind of detail so we gave up," said Fred. "The jinx could've been time-triggered anyway—delayed just long enough so the match wouldn't get cancelled. Anyway, that's what we found."
The five of them fell silent. It was a good amount of information, and Fred and George did a sterling job collecting it. But it wasn't enough. They never suspected the thief was a student, so it wasn't surprising almost all of them were accounted for. But the teachers and staff, their main pool of suspects, there was still too many to consider even after eliminating the four teachers Fred mentioned. Who could it be?
"Could it have been one of the teachers?" said George. He sounded worried.
Harry bit his lower lip. "I don't know what to think," he said honestly.
They went to bed on that uncertain note. Harry stayed up late into the night brooding over the problem. More than ever, he felt his respect for Sherlock rising. How did Sherlock navigate around so much uncertainty? And how did he stay focused on a case for so long? Harry was already feeling tired of it.
Harry didn't know when he fell asleep, but he woke up next morning breathing in the unique scent of heralding snow. The message was clear:
Christmas was coming.
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: writing Snape's POV is just too much fun. John is a friend to all snarky and brilliant men. The trio is plodding their way through the mystery—it's just too bad we already know the solution … or do we?