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 Twenty: Substitution and Scandal
"This has to be some kind of record," drawled Severus at the staff room. "A Hogwarts teacher is sacked before he can even get started."
Minerva felt a headache building as she read the Daily Prophet article that brought the malicious comment about: Gilderoy Lockhart accused as fraud at his own book signing event for his autobiography Magical Me…
"Of course Mr. Holmes was behind it," Minerva muttered, shying away from the more … unkind description that rose up along with that statement. She had an auditory flashback of Mr. Holmes speaking as she read the cruel observations and incisive reasoning a 'Mysterious Muggle' fired off the moment he spotted Lockhart at Flourish and Blotts. Minerva wasn't sure if he was quoted word-by-word, but she was certain the writer got the gist of it. It was written by Gwendolyn K. Muggeridge; Minerva remembered her as a quick-witted writer who could produce scrolls of articulate paragraphs in the quarter of the time it took others to write one without even the aid of a quick-quotes quill.
Minerva set the paper down and massaged her temples. She had the uncharitable thought if only Mr. Holmes triggered the (inevitable) scandal a month earlier he would've saved them a lot of trouble. She had been present at Lockhart's interview, and within two minutes Minerva couldn't help but let out a sigh as she imagined a year with Gilderoy Lockhart as a colleague. But no, Mr. Holmes would never be so convenient or thoughtful. The booklists were already mailed out, Hogwarts was again lacking a Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher, and the term was going to start in a couple of weeks.
"So what are we going to do?" asked Filius.
"Finding a new Defence teacher on time this close to the school year is impossible," said Minerva grimly. "I expect we'll have to take turns substituting."
The teachers groaned. Severus alone looked disappointed—clearly he was thinking there were better alternatives.
"At least we don't have to deal with him anymore," said Pomona grumpily. "I suppose his syllabus is as good as useless?"
"Not even worth the parchment he wrote it on," Minerva confirmed. She incidentally remembered Pomona's apt description of Sherlock Holmes: a vicious invasion of Horklumps. Mr. Holmes certainly felt like an invader. Usually, even the most hovering Muggle parent phased out from their child's Hogwarts education at the end of first year, as the chasm between the Muggle World and the Magic World became more glaring. Mr. Holmes refused to distance himself from the Magic World like a child who refused to let go of his newest toy, and kept communication lines open by enticing several (susceptible) wizards with the latest Muggle Technology. Just last month Minerva found Albus deeply entranced by a gadget called 'iPhone', and lately often found him immersed in a game the headmaster uncomprehendingly called 'Angry Birds'. Nothing short of memory erasure was going to make Mr. Holmes go away—and there had been a couple of furtive attempts from the Ministry of Magic—but Dr. Watson reacted against such moves with extreme prejudice, if the conversation between Albus and Dr. Watson she'd overheard really did mention Ministry Obliviators being returning with concussions and dislocated shoulders.
"Any idea of what we should be teaching?" asked Sinistra.
"O.W.L. topics for fifth years and down, certainly—Albus may have to oversee the N.E.W.T. students."
"Do we even have any?" Filius wondered.
"The usual handful," Minerva replied.
Sighs all around; it was just as well they were in times of peace. The quality of personnel the Magical Law Enforcement had to hire these days made them collectively cringe in shame.
"Where is Dumbledore, anyway?" Silvanus asked.
"He is preparing the new music classroom," said Minerva. "The music teacher he mentioned finally consented."
That moment, the staffroom door opened and they saw Albus Dumbledore at the threshold. He was holding the door for a small young woman who had a pallid face, eyes as glassy and opaque as mud-coloured marbles, and hip-length black hair. Rather curiously, she was dressed like a Muggle: fitted white slacks and tan heels, an azure blouse made of silky fabric, a peach-coloured blazer and a cream-coloured shoulder handbag with a golden chain strap.
"My apologies everyone," said Albus, as he briskly walked towards the head of the staffroom table. "I'm afraid I went a tad overboard in equipping the music room."
The young woman glanced to the side as Albus took his seat at the head. She eventually settled next to Charity Burbage looking like a beleaguered child.
