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 Seventeen: Life Among Muggles
It was early morning hours in Ottery St. Catchpole. The sun was making efforts for the day, a speck of gold peeking over the hill tops. The village was still fast asleep except for one residence. The house at first glance looked like a large stone pigpen with extra-rooms added and propped up by magic. The sign at the entrance read: THE BURROW. The ground floor windows of the home were illuminated and shadowy figures were moving about. The sounds of busy footsteps were broken intermittently with that of stubbed feet, colliding people, and muffled words.
Then the door to the main entrance burst open, and a family of freckled red-heads spilled out. Twin boys identical to the last freckle stumbled half-asleep towards the turquoise Ford Anglia parked just outside the garage with pieces of toast stuffed in their mouths. A plump, kind-looking matriarch of the group herded her two tall and lanky sons whilst clinging to her young daughter's hand. She was followed by her tall and balding husband, who was carrying four sleeping bags.
"Hurry up, you lot!" barked Molly Weasley. "We don't want to get stuck in the commuter traffic!"
George opened the car's boot, and the rest of the Weasleys piled all the sleeping bags and rugsacks into it. Though the outside dimensions suggested the boot could only accommodate half of their luggage, the inside showed the boot was magically expanded to fit a small garden shed. Molly and Ginny got into the front seat, which was stretched to resemble a park bench. Percy, Fred, George and Ron sat comfortably next to each other in the back in that order.
"Muggles do know more than we give them credit for, don't they?" said Molly as she looked back at her sons. "I mean, you'd never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?"
Arthur turned the ignition and started to drive. They'd barely made it out of driveway when they had to turn around because Fred forgot to bring his Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks. They almost reached the motorway when Ginny shrieked that she'd left her toiletry bag at home. Tempers were running high and traffic was heavy when they finally started to make their way to London.
Arthur checked his watch. "Molly, dear—"
"No, Arthur," said Molly.
"No one has to know … we can make it to London in thirty minutes if we—"
"No, Arthur. Not in the broad daylight, whatever it is you're thinking. Ron, tell Harry we're running late."
Ron sent a quick text message. He got a reply almost immediately. "Harry says okay."
There was silence for exactly three seconds before Molly started patting her hair nervously.
"I do hope we don't offend Harry's Muggle parents," said Molly. "I mean, we've never been to a Muggle home before."
"We'll be fine, Molly," said Arthur with barely contained excitement. "Harry said his family takes weekly trips to Diagon Alley. I'm sure they're used to our ways. Now I wonder if they'd let me exam their Teckevision…"
"Do you think Harry will like my birthday card?" piped Ginny. "Does he like green? The lavender one was nicer, but it was such a girly colour I didn't pick it."
"I don't think he's that fussed about colour. He might object to the ditty, though," said Fred whilst doodling on Percy's face, who was snoring against the window.
Ginny clutched her cheeks in dismay. "I knew it! I knew I should've got a regular card, not a singing one! What do I do? Harry's going to hate it!"
"I'm sure Harry won't mind, Ginny, so calm down," said Molly.
"How many plugs do you think Harry's home has? Do they have a compooter? I always wanted to see one," said Arthur.
"He said he has a laptop, Dad," George replied whilst joining Fred in his doodling. "I'm not sure why you have to put it on your lap, but…"
"Do you think he'll like my present?" Ginny interjected. "Ron said he likes novels, but he didn't tell me what kind, so I just picked one. By the way, did Percy really try to take his Christmas present? That's so rude."
"He did," said Fred tragically. "Just because the book was on the banned list…"
Ron sighed deeply through his nose. His family had been like this all summer, ever since Harry said he wanted to invite his family to his flat in London. They got worse when the invitation actually came. It was driving him nuts.
"Ron, you've talked to Harry's Muggle father before. What is he like?" asked Arthur.
Ron tried to come up with a description, and came up short.
"He's very clever. Like, brilliant." And super rude, Ron didn't say.
"What does he do?" Molly asked.
"He's a consulting detective," said Ron.
Everyone stared at Ron blankly.
"What's a consulting detective?" asked George.
"Exactly what it sounds like," said Ron. "When the Muggle law enforcement can't figure out a crime, they consult Sherlock."
Arthur made a thoughtful humming noise. "And Harry's Muggle Mum is a Muggle Healer?"
"An Army doctor; she did muggle healing work in Afghanistan," said Ron.
