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 Fifteen: Magic Meets the Met Again
Through the month of June, Sally Donovan saw very little of Sherlock Holmes. That was a good thing, as it more or less translated to less internalized screaming and more peace on the streets. A brief word with the lads in Traffic confirmed he was still in town, busing around John and Harry (the younger) Watson all over London carrying a large snowy owl of all things. Considering what Sherlock Holmes was capable of on an average day, Sally was cautiously relieved he was occupied in a relatively harmless if bewildering pastime.
Actually, now that she thought about it, Sherlock Holmes was often busy with non-case matters this past year, ever since Harry (the younger) got sent to boarding school in fact. She, like many others, thought it would turn out the exact opposite. She loathed asking the boss, as he might attribute it as concern, but then the boss wondered out loud what Sherlock was up to these days after he refused to look into a gruesome murder (it turned out textbook once the gore was discounted). John Watson was closed-mouthed over the whole business and Sally wasn't brave enough to ask directly.
Sally didn't know what to make of it, therefore, when Sherlock Holmes prowled into the station with only Harry Watson (the younger) in tow.
"Why are you here?" the boss grumbled. With a new baby in the family and a deeply hands-on case in their collective inbox, he was more prone to exhaustion induced grumpiness as of late.
Sherlock crunched his face into an ugly look, as if it caused him intense suffering to say the following words:
"I'm supposed to extend you and your family an invitation to family bowling tomorrow evening."
The look on the boss's face was priceless. Sally ducked her head and stifled her giggles. How did John twist Sherlock Holmes's arm into this? Sally printed a document and headed over to the boss's office ostensibly to retrieve the printouts.
"Your attempts at eavesdropping are as transparent as your attempts to lose weight, Sally," said Sherlock sourly when she entered.
Sally ignored him and turned to Harry (the younger).
"Hanging in there?"
Harry smiled brightly. Sally noted his openness, and was reassured neither John nor Sherlock had mentioned the Richard Brooke Incident to him, at least hadn't named names. He also looked happy and healthy—the haunted, underfed scrawny look the kid wore like leprosy two years ago was nowhere to be found—and rather smart in his white polo-shirt and short trousers.
"And your attempts at checking Harry's well-being are frankly laughable," Sherlock snarked on.
Sally refrained from flipping him off, but it was a close thing. The boss rolled his eyes at them.
"So what have you guys been up to? Jackie said no one answered the bell when she came over to teach last week."
Sherlock froze for a second. Harry had the look of horror a child caught in a naughty act could only manufacture.
"Harry, you said you had your lessons," said Sherlock, whirling around in flurry of woolly coat.
Harry looked down guiltily.
"You didn't leave the flat, the dust said as much. So what is this that I'm hearing?" said Sherlock, looming over.
Harry refused to look up from his guilt.
"Did you lie to me?" Sherlock demanded almost directly in his face.
Sally giggled all the way back to her desk.
-oo00oo-
To: Harry's Headmaster
From: JH Watson
Hope you're coping well with your new phone.
Fancy some bowling this Saturday? Our treat.
To: Harry's Mum
From: Albus Dumbledore
Hello John. I've learned how to text as you can see.
I'd love to! But I must warn you I've been bowling longer you have been alive.
To: Harry's Headmaster
From: JH Watson
Cool. And you're going to need it. I have youth and vitality on my side!
P.S. Bring Snape if you can
To: Harry's Mum
From: Albus Dumbledore
You've contacted him surely?
To: Harry's Headmaster
From: JH Watson
He hasn't been responding to any of my texts lately. I think he's upset.
To: Harry's Mum
From: Albus Dumbledore
Dear me. What happened?
To: Harry's Headmaster
From: JH Watson
I might have done his training in front of Harry. :)
-oo00oo-
Lestrade felt his lips twitching despite himself as he watched Sherlock roast Harry over the fire for skiving. The whole scene was bizarre, considering what he knew about the two of them. Harry looked as much like a wizard as Sherlock looked like a father—that is to say, not very. Yet here they were, Sherlock reacting like a normal father who caught his son lying and Harry presumably here to explain the whole school of magic business to him.