"Without further ado, let us start the meeting," Albus said. "I'm afraid Gilderoy will not be joining us today—"
"He's still teaching?!"
Several people exclaimed the above in horror. Albus nodded.
"The school board decided that, though it is regrettable the new Defence teacher has got mired in a scandal, since it was triggered by a Muggle who, presumably, is ignorant of Wizarding folk, he will not be dismissed."
Severus' sneer was the biggest amongst those who sneered. The other professors looked distraught.
"He is, however, on probation," said Albus gravely, "The accusation is a serious one. Should it be proven true, Professor Lockhart will face dismissal. Now," he started beaming. "I'm happy to introduce Ms. Jacqueline Shin. She has kindly consented to join us as Hogwarts first music instructor!"
The teachers clapped politely. Ms. Shin made a petite bow as she blushed.
The meeting proceeded as usual: they negotiated time tables, discussed students who were having trouble keeping up, whether they had to write the Ministry for time-turners and considered options for the handful of people who decided to leave Hogwarts early. Ms. Shin asked sensible questions to the Head of Houses, like the names and ages of the students who previously received music instruction or potentially might be interested.
"Oh, there is definitely interest," said Pomona. "Plenty of students like to imitate popular bands like the Weird Sisters or Celestina Warbeck. There's also a girl in my House who plays the harp."
"Classical or Celtic?" asked Ms. Shin.
Pomona tilted her head, confused. "There's a difference?"
"Celtic harps are generally smaller," said Ms. Shin, indicating the approximate size with her hands.
"How many instruments do you play?" asked Filius.
Ms. Shin counted her fingers.
"Five?" she eventually replied, in a tone that suggested she seriously doubted the accuracy of this number. "Are there any formal training schools the students might have learned from? I'm sorry, but I learned under Muggle teachers and institutions, so I'm not familiar with the Magical counterparts."
"Most receive private tutoring or formal training after leaving Hogwarts at the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts," squeaked Filius. "But the Incipio Musica charm has largely replaced live musicians at WADA—a pity."
"Are you in anyway related to Cecilia Shin?" asked Severus abruptly.
"She was my older sister," Ms. Shin replied.
This caused all the older teachers to stare at Ms. Shin incredulously. Soon enough, they could see the familial resemblance around the shape of her face, nose and mouth. However, whereas Cecilia was a cold beauty like a masterfully wrought silver statue standing in the middle of a winter storm, Jacqueline was more on the lines of a handcrafted doll, lovingly stitched by an amateur.
"I don't remember seeing you at Hogwarts," said Severus.
"I didn't go."
"Why not?"
"What do you call people who are born from magic families, but don't have magic?" asked Ms. Shin, blinking at the ceiling, "Squids?"
"You're a Squib?" Pomona exclaimed.
"Dear me, so the rumours that Grandmaster Shin fathered a Squib is actually true?" said Severus with unmistakable condescension.
"Oh, I got a Hogwarts letter," said Ms. Shin. She reached into her handbag and pulled out an old parchment letter and showed it to them. Minerva recognised the acceptance letter, addressed to one Miss J. Shin.
"If you were accepted, why didn't you…?" asked Charity.
"I'm not talented in magic," said Ms. Shin with an air of apology. "When I mentioned Squibs, I meant to say I'm practically a Squib. My father realised this when I was two. He's not called Grandmaster for nothing, you know."
"But if you received a Hogwarts Letter," Minerva argued, "That means you have reasonable amount of aptitude."
"No, no, it's true," Ms. Shin said, rubbing her head again with the same sort of desperate apology. "I wasn't raised completely Muggle—my father tutored me at home. But to this day I could only master two spells. I don't think I would've fared very well here. Good instruction can only do so much to improve severely limited talent."
The discussion quickly turned to classes after this. It was decided the new music classes would have a similar format as the Apparition and Flying classes—optional and weekly, but offered annually since it was reasonable to expect some level of demand. After some last-minute administrative paperwork, the meeting adjourned.
"Are you classically trained, Ms. Shin?" Filius asked eagerly after the meeting.
"Yes, sir," said Ms. Shin, smiling. "I studied Classical Music."