"The Muggles are having war there, aren't they?" said Arthur knowledgably. "What a brave woman."
"Harry sounds brave too, and brilliant," said Ginny dreamily. "He fought that evil git Quirrell and protected the Philosopher's Stone."
"I helped," Ron was quick to add.
"He's a good kid," said George. He was adding a monocle to the handlebar moustache Fred penned on Percy's face. "You should see him fly. He's already as good as Charlie and he's only been flying for a year."
It was more impressive than that, Ron thought. Harry, who was rather spectacularly ignorant of everyday wizard things, didn't even know Quidditch existed until he came to Hogwarts. Ron will never forget the day he asked Harry his favourite Quidditch team and Harry innocently asked him what is Quidditch. The subsequent furore to explain the best sport in the world to Harry Potter was interesting to say the least.
"His biggest flaw is that he acts like an old man," said Fred, now drawing extra eyebrows for Percy. "You'd think he's a hundred-years-old, the way he likes to sit in front of a fire wrapped in a blanket."
"And walk around with his hands behind his back, looking all sad and solemn," George said. "Not that he's actually sad, mind, he just has a face that looks sad by default."
Ron said nothing, even though he wanted to defend his friend. His mother cried buckets when he told her about the Surrey Zoo bombing that killed Harry's muggle relatives. He didn't want to know how she'd react to learning Harry had trouble keeping himself warm—hence the huddling in front of the fire—and had silent spells that lasted for hours—hence the walks to get out of it—because of the bombing, but it was going to trigger a massive flooding for sure.
"Well, I don't doubt he's very mature," said Molly, frowning. Then she noticed Percy's face. "WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?"
The shout jerked Percy back into consciousness. Ron and Ginny giggled at his befuddled look. Their mother then proceeded to yell so loudly at Fred and George, the Muggles driving beside their car stared as they passed by.
"I can't believe this!" Molly seethed as she pointed her wand at Percy's face to remove the marks. "What would Harry's family think if they saw you acting like this!"
They arrived at London about fifteen minutes late. Arthur momentarily forgot they were headed to Baker Street and drove to King's Cross Station out of habit. It took them a long time to figure out how to get from King's Cross Station to the Marylebone district. They asked several Muggle police officers for directions, two of which Arthur had to obliviate because they got suspicious. At long last they found Speedy's Café just off the main road. The café was on the ground level of a nondescript three-story building. The door next to the café had several pastel-coloured balloons tied to the handle.
"221B—we're here!" said Arthur, as he mopped his sweaty forehead.
They queued in front of the door. Molly took a moment to nervously fuss over their clothing. Arthur hesitated between pressing the electric buzzer and using the knocker until he decided to press the buzzer. In a few moments, the door creaked open, and a small black haired boy, who had large almond shaped green eyes, peered out.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY!" they all shouted.
Harry grinned and let them inside. They exchanged greetings, shakes of hands and playful thumps in the dimply lit and sparsely decorated parlour. Then a Muggle wearing a maroon cardigan, blue chequer shirt and black trousers came downstairs. Though quite young, the Muggle had prominent bags under the eyes, and moved like someone who used to be a lot bigger and healthier.
"You must be Mr. Holmes! Ron told me all about you!" said Arthur enthusiastically, hand outstretched.
The Muggle shook his hand with a wry smile. "John Watson. Sherlock's upstairs."
Ron was puzzled. The Muggle in front of him sounded a lot like the John he heard over the phone last year, but only vaguely resembled the pretty Muggle woman he saw at King's Cross. Was this a same-named relative, he wondered.
"Oh, sorry about that," Arthur apologised.
"No, it's fine," said John. "Did you have any problems with the meter?"
Arthur patted Ron on the shoulder, beaming. "Thanks to your Christmas gift, Ron here knew all about Muggle coins. He sorted it out."
John smiled. "Good. Now do you need a hand with your luggage?"
They returned to the car to take out the sleeping bags they forgot in their excitement. Harry stared incredulously at the cavernous boot, and gaped at the inner dimensions of the car proper. Then the Weasleys followed John and Harry back into the flat and up the stairs. The door on the first floor was slightly ajar, and unfamiliar music flowed out through the crack. John pushed the door wide open, and Ron looked in at Harry's flat for the first time.
