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 Thirty Four: Turns, Trials and Trouble
Harry forcefully came back to his senses after the feast, when he and his fellow Gryffindors discovered Sirius Black had tried to enter the empty Gryffindor Tower; tried being the operative word here, because the Fat Lady refused to let him in and he savagely attacked her canvas with a knife in his rage. Professor Dumbledore was able to extract the story out of Peeves, who told him what he knew in an oily voice worse than his normal cackle.
Professor Dumbledore sent all the Gryffindors back to the Great Hall afterwards, where they were joined ten minutes later by the students from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, who all looked extremely confused.
"The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," Professor Dumbledore told them as Professors McGonagall and Flitwick closed all doors into the hall. "I'm afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the hall and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately," he added to Percy, who was looking immensely proud and important. "Send word with one of the ghosts."
Professor Dumbledore paused, about to leave the hall, and said, "Oh, yes, you'll be needing—"
One casual wave of his wand and the long tables flew to the edges of the hall and stood themselves against the walls; another wave, and the floor was covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags.
"Sleep well," said Professor Dumbledore, closing the door behind him.
The hall immediately began to buzz excitedly; the Gryffindors were telling the rest of the school what had just happened.
"Everyone into their sleeping bags!" shouted Percy. "Come on, now, no more talking! Lights out in ten minutes!"
"C'mon," Ron said to Harry, Hermione and Neville; they seized four sleeping bags and dragged them into a corner.
"Do you think Black's still in the castle?" Neville whispered anxiously.
"Dumbledore obviously thinks he might be," said Ron.
"It's very lucky he picked tonight, you know," said Hermione as they climbed fully dressed into their sleeping bags and propped themselves on their elbows to talk. "The one night we weren't in the tower…"
"I reckon he's lost track of time, being on the run," said Ron, "Didn't realize it was Hallowe'en. Otherwise he'd have come bursting in here."
Hermione shuddered.
All around them, people were asking one another the same question: "How did he get in?" A Ravenclaw a few feet away offered the theory of Apparition, a fifth year Hufflepuff suggested disguises, and Dean Thomas speculated flying.
"Honestly, am I the only person who's ever bothered to read Hogwarts, A History?" said Hermione crossly.
"Probably," said Ron. "Why?"
"Because the castle's protected by more than walls, you know. There are all sorts of enchantments on it, to stop people entering by stealth. You can't just Apparate in here. And I'd like to see the disguise that could fool those Dementors. They're guarding every single entrance to the grounds. They'd have seen him fly in too. And Filch knows all the secret passages; they'll have them covered…"
"How he got in isn't even the most important question," Harry muttered. "We should be asking why."
Ron, Neville and Hermione frowned at him. "What d'you—" Ron started to ask.
"The lights are going out now!" Percy shouted. "I want everyone in their sleeping bags and no more talking!"
The candles all went out at once. The only light now came from the silvery ghosts, who were drifting about talking seriously to the prefects, and the enchanted ceiling, which, like the sky outside, was scattered with stars. What with that, and the whispering that still filled the hall, Harry felt as though he were sleeping outdoors in a light wind.
Once every hour, a teacher would reappear in the Hall to check that everything was quiet. Around three in the morning, when many students had finally fallen asleep, Professor Dumbledore came in. Harry watched him looking around for Percy, who had been prowling between the sleeping bags, telling people off for talking. Percy was only a short distance away from Harry, who quickly pretended to be asleep as Dumbledore's footsteps drew nearer.
"Any sign of him, Professor?" asked Percy in a whisper.
"No. All well here?"
"Everything under control, sir."
"Good. There's no point moving them all now. I've found a temporary guardian for the Gryffindor portrait hole. You'll be able to move them back in tomorrow."
"And the Fat Lady, sir?"
"Hiding in a map of Argyllshire on the second floor; apparently she refused to let Black in without the password, so he attacked. She's still very distressed, but once she's calmed down, I'll have Mr Filch restore her."
Harry heard the door of the hall creak open again, and more footsteps.
"Headmaster?" It was Snape. Harry kept quite still, listening hard. "The whole of the third floor has been searched. He's not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there either."
"What about the Astronomy tower? Professor Trelawney's room? The Owlery?"
"All searched…"
"Very well, Severus. I didn't really expect Black to linger."
"Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?" asked Snape.
Harry raised his head very slightly off his arms to free his other ear.
"Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next."
Harry opened his eyes a fraction and squinted up to where they stood; Dumbledore's back was to him, but he could see Percy's face, rapt with attention, and Snape's profile, which looked angry.