"I do a bit of choir directing on the side," squeaked Filius. "I was wondering if you could do the instrumental accompaniment. We've been making do with Incipio Musica, but you really can't replace real musicians. Do you play the piano?"
"A bit."
"Could you play for us?" asked Albus, eyes twinkling. To the teachers he said, "Please join us if you can. It will be quite the treat. I'm also rather proud of what I did for the music room."
About half the staff followed out of curiosity and politeness. Severus would have made a swift exit, except Albus snagged him before he could turn around, and ushered him to walk in front of him with a mischievous, 'Oh, come on, Severus!' Thus Severus joined, very resentfully.
As it turned out, Albus had converted an entire chamber into a music room. A magnificent pipe organ dominated a wall. Every string instrument in the violin family decorated the wall adjacent to it, and numerous guitars rested on stands. Twenty pianos stood in an artful arrangement. Wind instruments of every stripe and description were shelved in several tall cases. Drums, Xylophones, and other percussion instruments were clustered around in their own corner. Hundreds of music sheet stands and chairs cluttered the last wall. As if that wasn't enough, about half of the chamber was transformed into an orchestral pit, plus a rotating centre stage. The entire chamber was illuminated with thousands of floating candles and a large chandelier.
"Tad overboard, Headmaster?" asked Severus, heavy with sarcasm.
"I was very excited," said Albus in dead-earnestness.
Albus levitated one of the concert pianos to the rotating stage. Ms. Shin protested, saying the previous arrangement was fine. Albus just cheerfully added a cello to the stage in response, and then sat down on one the chairs orchestra pit and clasped his hands radiating anticipation.
"She needs a bit of firm encouragement, as you can tell," said Albus as the rest joined him.
Ms. Shin climbed up to the stage and hesitated in front of the piano and cello. Then with a little sigh, she duplicated herself into two.
"Albus!" hissed Minerva, amazed at what she just saw. Self-duplication was an advanced form of transfiguration, and only a handful of witches and wizards in the world were capable of it. Albus, however, put his finger on his lips and said, "Shhh!"
Two hours later, after Filius finished sobbing into his fifth handkerchief and Minerva and her colleagues ran out of songs to request, Ms. Jacqueline pleaded fatigue and banished her clone that was playing the cello.
"Bravo! Bravo!" Filius cried, clapping as hard as he was sobbing, which was very hard indeed. Everyone else was clapping too, including Severus, who didn't seem to realise he was doing it. Ms. Shin ran her palms down her face and peaked up from the tips of her fingers, glowing pink.
The teachers lingered after the unscheduled concert to chat. Minerva asked about the duplication spell of course, and Ms. Shin appeared to have no earthly clue of its significance.
"Cecilia was able to create sixty clones when she was fourteen," she said. "Her record was a hundred and twenty. Even now, nineteen years after I learned how to do it, the most I can reliably manage is four."
Filius asked about her wand, and Ms. Shin said she never owned one. Severus asked about her potions education, and Ms. Shin confessed, after blowing up the kitchen and back garden three times and melting no less than six cauldrons, her father stopped trying to teach her potions. This inevitably led to Albus asking, with mild exasperation, what was the other spell Ms. Shin knew how to do.
"It's more of a precursor to a spell than an actual spell," said Ms. Shin awkwardly. "I can lock raw magic into a sheet of paper. It's the, uh, step zero to making paper talismans. I don't have enough magic to go beyond that."
Ms. Shin took her leave shortly thereafter. The Head of Houses lingered further.
"There's nothing wrong with her magic and, potions aside, she's modestly talented," said Filius. "So why did…?"
"If one sets the baseline on Jeremy and Jason Shin, or, Merlin forbid, Cecilia, Hogwarts would only admit five students on a good year," said Severus sardonically. "That may not be such a bad idea."
"Is this what you meant by firm encouragement, headmaster?" asked Pomona. "Ms. Shin seems to have a skewed view of her magical talent. Comparing yourself to the most powerful witch Hogwarts has seen in a century can't be healthy, especially if it is your own sister."
"I actually had only her music talent in mind when I spoke of firm encouragement," Albus replied, looking pensive. "I discovered the bewildering gaps in her magical education the same time as you. However, I don't think extending firm encouragement to other areas will go amiss."
