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. The story was planned and written before season 2 (but incorporating elements of thereof as much as possible). Readers beware!
Chapter Thirteen: Security and Logic in Fairy Land
Harry, Ron and Hermione kept a close watch over Quirrell in the weeks that followed (John told them they were on the right track about him in a second text that made a lot more sense than the first one about Occam's razor). Quirrell was apparently braver than they gave him credit for. He did seem to get thinner and paler, but it didn't look as though he'd cracked yet. Snape continued to prowl around in a bad temper, which meant the stone was still safe. Harry, Ron and Hermione took turns pressing an ear against the entrance to the forbidden third floor corridor to check if Fluffy was still growling inside. Harry made it a point to thank Quirrell for his efforts, and Ron started telling people off for laughing at his stutter.
Hermione, however, had other things on her mind besides the stone and Quirrell. Around the end of March, she started colour-coding all her notes and draw up study schedules. Harry and Ron wouldn't have minded, except she kept nagging them to do the same.
"Hermione, the exams are ages away."
"Ten weeks," Hermione snapped. "That's not ages. It's only two and a half a months."
"That is ages," said Ron. "What are you studying for anyway, you already know it all."
"What am I studying for?Are you crazy!? You realise we need to pass these exams to get into second year? They're very important! I should've started studying a month ago I don't know what came over me…"
Unfortunately, the teachers were thinking on the same lines as Hermione. They piled so much homework on them Harry had to spend every spare minute of his time trying to finish them all before Easter holidays. Unlike the majority of Hogwarts, Harry was going back to London, and he didn't want homework hovering over his head.
"Of course I'm going," Harry said as he trudged after Hermione to the library, moaning and yawning alongside Ron, as she fretted over his two week break from studying as if it was a bad thing. "I haven't seen John and Sherlock for six months."
Harry still had a great deal of homework left over when the holidays rolled around. He fell into a fretful, exhausted sleep the moment he settled into the train, thinking he'd likely be in sixth year before he finished writing all his Potions essays. After the nap, he felt more relaxed and optimistic. So Harry spent the remainder of the train ride playing Exploding Snap with Terry and Justin, who were going home too.
"I'm going to have a brother!" Terry said excitedly. "His name is Ravi and he's six. Mum says he's a half-blood raised by his Muggle Mum."
"Do you have others brothers or sisters?" Harry asked.
"Two sisters: There's Brianna, and she's two. Olga we adopted from Ukraine."
Harry smiled. This was what he really liked about Terry and his family. Mr. and Mrs. Boot considered anyone they fostered as family, and Terry loved having more siblings. Harry couldn't really share that part of his life with Ron and Hermione since they never had the need to have another family except the one they were born to.
"I'd like to meet them," said Harry.
"You can visit us over Easter holidays. What are your plans?"
"I have a bunch of doctor appointments this week—Madam Pomfrey's going to kill me if I don't go to all of them," said Harry regretfully. "Next week I'm going to Sussex."
"Busy, aren't you?" said Justin. "I suppose you'd be spending the evening with family. What about the summer?"
Harry had a lot of plans for the summer, too. He, Ron and Hermione had agreed to a Star Wars marathon. Ron and his brothers had already invited him for an extended visit at their home, and he and Dean were going to play football every week until then. It was surreal, now that Harry thought about it. He had a normal, ordinary life going on despite the unnatural shadow cast by the philosopher's stone.
"When does your family normally go to Diagon Alley? I can meet you there," said Harry.
"Ooooh, good idea. We can have lunch together at the Leaky Cauldron," said Terry happily.
"Mother likes to do shopping in London—perhaps I can meet you on one of her trips?" said Justin.
Harry grinned.
-oo00oo-
For the nth time, Ron was grateful Harry left his phone with them. The original intent was so Hermione could call her parents. Ron ended up using it to call Harry when watching Hermione recite the twelve uses of Dragon blood or practicing wand movements became too much.
"Why is she memorizing the twelve uses of Dragon Blood for? We didn't even learn that in class!" said Harry.
"That's what Hermione does," Ron groaned. "When it doubt, learn it all."
Ron cast a furtive eye at Madam Pince and then at Hermione, who was off looking for another book to devour, before he went back pretending to look up 'Dittany' from his copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.
"Hey, do you remember the last text Sherlock sent over Christmas holidays?" said Harry in hushed whisper.
"Yeah, something about John's missing body parts growing back. So what was it, wings?"
"No. It's, um, something else. I noticed it the moment I got back to London. I just haven't told you."