"You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before— ah— the start of term?" said Snape, who was barely opening his lips, as though trying to block Percy out of the conversation.
"I do, Severus," said Dumbledore, and there was something like warning in his voice.
"It seems—almost impossible—that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed—"
"I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it," said Dumbledore, and his tone made it so clear that the subject was closed that Snape didn't reply. "I must go down to the Dementors," said Dumbledore. "I said I would inform them when our search was complete."
"Didn't they want to help, sir?" said Percy.
"Oh yes," said Dumbledore coldly. "But I'm afraid no Dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am Headmaster."
Percy looked slightly abashed. Dumbledore left the hall, walking quickly and quietly. Snape stood for a moment, watching the headmaster with an expression of deep resentment on his face; then he too left.
Harry glanced sideways at Ron, Neville and Hermione. The three of them had their eyes open too, reflecting the starry ceiling.
"What was all that about?" Ron mouthed.
-oo00oo-
The school talked of nothing but Sirius Black for the next few days. The theories about how he had entered the castle became wilder and wilder; Hannah Abbott spent much of their next Herbology class telling anyone who'd listen that Black could turn into a flowering shrub.
The Fat Lady's ripped canvas had been taken off the wall and replaced with the portrait of Sir Cadogan and his fat grey pony. Nobody was very happy about this. Sir Cadogan spent half his time challenging people to duels, and the rest thinking up ridiculously complicated passwords, which he changed at least twice a day.
"He's a complete lunatic," said Seamus Finnigan angrily to Percy. "Can't we get anyone else?"
"None of the other pictures wanted the job," said Percy. "Frightened of what happened to the Fat Lady. Sir Cadogan was the only one brave enough to volunteer."
Harry found the opportunity to discuss Black with his closest friends on the Tuesday evening following the attack. He, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Julia slipped into the Music Chamber when Miss Jackie was out of the castle for Small Group, which was the only time other than Sunday when all versions of her was absent.
"No one is asking why Sirius Black wants to enter Hogwarts," Harry started, legs crossed, elbows on his knees and hands under his chin, as the five of them sat around in a circle inside a noise cancelling screen. "Yes, I know the Ministry thinks he's after me based on what he said in his sleep, but is he really?"
"Why else would he want to come here for?" asked Ron, wrinkling his nose. "He said 'he's at Hogwarts'."
"I know, but…" Harry sighed. "Listen, two summers ago, Sherlock went crazy looking up everything about Voldemort. Remember that?"
Ron and Neville jumped at the mention of Voldemort's name. Julia just shook her head.
"I remember," said Hermione. "You told us at your birthday party. If he was looking up information on You-Know-Who, then he's bound to have found references of Sirius Black. What did he find?"
"The main reason why Black was sentenced to life in Azkaban is for killing thirteen people with a single curse," Harry said. "But there is something else he was convicted of: he was the person who told Voldemo- oh, fine," Harry sighed when Neville blanched and Ron hissed: 'don't say his name!', "he told You-Know-Who where he could find my birth parents after they went into hiding."
Everyone stared at him in shock. Ron in particular was gaping very comically, like a fish stranded on shore eyeing a famished seagull.
"How can you think Black might not be after you when you know this?!" Neville squeaked.
"Exactly!" said Hermione shrilly. "They say Black was one of You-Know-Who's biggest supporters! His last act cost him everything, plus he gained the wrath of his fellow supporters! You are the reason why! Anyone would want you dead if they're in his shoes!"
Harry winced at those words. It still stung, even though he expected it.
"So he kills a bunch of other random people and wastes twelve years in Azkaban rather than do something right then and there when he found Hagrid picking me up from the wreckage after You-Know-Who vanished," Harry argued wearily. "Look, I'm just telling you what Sherlock thinks. I think something's off too. Think about it: Black was a Hogwarts student once. So he should know the castle's basic layout and time tables. Even if he is completely insane—and I don't doubt he's touched in the head, not after twelve years in prison—don't you think he'd at least check the time before infiltrating Hogwarts? It doesn't take that much time or genius to check the sky, for crying out loud! And what if Black wanted to enter the Gryffindor Tower for different reasons, not because he thought I was there? How could he have found out I was Gryffindor, anyway, if he only managed to enter Hogwarts on Hallowe'en?"
"Aren't you giving Black too much credit?" asked Hermione sceptically. "If he's mad, he won't think this clearly."