Minerva, Pomona and Filius murmured in agreement. Severus sniffed and said nothing.
"How did you find her?" Pomona asked.
"Chance," replied Albus, before adding ominously, "and Sherlock Holmes."
-oo00oo-
"Are you ready for school tomorrow?"
Harry tore his attention away from Mario Kart, which he was playing in the sitting room. John was puttering about the flat collecting books and discarded socks. Sherlock was away in Prague, investigating a mass grave containing no less than fifty bodies entombed under a derelict building that was recently burned down. John was going to join him once Harry left for Hogwarts.
"…Yeah," Harry sighed. He was actually dreading the start of term. Not because he wanted the holidays to continue. Summer was fun, but all the free time was starting to get wearying. He also missed Hogwarts, with it enchanted castle and environs, playing Quidditch, sleeping in his four-poster bed, and eating inside the Great Hall under the bewitched ceiling. He even missed his classes and schoolwork (except Potions, which was taught by Severus Snape). But going to Hogwarts meant severely limited access to technology. This could be very maddening at times. Harry often found himself longing for Google while going through paper indexes in the library and searching for a non-existent outlet in the Gryffindor Tower to charge his phone.
"Got all your essays?"
"Uh-huh."
"Did you finish packing your trunk?"
Harry pursed his lips as he avoided a banana peel, "Almost."
"Don't leave it until the morning."
Harry rolled his eyes and let out another sigh. "Okay."
He finished the race with a shockingly mediocre score. Harry was about to start another one, but John stood in front of the monitor and gave him a stern look. Harry reluctantly put his controller down and went upstairs to his room.
Harry navigated around the mess to stand before his open trunk in the epicentre. He'd already packed his clothes and Hogwarts robes, which John folded in military precision (John taught him how, but Harry couldn't get the hang of it). All his school books, essays and containers holding his potions ingredients were also in his trunk. His cauldron and telescope were still on his desk, snugly fitted in bubble wrap. All he had to do was pack them in with his socks and extra trainers. As he did so, Harry considered his bookcase and wondered if he could fit in Chronicles of Narnia and Lord of the Rings. Then he remembered he forgot to pack his thermal fleece jacket—wizard cloaks looked nice, but they weren't good at blocking out cold—so he detoured to his wardrobe. There he realised he left his Nimbus under his bed. Harry dumped both his broomstick and his jacket into his trunk and crossed his arms. There was no more room. He'll have to put his novels in his messenger bag. Harry wondered if the Undetectable Extension charm was as difficult as everyone said it was.
Harry went back downstairs after binning all the chocolate frog wrappers and crumpled bits of paper on the floor. John was in the kitchen cooking, so Harry abandoned Mario Kart to give the sight the full concentration it deserved as a rare and mysterious phenomenon. He, John and Mrs. Hudson had a sumptuous dinner of grilled marinated beef slices and spicy salad greens wrapped in fresh lettuce leaves, and mouth-watering treacle pudding as dessert. Harry was too full and sleepy to do much else afterwards, so he let Mrs. Hudson tuck him into bed. He was much too old for this, honestly, but it was hard to deny Mrs. Hudson anything.
…Which was why, come September 1st, Mrs. Hudson was riding the same cab that was taking John and Harry to King's Cross. Harry told Hedwig she'll have to fly separately since trying to explain why he was bringing his pet owl to school to your Muggle landlady was a task best left to someone else. Hedwig shrugged before taking flight.
"I'm going to miss seeing you around the flat," said Mrs. Hudson as she fondly brushed Harry's fringe away. "You'll be back for Christmas this year, won't you luv?"
Harry nodded happily. Mrs. Hudson beamed at him.
They made it to King's Cross Station a good twenty minutes early. Harry wondered how he was going to enter platform nine and three quarters without Mrs. Hudson following them, but then Mrs. Hudson hugged both John and Harry at the entrance.
"Have a good year, Harry! And call me when you get to Prague, John. You will, won't you?"
"Of course," said John without missing a beat.