Beyond the door was a cosy and cluttered sitting room. Blue and white streamers, ribbons and balloons were taped to the walls. One of the balloons burst when Fred brushed it by accident, and a white streamer fell off for no apparent reason. A banner that read 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY!' was hanging off the ceiling near the windows. The wooden table between the two windows was laden with plates, cups, and all sorts of food and bottles of fizzy drinks. There was also a clock that told you nothing but the time. What looked like a bull's head wearing white earmuffs was mounted on the wall directly above the table. On the left there were two built-in bookshelves, which were both filled with books that had titles like: On the Origin of Species, A Practical Guide to Urban Beekeeping, The Lancet and The Man Who was Thursday. Between the two bookshelves was a fireplace so tiny it was practically useless and a mirror that remained resolutely silent even when Molly asked politely. The mantelpiece above the fireplace had a human skull wearing a party hat and a blow-out squawker clamped between its teeth and a jack-knife pinning a small pile of mail into it. One of the bookshelves had a black screen Ron guessed was a Tevevision. There were two armchairs before the fireplace, one made of fabric and the other leather seats and a metal frame. The coffee table on the other side had five brightly wrapped presents. A grey leather couch and small upright piano were leaning against a wall that had a yellow smiley face painted on it. Shiny plastic or metallic devices of various sizes and shapes were scattered all around the flat, their long cords and plugs indicating they ran on eklectricity. Unless Ron's ears and eyes were deceiving him, the white, sleek and shiny Muggle device with a tiny screen sitting on a music stand between two speakers was playing Muggle music.
"It's not much," said Harry.
"This is so cool," said Ron, completely fascinated at all the gadgetry.
"Very cool," said George, as he grinned stupidly at the oddly shaped glassware sitting on the kitchen table.
"Super cool," agreed Fred, who was mesmerized at the poster that featured a human skull that didn't move.
"It's wonderful! Look, Molly!" Arthur exclaimed, eyes shining with glee, as he pointed at a device that looked like thin metal folder propped up at a right angle. Its raised back had a glowing light that was shaped like an apple that was bitten into. "That's a laptop compooter, is it not? Yes, I see the screen and pug. I collect plugs. And batteries. I have a large collection of batteries at home. My wife thinks I'm mad, but there you go."
John smiled indulgently. "Sure."
That moment a very familiar deep voice resounded in the room.
"Weasley, I presume."
A tall thin man dressed in a tailored black suit and purple shirt swaggered into the sitting room through the kitchen. It took a few seconds for Ron to realise the man was Sherlock. He didn't fit the image of the man he remembered seeing at King's Cross last year, but the cultured tone and voice was unmistakable. The man also had the same long face and full lips, wide slanted eyes and curly hair. Ron thought he was rather unusual-looking, but his mother was staring at him and fanning her face, which was slowly turning pink.
"Ah, Mr. Holmes," said Arthur, smiling and offering his hand.
"Sherlock, please," said Sherlock in his deep voice, shaking it. Molly turned pinker.
"This is a lovely flat, and you have so many interesting Muggle artefacts!" said Arthur, looking around in delight.
"Aren't some of these really expensive?" asked George, poking a finger at the tevevision. "And the phone you sent to Dad didn't look cheap."
"Oh I had a client who was in upper management of a major phone service provider," Sherlock replied. "A few years back the client's husband was accused of embezzling the company. I was able to shed light on the matter."
Arthur stared. "So you cleared the husband's name?"
Sherlock's face twisted into a smirk.
"Oh, no, I proved they were both defrauding the company, separately."
There was a moment of stunned silence.
"Drinks anyone?" asked John loudly, heading towards sitting room table.
Fred and George raised their hands eagerly. Percy asked for a cup of water in a dignified voice. Molly and Arthur stood back and studied Sherlock and John. Molly pointed out the wedding bands on their ring fingers and Arthur nodded in reassuring way. Ron suddenly realised there were no other adults in the flat, and his thoughts went somewhere it had never gone before. Apparently everyone thought the same thing, because Ron could see the question looming over his family's heads.
"So, um, John is your husband?" Arthur asked to Sherlock.
John's hand twitched. Harry had the shuttered look he wore whenever someone was being overtly wizard.
"Mr. Weasley, John is my Mum," said Harry.
The knut dropped.
"Ooooh…!" Arthur cried, looking utterly abashed.
"We're so sorry!" flustered Molly, turning as red as her hair. "We didn't— oh goodness, I should've realised…!"
John quickly waved it off. "No, no, no, it's fine. You saw me with long hair."
