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 Nineteen: Braving the Alley
Lestrade was having breakfast with his family when the owl came. He ruined his undershirt spewing tea when the tawny bird of prey — which shouldn't even be about in daylight, wasn't that the whole point of owls!? — swooped in from their open window and dropped a heavy parchment envelope with a wax seal on the dining table.
"Bird! Bird!" chirped Rupert, pointing at the owl.
"Owl!" cried Martin, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Real OWL!"
Baby Elise burbled inside her playpen. Julia was the only one who didn't look excited, and the mail was addressed to her. Lestrade regarded at the envelope apprehensively. Ellen stared at it and wouldn't move from where she was cleaning up Rupert. At length both Lestrade and Ellen moved to reach out for it. They paused at the same time, hoping the other would get it. When neither of them did, Ellen sighed and took it herself.
Ellen made series of odd faces as she studied the purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.
"Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus," said Ellen, reading the Latin motto on the bottom of the crest. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Lestrade moved and hovered over Ellen's shoulder. Julia crept silently next to her and stood on her tiptoes. The three of them read the letter together. Lestrade felt the need to sit down when he reached the second page, which listed the required school equipment.
"A wand," Lestrade repeated. "A freakin' wand. And a cauldron. Jesus."
"Potion kits and standard book of spells," Ellen said hollowly. "What even is this?"
Julia said nothing. She seemed to shrink into herself. Lestrade noticed and squared his shoulders. Courage, Greg.
"Okay," he said. "This is what we're gonna do. I'm gonna to call John and Ellen is going to talk to Jack. We'll figure out how to buy this stuff. If either objects, and my bet is on Sherlock, I'm publishing John's marriage story."
"That's mean," said Ellen, even as she betrayed her amusement by the twitching of her lips.
"Drastic prats require drastic measures," said Lestrade firmly.
Lestrade prepared for work afterwards. Julia and the kids were dropped off at Jackie's as usual, except Ellen and Elise joined them too, Ellen having decided to have a long talk with Jackie due to the exceptional circumstances. Lestrade brandished Julia's Hogwarts letter in lieu a greeting. Mr. Shin regarded the letter in wordless and mournful distaste before beckoning them inside. Jackie's twin brothers, Jeremy and Jason, were in the parlour. There was nothing noticeably different about the way they dressed or looked except they were holding long, polished wooden sticks.
"About time," said Jeremy, looking impeccable and effeminate as always as in his designer suit.
"Have you sent a reply yet?" asked Jason, who, unlike his twin, was in his perennial cargo trousers, raggy old t-shirt and black socks (why?).
Lestrade double-checked the letter. Sure enough, there was an RSVP requirement written in the last paragraph.
"Didn't think so," said Jason lightly. "I'll shoot an Owl. It's a yes, right?"
"Yeah, sure," said Lestrade, shaking his head. "Owls. In the freakin' broad daylight. Not very discreet, innit?"
"Don't give me that look, it's what British Magicals use," grumbled Jeremy. "We use ravens or magpies in SK."
"Use a bloody dodo if you have to. Just do it," growled Lestrade.
"Actually, dodos are a magical bird called diricawl—" said Jackie, whilst gliding into the parlour.
Lestrade closed his eyes and covered his face. "Fatal Error: System overloaded. Shutting down."
Jeremy and Jason chuckled and Jackie smiled benignly as she guided Ellen into the airy living room.
"I'll call you later," said Jackie. "Please reboot yourself by then."
"I make no promises," said Lestrade. Then he left.
He went through the day distracted and out-of-sorts. Criminals kept doing irritatingly illegal things throughout London, and people kept getting killed in fits of passion or stupidity. Lestrade vowed if he had to dig out an abandoned baby in a skip and find whoever did this ever again, he was going to consider early retirement or a career change, and he meant it this time. The nadir moment was calling John in the men's toilet between meetings, asking where the bloody heck is he supposed go buy a fecking cauldron in London.
"You have to go to the Leaky Cauldron," said John.
"Are you talking about the pub in Charing Cross?" Lestrade asked in unadvisedly loud volumes, "I've been going there on-and-off for years. Don't tell me I can order a cauldron with a side of fish and chips."
John was silent for a moment.
"I'll meet you there next Wednesday," said John, and then hung up.
Lestrade left his stall muttering a bane upon John Watson's head and found Anderson standing before a urinal. They stared at each other for a long awkward moment.
"Secret code?" Anderson guessed.
"I neither confirm nor deny," Lestrade evaded.
Anderson pulled a face. "Must be nice to have a Harem."