They waved as Mrs. Hudson got back into the cab. Harry looked at John after the black car vanished into the busy London traffic.
"What?" John said, raising an eyebrow. "You know I'm going to Prague."
"I thought you were leaving tomorrow," said Harry.
"It's a midnight flight," said John. "I just didn't tell her that."
They headed to the barrier between Platforms nine and ten, Harry wheeling his trunk behind him. Having done this before, Harry confidently trotted towards the brick wall that hid the magical entrance.
The confidence vanished when he and John crashed into a very solid wall. Harry was knocked off his feet and let go of his wheeled trunk. John crumped to a heap on the shiny floor, and Hedwig's empty cage rolled away.
"What in blazes d'you think you're doing?" yelled a station guard nearby.
"Wasn't paying attention," John grunted, clutching the left shoulder and face white.
The guard helped them back to their feet. Harry went after Hedwig's cage and got his trunk right-side up. It took a while for the colour to return to John's face. Harry pressed both hands against the barrier. It didn't give away. Panic started to bloom in his stomach.
"I don't understand," he whispered. "Why can't we get through?"
John, whose face was still stony from lingering pain, pulled out their magic-immune phone and started texting:
Hello, have bit of a situation. Please respond.
The SMS alert tone John set for Snape played in a couple of minutes: a lowing cow.
You have an owl. We had a conversation about this. McGonagall is already giving me the evil eye. What is it?
Gateway to 9 ¾ won't let us through. May require alternative transport. Sent Owl ahead because of landlady
Stop being difficult, Watson
I don't try to be.
John put the phone away with a sigh. All the mooing made Harry forgot about the pain—he was snickering.
"We might as well sit down. My shoulder is killing me."
They went to a nearby café. John ordered ice cream sundaes and a bag of ice for the jolted shoulder.
"I thought Professor Dumbledore healed your shoulder," said Harry, unable to keep the petulance out of his voice.
"He did," said John. "The muscles and bones and cartilage there are as good as new—even the nerve damage is gone. I got it checked."
"Then why does it keep on hurting?" Harry asked.
"The bullet fragments," said John. "They're still there. Dumbledore told me if the fragments got there by magic, a skilled healer could banish it. But since they weren't, unless he could see the fragments, it's impossible. Sight and distance apparently do matter with Magic."
Harry sucked on his spoon thoughtfully.
"And wizards don't have magical MRI."
"No," said John. "Magic folk have a very medieval attitude towards medicine, I noticed. They balk at the idea of examining human blood and guts."
They whiled away time at the café. John called Mrs. Granger and Mr. Weasley and told them the situation. Harry again tried to pass through the barrier when Mrs. Granger said she and Hermione had no trouble getting through, but he still hit a solid wall. In the meantime, eleven o' clock came and went.
"Too late to ride the train now," said John. "Why is Snape taking so long…"
That moment, the café door burst open and Mrs. Weasley galloped inside, her handbag swinging off one hand, and Mr. Weasley right behind her.
"Oh, Harry, oh dear," said Mrs. Weasley frantically. "Why do things like this happen to you?"
Mr. Weasley ran a handkerchief over his sweaty bald-patch.
"I spoke with the gate master and even he can't figure out why the barrier isn't working," said Mr. Weasley. "We had to Apparate out of the platform and walk back to the station … there's a huge queue in front of the platform's only fireside where people who can't Apparate are floo-ing out."
"Did Lestrade make it out okay?" asked John, looking concerned.
"His father-in-law Apparated out with him," said Mr. Weasley. "The Muggle parents who got stuck will have to wait until someone fixes the barrier."
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat down at their small table. It struck Harry how fortunate they were the café was so noisy, because any Muggle who overheard their conversation might report them as insane asylum escapees.
"Your kids made it to the train okay?" said John calmly.
"Yes," said Mrs. Weasley, wringing her hands, "But that's not the point! Harry missed the train! How are we sending him to Hogwarts, Arthur?"
"I could Apparate with him to Hogsmeade," said Mr. Weasley. "Or we could use the floo-network to go there directly … but then we'd have to go to Diagon Alley for a fireplace and owl the teachers about it…"
John's phone mooed.
