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). Brief mention of Exceptionally Cruel Bullying. Readers beware!
Chapter Thirty Eight: Shifts over Christmas
John woke up Christmas morning and blinked at the dazzling, opaline sunlight illuminating the bedroom window. The chill that pervaded the air made the thought of leaving bed absolutely torturous. If only Harry was still a little boy, leaving bed before noon wouldn't have been a necessary option because—
"Harry, you're thirteen-years-old," said Sherlock's voice, ringing the draughty air with his exasperation.
John glanced to the side. What she'd previously thought was Sherlock was actually Harry, who apparently decided to squirm under the covers and settle into the narrow space between them overnight.
"It's freezing up there," Harry said, face down. "And the walls still have holes in them."
"Grow up," Sherlock groused.
John let out a breathy laugh and closed her eyes again.
-oo00oo-
Arthur wasn't paying much attention when Mr. Granger mentioned Hermione had invited Julia Lestrade to their Christmas luncheon, as he was distracted by his surroundings as soon as he brought Ron and Ginny to the Grangers' house. It was only when Mrs. Granger said Julia's grandfather was going to drop Julia off and maybe even stay around a bit did his attention unpleasantly draw back to the present.
"Uh, which grandfather…?"
"She only has one," piped Hermione, making Arthur's heart sink.
It wasn't that Arthur disapproved Shin June Hu, like he did Lucius Malfoy, but Shin's capacity for breathtakingly merciless revenges was something of a legend. Arthur only knew of two incidents, but either case was enough to make a person be extremely wary of Shin: first was the infamous Incident of 1962, when Shin developed a curse that specifically targeted a person's magic and rendered one unable to use magic in response to the kidnapping of his first wife, Huang Yue Ying. Though Shin had removed the curse's effects after the responsible Death Eaters were apprehended, the fact he had the power to take away a person's magic left many witches and wizards deeply afraid of him. The fear turned to panic when an Unspeakable used the curse to revenge himself, turning an uncounted number of magic people into functional Squibs. The second incident was only a rumour, but the story was in line with Shin's reputation. Word had it several Muggles students had singled out his Squib daughter for the cruellest sort of bullying: they threw her into ditches, locked her in tiny cleaning closets for hours and followed her around yelling that she should hurry up and die because the sight of her sickly form was causing their eyes to bleed. Shin reputedly placed a curse that made the students feel the pain and misery his daughter felt a hundredfold. The account of the aftermath of the curse varied—ranging from suicide to psychotic breaks of all affected persons before the day was over—but it wasn't hard to imagine what it would've been like if the curse were real and it had actually happened.
Thus Arthur was unable to enjoy the Grangers' hospitality and home as much as he could, for he was busy worrying and fretting over how he should react to Shin (besides showing him silent respect). Then promptly at ten thirty, Shin June Hu showed up with his three grown children and four young grandchildren.
"Jason Shin. Please excuse the crowd," said the handsome young man wearing frayed jeans and a hoodie under his puffy green coat that was being pulled to opposite directions by Rupert and Martin. "We're looking after my BIL's children today, and they all wanted to come along."
"Jeremy Shin," said the other young man, equally handsome as Jason, but in a different way; also in contrast to his brother, he was wearing a sleek suit and high-quality shirt that was slowly disintegrating under baby Elise's oral ministrations. "We'll scarper off once they let go of Julia."
"Jacqueline Shin," said the smiling young woman holding Julia's hand. She was pretty, but not in a conventional way, and her hip-length black hair and dark, fathomless eyes were particularly striking against the pallor of her white face. "This is our father: Shin June Hu."
Shin, who despite being even shorter than his petite daughter, managed to make everyone else look oversized and inelegant in his subdued outfit of blues and greys, humming, "Mmn."
Mr. and Mrs. Granger invited the whole ménage of Shins and Lestrades inside. Hermione tried to usher Julia to her room where Ron and Ginny were at, but Elise started screaming when Julia left her proximity, and Martin and Rupert transferred their grips from Jason to their older sister and clung like limpets.
"Oh, my, someone doesn't want their sister to leave their sight," said Mrs. Granger as Hermione wisely decided to bring Ron and Ginny to the living room instead.