"This is just stupid," Sherlock complained. "John has a masculine gait and name, yes, but it's obvious from the rise and curvature of the chest and—"
"Sherlock, no," John groaned, throwing up both hands.
"…Wanna go see my room?" asked Harry as the situation between the adults further degenerated.
Ron, Fred, George and Ginny followed Harry up another flight of stairs.
"Sorry about our Dad, Harry," said George at the landing between the first and second floor. "He can't help it. He's crazy about Muggles and Muggle stuff. He was over the moon when you included him in the invite. Then he drove Mum mad wondering if your parents could explain to him how aeroplanes can fly."
"It's okay," said Harry. "Sherlock was super excited about having wizards in the flat too. He was up all night compiling questions. You should've heard John trying to prepare him this morning. 'Okay, Sherlock, first things first: no, deductions. Second: no deductions. I know you don't care, but it's dangerous to annoy people who can turn you into a toad. No traumatizing children. Conceal smart-ass until it's too late. And finally, NO DEDUCTIONS, okay!?'"
They all laughed.
"So this deduction thing, what is it?" asked Fred. Ron had tried to explain, but failed miserably because all he could remember was Sherlock's rapid-fire talking and the general sense Sherlock had a good reason to form his conclusions.
Harry thought for a moment.
"Percy was cooped up in his room all summer writing a lot of letters wasn't he?" he said.
All of their jaws dropped.
"How did you know that!?" Fred shouted.
Harry's eyes crinkled mischievously.
"There's a huge indent on Percy's right middle finger and he has ink smudges on the edge of his palm," Harry explained, raising his right hand and touching his own middle finger with his thumb, "Like he used the quill a lot. He could be doing school stuff, but then you used an old owl to deliver your letters."
"Yeah, we used Errol, our family owl," said George. "But what does that have to do with Percy?"
"The first time I saw you and your family, I noticed you had an owl," said Harry.
"That was Hermes," said Ron. "Percy got him for being made a Prefect."
Harry nodded. "Ron complained to me how Errol was ancient and it wasn't the first time he collapsed delivering a letter. So why keep using Errol if you have Hermes? If Percy refused to let you borrow him, your Mum could've made him share, especially since we were having so much trouble with the Owl Post. But you didn't. Why? Because Hermes wasn't there for you to borrow. Percy looks pale, like he hasn't gone outside for a while. What was he doing? Writing a lot, judging from his hands. What makes sense of everything? Percy was spending a lot of time in his room writing letters and Hermes was out delivering them."
"Brilliant!" cried Fred and George.
Harry grinned sheepishly. "That's basically what Sherlock does. I'm just cheating. Sherlock figured it out the moment Errol brained him two days ago delivering your letter and it only took him seconds. I only managed to fill in the blanks today."
"It's still brilliant," said Ron fervently.
Harry held his hands up in a self-deprecating way, "Cheating."
They reached the second floor, but not before they picked up all the books Ginny knocked over when she walked blindly into a chest of drawers with an awestruck expression her face. There was a door painted in blue there, which surrounding frame was also painted blue and modelled to look like a Muggle police box. On the door there was a white sign that said:
POLICE TELEPHONE
FREE FOR USE OF PUBLIC
Advice & Assistance Obtainable Immediately
Officers & Cars Respond to all calls
PULL TO OPEN
"It's bigger on the inside," said Harry, grinning. Ron had a sense that this was some kind of Muggle joke, because obviously rooms were always bigger than their doors and usually bigger than the house that contained them.