Typical Harry, Ron thought.
"You're riling me up, mate. What is it?"
Harry hemmed and hawed for a long moment.
"…You know, John used to have a flat che-"
Ron's jaw dropped. Then he flushed up to his ears tips.
"Nooooo waaaaay…!"
"They grew back," said Harry, sounding stunned, "Sergeant Donovan's been asking me if I'm going to have a baby brother soon. John is furious."
Ron felt lost. "What does that have to do with— Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?"
Hagrid hid whatever he was holding behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat.
"Nuthin'," he said in a shifty voice. "What're you up ter? Still looking up potions for Harry's Muggle Mum?"
"Nah, someone else gave her what she needed. This is just homework," said Ron. "Seriously, Hagrid, what's up?"
"Shhhhh!" Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening. "Don't go shouting in the library, what's the matter with yeh?"
Ron frowned. Hagrid was practically radiating 'suspicious', jumping at small noises, warily glancing about and refusing to answer his questions. After Hagrid left the library, mumbling excuses and inviting him over for tea, Ron walked over to the shelf Hagrid had been at. The books there were about dragons: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland, From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide and Men Who Love Dragons Too Much.
"Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life," Ron sighed as he started updating Harry on the latest news.
-oo00oo-
"This is a security nightmare," John grumbled as Harry and Sherlock listened in to Hagrid telling Ron and Hermione how he went down to the village pub for a drink, got into a game of cards with a stranger and won an illegal dragon egg from him—which the stranger only handed over to Hagrid after he confessed to knowing how to tame three-headed monster dogs (they fell asleep with a bit of music … why?!)
"To be fair, he did get a genuine dragon egg," said Sherlock, as he stared greedily at the video feed of the enormous black egg sitting beneath a kettle, right in the heart of the fire.
"The one thing Hagrid wanted since he was a kid, which a stranger rather conveniently happened to have," John pointed out. "I'm texting Snape and Hermione."
Harry practically jumped out of his skin. "Snape? You talk to Snape!?"
Sherlock looked at Harry like he was stupid. "Well, of course, he's your teacher. Who else could we be talking to?"
"Professor McGonagall! Professor Dumbledore!" Anyone but Snape! Harry thought savagely.
"We talk to them, too," said John. "But this situation calls for immediate attention. Owl post takes hours and a phone takes seconds. Snape has a mobile phone and knows how to use it. You do the math."
Hedwig hooted loudly in protest. Harry opened and closed his mouth. The idea of Snape being friendly with John was an outrage. It felt like a betrayal.
"You really don't like him, do you?" said John after sending the texts.
"He's evil," Harry said hotly. "You should see what he does to Neville in potions! He's a big bullying git!"
"I don't have to see it. I can imagine it all too well." John sighed. "Harry, just because someone is a big, bullying git doesn't mean you're permitted to be a git back."
"But he's—!"
John placed a finger on Harry's mouth.
"It's not that I don't care," said John quietly. "It bothers me all the time. Nothing will convince me what Snape is doing to his students is excusable, and I think it's amazing you're not giving him the satisfaction of doing badly at Potions because of him. I just thought you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of making you unkind either."
Harry felt his self-righteous anger deflate, leaving icky mess of guilt in its wake. John always believed in him, always believed he was a better person, even when all of his teachers in Surrey said he was mediocre, problematic and shut down. That trust didn't waver even when his new teachers in London said within weeks of his transfer he was emotionally unstable and defiant, getting into fights, mouthing off and prone to silent screaming fits because he couldn't handle the monsters inside his head, overwhelmed at the idea his desperate wish to escape the Dursleys had left so many people dead. John just waited patiently for the storm to die down, and promised him over and over that it gets better. When it did get better, Harry vowed to never disappoint John again. He was feeling rather proud of himself for doing a decent job. Now look at what he did.
"Being angry on behalf of Neville is good, though," John said. "The poor kid needs a break. Why don't you invite him to the Star Wars marathon?"
"Okay," said Harry quickly. "Uh, won't Hagrid get into trouble?"
"He's already in trouble," growled John. "Not saying anything is only going to make the trouble bigger. Remember Harry: when you detect a security breech, you alert the appropriate chain-of-command unless you happen to be the appropriate chain-of-command."
"And Snape is an appropriate chain-of-command," said Harry dubiously.
"Obviously," said Sherlock. He had an odd look on his face—a mixture of fascination and fondness directed at John's back, which vanished the moment John turned around. "Dumbledore may be reckless in whom he trusts, but he isn't stupid. He'd put in security measures that would hold even if the details of the security measures are revealed."