When his former father-in-law said Julia's magic was such that she could either choose to ignore it or harness it, Lestrade rather hoped they could just ignore it. But now that he knew what to look for—at least, knew what to expect—Julia seemed to be leaking magic everywhere. Just this past month she transformed the pink skirt with tiny flower patterns Ellen bought for her into a plain green one (Julia despised pink and flower patterns), the bouquet he gave to Julia for finishing primary school stayed fresh despite the lack of watering and care, and most recently his car keys scuttled across the table and hid itself behind the bookshelf after his sixth consecutive day of overtime. Unfortunately, Ellen witnessed the magically animated car keys and threw a fit.
Lestrade made a quick call to John, who talked to Ellen over the phone. Whatever they said was apparently not enough, because Ellen left the flat with the boys and the baby the following morning. That was three days ago, and Ellen still hadn't come back or returned his calls. John phoned yesterday and told him Ellen had dropped off the boys at Becky's and was staying with Jacqueline. Then John assured him that Ellen was coming around. Lestrade went to bed desperately hoping it was so; he didn't want another failed marriage. As for Julia, it was clear ignoring her magic wasn't an option, so he asked Sherlock if he could have a chat with Harry. Sherlock told him they had time this afternoon, so Lestrade had planned to stop by. He didn't expect Sherlock to actually bring Harry to his office.
"John invited the headmaster of Harry's school too," said Sherlock after he was done.
Lestrade was instantly alert. "Oh, and he agreed?"
"Yes," said Sherlock. "He might bring another teacher with him, but I doubt he'll come. Jacqueline convinced your wife to join. She'll be there."
Lestrade sagged in relief.
"Okay," he sighed. To Harry he said, "Cello not your thing?"
Harry shook his head with a tiny shudder. "No."
"Did John try teaching you guitar yet?"
"Yes," said Harry eagerly. "I like it better."
Lestrade chuckled at the revolted look on Sherlock's face.
"Jackie's good at the guitar too. Actually, I don't think there's a major instrument she doesn't know how to play. Let her know and she'll teach you. Just don't leave her waiting outside, okay?"
"Okay," said Harry, turning pink.
Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"So what is this case that's causing your daughter so much distress?" he asked.
Lestrade showed him the case of the missing fiancée of a society boy that left him dredging the Serpentine for her body. Sherlock quickly dismissed the jewellry and purse they'd recovered from the lake as irrelevant and deduced the hotel the fiancée was staying at with the man she was still legally married to from a receipt left inside the purse, which also served as a note from her 'kidnapper', who incidentally was the aforementioned husband. He did it all in two minutes. If he wasn't so relieved to get the case over and done with, Lestrade would've felt resentful.
"Why can't you just join the Yard and help us properly?" Lestrade complained.
"The boredom and idiocy would kill me," Sherlock said haughtily. "Do you have anything else?"
"Had my hands full with just this," Lestrade retorted. "Now if you've got nothing else to say, off out, you."
Sherlock sneered, "Gladly."
He sauntered off. Harry didn't immediately follow. He dug into his pocket and gave Lestrade a small packet.
"John told me to give this to you," said Harry. Then he scampered off after Sherlock.
Lestrade studied the packet after he left. It was made of cardboard, and decorated in gaudy blue and gold. The large label on the front said 'Chocolate Frog' in an old-fashioned script, with the words '70% fine Croakoa' in a smaller font underneath it. Inside the packet was a frog, made of chocolate presumably. Lestrade stared, bug-eyed, when the frog wiggled and moved. He had reservations against putting an animated chocolate into his mouth, but he did anyway. He was awarded with a satisfying: Mmmmm … chocolate. Whilst munching the frog, Lestrade examined the collectable-looking card that came with the treat. On the front was a picture of an old man wearing half-moon glasses, had long silvery hair and beard and moustache, and a crooked nose that had to have been broken twice. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore. He flipped the card over and read the description:
. ALBUS DUMBLEDORE .
CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS
Considered by many to be the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of Dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.
"…tenpin bowling. Right," Lestrade muttered around the chocolate. He flipped over the card again and was startled to find that Dumbledore's face had vanished. As he tried to figure out what happened, to Lestrade's greater astonishment, Dumbledore sidled back into the picture and gave him a small smile.