Unable to think an answer for that comment, Lestrade just returned to his office. He should've realised Anderson speculating his love life would inevitably lead to Donovan hearing about it, which in turn meant everyone in Serious Crimes would know in twenty-four minutes. After Gregson ragged him about the unspeakable things he was doing with Scotland Yard's pain-in-the-backside's better-half, Lestrade gave in and bought two sugared doughnuts from the nearby corner shop and washed them down with a large overpriced, over-sugared latte from Starbucks.
He was leaning back into his chair feeling disgusting and obese when someone knocked at his office door. He didn't recognise him—one of the uniforms, perhaps?
"Hello," he said, a tad awkwardly. "Mind if I interrupt?"
Lestrade shook his head, bewildered. Unknown shut his office door behind him.
"Got a phone call from Dr. Watson," said Unknown quietly. "I'm Alfred Thomas … my step-son goes to Hogwarts."
Tremendous relief spread inside Lestrade's chest. He decided the next time he saw John, he was going kiss her on the mouth. After spending the precautionary amount of Serious Discussion time, Lestrade and Alfred went out for a break and bonded.
"How do you deal with this?" Lestrade grumbled.
"Hell if I know," Alfred grumbled back. "When I married Gracie, Dean came as part of the package. I didn't even know something was different about him until the deputy headmistress visited us in person. If someone asks, I tell them Dean got a scholarship to go to a boarding school up in Scotland and wiggle my eyebrows suggestively." As if to demonstrate, Alfred wiggled his eyebrows — they moved like anorexic caterpillars that suffered a stroke.
"Mine got hers from her mum," said Lestrade. "Do you suppose people would believe me if I said her family is paying for her education?"
"That should be fine," said Alfred. "Got any others kids?"
"Two sons and a baby girl; they're half-siblings."
"Might have a bit of trouble with jealousy," Alfred warned. "None of the kids I had with Gracie has the gift, and they're dead-envious of Dean. We had to break a few fights and really put the foot down on the teasing."
Lestrade filed that in his head. "Right."
They moved to the topic of school costs. Lestrade winced at the amount Alfred had to spend to buy everything last year, and winced even more when Alfred moaned about wizards not taking credit cards.
"Have you seen the booklist?" Alfred complained. "A whole set of new books just for one class! They better be worth it…"
Lestrade remembered the books by Gilderoy Lockhart and let out a soul-wrenching sigh.
"Don't you get a feeling it's going to one of THOSE classes? You know, the ones where the teacher makes the students buy all his books?"
They grumbled some more. Then, after promising each other to go out for drinks, Lestrade returned to the bullpen. Roger Bradstreet intercepted him on the way.
"Why were you talking to Al from Traffic?"
Lestrade decided to stick to the truth.
"His kid goes to the same boarding school Julia got accepted to. We did an info swap."
Roger's hairline went up, "Since when were you planning to send your kid to boarding school?"
"Not my idea. Her grandpa's arranging everything."
"Is that right?" said Roger. "How are you going to pay for it? Or is he paying?"
"Scholarship," said Lestrade, the lies coming quite easily since that talk with Alfred. "Julia's very bright you know. She made it to the bonus round in the Primary Maths Challenge last February." His proud smile faded a bit when he remembered Hogwarts didn't offer Maths in their curriculum. Blast.
"Good thing she didn't get your brains, yeah?" grinned Roger.
"I say that all the time," Lestrade agreed.
Wednesday dawned too early for Lestrade's peace of mind. Lestrade finished his half-day late (as usual), so he phoned Jack to tell her that he would meet them at the Leaky Cauldron. Jack said ooookaaaaay.
"What's wrong?" asked Lestrade.
"Jeremy and Jason want to take magical transport as part of the orientation," Jackie explained. "I find magical transport unpleasant."
"Can't you guys take the bus?" Lestrade asked.
"There's nothing wrong with Floo!" Jeremy shouted in the background.
"And it's so much cheaper!" Jason hollered.
Jackie let out a little sigh. "Julia, darling, don't cling to me like that. My hand is going numb."
"Daddy, I want to take the bus," Julia whined.
"Julia, you can't do anything without taking risks," Jason chided.
"I'll take them when I get there," Julia muttered.
"Not with that kind of attitude, you won't," said Jeremy. "Now just follow my example."
Jackie let out another sigh. "I'll see you there?"
"If something goes wrong, I'm going to kill your brothers," said Lestrade seriously. "You'll never find the bodies. You'll just have to hold the funeral with empty caskets."
"Sure, go ahead," said Jackie lightly, as if Lestrade didn't threaten premeditated murder. Then she ended the call.
Lestrade arrived at the Leaky Cauldron in a few minutes. He found his father-in-law at the huge fireside with his hands clasped behind his back. He was as expressionless as always and looked quite distinguishing in his linen three-piece suit. Jeremy and Jason were there, too, in their usual attire, and they were staring impatiently at the burning flames like they were waiting for Father Christmas to drop down the chimney or something.