"Huh?" said Harry, confused.
"Hagrid just told Hermione who helped set up the security measures," said Sherlock, chortling silently. "That girl is clever. She wondered out loud who Dumbledore could trust even more than even Hagrid. Hagrid spilled it all in a heartbeat: Sprout, Flitwick, McGonagall, Quirrell and Snape— Dumbledore, too, of course. Not exactly a hard secret to know, is it? Meaning, it doesn't matter if you know who set up security."
John face-palmed hard, and then typed up another text. Harry read message:
Snape, for the love of God, what is AD thinking?
The answer was almost instant.
I've asked myself that question more times than I care to admit. Even after a decade, the answer is not forthcoming.
"Of course," John sighed, while Harry just sat, profoundly disturbed at the notion of a technology-literate Snape. "Sherlock, why wouldn't knowing who set up security matter?"
"Because magic is like fairytales," Sherlock explained. "Why do you have to sing the right song for the red river part? And why do you have the kiss the frog for it to turn back into a prince? Because that is the imposed condition. The arbitrariness of the condition does not matter. Nor does the person who set up the condition, though I suppose the type of condition could depend on the spell-caster. You merely need to know the right condition to get around security in Fairy Land."
Harry started to understand.
"So even if you can guess one of the security spells around the stone is a transfiguration one since Professor McGonagall helped, if you don't know the counter condition, you can't do anything."
"Precisely," said Sherlock. "Knowing Dumbledore, his enchantment will go far beyond knowing the correct spell."
John nodded thoughtfully.
"I wonder what it is," said John.
-oo00oo-
Next morning, Ron told Harry that Professor Dumbledore went down to the gamekeeper's hut for a brief meeting. Hagrid then told Ron and Hermione (and Harry, who was on the phone) that the Headmaster had contacted Ron's older brother Charlie and made arrangements to move the dragon out of Hogwarts and into the wild dragon reserve Charlie was working at. It would be weeks before this could happen, though, so they'd be able to watch the dragon egg hatch before then (Sherlock demanded a live video feed of this event).
Hagrid was deeply disappointed that he couldn't keep the baby dragon.
"I knew I couldn' keep it forever," mumbled Hagrid into the phone. "And I'm grateful I can at least see it hatch—great man, Dumbledore—but … but … I thought I could keep it a little longer…"
Hagrid then started howling so uncontrollably, they couldn't get another word out of him. Harry tried not to feel too sorry about it. As Hermione pointed out, Hagrid lived in a wooden house.
The rest of the Easter break went without a hitch. Harry quietly marvelled at how easy it was to slip back into the Muggle world. Here and there a familiar-looking police officer would ask 'how is school?' Harry would say 'good', and that was the end of it. It helped that John's magic-induced changes drew horrified fascination from all quarters. John took to answering the increasingly blunt questions with an equally blunt: "No, I'm just getting fat."
"How come everyone is only noticing it just now?" Harry asked after his appointment with Mr. Samsara, who did his blood work, casually mentioned: 'Dr. Watson, you seem to have regained full health. Any good news?'
"Parkas," said John. "I've been wearing parkas until recently. Now it's too warm to wear them."
Between the plethora of doctor appointments—and Harry swore if he got his blood drawn one more time he was going to shrivel up like a wrinkled mummy—his cello/piano lessons resumed. Everything Harry learned about bowing had somehow leaked out of his head over the last six months, so he was making the same horrible screeching noises from last year when he'd just started learning how to play a cello. As for his piano lessons, Harry was secretly relieved when Mr. Sigered sacked him as a student halfway into his first lesson.
"I'm sure Siger will be more than happy to teach our non-existent biological child Sergeant Donavan swears I'm having once he's old enough," said John sardonically. "I'll ask Jackie next Tuesday."
Sherlock pouted. Harry tried not to follow his example. If Harry had his way, he wouldn't have any music lessons. But music lessons was one thing Sherlock and John were both adamant about, so there was no going around it.
"How far are you in finishing your homework?" asked John. "Think you'll be done before we go to Sussex?"
Harry fisted his hair. He'd been trying. Really, he had. But he was nowhere close to finishing. As evidence of his futile efforts, his Potions textbooks were spread all over the sitting room table and the communal laptop had his marginally-written essay up. Hermione had sent him another Potions study schedule she somehow drew up using Google Docs—supposedly to help him. It was driving him nuts.
John chuckled. "You look like me back when I was learning immunology."
"Potions can't be that difficult, it's just like Applied Chemistry," said Sherlock.