Harry's room looked quite normal except for the strange stillness Ron started to associate with Muggle homes. Sunlight filtered through a window that had blinders drawn halfway down. The walls were painted a bright, cheerful green. The twin-sized bed in the corner had a duvet that was the same shade of blue as the door. The desk beneath the window was littered with parchment and Muggle foolscap, and Hedwig's cage was sitting on one end, with Hedwig sleeping inside. In the middle of the desk was Harry's cauldron, sitting on a metal stand over a burner, looking as though it had been used quite often (Harry, you bad boy, Ron thought). There was a model aeroplane hanging on the ceiling, as well as a flimsy paper mobile of the solar system. Two Muggle posters adorned the walls. One had a yellow label 'STAR WARS', and showed two men wearing brown cloaks, one older with a beard, and a younger man with short cropped hair and a tiny little pony tail on the back of his head. Both were wielding rods of light. The other poster had the label 'DOCTOR WHO' in the same shade of blue as Harry's duvet and door, and had a young man without eyebrows wearing braces, a bow-tie and a brown tweed suit, floating in front of a very pretty red-headed woman wearing a scandalously short skirt (Ron couldn't believe Harry was allowed to have it on his wall—if he put up something like that, his Mum would've buried his dead body in the back garden for the Gnomes to eat). Harry's trunk was sitting at the foot of the bed, open, and his robes spilling over the sides. There was bookshelf right next to the desk, and it was filled with an assortment of books, many of them Muggle novels, judging from the covers (the pictures didn't move). There was Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, and a copy of the Chronicles of Narnia that was read so often it was falling apart. There was also Tales of Adriana, the wizard book Harry had a row with Percy over, looking well-thumbed. Harry's school books were there, too, looking too clean to have been read indecently often. On the bottom shelf was Harry's wand, inside the original box he must have got when he bought it from Ollivander's, and a small stuffed bear wearing a blue overcoat, Wellingtons and a red hat.
"That's a Paddington bear," said Harry, following Ron's glance. "It's the first gift John ever got me."
"What's this?" asked Fred from the floor. He was pulling out a cardboard box from underneath Harry's bed.
"Oh, those are field rations," said Harry, walking over to Fred and George. "Muggle military troops have them in their packs when they go the battlefield."
"Why do you have them?" asked George, holding up a bar of chocolate that said 'Yorkie; It's NOT for civvies!'
Harry shrugged. "Just because."
Harry looked a bit tense when Fred and George took out the box's contents and scattered them all over the floor: a tin of beans, a bag of instant porridge, Biscuits Brown, two tins of instant soup, chicken with mushroom and pasta, hard candy, instant coffee and tea bags. He relaxed once the items were put back into the box, and the box was pushed back underneath the bed.
"It's very Muggle, isn't it?" said Harry as he sat on his swivel chair backwards.
"I like it," said Ron, as he stared at DOCTOR WHO poster.
"It's really nice," said Ginny breathlessly, speaking for the first time since they got there.
Harry beamed. Ginny stumbled backwards and toppled over a bedside table Ron hadn't noticed. Ginny went scarlet and clumsily picked up the picture frames that fell on the floor. The pictures were variations of John and Harry, John and Harry and Sherlock, and a couple photos of Harry alone. Harry looked really small in them.
"So when's Hermione coming?" asked Ron, trying not to stare at the pretty red-headed woman on the DOCTOR WHO poster (he kept failing).
"Later this afternoon. She and her parents are going to pick up Neville from the Leaky Cauldron on their way," said Harry.
"You invited Neville?" said George.
"Uh-huh," said Harry. "I invited Dean and Seamus and Terry and Justin, too, but Dean had family stuff, Seamus and Terry live too far away and their parents couldn't make the trip."
"What about Justin?" Ron asked.
"He'll be here for the party, but he can't sleep over," Harry said.
They talked about each other's summers. Harry entertained them all by regaling the hairbrained experiments on magic Sherlock had cooked up, one of which took them to the deepest, darkest Surrey to see if Muggles could fly a broom solo (they couldn't; John was very disappointed). They had also tried to find out how far they could push the restriction against underage magic: caring for magical plants were fine; so were brewing potions that didn't require wands; spells were an obvious no-no.
"So that's what you've been doing all summer? Doing experiments?" said Ron.
"When I'm not carting over books about Vol-, er, You-Know-Who for Sherlock," Harry sighed. "Then there was that accidental trip to Knockturn Alley."
"Excellent!" shouted Fred and George.
"We were never allowed there," said Ron enviously.
"You're not missing anything," said Harry darkly. "It's a really dodgy place. I don't fancy going back there again."
"What did you find?" asked Fred eagerly.
"There was this shop called Borgin and Burkes. They had a cursed opal necklace that supposedly claimed the lives of nineteen Muggles, a hand of glory, a hangman's noose, some masks … Oh, and I saw Malfoy there."
Ron ears perked. "Draco Malfoy?"
"Not Lucius Malfoy's son?" said George.
"I think so. Draco isn't exactly a common name, is it?"
"I've heard Dad talking about Lucius Malfoy," said George. "He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who."
"And when You-Know-Who disappeared," said Fred, "He came back saying he'd never meant any of it. Load of dung— Dad reckons he was right in You-Know-Who's inner circle."