Suddenly the small orange fire turned green and as tall as a person, and Jackie stumbled out of the flames.
"Wait, weren't you going to send Julia first?" asked Jason as he caught his sister.
Lestrade stopped his instinctive blue-streak as fear overtook his veins.
"Whad'ya mean, you sent her first?! Where's Julia!?" he roared.
Jeremy looked uneasy. "Uh … maybe she went one grate too far?"
Fear turned into panic.
"THE RIGHT WHAT!? WHAT THE F— IS GOING ON?!"
A few people gasped at his language. Lestrade didn't care. Jason made placating gestures.
"Wizards travel via fireplaces with this thing called Floo powder," Jason explained. "You throw the stuff into the fire, speak your destination, step into the fire and you get there. This is Julia's first time, so she might have got out of the wrong fireplace. You know, like getting off the wrong bus stop. Nuna, did she speak clearly?"
Jackie finally got to her feet, still looking rather ashen. "She stuttered."
Jeremy and Jason looked stricken. Lestrade whipped out his phone to call Julia. He yelped when he found it was leaking smoke. His stomach churning, blood running cold and heart galloping, Lestrade turned around to run out to the streets.
Mr. Shin slapped a sheet of paper on his stomach and suddenly Lestrade was unable to move. Then Mr. Shin said something harsh-sounding to his sons in his native tongue. Jason and Jeremy, who were at least a foot taller than their tiny father, cowered as he berated them at length.
"He says: you two are idiots, I can't believe you came out of my loins, and if we don't find my granddaughter in an hour, I'm going to eviscerate you," translated Jackie helpfully. Lestrade would've clapped if he could move or was less hysterical.
Several patrons rose up and offered to go look for poor Julia. Tom, the barkeep, said he'd make some fire-calls (what was that?) and alert his fellow shopkeepers to keep an eye out. Meanwhile, Mr. Shin pulled out a wad of rice paper. He made an imperious gesture over them, and immediately the sheets hold themselves into aeroplanes in mid-air. The aeroplanes then flew out the bar through a backdoor like a flock of attacking birds.
"Tracking spell," said Mr. Shin flatly. "When they find her, they will show me where she is."
Only then did Mr. Shin remove the sheet of paper on Lestrade. Lestrade felt the paralysis leave him and he almost concussed himself as he collapsed to the floor. Jackie ushered him to a chair. Tom immediately came over with a cup of tea.
"Or would you like something stronger?" asked Tom as he handed the cup over.
"Don't give it to him," said a voice that made Lestrade want to scream. "He has a bad history with whiskey."
Sherlock sauntered into view, followed by John and Harry. Lestrade grit his teeth to prevent himself from saying what he wanted to do to Sherlock in extremely graphic terms.
"That would be highly ambitious of you," said Sherlock haughtily to his unspoken words.
"Marriage story," Lestrade threatened. "I'm going to do it."
"You wouldn't dare," Sherlock growled.
"Girls, calm down," said John. "What's going on? What happened?"
Jackie explained the situation. Lestrade noticed his father-in-law didn't spare a glance at the new arrivals and just waited for his enchanted paper aeroplanes to alert him back or whatever, remaining calm, expressionless and at a soldierly rest. It made Lestrade want to salute.
"Floo powder," John muttered darkly. "Nasty stuff. Felt like I was spinning down a drain the last time I tried."
"You used the Floo network?" asked Jackie, sounding surprised.
"Yeah. Had to pick up Harry from his friend's house. Worse than side-along Apparition, and that was pretty bad too."
Suddenly Mr. Shin made a minute move—like a tiger picking a scent of potential prey.
"Masks; blood-covered playing cards; a withered hand; a black cabinet and a large stone fireplace," he muttered, staring at the darkness. "I have not seen this place before."
Harry looked alert. "I think I know where it is."
Lestrade was on him in an instant. "Take me there."
John grabbed his shoulder.
"Let Harry take care of it. Magic isn't something you approach half-cocked."
Lestrade glared. "You can't tell me to—"
"Don't go, Greg," said Mr. Shin quietly. "There are many things that you do not yet understand, but believe me, I will not allow evil to befall on my granddaughter if I can help it, nor to you." To Harry, he said, "Go. My talisman will protect you."
Mr. Shin flicked another sheet of rice paper and it neatly folded itself into a butterfly. It flapped to Harry's shoulder and rested there, its delicate paper wings fluttering. Harry nodded and made his way to the backdoor. Lestrade fretted as the small, black-haired figure wearing a tweed jacket, short trousers and navy-blue keds vanished.
"I can't just—" said Lestrade, unable to take it anymore.
"Do not me make me do this again," said Mr. Shin, waving the rice paper he'd slapped on Lestrade earlier in a threatening way. "I will do it if it means you will not charge blindly to harm."