"Harry hasn't learned any applied chemistry," John pointed out. "And didn't you say Magic is like fairytales?"
Sherlock let out a very put-upon sigh.
"This is the problem with you normal people, always bogged down by the trappings of logic rather than logic itself," Sherlock griped. To Harry he said: "Chemistry is basic logic: a chain of conditions and results. And everything follows logic, even fairytales. Just because the relationship between the condition and result seems arbitrary doesn't mean the sequence of conditions and results are arbitrary as well. Don't trip over the arbitrary relationship between stirring three times counter-clockwise and the production of a cure for boils. Stirring counter-clockwise is the condition. The boil curing potion is the result. A then B. That's simple logic. As long as you know all the basic conditions and their results, figuring out the sequence should be simple enough."
"But how am I supposed to do that?" asked Harry, dismayed.
"I keep all known basic chemical reactions in my Mind Palace," said Sherlock. "That's how I identify them. There is no other way, I'm afraid."
Harry frowned. "What's a mind palace?"
Harry ended up learning how to build a Memory Palace (or use the method of loci, as John put it) instead of doing his Potions homework that day. It was rather interesting: Sherlock used the layout of his childhood home in Kent to organize his chemistry knowledge, and the streets of London to organize his criminology ones. Harry decided to use Hogwarts as his memory palace. He didn't go beyond the Gryffindor Common room and his memory retrieval was rather dismal. But Harry was sure the trick John taught him of writing down everything he memorized on a sheet of parchment as soon as an exam started would come handy later.
-oo00oo-
Hermione and Ron waited for Harry show up at the Great Hall. They eventually spotted him lugging around a long, peculiarly shaped backpack that was almost as big as he was.
"What is that?" asked Ron, pointing at it.
Harry gave them a hooded, deadpan look.
"I've started cello lessons—again," he said, doing the Jedi mind control hand motion.
Hermione suppressed a grin and Ron sniggered. Harry's sigh was only half-serious.
"I have lessons over Skype three times a week. As if I don't have enough to do. At least my tutor isn't Mr. Sigered."
Ron asked about his holiday, and Harry told them about his trip to Sussex. Sherlock had taken him and John there to introduce them to his great-uncle Jeremy and his friend Dr. Edward Littlejohn. Jeremy Oswald Necropolis Æthelbert Bell-Holmes ("Your great-uncle has my condolences. Your family is not allowed to name our hypothetical children, by the way," John had declared, to which Sherlock replied: "Yes dear.") was Sherlock's favourite relative. He had taught Mycroft and later Sherlock how to observe and deduce people, and spent many happy hours with a young Sherlock putting together a life-size human skeleton replica ("So much more interesting than those jigsaw puzzles Uncle Aubrey insisted on gifting," Sherlock had said).
"So how is Hagrid?" Harry asked.
"Mental," said Ron, shaking his head. "Yesterday we saw him stroking the egg and singing a lullaby. I don't know how he's going to cope when Charlie comes to pick it up."
"When is it going hatch, do you know?"
"Hagrid's going to send us an owl."
They went abruptly silent when they noticed Malfoy walking nearby. He didn't seem to notice them, though, and appeared mulish and angry.
"Bet you he's going to detention," said Ron gleefully as they walked away.
"Did he ever pay you back for breaking your old phone?" asked Hermione.
"I don't know," said Harry. "But I'm guessing he did. Sherlock couldn't have bought my new one if he didn't."
As if on cue, Harry's new phone vibrated. They ducked behind a suit of armour to check the message:
Breech confirmed. Fluffy was neutralized for ten minutes. The thief could not get pass AD's security however. SH
"Ha!" said Harry triumphantly.
"I should've known," said Ron. "Of course Dumbledore would've put up something clever."
Hermione let out a sigh of relief. At last, they had a good reason to stop worrying about the stone. Good thing too — the exams were coming in only six weeks.
-oo00oo-
A week after Easter Holidays at breakfast time, Hedwig gave them a note from Hagrid. It was short:
It's hatching.
Ron wanted to skip Herbology and go straight to Hagrid's. Harry was inclined to agree. Hermione had to put her foot down.
"But Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?" Ron argued.
"We have lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in if someone else finds out what he's been doing—"
"Shut up!" Harry hissed.
They all looked up and saw Malfoy. He was only a few feet away and he wasn't walking. Hermione did not like the look on his face.