"Excuse me," said John to a very startled Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, "Hi, Snape."
John listened to whatever Snape had to say.
"A Knight Bus?" said John blankly. "What are you talking about?"
Snape's reply was too muffled to hear, but the tone was very … Snape-like.
"Thank you so much, Snape, you are so kind and thoughtful," John dead-panned.
More snarky replies.
"Yes, stop terrorizing my son, or the next time you see me, I'll be weepy and full of feelings. What, you think this is an empty threat? There's going to desperate, wailing tears. You know, I might even confess secret feelings to you."
"This is harassment," said Snape's horrified voice.
"Then stop," said John reasonably.
John ended the call. Harry thought he will never get enough of John casually teasing Snape and getting away with it.
"So my dear friend Snape says let Harry take the Knight Bus to Hogwarts," said John, in mock-seriousness. "Then Hagrid will pick him up at the entrance. Now what is a Knight Bus and why do we have to wait till sunset?"
"Well, the Knight Bus is transport for stranded wizards and witches," explained Mrs. Weasley. "You just stick out your wand and that will flag the bus. It runs night and day and goes everywhere, but you have to make sure you're flagging it somewhere discreet and preferably when it's dark, so Muggles won't see."
"Bit difficult here in London," John remarked.
"That's not a problem," said Mr. Weasley. "Just flag the bus in front of the Leaky Cauldron, and he should be fine."
"Okay," said John. "Thanks for dropping by, Molly, Arthur. You didn't have to."
"Oh, it was nothing," said Mrs. Weasley. "And don't you worry about Harry. I'll go with him and see to it he gets there."
"Thank you, Molly. You're a saint," said John fervently.
The four of them ended up having lunch together at their favourite Thai place. Mr. Weasley was positively bursting with excitement when John took them to the little hole-in-the-wall restaurant. His enthusiasm garnered attention from the owner, who was curious about his and Mrs. Weasley's robes. Not for the first time, Harry admired the way John handled the situation. John told Mr. Pran that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were a Magical couple visiting Mundane London to see how it was like to live in a world where you have no choice but to let Nature have her tyrannical way with you. John's face was so straight and voice so completely serious, Mr. Pran took it as a nice joke.
"Bless you, John," said Mrs. Weasley. "I don't know how you do it."
"Bless you, Molly," John returned. "You and Arthur are a God send. I don't know how Sherlock and I would've coped without you two. Very badly, probably. When I stop and think about it, I'm like: my son is the Magical World's Most Famous Child and I'm just a stupid Muggle. What the heck?"
They all laughed. Then they enjoyed Mr. Pran's excellent Pad Kee Mao and Green Curry.
Harry spent the afternoon with John, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. John patiently explained to Mr. Weasley the law of aerodynamics using a couple of apples and a length of string, and Mrs. Weasley told them stories of Hogwarts when she was young. Harry felt an undercurrent of nervousness, but also the assurance things were taken care of.
Right after sundown, the four of them went to the Leaky Cauldron. Mr. Weasley drove them there on his Ford Anglia. At the entrance, Mrs. Weasley stuck out her wand.
BANG.
A set of headlights blinded them all. Harry let out a yell as a triple-decker violently purple bus appeared out of thin air and came to an abrupt stop after bouncing off the pavement once. Gold lettering over the windshield spelled The Knight Bus. Then a conductor in purple uniform leapt out of the bus and began to speak loudly:
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening…"
The conductor stopped abruptly. He had just caught sight of Harry, who was flattening his hair over his scar.
"Woss that on your 'ead?" asked Stan, dropping his professional manner.
"Nothing," said Harry quickly. Close up, he saw that Stan Shunpike was only a few years older than him, seventeen or eighteen at most, with large, protruding ears and quite a few pimples. "So—this bus goes anywhere?"
"Yep," said Stan proudly, "anywhere you like, long's it's on land. Can't do nuffink underwater. 'Ere," he said, looking suspicious, "you did flag us down, dincha? Woss your name?"
"Harry Watson," said John, interrupting, "listen, he needs to get to Hogwarts, ASAP. How much is the fare?"