"Not necessarily," said Julia. "Mad people can be very cunning. They don't think clearly in the sense they don't realize their thoughts are mad, obviously, but for the sake of the thing they're crazy over, they can be pretty clever."
"But he isn't thinking clearly!" Hermione argued hotly. "It's obvious from the way he attacked Fat Lady because she wouldn't let him in! If he was thinking clearly, he would've realized he can't enter unless he had the password. If he just left her alone, no one would've known he entered the castle and that would've been better for him!"
"I'm not saying the attack was clever," said Julia, frowning. "I'm just saying being mad doesn't make you stupid."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue again, but Neville said something first.
"You — aren't you angry, Harry? At Black for what he did?" he asked nervously.
Hermione shut her mouth with a click.
There was a horrible, heavy silence.
"I was," said Harry flatly, "I had to go to a therapist for it and everything."
"What's a therapist?" asked Ron.
"A healer who addresses heart issues; like when you experience a terrible shock like death in the family and … well, stuff like that."
"Oh."
There was another terrible, awkward silence. It quickly became unbearable. The talk was rapidly going the worst way possible. Harry didn't know how to deal with it. The fact that he'd known since he was ten his birth parents were probably betrayed to and killed by terrorists thanks to Sherlock (who was only trying to help, however badly), that learning about Sirius Black was more like finally having a name and face to a long held suspicion, was so intricately tied to the darkest period of his life, Harry instinctively shied away from the idea talking about it.
"I'm not—that's not important right now," Harry said finally. "The important thing is figuring out why Black chose to infiltrate Hogwarts when he could've gone looking for You-Know-Who. What or who is he looking for? Is he really after me? What is it?"
Ron looked relieved at the change of subject, but Hermione was clearly unconvinced and uncomfortable at Harry's dismissal of the Other Issue. Neville was still worried, but willing to let it go. Julia had that inscrutable look she sometimes put on when things got knotty and complicated.
"Did my grandpa get back to Sherlock after his last visit?" Julia asked.
"He did. He said Fudge told him he met Black on his last inspection of Azkaban. He was shocked at how 'normal' he seemed. Most of the prisoners in there were sitting, muttering to themselves in the dark; there's no sense in them. But Black, he spoke quite rationally to him. Asked Fudge if he'd finished with his newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Fudge was unnerved at how little effect the Dementors seemed to be having on him—and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, Dementors outside his door day and night."
"What did Fudge mean by 'normal'?"
"Sherlock's question exactly. 'Normal' as in he was acting like someone who isn't a prisoner, or 'normal' as in he was normal for someone who was kept in solitary confinement for twelve years?"
"What else did Sherlock tell you?"
"He said the last bit of outside information Black would've got is from the newspaper Fudge gave him. He wants to know the exact date of the newspaper."
"Can't he make a guess based on the escape date?"
Harry shook his head. "He says there are too many possibilities and not enough data. Capital mistake to theorize before data."
Julia sighed through her nose.
The discussion ended soon after this. As usual, they made no more progress than what Sherlock had already made, and were starting the dreadful, circular arguments when Percy Weasley drew the binds of their screen to tell Harry Professor McGonagall wanted to see him.
-oo00oo-
Ron, Hermione, Neville and Julia watched Harry walk away, with Percy tailing him like an extremely pompous guard dog. He was rarely left alone since Black's attempt to enter the Gryffindor tower. Teachers found excuses to walk along corridors with him, Madam Hooch was always present during Gryffindor team's Quidditch practices in the evenings, and the one time he went out to the grounds for his solitary afternoon walks, Hagrid dragged him back into the castle looking very scared and furious. Harry didn't say anything about it, but all the scrutiny and security measures were clearly wearing him thin. Neville and Ron hadn't reported any 'Danger Nights', as the four of them called the times when Harry would sit on the edge of an open window in the boy's dormitory with his feet dangling outside for reasons he was never able to explain, but he was often brooding and uncommunicative as of late, and none of them could tell what he was thinking.
"Sometimes," said Hermione after the door shut, "I want to just pry his head open and see what's going on inside."
"Want to try learning thought-hearing spells?" said Julia wryly. "Though, knowing him, even that won't work."
Ron and Neville heaved a sigh. Sometimes it was very tough being Harry Potter's friend.
-oo00oo-
In the week following the trip to Professor McGonagall's office—where Professor McGonagall greeted Harry with such a sombre expression on her face Harry thought someone must have died, but it turned out she was just trying to tell him about Sirius Black — Harry kept trying to deduce details from people to see if his one successful case with Professor Lupin was just a lucky break.