Lestrade calculated the odds of him ducking around his father-in-law and catching up on Harry. Apparently sensing his thoughts, Mr. Shin furrowed his long, thin eyebrows.
"It will follow after you like a homing missile," he warned.
Lestrade slumped back into his chair and covered his face. Traitors. Vipers the whole lot of them.
-oo00oo-
Harry ducked into a narrow cul-de-sac hidden behind several wooden crates at the edge of Diagon Alley and wrapped his invisibility cloak around him (Harry never left without it, not since Sherlock used it to break into the Bank of England). When he emerged, a few cautionary minutes later, Harry quietly made his way to the sparsely lit streets in the opposite direction of Gringotts Bank. It got darker and dingier as Harry walked further in. He checked the old wooden street sign hanging above a shop selling poisonous candles. It said Knockturn Alley.
Harry walked heel-toe and kept his glance firmly forward. He passed two shabby-looking wizards muttering to each other from the shadow of a doorway, and an aged witch carrying a tray of human fingernails. He recognised the shop that had a cage full of live, gigantic black spiders. Further down the alleyway was the largest shop in the area: Borgin and Burkes. The butterfly on Harry's shoulder tapped his cheek. Harry nodded, approached the shop's window and peered through the glass.
It was hard to make out anything inside the dimly lit shop. The human bones on the counter looked eerie in its bleached whiteness. Harry almost let out a gasp when the staring glass eye swivelled towards his direction. A magnificent necklace of opals glittered under the single lit candle. He skimmed over the large black cabinet next to the necklace's showcase to examine the table that had a hangman's noose. Then he doubled back. The cabinet door was open a sliver and a paper aeroplane was waving a wing at the opening.
Harry took a deep breath. He had to enter the shop, but there was a bell on top of the door designed to alert the owners of any customers entering. Harry wondered if he should risk a freezing charm, but then the paper aeroplane at the cabinet flew to the top of the door and wrapped itself around the bell's clapper.
"Neat," Harry whispered.
He opened the door, and silently crept to the cabinet while keeping an eye on the counter. No one came out of the back room. Harry heard muffled sobbing coming out of the cabinet. He reached out to touch the handle. A hitched gasp filtered out when Harry's disembodied hand emerged from the folds of his cloak. Harry removed his cloak with his left hand and opened the cabinet door.
He found a little girl covered in soot inside. Her dark hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she was wearing red football shorts with white boarders, a pale T-shirt with a broad horizontal green stripe across the chest and sleeves, and yellow converses. She was crouching in fetal position in the corner and was peering at Harry over her knees. Her large chocolate-brown eyes were enormous, and looked exactly like Mr. Lestrade's.
"Don't be afraid," Harry whispered, leaning forward. "I'm here to help you."
The girl shook her head frantically. She looked terrified and there were dirty tear tracks on both of her cheeks.
Harry reached out. "C'mon," he said encouragingly. "I can take you back to your family."
The girl slapped his hand away and cowered further into the corner. Then she looked back when the paper butterfly fluttered over and touched her hand.
Harry waited for her to take in the butterfly, which calmly flapping its wings.
"See? I'm not a bad person," said Harry, smiling.
He reached out his hand again. This time, the girl tentatively reached back. Her hands were cold and clammy when Harry grasped them.
"Where's Daddy and Aunt Jackie?" the girl asked as she unfolded herself from the corner, trembling all over.
"There're a bit further away," said Harry.
Harry checked the door. There were two people at the other side of the glass, and one of them was the very last person Harry wanted to meet in the middle of the Borgin and Burkes, holding hands with a strange girl: Draco Malfoy.
"Hide!" Harry hissed.
He quickly shot inside the cabinet, pushing the girl back into the corner, and wrapped his invisibility cloak around them. He reached back and closed the cabinet doors, but left a small crack to peer through. Seconds later, the bell clanged, and Malfoy stepped into the shop. Draco's father followed him shortly. Mr. Malfoy crossed the shop, looking lazily at the items on display, and rang a bell on the counter before turning to his son and saying, "Touch nothing, Draco."
"I thought you were going to buy me a present," said Malfoy, who had reached for a glass eye.
"I said I would buy you a racing broom," said Mr. Malfoy, drumming his fingers on the counter.
"What's the point of that if I'm not on the House team?" said Malfoy, looking sulky and bad-tempered. "Harry Potter got a Nimbus last year and special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good, it's just because he's famous … famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead…"
Malfoy bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls.
"…everyone thinks he's so clever; wonderful Potter with his scar and his phone and his broomstick—"
"You told me this at least a dozen times already," said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son. "And I would remind you that it is not—prudent—to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear—ah, Mr. Borgin."