After much arguing (with Ron), Hermione agreed to head to Hagrid's during morning break. As soon as the bell rang at the end of class, they dropped their trowels and raced across the grounds to the edge of the forest. Besides Hagrid, who looked flushed and excited as he quickly shuffled them into the darkly lit room after peering out from a crack in the window, there was an unfamiliar, stocky red-headed person inside the hut. Hermione instantly knew who he was from his weather-beaten complexion, freckles, singed hair and the shiny burn right beneath it.
"Charlie!" cried Ron. "When did you get here?"
Charlie Weasley beamed at Ron.
"Just last night—and hello," He looked at Harry and Hermione. "You two must be Ron's friends."
The handshaking was interrupted by the loud, crackling sound coming from the table. Everyone gathered around the egg lying on its centre. Harry took out his phone and started filming. The egg trembled several times, and more deep cracks appeared on its shiny, metallic black shell. A funny clicking noise came from within.
At last the egg split open, and the long-anticipated/dreaded baby dragon flopped into view.
"Isn't he beautiful?" murmured Hagrid, misty-eyed.
Harry muttered something about crumpled black umbrellas. Hermione had to agree with the description: The baby dragon was an ugly thing with large spiny wings, a skinny jet body and a long snout with wide nostrils, horn stubs and bulging, orange eyes. When Hagrid reached out to stroke its head, the dragon snapped at his fingers.
"Got anything to feed it?" asked Charlie, as he shook his head fondly.
"Got a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood other there," said Hagrid, absently waving a hand the size of a dustbin. "Read it outta Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit. A bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in there."
"That it is," Charlie agreed.
The dragon sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.
"So when are you taking it to Romania?" asked Ron.
"Tonight," said Charlie. "Best do this quickly before it gets any bigger. Norwegian Ridgebacks can grow up to three times in size in a week."
Harry winced. Then his glance shot to the curtained window.
"There was someone peeking from the window!" he said.
They bolted to the door and peered out. Malfoy was hurrying back to the castle—he'd seen the dragon.
"Change of plans," said Charlie, as he quickly shut the door. "I'm taking it now."
"No," said Hagrid. "Yeh can't. He's too little. See, he only just recognised his mummy. Norbert! Norbert, where's Mummy?"
"He lost his marbles," muttered Ron.
"Can't let Norbert get too attached to his mummy," said Charlie, lips twitching. "C'mon Hagrid, let it go."
Charlie eventually wrestled Norbert the baby dragon into a fireproof box. He almost got bitten five times before he successfully closed and locked the lid. He would've finished the job sooner except Hagrid wanted to make sure Norbert had enough to eat, so he stuffed the box with rats and several skins of brandy-chicken blood mix first. He even put in a teddy bear in case Norbert got lonely. The tearing nose that came from the box as soon as the lid shut told them the stuffed bear probably got its head ripped off.
"Good Bye, Norbert!" Hagrid sobbed as Charlie prepared to leave. "Mummy will never forget you!"
A profound sense of boneless relief enveloped the three of them as they watched Charlie vanish with a neatly cast disillusionment charm. Perhaps it was the combination of a quick (and clean) resolution to Hagrid and his dragon egg problem, the fact they wouldn't get into trouble even if Malfoy told on them, and the assurance that the stone was well guarded indeed. Whatever it was, none of them could concentrate during their remaining classes. So they decided to take a break from studying that afternoon. They stopped by the kitchens, and the House-elves prepared a large basket filled with bottles of cold pumpkin juice, sandwiches and cakes for them. As if sensing their mood, the grounds were in perfect picnic conditions: The sky was forget-me-not blue, the weather was warm and the lawns were soft with new grass.
"Peace at last," said Ron blissfully.
"We still have exams, you know," Hermione said.
"Aren't you the right ray of sunshine," said Ron. "Can't you relax? We deserve a bit of break."
They lolled about by the lake until sunset, when they reluctantly returned to the castle. Hermione had regained her concentration by then, so she bullied the boys into doing their homework for the rest of the evening. Ron typically grumbled and Harry sighed, but they did make good progress. Hermione went to bed expecting a perfectly normal day come morning, with nothing but exams to worry about.
The horrified yell from the boy's dormitories shattered that expectation: Harry had got himself kidnapped.
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: An intermission chapter turned cliff-hanger. Resolution to the Philosopher's Stone debacle in the next chapter … I think. Sherlock great-uncle Jeremy Oswald Necropolis Æthelbert Bell-Holmes and his friend Dr. Edward Littlejohn is my tip of a hat to seminal and late Jeremy Brett and Edward Hardwicke respectively. On a completely random note, Harry's old phone once belonged to The Woman.