"Welcome to the world of magic, I guess," Lestrade said to himself.
He stashed to card into his back pocket and started shouting orders. He had a job to do.
-oo00oo-
To: S. Snape
From: A. Dumbledore
Oh, come, Severus. It'll be fun!
To: A. Dumbledore
From: S. Snape
No
To: S. Snape
From: A. Dumbledore
What will it take to convince you?
To: A. Dumbledore
From: S. Snape
Nothing
To: S. Snape
From: A. Dumbledore
Not even finding out who Cecilia Shin condescended to marry?
To: S. Snape
From: A. Dumbledore
Severus?
-oo00oo-
Lestrade returned home before sundown for once after he and his team found the runaway fiancée, who freaked out and bolted when she realized her husband wasn't killed in action as she was led to believe. He couldn't help but note how similar the flat looked like when Alison left him for Julia's P.E. teacher of people: all the lights were off, the air felt stale and dusty, and there was no sound beyond the muffled noise of London traffic. Julia was in her room lying on her bed, clutching her zombie bouquet to her chest and staring disconsolately at the ceiling.
"Hey, sweetheart," he whispered.
Julia directed her half-lidded gaze at him. Lestrade was again struck at how much she looked like her mum.
"John invited us to family bowling," Lestrade said. "Ellen's going to be there."
Julia didn't react for several excruciating seconds. Then she rolled to her side and buried her face into the mattress.
"I don't want to go," she muttered.
"C'mon," Lestrade pleaded. "Jackie talked to her. John said she's coming around."
"No, she's not," Julia said stubbornly. "She's gonna be just like Alison."
Lestrade winced. For the umpteenth time he regretted not waiting until he met Ellen. Alison was a bad decision from the start and he was still reaping the consequences.
"Ellen will be fine," Lestrade said with more conviction than he felt. "She just needs time to get her head around the whole magic thing. It's not something people wonder about, yeah? Anyway, Ellen actually listens to Jackie. You couldn't say that for Alison."
Julia sniffed.
"You don't have to decide now. Why don't we go out for dinner tonight? Your choice."
Julia went still for a moment.
"…Fine," she grouched.
Ten minutes later Lestrade and Julia were driving around in Central London in heavy silence. As he was wont when things were miserable, anxious and depressing, Lestrade headed towards Charing Cross Road.
"I met your mother at a pub here," said Lestrade at a light.
Julia perked up, as she usually did when he mentioned her mum, "Which one?"
"That one," he said, nodding his head at the direction of the small, grubby looking pub sandwiched between a book store and a record store. Julia pressed her nose against the side window to stare at it.
"The one that says Leaky Cauldron?"
"Yep."
Julia considered the place.
"Can we eat there?" she asked.
Lestrade was surprised. His in-laws had brought Julia up so prim and proper he thought she'd have an allergic reaction to any place related to alcohol. But then again, the same prim and proper Shin family produced Cecilia.
"Sure, why not."
They entered the pub after parking the car at a nearby lot. As always, the clientele there was interesting. There was an old bloke wearing a violet top hat, and a wild-looking woman in emerald green robes draped with cobwebs. Near the fireplace were three venerable looking crones drinking some amber-coloured liquid in tiny shot glasses and a group of withered old men were sitting around a table arguing in low voices. At the bar there was a giant—at least twice the size of an average man and five times as wide — who had long, wild tangled black hair and beard, and was nursing a pint the size of a large pitcher between his enormous hands. The bald and toothless barkeep, Tom, waved when he walked in.
"Scotch for you, Greg?" Tom said cheerfully.
"Nah, I'm here for dinner," Lestrade replied, patting Julia's shoulder as she shrunk behind his back.
"Yours?" asked Tom, looking at Julia keenly.
"Yeah," said Lestrade. "This is Julia. Say hi to Tom, sweetheart."
"Hello," Julia parroted.
Tom beamed, "Pleasure, Miss Julia."
They sat down at the bar. The Leaky Cauldron offered good old-fashioned pub grub and fancier courses, plus some unusual beverages like Pumpkin Juice and Butterbeer. Lestrade ordered bangers and mash, and Julia, who grew up eating her grandparents' food, asked for a meatless Kedgeree. She picked at it sullenly after a few bites.