A stooping man appeared behind the counter, smoothing his greasy hair back from his face.
"Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," said Mr. Borgin in a voice as oily as his hair. "Delighted—and young Master Malfoy, too!—charmed. How may I be of assistance?"
This was a familiar conversation to Harry. He'd heard one very much like it the first time he used Floo powder to go back home after meeting up with Neville at Halifax. He accidentally ended up in a shop in Knockturn Alley instead of the Leaky Cauldron. After he left the shop, which was full of iron-bar cages holding very sinister looking creatures, and looked around to find his way out, Harry noticed a man who could only be Draco's father in front of Borgin and Burkes: he had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold grey eyes. Harry overheard Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Burke haggling over something from the tiny break between two shops, which was where he hid himself. Harry later used Borgin and Burke's large stone fireplace to floo himself to the Leaky Cauldron. He kicked himself for it afterwards because Diagon Alley was only a ten minute walk away.
Suddenly Harry realised Mr. Malfoy wasn't buying anything this time, but selling.
"Selling?" said Mr. Borgin. The smile faded slightly from his face.
"You have heard, of course, that the Ministry of Magic is conducting more raids," said Mr. Malfoy, unfurling a roll of parchment. "I have a few—ah—items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call…"
"The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you, sir, surely?"
Mr. Malfoy's lip curled.
"I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. The rumours of a new Muggle Protection Act persist. No doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it—"
Another familiar vein; Harry felt the same hot surge of anger. He felt the girl shudder against his chest.
"—and as you see, some of these poisons might make it appear—"
"I understand, sir, of course," said Mr. Borgin. "Let me see…"
"Can I have that?" Draco interrupted, pointing the withered hand on the cushion.
"Ah, the Hand of Glory!" said Mr. Borgin, abandoning Mr. Malfoy's list and scurrying over to Draco. "Insert a candle and it gives light only to the beholder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir."
"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief and a plunderer, Borgin," said Mr. Malfoy coldly, and Mr. Borgin quickly backtracked, "No offence, sir, no offence meant—"
"Though if his grades don't pick up, that may indeed be all he is fit for," said Mr. Malfoy more coldly still.
"It's not my fault," retorted Draco. "The teachers all have favourites, that Hermione Granger—"
"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam," snapped Mr. Malfoy.
Harry was pleased to see Draco look both abashed and angry.
"It's the same all over," said Mr. Borgin in his oily voice. "Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere."
"Not with me," said Mr. Malfoy, his long nostrils flaring.
"No, sir, not with me, either," said Mr. Borgin, with a deep bow.
"In that case, perhaps we can return to my list. I am in something of a hurry, Borgin. I have important business elsewhere today—"
They started to haggle. Harry watched nervously as Draco examined the objects for sale, getting ever so closer to the cabinet. Harry wrapped the invisibility cloak more securely around them as Draco turned away from the glass cases and stood before the cabinet. The girl started breathing in short, hissing jets as Draco stretched out his hand for the handle—
"Done," said Mr. Malfoy. "Come, Draco."
Harry slowly let out the breath he was holding as Draco turned away. The girl let out a small whimper.
"Good day to you, Mr. Borgin. I'll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods."
They left. The moment the door had closed, Mr. Borgin dropped his oily manner.
"Good day yourself, Mister Malfoy, and if the stories are true, you haven't sold half of what's hidden in your manor…"
Muttering darkly, Mr. Borgin disappeared into a back room. Harry waited for a minute in case he came back. Then, quietly as he could, he opened the door again and slipped out of the cabinet, holding the girl's hand. Harry draped the cloak over and around them, walked across the inside displays and out of the shop door. Again, the paper aeroplane from earlier held onto the clapper to prevent the bell from ringing.
The two of them walked quietly down the dingy alleyway, Harry in the lead. The girl clutched Harry's arm painfully as they walked pass the shops, one of which had a nasty window display of shrunken heads.
"Scared," she mumbled.
"We're fine," said Harry in a low voice. "We just have to be quiet. This cloak makes us invisible but not silent."
They trotted down the twisting street. A streetlight buzzed overhead. The sound of scurrying feet made the girl flinch. Harry kept his eyes fixed on the spot of sunlight gleaming above the rooftops.
"Almost there," Harry said encouragingly when the girl stumbled.
But the girl just kept digging her fingernails into Harry's arm. Harry lowered his line of sight a bit and felt his heart leap when he saw the massive form of Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper. He strode towards them, his beetle-black eyes half-hidden under his thick, stormy eyebrows and his great bristling beard.
"That's Hagrid," said Harry quietly. "He's okay."