Harry scratched his chin thoughtfully.
"Well, I don't know anything about that, but Malfoy was with his father. They were buying something. Mr. Malfoy mentioned your father's name while he was talking to Mr. Burke. Something about a new Muggle Protection Act."
"Yeah, Dad's been pushing for one at the Ministry," said George.
"What does your Dad do?" asked Harry.
"He works at the most boring department," said Ron. "The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office."
Harry looked blank. "The what?"
"It has to with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, in case they end up in a Muggle shop or house," explained George. "Like last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antiques shop. A Muggle bought it and tried to serve tea in it."
"What happened?"
"The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling-hot tea everywhere, and someone ended up in the hospital with a pair of sugar tongs clamped to his nose. It was a nightmare— Dad was working overtime for weeks. It's just Dad and this old warlock called Perkins at the office, and it took them weeks to cover it up, putting memory charms and everything…"
Harry boggled. "But your car … the boot …"
"Yeah, Dad enchanted it. Our shed is full of Muggle stuff. Dad takes them apart, puts spells on it, and then puts it back together. If he ever raided our house, he'd have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad."
Harry was shaking his head when someone knocked on the door.
"Hey," said John, opening the door, "Hermione and Neville are almost here. We're going to start the cake soon."
Everyone got to their feet eagerly. Party time!
-oo00oo-
Ron had never been to a mostly-Muggle birthday party before, but he was sure they didn't go the way Harry's did.
Sherlock and John had outdone themselves with the food. Ron didn't recognise any of them except for the cake, pizza and ice cream, but everything was very delicious. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who stayed after bringing Hermione and Neville to 221B, jokingly asked if John and Sherlock had patronized every poplar food place that did takeaway in Greater London. Sherlock scoffed at the idea, claimed he would never do something so asinine and wasteful, and said he just blackmailed all the food places Harry liked with all the violations they were committing because it's rare to find one that didn't, at which point John told him to shut up, please, just let the kids eat.
John brought out the Muggle movies after everyone ate to the point of bursting. Mr. Granger helped Sherlock set up a white thick sheet called a projector screen while Ron's Muggle-raised friends debated which film they should watch. Then, just when Ron thought the room was too small for everyone to sit and watch comfortably, John did something at the mantelpiece and the sitting room suddenly expanded to three times its original size.
"Ooh, an undetectable extension charm!" said Hermione, looking very surprised and impressed.
"With a built-in trigger!" said Arthur, admiring it. "Very clever bit of charm work here. How did you get it done?"
"I'm teaching a wizard Martial Arts. He did it," John said.
Everyone but Harry and Sherlock started.
"Why did he want to learn that?" asked Arthur.
"He's into security and defence," John explained. "He wanted to see if a trained Muggle who knows a bit about magic can trump a Wizard who knows less than nothing about Muggles."
Hermione, Arthur and Mr. Granger looked fascinated.
"So what's the verdict?" asked Mr. Granger.
"As long as the Muggle is not caught unawares, beating up wizards is easy-peasy."
Ron and his brothers stared at John, open mouthed.
"Oh, c'mon, you're having us on!" George protested.
"Nope," said John.
"How do you even know he's good?" challenged Fred.
"He has Dumbledore's stamp of approval," said John.
"So is he super-crazy powerful now?" asked Ron.
"He wishes," John huffed. "He has good reason to believe he's a powerful wizard, but he's not much of an athlete."
"He must be learning a lot, though," said Hermione.
"Nah," said John.
"Why not?"
"He's a wretched student. In fact, he's the most wretched student I've ever had," John groused.
Harry stuffed a cushion to his face and started shaking with suppressed laughter.
"Why is he a bad student?" asked Mr. Granger. "He sounds very self-motivated. It's not because of his lack of athleticism, surely?"
"Of course it isn't," said John. "And he's self-motivated, yes, but he's always convinced he knows better."
"Ah."
"I kept telling him needs Cardio and Strength training," John grumbled. "But he says no, he doesn't have the time for such silly things. So I tell him teacher's orders. He sneers. I tattle to Dumbledore. Dumbledore gives him the Eyebrow. Only then he starts doing it, very resentfully."
Harry was now pressing the pillow so hard to his face, he just might suffocate himself. The others were all sniggering uncontrollably.
"Have you tried training with him?" asked Mrs. Granger.