"They've been fussy all day," said Jeremy, looking deeply apologetic. "I think it's because their mother took to bed because of morning-sickness."
"Oh, Lestrade is expecting a new baby? That's wonderful!"
"Yeah, they're having a boy," said Jason, beaming and waving his hands about. "He's going to be soooo cute."
Arthur relaxed after this. The few facts he knew about the Grandmaster's family was what he'd heard from Ron and his limited impression at Diagon Alley the year before. He'd rather imagined a very solemn, reserved and grave sort of family, just like Shin, except perhaps Ms. Jacqueline. Clearly he was wrong.
Arthur started to panic when Mr. Granger tried to make small talk by asking Shin what he did.
"Child minder," Shin replied monotonously without any expression.
"And part-time lecturer at Queen's," Jason Shin added.
"And the head of Department of Mysteries," chimed Jeremy Shin.
"Silence," Shin growled just as Jacqueline opened her mouth (Arthur dared to wonder what the fourth role was).
Shin stayed with his grandchildren after the short exchange. He entertained them by conjuring a multitude of beautiful puppets and enacting a play no one was familiar with, controlling the actions and words of the puppets nonverbally with only tiny movements of his fingers.
"So you never use a wand?" asked Mr. Granger.
"I do when I have to summon EF5 tornadoes," said Shin.
Only the Grangers laughed at the comment. They stopped as soon as they realised this.
"He's not joking?" whispered Mrs. Granger.
"I have no idea," Jason whispered back. "The few times I thought he made a joke, it turned out he was completely serious. Like, when I was ten, I asked him if I was going to be short like him, and he told me it was highly unlikely I'd be anything less than six feet because he's actually six feet two. He said he shrunk himself a foot shorter because he doesn't like being tall—makes buying clothes and walking through doors a pain. Well, I don't know about six feet two, but he was completely right about me growing up to six feet."
"Wait, he told me he shrunk himself because being six feet two makes him too scary!" exclaimed Jeremy.
Jason stared at his brother, mouth open.
"He is actually six feet two?" he said incredulously, "how?!"
Jason and Jeremy descended upon their father and demanded he transform back to his full height, because their life didn't make sense anymore. Shin ignored them rather pointedly. Undeterred, they brought their sister Jacqueline into the fray. Jacqueline argued the idea he'd kept himself a foot shorter than his actual height for decades was ludicrous because how was he keeping his organs and nerve system intact, then?
Shin let out an aggrieved sigh after she said this. Then he put baby Elise to the side, and close his eyes.
Immediately he started changing; bare legs and arms shot out of their respective clothes holes as his limbs lengthened; his entire torso expanded in all directions and his shoulders broadened correspondingly. A moment later a very tall, lean but powerfully built man wearing Shin June Hu's face was sitting where the small Shin used to be, wearing clothes that were obviously meant for someone a foot shorter. Everyone was gaping at him.
"It's as I feared," Jason moaned as his siblings slumped against each other. "My dad has no sense of humour."
"I did warn you," said Shin, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Now if you are quite satisfied…"
"Actually, I like you six feet two," said Jeremy seriously. "Stay like that."
"I'm not altering my wardrobe. It's too much work."
"Appa, you only own like five things. And isn't it harder to buy clothes when you're five feet two in the UK?"
Shin considered this. Then he shrunk himself again, but only halfway. Jeremy groaned.
"Aaaand he turns himself five feet seven. Appa, you are a ridiculous human being," Jeremy declared as he altered his father's outfit to fit with an artful swish of his wand.
"Hear, hear," muttered Arthur very quietly.
Despite the unexpected—and dare say, unsettling— interlude, the Grangers continued to speak with the Shins. Mr. Granger and Jacqueline chatted amiably about Hermione's flute lessons and GSCE preparations. Jason joined Mrs. Granger at the kitchen, rolling his sleeves and saying, "No, no, I enjoy this—I'm a professional chef." Jeremy took over the children entertainment, twirling Elise around with his wand, and Martin and Rupert clamoured for their turn, when they weren't asking their grandpa levitate them, much to Shin's apparent chagrin.
In the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Ron, Ginny, Hermione and Julia slip into a room down the hall…
-oo00oo-
"So what's the scoop?" asked Ron immediately after Hermione closed the door to the guest room.