Hagrid, of course, couldn't see them. Harry wanted to say hello, but he didn't think removing his cloak would be wise. So he moved out of the way and stood with his back against a building wall, the girl standing next to him. Hagrid walked pass, growling under his breath: "Aren' there any shops aroun' here sellin' Flesh-Eatin' Slug Repellent?" Harry resumed their trek back to Diagon Alley after Hagrid disappeared behind a turn.
In a few minutes, they were in Diagon Alley. Harry led the girl behind the wooden crates from earlier and threw off the cloak.
"Here we are," he said.
The girl just stood looking scared and lost. Harry took out his wand from his inner jacket pocket and whispered, "Scourgify."
The soot clinging to their clothes vanished. Harry carefully folded his invisibility cloak and stashed it and his wand back inside his jacket. Then he turned to the girl.
"Sorry," she said suddenly. "I made a noise."
Harry smiled, "It's okay, Julia, you did well."
He pointed the brightly lit streets beyond the wooden crates.
"If you go down that street facing the white marble building," Harry explained, "you'll find the stone archway to the Leaky Cauldron on your left. Your Dad and your family are there."
"How do you know my name?"
Harry blinked. Didn't she remember seeing him at the bowling alley? But then, Harry supposed, Julia Lestrade probably had more important things to pay attention to than a scrawny little boy with messy black hair when her family reunited and reconciled after a huge freak-out over magic.
"I met you before," said Harry. "And I know your dad. You have his eyes, you know."
Julia blushed. Then, as if on cue, a familiar rusty-sounding voice rang out from a distance.
"JULIA!"
"You better go," said Harry. "I'll see you at Hogwarts. My name is Harry."
Julia took a step forward, stumbled over a loose cobblestone, and clumsily navigated around the crates. She gave Harry one last look, then quickly darted into the street.
Harry watched Julia run to the three tall men sprinting towards her. Then, remembering he'd promised to meet Ron and Hermione at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour around this time, Harry went on his own way. But not before sending John a text.
Found her. Now heading to Fortescue's
Good job. See you there. JW
-oo00oo-
Lestrade swept Julia into his embrace and held her tightly. Once he was sure she wasn't going to vanish, the world was right-side up and he was breathing like a normal human being, Lestrade stopped trying to crush her to death.
"Ohmygosh," he breathed. "Never again. Never, ever again. We're going to take the bus or the car, or a bloody donkey if need be, but never Floo powder. And I'm going to throw your uncles in front of a speeding train, I mean it."
Julia nodded fervently against his shoulder. She refused to let go of him when he put her down. She did, though, look around.
"Where is Harry?" she asked.
Lestrade looked around too. The boy was nowhere to be found.
"He's meeting up his friends," said John, seemingly rematerializing out of the ether. "They're getting ice cream."
Lestrade frowned. "You're not worried?"
"Should I be?" asked John, sounding honestly puzzled.
Lestrade sighed. He supposed it was different for John and Sherlock, who didn't raise Harry from infancy. The things they allowed Harry do sometimes made his heart stop.
"Oh, fine," he grumbled. "So where do we start?"
"Robes," said Jeremy. He was closely followed by Jason, Jackie and their father.
"I'd start with the books," said Jason.
"I don't want to hear from soon-to-be dead men," Lestrade growled.
"Sorry Greg," said the Shin twins, sounding truly regretful. "Sorry Julia."
Julia snuck closer to Lestrade and mumbled: "It's okay."
"Money exchange first," said John. "Wizards have their own currency, and shops here don't take Muggle money, as they call it, even when they have a Bank right down the street."
"Does the bank take card?" asked Lestrade nervously. He forgot to go to the ATM, and he didn't have a lot of cash.
"Electronics and Magic generally don't mix," said Jacqueline gently. "If you like, you can use Jeremy's old spell books and Jason's old school equipment. They're practically new anyway."
"Hey!" the twins protested.
"Why didn't you say so earlier?" Lestrade exclaimed. "Great. So just the robes, potion ingredients, quills, parchment and the wand. Why quills, by the way? Can't she use biros?"
"I honestly have no good explanation for the quills," said Jeremy. "Parchment is good for spells, so they have their place. But for note-taking, just stick to regular paper. Most teachers don't mind. Just make sure you use parchment for homework, Julia. The teachers are mind-bogglingly strict about that."
"You can use biros and pencils for note-taking," said Jason. "But you'll have to practice quill writing. For exams, the teachers make the students use special quills. They don't accept anything else."
"Would've been nice to know this when we went shopping last year," sighed John. "Parchment costs really add up."
"I knoooow," said Jason empathically. "And let's not even talk about the wand, okay? I understand why, but seriously."
"How much are we talking about?" Lestrade asked, dreading the answer.
"I paid seventeen Galleons for Harry's," said John. "That's around eighty-five pounds."
Lestrade tried not to let his draw drop. Christ.