"How did you and mum get married?" Julia asked suddenly.
Lestrade almost choked on his water. Julia never asked about her mum to him, preferring to go straight to her aunt and uncles for answers. She also took his marriage to Cecilia for granted like most young children; how the parents got married didn't matter except for the fact they were. Was Julia asking because she was interested in the romance or for some other reason? Lestrade wondered as he gathered his thoughts together.
"When I saw her at the bar here I knew I was going to marry her," Lestrade started.
This wasn't a lie, though it wasn't the whole truth: Lestrade was plastered when he staggered into the Leaky Cauldron after celebrating his birthday alone at a different pub, and in his drunken haze he decided the pretty young woman sitting there shouting abuse at her absent father was going to be his wife. After buying her a drink and chatting for fifteen minutes, they went to his tiny flat in Peckhem and spent the next thirty-six hours thoroughly exploring each other's anatomy. It was the stupidest thing he'd ever done drunk or sober, but Julia didn't need to know that.
"I proposed within a week," Lestrade went on, which was also true, if one omitted the fact he did so mostly because he promised himself he'd never leave a woman up the duff like his father. "She said yes — but under one condition."
"What was it?" Julia asked.
Lestrade grinned. "I had to change my name."
Julia's eyes were like saucers.
"Whaaat?"
"I'm totally serious," said Lestrade, grinning. "She said she didn't want to marry someone who's last name means 'The Stranger'." Though there was no great cosmetic difference between Lestrange and Lestrade, apparently the latter meant 'the raised platform' (as if it was any better). "I agreed. We went to the Marriage Registrar's office the next day and became Mr. and Mrs. Lestrade." And immediately quarreled on how they were supposed to pronounce their new last name; he went for Lestrade like a fishing rod, and Cecilia insisted on Lestrade like a garden spade. He was just about to convert to Cecilia's way speaking when their fourteen months of marriage came to an abrupt end.
"Uncle Jeremy said mum died when I was only four months old, is it true?"
Now Lestrade felt his throat close up. Julia was too little to remember, but he could recall the fourteen days after Cecilia's death vividly. There he was, a newly minted detective sergeant on a very cold and wet October, when someone from Serious Crimes told him the news. He didn't remember what happened between that and going to the morgue to identify the body, but he remembered throwing up after seeing the mangled pulp that used to be Cecilia. The rest of the week he spent in a stupor, completely lost as to what to do. His colleagues at the station arranged the funeral, and their families took turns taking care of Julia. Detective Inspector Baynes, who was in charge of Cecilia's murder case, took him under his wing after he answered his first volley of questions like a stunted half-wit: No, he didn't have any family he could contact, as they all fell in one the three categories: unknown, dead or freshly born; no, he didn't know Cecilia's family, they'd mutually disowned each other years ago; yes, Cecilia had plenty of enemies, she tended to accrue them like lint; no, he didn't know who had the balls the murder a scary woman like her, sorry.
"Three months actually," Lestrade said. "She died at the end of October."
"How did grandpa and grandma find us? Uncle Jason said mum vanished after she turned seventeen."
"They didn't find us. I found them," said Lestrade flatly.
He was forced to. Baynes told him they had to notify her parents, it was procedure, and he had nothing to lose in making contact. Lestrade disagreed; there was always the possibility he'd be called a cad and a wastrel who married a woman a good ten years younger than him, and he'd rather avoid that, thank you very much. But after a week as a single father, running ragged and completely at his wits' end, he acquiesced. The next day he miserably followed after Baynes carrying a three month old baby in his arms like some bloody teenage mother.
Mr. Shin's immediate reaction upon seeing two officers at his door step mentioning Cecilia was sighing deeply and saying: What has she done now? When they were told Lestrade was Cecilia's lawfully wedded husband and Julia was her daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Shin remained blatantly sceptical until they saw Julia's face. Mrs. Shin let out a shriek and gibbered: 'That face — that's Cecilia's face!' and Mr. Shin said something in his native tongue with an appalled look on his face (Lestrade never found the courage to ask for a translation). Once they got over the shock and accepted the news of Cecilia's death, the Shin family took the responsibility of caring for their new family members like ducks to water. It was so amazing Lestrade forgot to retaliate when Baynes teased him about it.