"I did. Once," John sighed. "It's been two weeks and he hasn't come back. Such a fragile ego."
Harry finally lost it and let out a series of high-pitched giggles. Everyone else burst out laughing.
They watched Star Wars as promised. Ron wasn't impressed to be honest. The fight scenes were mesmerizing and Queen Padme was very pretty, if a bit unnerving when she wore her full-on makeup, but it felt like the film was trying too hard to look cool. He liked the Pixar movies better, particularly the one about monsters who scared children for a living, it was a riot.
When they emerge from the film watching haze, feeling content and well entertained, they found Arthur and Sherlock commiserating over something in the kitchen. It was as ominous as it sounded.
"What. Are. You. Doing?" John demanded, somehow looking incredibly dangerous just by clenching and unclenching both fists.
Arthur jumped and shifted guiltily from where he and Sherlock were dismantling the laptop with the bitten apple shaped light on the back. Sherlock showed no such contrition. Then Molly joined the fray.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO THAT LAPTOP ARTHUR?" she roared.
"…Just adding shrinking charm, Molly," mumbled Arthur, "and the feather-weight spell. Sherlock wanted to know if it was possible to make the laptop more portable…"
"That's my laptop, Sherlock," John bit out. "Mine. Why didn't you use your own?"
"Mine was in the bedroom," said Sherlock, as if this was a reasonable explanation.
"That's illegal, Arthur!" Molly bellowed. "We have laws against this sort of thing! You should know, you've been arresting Mundugus Fletcher for his biting kettles often enough!"
"Ah, well, Molly, that's the thing," said Arthur. "There's a loophole in the law, you see … As long as a wizard isn't intending to shrink a computer, the fact that it can doesn't…"
"Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!" shouted Molly. "Just so you can keep tinkering with the Muggle rubbish in your shed! And don't think I don't know what you've done to that rusty old car you bought to supposedly figure out how it works! I caught your sons flying that car more than once!"
"Did they really?" said Arthur eagerly. "Did it go all right? I— I mean," he faltered as sparks flew from Molly's eyes, "that— that was very wrong, boys— very wrong indeed…"
"Did you at least backup my hard drive?" John hissed between gritted teeth while Molly swelled like a bullfrog.
Sherlock looked sideways. "I might have neglected that."
John exploded.
"I was writing up cases! What if they're gone!? Do you have any idea how long it takes me to write these things!?"
"Considering the amount of grumbling you were doing over the latest write up, perhaps it is for the best that you started from scratch—"
"No. Stop. Worst Response."
"John— John calm down. It's okay."
"NO IT'S NOT! IT'S NOT OKAY!"
Everyone beat a hasty retreat to Harry's bedroom and stayed there until the shouting stopped. When they came back, Molly was throwing dirty looks at her husband, every now and then muttering things like "don't know what you were thinking of," and "never would have believed it," and John was smouldering silently next to her, arms crossed. Sherlock and Arthur were on the other corner of the living room, as far away from John and Molly as they could manage.
"Ah, Harry, why don't you start opening your presents?" said Arthur brightly, his neck as red as his hair.
Harry sat before the coffee table where they'd piled up his presents, and his friends sat around the table. Sherlock scanned the gifts and then flicked his eyes to John.
"John?"
"Yes, darling?"
Sherlock looked rather unsettled.
"I think our present is still in the closet," said Sherlock.
"Yes, sugar crumpet, I think so too," John replied.
Sherlock definitely looked disturbed. He crab-walked against the wall and vanished into the hall next to kitchen. He didn't return until Harry finished unwrapping the luxury Eagle quill Hermione got for him, the sonic screwdriver replica from Justin, the small potted floo plant Neville brought, Ginny's birthday card, which sang the Happy Birthday song shrilly unless it was stuffed back into its envelope, and the mountain of homemade toffee and Honeydukes Chocolate, plus Flying with the Cannons Ron and his family got for Harry.
The presents Sherlock retrieved from the closet weren't wrapped parcels. They were in three manila envelopes, one looking as if it had a thick book enclosed and one a small box. Sherlock sat down next to Harry and opened the flap of the envelope with a box inside.
"Mycroft put this one together," said Sherlock, his voice a pitch lower than his normal tone. "My brother is useful for some things."
He pulled out two muggle photographs and three yellowed documents. The color photograph was an old wedding photograph featuring a redheaded man and a blond-haired woman. The blond woman had Harry's eyes. The second sepia-tone photograph, which looked even older than the wedding photo, featured a young man who looked unfamiliar except for the eyes.