"That's almost double the price of what we had to pay for!" said Jason, outraged.
"Mr. Ollivander said it's more difficult to find the right materials these days," said John, "Shrinking habitat and all that. I supposed there's a bit of brand pricing involved too—Ollivander is considered the best in the business."
"That's actually true," said Jeremy. "He is the best."
Jackie, who had been quietly watching them all, turned to Lestrade.
"Greg, you have all of Cecilia's old things, don't you?" she asked.
"Yeah…" said Lestrade guardedly.
"Go through them. You might find her old wand."
Enormous, glorious relief swept over Lestrade.
"Oh, that would be great," he said fervently. "What should I be looking for? Anything that looks like a wooden stick?"
"Date wood and dragon heartstring, twelve inches," said Mr. Shin. "The heartstring was taken from a well-aged Oriental Dragon—its scales had turned gold from its initial red."
Lestrade was fascinated. "What about Harry's wand?"
"Holly and Phoenix feather, eleven and a half inches, nice and supple," said John promptly.
"Nice," said Lestrade. Then he remembered something. "Uh, sir, why don't you have one?"
"Yeah, I was wondering about that," said John.
Mr. Shin didn't reply immediately. He stopped for a moment, and his unreadable expression turned mournful.
"…Wands as you know them are unique to Europe," he said eventually. "Where I come from things are very different."
"How different?" John asked.
Mr. Shin didn't answer. In the end he just walked away. His children, grandchild, Lestrade, and John watched him go.
"He's like that sometimes," said Jeremy.
"More so since Mum passed away. He doesn't even smile these days," agreed Jason.
"He misses her," said Jackie. "He was like that when my mother died. He only started smiling again when he met Shizuka."
"Didn't know you guys were half-siblings," said Lestrade. He'd only known one late and deeply lamented Mrs. Shin all his life.
"Cecilia and I were born from his first marriage," explained Jackie. "Jason and Jeremy came twelve years later. Finally the sons he wanted."
"Helloooooo," Jeremy protested. "You're his favourite, nuna."
"I am not," Jackie denied.
"Liar!" shouted Jason.
"Meet you in an hour at Flourish and Blotts?" John said while the Shin siblings squabbled.
"Sure," said Lestrade. "Go. Shoo. Find your husband. He's probably doing something that'll get himself arrested."
John saluted and took off. Lestrade turned to the school list. They should be okay now. Nothing could possibly go more wrong.
-oo00oo-
"What did I say about not offending people who can turn you into a toad?" growled John after the promised hour.
John-Sherlock-and-Harry, Harry's friends and their families, Lestrade and his extended family, and Hagrid were all in the Leaky Cauldron. The Grangers were shaking with fright. The Weasleys were in various states of fury, elation, disapproval or worry. Sherlock, who was slouched in a wooden chair, kept massaging his temples looking dazed and confused. He'd been like that since an unknown spell hit him squarely in the face at the book store.
"I can't remember," he said. "This is not possible. I don't forget things unless I delete them."
John looked concerned in an instant. "What do you remember?"
"We met up Harry at that Ice Cream place," said Sherlock, frowning. "Got parchment and quills. Then we headed to Flourish and Blotts. There was a book-signing going on."
"So far so good," said John.
"That Lockhart character," Sherlock muttered. "Year with a Yeti, he couldn't have written it. Or rather, he couldn't have done what was written in it. He—"
"Yes, you made a twa— insulting comment about his skin not matching a person who supposedly spent a year in the Himalayas. Not enough tan you said."
"He could've lost the tan," Hermione Granger argued. Mrs. Weasley nodded furiously.
"After spending a year as close to the sun as terrestrially possible with all that snow reflecting UV light? Doubtful," Sherlock sneered. "Not to mention it's obvious the man hardly ever left the country. Just look at his pampered skin and manicured fingers. He's a fake."
Sherlock spat out the last word like a curse. Harry, Ron and Hermione, John and Lestrade didn't even blinked at his breathtakingly rude deductions, as they were very much used to it. The rest of the Weasleys and Grangers, who weren't used to it, stared at Sherlock as though they couldn't believe someone like him existed. The Shin family were too stoic to express anything. Hagrid, on the other hand, snorted in agreement, which apparently surprised the children.
"…Moving on," sighed John. "What else do you remember?"
"Impromptu photo-shoot. Enter Malfoys," said Sherlock. Then in a terrifyingly accurate imitation of Lucius Malfoy, he said: " 'Well, well, well—Arthur Weasley.'"
Mr. Weasley turned dark red in remembrance.
"Insult. Insult. Insult," Sherlock went on, flapping his hands about like he was tapping invisible buttons. "Arthur, you threw a cauldron at him. Hagrid, you pulled them apart. John, I believe you twisted Lucius Malfoy's arm behind his back and dropped him to his knees."