"Sirius Black didn't kill all those people," said Julia grimly. "He simply couldn't have."
"What?!" Ron, Ginny and Hermione exclaimed.
Julia whipped out a sketch book from her tote, turned over to a page and set it face up on the floor.
"This is a sketch of the scene where the curse happened," said Julia. "It's based on the CCTV footage that filmed the whole thing. Sherlock figured out where it must've happened based on the dates, and my dad managed to get hold of the footage through his police contacts. He wouldn't show me the actual crime scene photos; I had to nag him for days to get hold of this," the last bit was added a bit huffily.
"It was caught on tape?" said Hermione, surprised.
"Yes, but the police didn't think to examine it because their memories were modified to think it was a gas explosion. The Ministry of Magic didn't remove them because the hit-wizards at the time didn't know about CCTV."
The four of them bent over to study the sketch. There was a large oval shaped like a very fat egg labelled 'affected blast area', which had a much smaller circle labeled 'epicentre' about a quarter of the way from the longer end of the major axis. Twelve humanoid figures were drawn inside and just outside the blast area. A tiny finger was drawn at the edge of the epicentre, and the little arrow that pointed it out was labelled 'Pettigrew's finger'. A few inches outside the large oval was a small circle labelled 'Sirius Black'.
"The key is the finger," said Julia, placing her forefinger on it. "Pettigrew's finger was the only bit of him found at the scene. Now, if Pettigrew was blown up at an angle, you'd expect his finger to show up far from the epicentre."
Hermione, Ron and Ginny nodded, though the latter two knew nothing about physics.
"As you can see, it was discovered just outside the epicentre," Julia continued. "But maybe it was freak accident. That brings me to the more important point: the coroner report said the finger was cut off, not blasted off."
"How did the Muggles figure that out?" asked Ginny.
"When you cut flesh, the muscle fibres and bone will show signs of being sliced. If flesh is blasted off by force, you see a lot of rough and uneven tearing. The coroner's report on Pettigrew's finger said the digit was cut off very cleanly when the owner was still alive because the muscle fibres were sliced and there was plenty of bleeding, and dead people don't bleed. CCTV footage show all the Muggle victims were at least six feet away from Black and Pettigrew, and Pettigrew was pointing his wand behind his back just before the curse was cast. Do you know what this means?"
Hermione covered her mouth with both of her hands. "You're not suggesting—"
"Pettigrew was the one who cast the curse; he cut off his finger to make it look like Black was the one who cast the curse and killed him in the process," Julia concluded.
There was stunned silence for a span of a minute. Even Scabbers, who was hiding in Ron's pocket as usual, trembled as though sensing the weight of the unexpected truth.
"So the Ministry arrested the wrong man?" squeaked Ginny. "How could this happen? Why didn't Black defend himself at his trial?"
"There wasn't a trial," said Julia in hushed tones. "The Ministry of Magic was still operating under Martial Law when he was arrested. The Head of the Magical Law Enforcement at the time sentenced Black to life in Azkaban without a trial because his crime was 'too obvious'."
There was another stunned silence.
"So Black spent twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit," whispered Hermione. "And the real murderer got an award for framing him."
"…This is messed up," both Ron and Ginny declared.
There was a long pause.
"So what's happening now?" asked Hermione.
"Grandpa alerted Dumbledore and the current head investigator of Sirius Black's case about the new found evidence," Julia replied. "The problem is getting the sort of evidence you can present to the Wizengamot."
"What do you mean? Isn't there enough evidence to prove he's innocent?"
"Yes, but the problem is, it is all Muggle evidence," Julia said. "It's based on science. Can you imagine explaining to a bunch of old wizards and witches the difference between cut muscle fibres and blasted off muscle fibres and the underlying physics of explosions?"
Hermione sighed deeply. "Forget it. Never mind science, most wizards and witches don't have an ounce of logic."
"Exactly. So unless the Ministry, I don't know, finds Black's old wand and somehow show the Jury he didn't use a curse that could've cut off Pettigrew's finger, let alone kill thirteen people, we're stuck."
They stewed in another bout of silence.
"Is there anything else your grandpa told you?" asked Ginny.