"This is a photo of your grandfather and grandmother, from your mother's side," said Sherlock, holding up the wedding photo.
Harry's eyes went wide. Then he stared at the photographs in palpable amazement and awe. One by one, everyone quietly drew closer.
"Patrick Evans," said Sherlock, pointing out the man, before moving on to, "Joanne Evans." He then picked up the two documents. "This is their marriage certificate. And this is a copy of the census taken around the time your mother was born. See? They had two daughters: Petunia Evans and Lily Evans."
Harry just stared. He was beyond words.
"This is your great-grandfather, Louis," Sherlock went on, picking up the photo of the young man. "He was a French immigrant who moved to London after the First World War. He received the Croix de guerre, which is the non-officer equivalent of the more well known Légion d'honneur, for exceptional bravery in defending the village of Courcelles-le-Comte. This is the medal he received."
Harry took the velvet box with trembling hands. Ron noticed Hermione was tearing up. His mum was a lost-cause; she was already sobbing into her handkerchief.
Sherlock moved on to the next envelope. It was full of letters, all carefully sealed inside transparent covers and bound together neatly with binder rings.
"Letters from your parents' friends who survived the war," Sherlock explained. "One good thing about owl post is that you don't need to know where your recipient lives as long as you have a vague idea who they are. Anyway, John asked them if they could write their memories of your mother and father. These are their reminiscences."
Harry took the bundle of letters and clutched it to his chest. Sherlock picked up the last envelope and unfurled the string on the flap. He pulled out the leather-bound album inside, and wordlessly handed it over to Harry. Harry carefully opened it and let out a small gasp.
The album was full of wizarding photographs. Every single one featured a man with messy black hair and a pretty red-haired woman who had Harry's eyes. One had to be blind to not recognise who they were.
"Photos of your mother and father," said Sherlock quietly. "Hagrid put it together for you. He knew you didn't have any."
-oo00oo-
"It was such a lovely thing they did, giving you those photos," Hermione whispered inside her sleeping bag.
She, Ron and Harry were in Harry's room, all clustered inside their sleeping bags after a long day of partying. Fred had set off his fireworks after the presents, which set the streamers ablaze. The subsequent effort to put out the fire was much hampered because the Arthur was distracted by the smoke alarm. The banging and explosions caused the neighbours to file a noise complaint, and the officers who came to the scene had to be obliviated because they saw the sitting room in its magically expanded state. Once the hubbub was over, everyone except Sherlock was too tired to stay up much longer. Justin left with his mother half-asleep. Neville, Fred, George and Percy got into their sleeping bags and started snoring. Arthur and Molly stayed up talking to Mr. and Mrs. Granger and John (Sherlock had fled to his room) until Hermione's parents left to catch their train back home, after which they joined Ginny in the wizard tent John had pitched up inside sitting room. Now the flat was quiet except for the noise of London traffic outside.
"I never expected it," said Harry softly. "I mean, I always wanted to know, but I didn't know if it was okay to ask."
"Because it might sound like you don't think Sherlock and John are your parents?" asked Hermione.
"Uh-huh. And…"
That moment, they heard John tiredly saying, yes, Sherlock, good job behaving, I know it must have been very exhausting for you to act so out of character; sure, you can go and play with the diseased foot you've been eyeing at Barts, why not, just make sure you wear a HAZMAT suit when you do.
"…Sherlock doesn't do sentiment," Harry finished.
Eventually Harry and Hermione's breathing evened out. Ron clung to consciousness a bit longer, and stared sleepily at the poster of Amy Pond.
Voices filtered up again:
"Do you think he liked it? His birthday? Almost everything went wrong."
"Parties always go wrong, John, especially in here."
"Oh, that's comforting."
A sigh.
"Relaxed posture, no tenseness except for that time you got angry, persistent laughter, bottomless appetite, dilated pupils and elevated heart rate when he received his gifts. Conclusion: Harry enjoyed his birthday very much. Now go to sleep, John."
Ron fell asleep.
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: Yes, that was my idea of Harry's Birthday party. Ron liking Karen Gillan and her mini-skirt, Arthur and Sherlock becoming BFFs, and Sherlock speaking French words with his jaguar-cello voice :) The genealogy I got from watching Who Do You Think You Are, UK version. The details are from JKR's episode.