"Do you miss her?" Julia asked.
Lestrade looked away. He didn't have to hedge around the truth this time, because he did. Dear Lord, he did. Cecilia was at once the most exasperating and mesmerizing woman he'd ever met. It was she who convinced an aging punk without any ambition that he wasn't actually hopeless. It was she who goaded the aforementioned punk into paving his way at the Met —all in fourteen months. Then she died young in the most violent way possible. Only Cecilia could live a life like a rock star without actually being one.
"…Yeah," Lestrade answered as he bit back tears. "Gawd, yeah. I wish I had more time with her."
Apparently that was all Julia needed to hear, because she was cheerful for the rest of the evening. And when he asked her again about bowling, she said more than happy to say yes.
-oo00oo-
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
I hope you're well. I'm writing because I saw someone unexpected at the Leaky Cauldron last night.
Remember Cecilia? Crazy girl. Thought the International Statute of Secrecy was a failure waiting to happen, so we ought to scrape it quick. Opposed You-Know-Who only because he was scraping the Statute of Secrecy the wrong way.
I think I saw her husband and daughter. The husband was dressed like a Muggle and talked like one, but Tom says he's been going to the Leaky Cauldron for the last twelve years. His name is Greg. The daughter's name is Julia. I can't spell their last name, but it sounds like Les-trod. The girl was around ten or eleven, and looks like her mum. Is she a witch?
Hagrid
Dear Hagrid,
I'm doing very well, thank you.
As a matter of fact Miss Julia Lestrade is a witch, and if all goes well, she will start Hogwarts this year.
How would you describe Mr. Lestrade?
Albus Dumbledore
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
It's hard to say exactly. He seemed a decent bloke to me. But he also said he knew he was going to marry Cecilia the moment he saw her, so I think he's a bit reckless too.
Hagrid
-oo00oo-
Lestrade was very sure there was only a derelict building at the address John forwarded, certainly not a bowling alley, but John, Sherlock and Harry were waiting for him and Julia when they came. John gestured them to come closer. All five of them stood huddled around the boarded up door. When a crowd of tourist passed by, John gripped his arm, gave him a look and pulled him sideways. Instead of hitting rotting wood, they passed right through.
Lestrade clenched his teeth to stop himself from swearing a blue streak. They were in brightly lit chamber that had fifty polished wooden lanes. Sets of bowling pins on the end of each lane, and they were rearrange themselves on their own after getting knocked over. Instead of a rack, bowling balls just dripped out of a large glass tube hanging down from the ceiling. There was an impossibly long blackboard above the striking areas, and an invisible hand seemed to be writing all matter of advertisements with multicoloured ink. To top it off, the speakers above were announcing the next song was, From the Weird Sisters: Dance like a Hippogriff!
"Is this what you two been up to? Invading the wizard world?" he shouted at John and Sherlock.
"Of course," drawled Sherlock.
"Pretty much," confirmed John.
Lestrade wanted to box their ears.
Ellen and Jacqueline came shortly afterwards. Ellen ran to him and flooded his chest with tears and apologies before sweeping Julia in her embrace.
"I'm so sorry!" Ellen wailed as she held them both tightly. "That was so wretched of me!"
Lestrade mumbled it was fine, he'd reacted the same way when the penny dropped on him, so let's just move on, okay? Sherlock rolled his eyes at them. Lestrade told Sherlock he hoped someone would get violently sick over his poncy coat. That was when the Headmaster of Harry's school appeared and Lestrade and Ellen were driven speechless.
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore looked exactly like his picture on the Chocolate Frog Card. He was also tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt, and tied back with a blue bow in deference to the vigorous physical activity they were about to engage in. He was wearing long scarlet robes with elabourate golden patterns, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles perched on top of his long crooked nose.
Christ, you can't look more wizard than this, Lestrade thought dazedly.
"Good evening ladies and gentleman!" said Dumbledore, positively bursting with energy and excitement. "It's so good to see all of you! You have no idea how encouraging it is to me to see so many people willing to engage in the fine sport of tenpin bowling."