He wasn't wrong, most of the time. Of five times Harry tried, consciously, he was right three times.
The first time happened unexpectedly. Harry, Ron and Hermione found Lavender crying one morning at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Parvati had her arm around her and was explaining something to Seamus and Dean, who were looking very serious. Harry tried to figure out why before someone would mention it.
Something upset her. Bad news from home, since she has a letter in her hands. Nothing terrible like death in the family, or one of the teachers would be delivering the news. Sickness is a possibility, but if it's upsetting enough for her to cry over it, McGonagall would've been here. What else would upset Lavender? She likes girly things, Divination, and fuzzy animals. Wait, animals? Does she have pets?
"Did something happen to your pet?" Harry asked as he, Ron and Hermione joined the rest of their classmates.
"Yeah, it's her rabbit, Binky. He's been killed by a fox," Parvati whispered. "She got a letter from home just now."
"Oh," said Hermione as Harry went shock-still when he realized his deduction was correct, "I'm sorry, Lavender."
"I should have known!" said Lavender tragically. "You know what day it is?"
"Err—"
"The sixth of November! 'That thing you're dreading, it will happen on the sixth of November!' Remember? She was right, she was right!"
Ron and Harry looked at each other in bewilderment. Hermione asked, "Sorry, but who was right?"
"Professor Trelawney! She made a prediction and she was right!"
Oooooh, Harry thought, remembering the day he, Ron and Hermione had gone to interview Professor Trelawney to see if she was the thief trying to steal the Philosopher's stone (the long trek trying to find the Divination classroom was when they'd first found the portrait of Sir Cardogan and his pony). They'd left the interview with the strong impression she was deluded at best and a fraud at worst. Thus, the three of them didn't bother to pick Divinations as one of their additional subjects at the end of second year. Perhaps he, Ron and Hermione should've been more vocal about expressing their opinions; many people taking Divinations treated Professor Trelawney with respect bordering on reverence, Parvati and Lavender had taken to haunting Professor Trelawney's tower room at lunch times, and always returned with annoyingly superior looks on their faces, as though they knew things the others didn't, and had also started using hushed voices whenever they spoke to Neville, as though he were on his deathbed. It was all terribly annoying.
Harry snapped out of his tangential thoughts to see everyone in his year at the Gryffindor table had gathered around Lavender now. Seamus shook his head seriously. Hermione hesitated; then she said, "You— you were dreading Binky being killed by a fox?"
"Well, not necessarily by a fox," said Lavender, looking up at Hermione with streaming eyes, "but I was obviously dreading him dying, wasn't I?"
"Oh," said Hermione. She paused again, then—
"Was Binky an old rabbit?"
"N—no!" sobbed Lavender. "H— he was only a baby!"
Parvati tightened her arm around Lavender's shoulders.
"But then, why would you dread him dying?" said Hermione.
Parvati glared at her.
"Well, look at it logically," said Hermione, turning to the rest of the group. "I mean, Binky didn't even die today, did he? Lavender just got the news today—" Lavender wailed loudly. "—and she can't have been dreading it, because it's come as a real shock—"
"Don't mind Hermione, Lavender," said Ron loudly, "she doesn't think other people's pets matter very much."
Harry didn't need to think too hard to know why Ron said that. Ron had been in a bad mood since the previous night when Crookshanks suddenly pounced at his bag where Scabbers was hiding in. Crookshanks tore at the bag trying to get Scabbers. Ron whirled his bag to fling him off, and Crookshanks clung stubbornly to it until Scabbers flew out of the top, streaked through twenty pairs of legs and shot beneath an old chest of drawers. Crookshanks chased after the terrified Scabbers, skidded to a halt at the chest, crouched low on his bandy legs, and started making furious swipes beneath it with his front paw. When Hermione grabbed Crookshanks around the middle and heaved him away, Ron, with great difficulty, pulled Scabbers out by the tail.
"Look at him!" he had said furiously to Hermione, dangling Scabbers in front of her. "He's skin and bone! You keep that cat away from him!"
"Crookshanks doesn't understand it's wrong!" said Hermione, her voice shaking. "All cats chase rats, Ron!"
"There's something funny about that animal!" said Ron, who was trying to persuade a frantically wiggling Scabbers back into his pocket. "It heard me say that Scabbers was in my bag!"
"Oh, what rubbish," said Hermione impatiently. "Crookshanks could smell him, Ron, how else d'you think—"
"That cat's got it in for Scabbers!" said Ron, ignoring the people around him, who were starting to giggle. "And Scabbers was here first, and he's ill!"