"Oh, you remembered that part," said John mildly.
"That was so cool!" Fred shouted.
"Can you teach us?" Ron pleaded.
"Sorry," said John. "You guys are a bit too young."
"Awwww…!" the younger Weasley children whined.
"Not worried about assault charges?" asked Lestrade, grinning.
"Who's going to believe him?" John scoffed. "I'm just a lowly common Muggle. And I wear a cardigan."
All the Weasleys except Percy and Mrs. Weasley, plus Jeremy and Jason, roared with laughter. Hagrid chuckled a bit before turning serious.
"Yeh should've ignored him, John," said Hagrid, "I expect Lucius Malfoy would start plotting ter get back at yeh. They're rotten to the core, the whole family, everyone knows that. No Malfoy's worth listenin' ter—bad blood, that's what it is."
"Oh, the irony," said Sherlock, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"So is that it?" asked John. "You remember none of the specifics? Just a vague sense that insults were being thrown? No crystal clear memory of the exact wording and tone and gestures as you normally do?"
"Of course I remember that," snapped Sherlock irritably. Then he stood up and demonstrated— accurately mimicking the way Malfoy Sr. reached down and extracted Ginny Weasley's very old, very battered copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration from her cauldron and reciting Malfoy Sr.'s words exactly in the same tone he used. He even roped Arthur Weasley to do his cauldron throwing attack at him, so he could complete Mr. Malfoy's final insult of thrusting the Transfiguration book to Ginny with the malicious comment that it was best her father could do for her.
"I don't know if I should admire your acting or punch you in face for embarrassing Arthur," said John when Sherlock was done. "Thank you humouring my idiot husband, Arthur."
Mr. Weasley was still very red when he mumbled it was fine.
"Seems like your memory is fine to me," John remarked. "That's exactly how I remember it too. Well. Except you bending down to check Ginny's Cauldron, but you remember that don't you?"
"Obviously, but there's a GAP!" shouted Sherlock, lashing out. "There's a gap in my short-term storage and I can't figure out what it is! God, is this how it is for you ordinary people? It's intolerable!"
"Welcome to the club," Lestrade muttered.
"Definitely a memory charm?" John asked to Mr. Weasley, while Sherlock started to pace.
"Looks like it," said Mr. Weasley, frowning. "Placidity and inability to focus are common symptoms of a person whose memory has been modified. I'm actually surprised Sherlock is aware he forgot something—a successful memory charm would've taken care of that."
"No one but his older brother beats him when it comes to keeping his mind organised," said John. "Can you lift it?"
"Sorry John," Mr. Weasley apologised. "Removing the charm might actually harm him more."
John instantly turned expressionless. Lestrade knew the look—John was feeling murderous.
"I don't like this," John said flatly. "Why would someone put a memory charm on him? In the middle of Diagon Alley where there's plenty of people to see? I know you lot are pretty liberal about the memory charms, but we fall in the grey area. Plus, as far as we know, Sherlock didn't see anything that would breach your statute of secrecy."
"I don't know, and that troubles me too," said Mr. Weasley. "I'll look into this, John, I promise."
Everyone got ready to go home afterwards. Lestrade thanked Jackie again for keeping her twin brothers' spell books and school equipment in storage. They'd left Hogwarts three years ago, so their old spellbooks were still the correct editions.
"And I'll definitely look for Cecilia's old wand," said Lestrade. "I'm still can't believe they're so expensive."
"It is one of the most important things for a Magic person to have," said Jackie blandly.
"And Ollivander is the best in the business," said Jeremy. "He's worth every penny, Greg."
Lestrade just grunted. How was he supposed to know?
"You know…" said Jason carefully, like he was negotiating difficult terrain, "We don't mind paying for—"
"Nah, it's okay, you've done enough," said Lestrade. "Nice meeting all of you."
He left with Julia. Lestrade kept a cheerful conversation going, saying how nice it was to meet other young witches going to Hogwarts, Hermione Granger sounded quite clever and didn't Ginny Weasley seem nice? Julia nodded noncommittally, but that was fine. If Juila really didn't want to go she'd say so.
"Is Harry famous?" Julia wondered out loud.
Lestrade wondered about that too. The way Lockhart and the press reacted definitely implied this. The Baker street prats said nothing of the sort, but that was to be expected. But his magical in-laws refused to comment even when he pressed.
"Guess we'll just have to find out," said Lestrade. "Chin up and don't give up, yeah?"
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: I know PS stated Harry paid seven Galleons for his wand. But this is an AU shoved about twenty years into the future. What with the shrinking habitat due to pollution and overpopulation, and consequent lack of wand-worthy trees and magical cores, Mr. Ollivander is having a hard time finding the right materials. Hence the price increase.