"Is Snape coming?" John asked. Lestrade noticed Harry looked sickened.
"Alas, no," said Dumbledore regretfully. "He appears to have gone into hiding. I've tried to locate him for the last twenty-four hours to no avail."
John went around and introduced people to Dumbledore. Lestrade covered himself in shame by asking if wizards seriously had dragons before he even said his name. Dumbledore answered: yes, there were dragons in Magical Britain— common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks— and very nice to meet you Greg, by the way.
"How do you know my name?" asked Lestrade, wondering if the man was mind-reader.
"Do you recall a very large man at the Leaky Cauldron last night?"
Lestrade nodded dumbly.
"That was the Hogwarts' gamekeeper, Rubeus Hagrid," said Dumbledore. "He overheard your name."
Ellen fared better than Greg—she said her name at least. Julia hid behind Ellen when Dumbledore turned his attention to her.
"How do you do, Miss Julia?" said Dumbledore kindly, crouching down so they could see each other eye-to-eye.
Julia stared at the venerable old wizard. "Daddy showed me your card," she blurted out.
"My chocolate frog card?"
Julia nodded. The corners of Dumbledore's eyes crinkled.
"Between you and me," he said, "I believe my greatest accomplishment is having a chocolate frog card of my own."
John introduced Jacqueline the last. Jackie was the most graceful among them. Perhaps it helped she'd known Dumbledore's name for a long time because of Cecilia.
"I do believe your name was down in our admissions books," Dumbledore remarked.
"I did get an acceptance letter," said Jacqueline. "But my Dad thought Hogwarts wouldn't suit me, so I didn't go."
"Mmmm," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "Your father is Shin June Hu, correct?"
"Yes, sir. Do you know him?"
Dumbledore smiled a bit ruefully. "We have corresponded a great deal when your brothers and sister attended Hogwarts."
They started bowling afterwards, two teams of four, losing team buying the first round of drinks and snacks. Wizard bowling was just like normal bowling except the pins were alive, and not only did they return to their assigned spots after each turn, but jeered at you if you didn't hit them. The only people who could actually bowl were Dumbledore and John. Dumbledore bowled like a pro, and John was a beast all around. Sherlock paid no attention to the game and interrogated Dumbledore whenever he took a break. Dumbledore blithely deflected his questions whilst texting and taking pictures with his phone (so wizards used technology too?). Lestrade told Sherlock if he couldn't behave then he could go sit in a corner.
"Shut up, Lestrade, you don't understand," Sherlock snapped.
Lestrade glowered at Sherlock. Then he looked at his wife. They gave each other a wordless nod. If Sherlock was going to be a tit, so will they.
Lestrade first checked the kids. They were a good distance away, and Jacqueline was showing them a magical pen that could transform into a lightsaber. Assured the kids were thoroughly occupied, Lestrade wrapped an arm around Ellen's shoulders. Ellen cuddled in.
"Oi, John, c'mere!" he hollered.
John came over. Lestrade took a hand, rubbed his thumb over the back, and put on his most cocky grin.
"Ellen and I were thinking of starting a torrid three-way love affair. Wanna join us?"
-oo00oo-
To: A. Dumbledore
From: S. Snape
Well, Headmaster? What is your verdict?
To: S. Snape
From: A. Dumbledore
It cannot be as shallow as I think it is.
To: A. Dumbledore
From: S. Snape
Shallow? What do you mean?
To: S. Snape
From: A. Dumbledore
[See Attachment]
To: A. Dumbledore
From: S. Snape
There is no reason to believe it WASN'T shallow.
To: S. Snape
From: A. Dumbledore
I stand corrected. Mr. G. Lestrade is a man worthy of Cecilia.
To: A. Dumbledore
From: S. Snape
What? What did he do?
To: S. Snape
From: A. Dumbledore
[See Attachment]
To: A. Dumbledore
From: S. Snape
...
-oo00oo-
Final Note: The wizards are learning how to text. Everyone fancies Lestrade ;) I made a lot or progress on the Thesis, so I treated myself with some recreational writing. I wrote everything in less than three days and it was so much fun. The pen that turns into a lightsaber was inspired by ThePianoGuys from YouTube (check out their Star Wars parody video!).