Ron marched through the common room and out of sight up the stairs to the boys' dormitories. He was still furious at Hermione when they woke up, and the interlude with Lavender was only a short break before Ron and Hermione resumed looking daggers at each other, and when they got into their first class, they seated themselves on either side of Harry and didn't talk to each other for the whole class. It was extremely difficult to feel congratulatory under such circumstances, but he did get it right.
-oo00oo-
The second time was with Ron. Whilst helping a deeply harassed and tired Miss Jackie file the MMN mail orders, Harry noticed Ron knew a lot of haggling and negotiating. He was about to ask Ron directly until he thought about it. Ron was homeschooled until he came to Hogwarts like most children who grew up in magic households. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had seven mouths to feed; even at the reduced number during the school year, it was doubtful Mr. Weasley's salary could cover all the expenses. Considering the amount of real estate the Weasleys owed, it was possible Mrs. Weasley had a side business that sold produce or magical plants that supplemented their income. It was also entirely possible Mrs. Weasley used Ron (and Ginny's) help since they were at home most of time.
"Does your mum run a side business?" Harry asked.
"Yeah, she sells handmade sweets and produce to the local shops, how did you know?" said Ron, looking startled.
"Just wondered," said Harry, smiling and feeling rather pleased. "Do you help her?"
"All the time," Ron groaned. "It's mostly counting the money and carrying stuff, though sometimes me and Ginny go door-to-door selling her baked goods for extra allowance. When she goes out to town, I wait until she's done badgering old Blugard the butcher and bullying Mrs. York the baker. I could tell when they were done when I don't hear the shouting."
Harry could picture this all too well.
"So that why you know so much about business operations. You know, I think you have the knack. I wouldn't have even thought about negotiating prices with customers, and, you know, convince them the price is right."
Ron was extremely pleased at that comment. It spurred him to suggest to Miss Jackie that she should rely on popular wizard equipment sellers like Dervish and Banges to do the actual promotion and selling of MMN products. This idea turned out to be a stroke of genius: Miss Jackie no longer had to worry about business minutiae related to individual sales, which she absolutely hated with a passion of a thousand burning supernovas, and could just focus on making and delivering bulk orders, and Dervish and Banges made good profit selling the massively popular MMN phones and mobile plans. Miss Jackie actually sobbed into Ron's chest when the deal was signed, and wailed she didn't know what she'd do without him. Ron's next paycheck was very generous—but extremely deserving, in Harry's opinion. The only down side was that Ron's interest in school work dwindled in direct proportion to his successes at the MMN. Harry had no heart to tell Ron that he should at least try to keep up, since it would put a damper in the niche Ron could finally claim to be his own, and not something his older brothers had already done before. Instead Harry just advised him to buy ownership shares of MMN. That way Ron would at least have something to fall back to should he actually drop out early.
-oo00oo-
Harry's third and fourth attempts were with Julia. Arguably, they were actually one attempt. Either way he'd got the details wrong. Harry and Julia had entered the Music Chamber for music lessons. For a moment they thought the Chamber was empty, but that made absolutely no sense because nothing short of death and forced immobilization would make Miss Jackie miss an appointment. So they searched for her.
They found Miss Jackie lying prone on the floor next to the clarinet stands. She looked more woebegone than usual; the skin on her face was almost translucent, her lips were chapped, cheeks were hollow and her eyes looked sunken. It took several rough shakes and dribbling water into her face to wake her up.
"When was the last time you ate something?" Julia demanded the moment Miss Jackie opened her eyes.
Miss Jackie blinked for several seconds as she pondered the question.
"Not fast enough," said Julia when Miss Jackie finally opened her mouth. "You're not working anymore today. Harry, could you ask the kitchens to send something rich and soupy? Preferably something that was simmered with bones for a long time."
Harry nodded. "Blippy!" he called out.
Blippy the house-elf appeared in the Music Chamber with a loud crack.
"Harry Potter!" squeaked the house-elf, bowing low, "How can Blippy help Harry Potter?"
Harry reiterated Julia's request. The house-elf promised to bring a large bowl of beef-stew over immediately (along with the unrequested bread, pumpkin juice and desserts if Harry knew anything about the house-elves of Hogwarts) and cracked out of sight.
"I'm fine, Julia darling," Miss Jackie protested weakly from the floor.
"No, you're not," said Julia firmly. "You are so far from fine you need a helicopter to get from where you are to fine." (Harry snorted involuntarily). "You're going eat that soup, and try to stand up again. If you can't, you're going straight to the hospital wing."