"Eleven Sickles," said Stan, "but for firteen you get 'ot chocolate, and for fifteen you get an 'ot water bottle an' a toofbrush in the colour of your choice."
"Two people, no extras," said John firmly, extracting the wizard gold kept for emergencies and shoving them into Stan's hands, "I'm assuming Muggles can't see you? Even in the middle of London?"
"Them!" said Stan contemptuously. "Don' listen properly, do they? Don' look properly either. Never notice nuffink, they don'."
"Yeah, sure," said John ironically.
Stan and Mr. Weasley hefted Harry's trunk into the Knight Bus. Instead of seats, there was an odd assortment of mismatched armchairs crammed and grouped haphazardly around windows inside. Some of these appeared to have fallen over when the bus stopped abruptly at the Leaky Cauldron. A few witches and wizards were still getting to their feet, grumbling, and somebody's shopping bag had slid the length of the bus—an unpleasant mixture of frog spawn, cockroaches, and custard creams was scattered all over the floor.
"Where are the seatbelts?" asked John, looking alarmed, "and why aren't the chairs bolted down?"
"'Choo talkin' about?" asked Stan, looking suspicious again.
"Let's go, Harry dear," said Mrs. Weasley swiftly, "You don't want to miss the welcoming feast do you?"
John enveloped Harry in a tight hug, whispering, "I'll text you went I get to Prague. And look after Julia, okay?"
"Okay. Bye!" said Harry, waving at door. Mrs. Weasley tugged him back inside, and Stan rammed the doors shut. The bus set off again, swaying ominously. They bowled down Charing Cross road, mounting the pavement and swerving. Then, with a tremendous BANG, they were all flung backward. Mrs. Weasley's armchair toppled right over. Harry narrowly avoided falling by seizing a candle bracket. He looked outside the window: they were now speeding down a motorway.
"Just outside Birmingham," said Stan, shoving Harry's trunk back where it was last placed, which was right behind the driver, who was sitting in an armchair in front of a steering wheel. "This is our driver, Ernie Prang. This is 'Arry Watson, Ern."
Ernie Prang, an elderly wizard wearing very thick glasses, nodded to Harry. Harry nodded back nervously. Ernie didn't seem to have mastered the use of a steering wheel. The Knight Bus kept bouncing off the asphalt, but it didn't hit anything; median dividers and walls jumped out of the way as it approached and back into position once it had passed.
BANG.
The chairs slid backward again as the Knight Bus jumped from the Birmingham motorway to a quiet country lane full of hairpin bends. Hedgerows on either side of the road were leaping out their way as they mounted the verges. From here they moved to a main street in the middle of a busy town, then to a viaduct surrounded by tall hills, then to a windswept road between high-rise flats, each time with a loud BANG.
"Snape suggested this on purpose," Harry muttered as he helped Mrs. Weasley up from the floor for the sixth time. "There's no way he didn't."
"'Ogwarts stop after this," said Stan brightly, "We just have to let Madam Marsh off in Abergavenny."
"Better go get her, Stan," said Ernie. "We'll be there in a minute."
Stan passed Mrs. Weasley and Harry's armchairs and disappeared up a narrow wooden staircase. When Stan came back, he was with a faintly green witch wrapped in a travel cloak.
"'Ere you go, Madam Marsh," said Stan happily. Ernie stamped on the brake and the chairs slid a foot or so to the front of the bus. Madam Marsh clamped a handkerchief over her mouth and tottered down the steps. Stan threw her bag out after her and shut the doors. There was another loud BANG, and they were rolling through a picturesque village covered in autumn foliage. Harry caught a sight of a pub with a severed boar's head sign creaking in the wind. At last they rolled to a halt outside the gates to Hogwarts. Mrs. Weasley stumbled out looking vastly relieved. Stan helped Harry lower his trunk to the ground. Unthinkingly, Harry wiped his sweaty forehead.
"…Blimey!" Stan shouted, pointing, "Ern, come 'ere! Come 'ere!"
Before Harry could do anything, a very familiar booming voice rattled the gates.
"HARRY! There yeh are!"
Harry's heart leapt. The massive form of Hagrid, the Hogwarts' gamekeeper, was striding towards him, his beetle-black eyes flashing over his bristly beard.