Miss Jackie ended up going to the hospital wing after trying and failing to eat the stew Blippy brought. She started throwing up after a few sips, so Harry braved the Floo-network to get the school matron quickly. Madam Pomfrey put her in a stretcher and took her away immediately.
Julia and Harry spent the next hour in the Music Room complaining about idiotic geniuses.
"Yours forget to eat when she's working?" asked Harry (this was the third deduction, which wasn't much of a deduction at all to be honest, but a guess based on what he knew about Sherlock).
"Of course she eats," Julia groused. "If she didn't eat when she works, she would've turned into a decomposing corpse a long time ago. No, her problem isn't eating. The problem is she doesn't pay attention to what she's eating."
"Oh," said Harry. "So she just picks up whatever, and not bother to check if it's actually food or not." (This was the fourth deduction, made based the one time he'd seen Miss Jackie absently chew on a piece of A4 paper.)
"She's not that bad," said Julia, smiling wryly. "She doesn't keep track of how much of what she ate. If left on her own she could go about eating a single strip of beef jerky for days thinking she ate a whole bunch, or finish off a bag of marshmallows in an hour thinking she only had three. It's ridiculous."
-oo00oo-
The fifth attempt occurred the day before Gryffindor's first Quidditch match, which was against Slytherin. It was the one Harry was most proud of, though the occasion that brought it about was less than auspicious. The third years had had the most harrowing Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons that day. Lupin was out ill, so Snape substituted (whoever thought this was a good idea needed their head checked).
"What's wrong with him?" Ron asked.
"Nothing life-threatening," Snape said, looking as though he wished it were. "Five points from Gryffindor for interrupting. As I was saying, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far—"
"Please, sir, we've done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas, and Grindylows," said Hermione quickly, "and we're just about to start—"
"Be quiet," said Snape coldly. "I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin's lack of organization."
"He's the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had," said Dean Thomas boldly, and there was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the class. Snape looked more menacing than ever.
"You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly overtaxing you—I would expect first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows. Today we shall discuss—"
Harry watched him flick through the textbook, to the very back chapter, which he must know they hadn't covered.
"—werewolves," said Snape.
"But, sir," said Hermione, seemingly unable to restrain herself, "we're not supposed to do werewolves yet, we're due to start Hinkypunks—"
"Miss Granger," said Snape in a voice of deadly calm, "I was under the impression that I am teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page 394." He glanced around again. "All of you! Now!"
With many bitter sidelong looks and some sullen muttering, the class opened their books.
"Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?" said Snape.
Everyone sat in motionless silence; everyone except Hermione, whose hand, as it so often did, shot straight into the air. Harry, who had been researching werewolves in his spare time ever since that talk he had with Lupin, thus knew a bit about the differences, didn't bother (he wasn't suicidal or masochistic).
"Anyone?" Snape said, ignoring Hermione. His twisted smile was back. "Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between—"
"We told you," said Parvati suddenly, "we haven't got as far as werewolves yet, we're still on—"
"Silence!" snarled Snape. "Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who wouldn't even recognise a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are…"
"Please, sir," said Hermione, whose hand was still in the air, "the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf—"
"That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger," said Snape coolly. "Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."
Hermione went very red, put down her hand, and stared at the floor with her eyes full of tears. It was a mark of how much the class loathed Snape that they were all glaring at him, because every one of them had called Hermione a know-it-all at least once, and Ron, who told Hermione she was a know-it-all at least twice a week, said loudly, "You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don't want to be told?"
The class knew instantly he'd gone too far. Snape advanced on Ron slowly, and the room held its breath.
"Detention, Weasley," Snape said silkily, his face very close to Ron's. "And if I ever hear you criticize the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed."
No one made a sound throughout the rest of the lesson. They sat and made notes on werewolves from the textbook, while Snape prowled up and down the rows of desks, examining the work they had been doing with Professor Lupin and finding fault in everything. When the bell rang at last, Snape held them back.
"You will each write an essay, to be handed in to me, on the ways you recognise and kill werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It is time somebody took this class in hand. Weasley, stay behind, we need to arrange your detention."
Harry and Hermione left the room with the rest of the class, who waited until they were well out of earshot, then burst into a furious tirade about Snape.
"Snape's never been like this with any of our other Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, even if he did want the job!" roared Seamus. "Why's he got it in for Lupin?"
"I don't know," said Hermione pensively. "But I really hope Professor Lupin gets better soon…"
Ron caught up with them five minutes later, in a towering rage.
"D'you know what that—" (he called Snape something that made Hermione say "Ron!") "—is making me do? I've got to scrub out the bedpans in the hospital wing. Without magic!" He was breathing deeply, his fists clenched. "Why couldn't Black have hidden in Snape's office, eh? He could have finished him off for us!"
No one worked on the werewolf essay that day except Hermione, who herded Ron and Harry into the library after their afternoon classes to start working on it. To pre-emptively stall her nagging, Harry started reading a book he'd meant to check out days ago, but forgotten about until Snape mentioned werewolves: Hairy Snout, Human Heart by anonymous author; a heartrending account of one wizard's battle with lycanthropy.
Harry was about halfway through the book when he looked up so see what his friends were doing. Ron was poring over the MMN accounts as usual. Hermione looked up and their eyes met. She nodded meaningfully. It took an embarrassing amount of time for Harry to figure out what the nod meant: a lunar chart was on the corner of their table, and all the days that had a full moon were circled since September, Hermione's textbook and copy of Fantastic Beasts were opened at the werewolf section, and Hermione had scribbled 'boggart' and 'fullmoon' on the corner of her … oh. So Hermione figured out Lupin was a werewolf too. Of course.
Then Harry noticed the lump around Hermione's collarbone. A necklace with a pendent, judging from location. But Hermione wasn't the jewellry type. So what made her wear something so frivolous? There was no special occasion for her wear jewellry as far as he knew. So why?
Unbidden, Harry recalled the number of times he'd seen Hermione tucking something inside the neck-opening of her robes after class, particularly when he and Ron had lost track of her for a second. Now that he thought about it, the times she'd vanished was usually when she had two classes or more at the same time. Ron wondered about this mystery more than once, and asked their classmates if she had been missing any classes (she hadn't). Harry didn't think much about Hermione's impossible schedule except to idly wonder if she had finally mastered the cloning/duplication spell, and was sending her clones to attend the magic-free courses like Muggle Studies and Astronomy as he did.
But she couldn't be. Hermione spent every spare moment of her time at the library or in the common room doing her homework when she wasn't at the Charms Club with Ron and Harry, going to music lessons and helping Miss Jackie with the MMN development. There just wasn't enough time, even discounting the overlapping schedules. Unlike Harry, who didn't mind bending the rules as long as it was harmless, Hermione would never do any magic during the summer holidays, so she couldn't have mastered the duplication/cloning spell over the summer. Moreover, Hermione wasn't the only person who took so many subjects. Percy Weasley got twelve OWLs last year, and in order to get that many, you needed to take all the offered subjects. The whole cloning business only became a viable option when Miss Jackie became an instructor. So what were the older, overachieving students doing in order to take so many subjects? Could they be using some kind of enchanted device that let them be at two places at the same time? If so, what kind of device was it?
Harry studied the lump on Hermione's collarbone again, hoping the shape would lend him a clue. It was longer than it was wider, and the shape was cylindrical, but narrower in the middle. Harry first thought of scrolls until he remembered the thing that made Hermione's schedule impossible: time. What time device looked like a cylinder that had a narrower middle? An hourglass. This didn't help Harry figure out what kind of magical device Hermione was wearing that helped her go to all her classes, but it did give him an idea what he should look up.
Harry folded the corner of the page he was reading and got up. He searched through the library indexes and found the section number of the shelves that stored all the books on time magic. When Harry got there, he immediately found the book he was looking for. The front cover had a picture of a shiny hourglass with a chain on it, and the title proclaimed: Time-Turners and their Mind-turning Mysteries. A brief browse through the contents told Harry all he needed to know: Time-turners were powerful magical devices that allowed users to go backwards in time. Their manufacture, distribution and usage were strictly monitored by the Ministry of Magic owing to its potential danger—people were known to accidentally kill their past or future selves whilst trying to change past events. It would figure a model student like Hermione would be able to get one despite all the red-tape to attend classes.
Harry had just put the book back feeling very satisfied when the library copy of Hairy Snout, Human Heart came flying towards him and started beating him fiercely about the head. Madam Pince, the librarian, was pointing her wand at him, screaming:
"How dare you desecrate that book, you depraved boy!"
Harry fled the library. His books, papers and bags flew after him, beating his head as they did. Hermione and Ron joined him outside soon afterwards and helped him subdue his things (getting severely beaten, too, in the process).
"Thanks," said Harry breathlessly.