"Hagrid!" he said, waving. "Is sorting over?"
"Jus' started when I left," said Hagrid, opening the gates. "Probably done by the time we get there."
Stan leapt to the ground behinds them. Wizards and witches were staring avidly through the windows from all three levels.
"'Choo really 'Arry Watson?" Stan demanded excitedly. "Is that a scar I'm seeing?"
"Harry Watson?" repeated Hagrid, frowning. "This is Harry Potter."
"I knew it!" Stan shouted gleefully. "Ern! Guess 'oo 'Arry Watson is, Ern! 'E's 'Arry Potter! I can see 'is scar!"
"Gotta be off," said Hagrid, who picked up Harry's trunk like it was small briefcase, "Lots ter do…"
"'Ow come you di'n't tell us 'oo you are, eh, 'Arry?" said Stan, beaming at Harry, while Ernie's owlish face peered interestedly over Stan's shoulder.
Because too many people react like you when I do, Harry didn't say. Instead he followed after Hagrid and said to Stan and Ern and Mrs. Weasley, "Bye. Thank you, Mrs. Weasley!"
"'Bye, 'Arry!" called Stan.
"Have a good term!" said Mrs. Weasley, waving furiously.
Harry waved one last time, and headed to the brightly illuminated castle in the distance.
"So did'yeh ever fig're ou' why yeh couldn' send an owl back ter me?" said Hagrid as Harry jogged alongside him (he had to take three steps to every one stride of Hagrid's enormous boots).
Harry explained all about Dobby.
"Fishy," growled Hagrid. "If I'd've known-"
"Definitely dodgy," Harry agreed. "Every time he got close to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall. Why would he do that?"
"Pu' it this way, Harry," said Hagrid. "House-elves got powerful magic on their own, but they can' use it witho' permission. They can' disobey their master's direct orders either. Dobby was prob'ly usin' a loop-hole teh get ter yeh or he was ordered ter stop yeh from comin' back to Hogwarts. Anyone at school with a grudge against yeh?"
"Yes," said Harry instantly. "Draco Malfoy. He hates me. But I don't know if he owns a house-elf."
"Well, who ever owns him will be from an ol' wizardin' family, and they'll be rich," said Hagrid. "House-elves come with big ol' manors and castles and places like that."
"Like Hogwarts," said Harry, thinking the hundreds of elves in the Kitchen.
"Yep," said Hagrid. "Biggest house-elf settlement in Britain, I reckon. Happiest elves too."
Harry nodded silently. He had no trouble imagining Malfoy strutting around in large manor house ordering house-elves about. Malfoy usually had the best of everything, and didn't Mr. Malfoy tell Mr. Borgin to pick up his goods from his manor? Plus, sending his family servant to stop Harry from going back to Hogwarts or at least get him into trouble was exactly the sort of thing Malfoy would do. But. Dobby said the plan was months in the making, and it was going to threaten the whole school. Was he taking Dobby too seriously? But if Dobby wasn't lying, what was he trying to warn him about? Harry couldn't say why, but the way Dobby treated himself made him wonder…
"Well, s'good thing yer new parents aren' the usual sort o' Muggles," said Hagrid as he opened the oak doors. "I heard from Professor Dumbledore how they t'care of yer official warnin' from the Ministry, pronto like … and Sh'rlock's been peltin' me owls all summer askin' questions. Curious one, ain't he?"
"You have no idea," said Harry.
They entered the Great Hall. All the students were seated in their House tables and chatting and eating merrily. Several students craned their necks to see who entered and pointed when they realised it was him. Harry spotted Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table and headed off to their direction. On his way, he saw a familiar face at the Hufflepuff table. His eyes briefly met a pair of large brown eyes. He blinked and he'd passed the Hufflepuff table.
He didn't think about them again that day.
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: McGonagall just wanted to say, "Of course it was that dreadful man who was behind it." Dumbledore is addicted to Angry Birds, and I am a cruel, cruel person, letting Lockhart 'teach'. Snape had no ulterior motives when he suggested the Knight Bus. Of course he didn't. Harry was just being very paranoid. ;-)