"Bloody hell, you can't even dog-ear your own books in this place," Ron muttered, before turning at Hermione sharply. "So what were you nodding about?"
"Just giving Harry my approval for starting his homework early for once," said Hermione, a bit too airily, "See, Ron? Even Harry's working hard!"
Ron scowled. Harry just rolled his eyes and said nothing—about werewolves or Time-turners. The day Harry just blurted everything he figured out like Sherlock was the day he'd strap himself on an underground rail and let a Tube train take care of him. If Tube engineers thought he was a selfish bastard, so be it.
This didn't, of course, stop Harry from bragging about the whole thing to John at great length and detail in the privacy of his four-poster bed that evening, starting from Snape's class to his final deduction.
Mr. Lestrade's face popped into view after Harry finished speaking.
"Oi, kid, if you're interested in long hours, undrinkable coffee, horrible tea, even worse pay, and opportunity to fight crime, consider joining Serious Crimes at the CID," he said, grinning rakishly. "I could use someone who has Sherlock's skills, but not his personality."
"That is the worst sales pitch I've ever heard," John declared, roughly shoving Mr. Lestrade out of the away. "Beats the one I used to convince Bill Murray to join the army by a long stretch, and I promised him miserable pay, abusive superiors, and full guarantee of getting shot at. But I digress." John beamed at Harry. "That—was amazing."
Harry's heart leaped. "You think so?"
"Of course I do. Extraordinary insight—quite extraordinary."
Harry beamed. John's holograph reached out and did a patting motion, like she was ruffling Harry's immaterial, holographic self's head. Harry idly wondered it was possible to magically transmit touch over the MMN.
"So Snape's been quite the … dargh," said John, suddenly sombre, and glaring at Mr. Lestrade when he appeared briefly in the background saying the four letter word John scrambled up in a rather loud voice. "If he wasn't such a useful … pfftt, and Lupin's reputation wasn't at stake, I would've sent him a Howler. Forcing you lot to learn about werewolves outside of schedule, that's a low-blow, even for him."
Harry frowned. "Not more horrible than usual, which is still bad."
"Oh, Harry," said John, looking at him sadly. "Don't you get it? Snape assigned that werewolf essay hoping one of you would figure out Lupin is a werewolf and blow a gasket."
Harry's jaw dropped. Then he swore.
"Language," said John mildly before donning an overly serious look. "The miserable … pahf. He's been such a bad boy. It's a good thing he doesn't realize tyranny only invites mutiny, otherwise he might've got his wish. Still, no Christmas presents for him for the next ten years."
Harry giggled.
-oo00oo-
Neville poked his head inside the boy's dormitory to check on Harry. Harry's four-poster had its curtains drawn around the bed and muffled voices filtered through the thick fabric. He tip-toed closer and listened to Harry use a four letter word and then laugh for a couple of heartbeats before backing away. It gave Neville deeply contradictory idea on Harry's well-being. Harry only used ear-blistering four letter words when deeply upset. However, laughing was always a good sign. Harry wasn't often caught doing it, especially as of late.
Neville sighed. Straightforward as Harry is normally, interpreting his mood can be very challenging at times.
Neville returned to the common room and relayed the information to Ron and Hermione. Both of them were as confused as Neville was.
"Laughing is good," said Ron cautiously. "Maybe he's calling Snape names. That would warrant a laugh."
Hermione was not so optimistic. "The most he'd ever called Snape was an evil B. You've called him worse."
"I still say laughing overrules," Ron argued. "C'mon, Slytherin verses Gryffindor match is tomorrow. Harry hasn't lost match against them. He'll show Snape and that fowl git Malfoy. That's definitely something to look forward to. Okay, I know it's probably going to rain buckets tomorrow, but how bad could it get?"
Ron really shouldn't have said that, Neville later realized. They ought to have known asking how bad things could get when Harry Potter was involved like giving Trouble the finger and daring it to do its worst, to do the scariest thing it can think of.
The most … scariest … thing … I've ever … seen …
That was the thought that dominated Neville's mind as he stared, frozen in horror, at Harry falling off his broom fifty feet in the air after catching the snitch the next day, amidst the muted hush caused by hundreds of Dementors surrounding the pitch, in the pouring rain and howling wind.
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: Ron and Neville keep a wary eye for Danger Nights and Harry slowly blossoms in his talents as detective. I love writing about these kids. John continues to work very hard to stop swearing in front of Harry. Lestrade is not helping. He and John's left hook may have a serious conversation soon if this keeps up.
Early update for you!