"He just said: 'don't worry about it'," said Julia wearily. "That usually means he's doing something scary."
"…Blimey," said Ron with feeling. Though he didn't fear Grandmaster Shin as he used to, after seeing him comfort Ginny after the Riddle diary thing last year, he didn't doubt Mr. Shin could be as terrifying as everyone said he was.
"What about Sherlock? What is he doing?" asked Hermione.
"He's wrestling with the last remaining problem. See, it makes sense Black remained Azkaban for the last twelve years. He wouldn't have found the emotive energy to escape, not with Dementors guarding his cell day and night. He might've found a way to reduce their influence, but he couldn't've have found a way to completely block it, not without a wand. He's a human being, so he'll always have emotions, whether he likes it or not, and he can't stay vigilant to guard his emotions all the time. Black only found the strong enough motive—anger, probably—to try breaking out of prison this summer. The thing that gave him the motive was the copy of the Daily Prophet Fudge gave him. But there's nothing on that copy of the Prophet as far as we can see that could've given him the motive; the only photograph it had was you and your family at Egypt after winning the Annual Prophet Draw and the rest of the articles were humdrum news. What did Black see that made him move?"
Ron scratched his head. "Why is finding this out important?"
"Daddy said unless we find this out, Black will stay hidden unless he makes a mistake. Black has no reason to trust anyone. He'll likely react very badly to any attempts of approach, and we don't want that. So we have to find out quickly and use that knowledge to gain his trust."
"But if the Ministry exonerates him and the Prophet runs the article, maybe he'll turn himself in," said Hermione.
Julia let out an explosive sigh. "What if he thinks the article is a trap? What guarantee do we have Black is even reading the Prophet? There're too many variables there."
There was another pause.
"So, as usual, it's all up to Sherlock," said Ron. He shook his head. "You know, the whole situation's mad when you think about it: A Muggle is doing a better job at solving magic crime than Wizards, and the Ministry of Magic throws people into prison without a trial. What's become of our world, eh?"
-oo00oo-
Christmas spirit was definitely thin on the ground in 221B after everyone left bed. Harry displayed little appetite at lunchtime, and rather sombrely unwrapped his presents by the Christmas tree (decorated in Narnia theme this year). The only bit of levity occurred when John opened an anonymous gift that contained John's old RAMC mug with a little note that simply said: 'apologies'. John snorted before turning serious again.
"What d'you think is going to happen?" Harry asked quietly after examining the new broom someone got for him.
It was Sherlock who eventually answered:
"Best Case scenario: Sirius Black is publicly exonerated, and Pettigrew is apprehended at Hogwarts. Dementors return to Azkaban. Pettigrew is tried and convicted of mass-murder. Odds: small, and very unlikely.
"Most probable scenario: Sirius Black is quietly exonerated when the Yard makes a huge fuss and the Minister hears about it. Dementors return to Azkaban. Ministry of Magic makes little move to apprehend Pettigrew to avoid further embarrassment. Odds: high, holding steady."
"And the worst case scenario?"
"Sirius Black is found by Dementors and given the 'Kiss'. Ministry of Magic pardons him posthumously when the Yard makes a huge fuss and the Minister hears about it. Pettigrew remains at large. Odds: unknown, but not zero."
Harry went still for a moment.
"If the best case scenario happens, what will happen? Fudge said Sirius Black is my godfather. Doesn't that mean he has custody over me?"
Neither John nor Sherlock answered. Harry bowed his head.
"I don't want to leave," he whispered.
John came over and warped her arm around Harry. After a long period of comforting silence, John started to speak:
"Harry, I'm not going to do something stupid like promising you it's going to be alright. Because nothing we do will ever make it alright. Sirius will never get those twelve years back, and he's probably going to need years of therapy just to sort-of get over his Azkaban experience. But we can't overlook him. And this I can promise you: Sherlock and I are going to fight for you stay and we won't pull any punches, I mean it."
Harry let out a series of weak snorts before calming down.
"You're gonna bring down the Ministry."
"If that's what it takes, yes," said Sherlock matter-of-factly. "But for now, we'll consider less strenuous solutions."
Harry laughed again.
-oo00oo-
John spent a very lazy Christmas evening after sending a considerably brightened in spirit Harry to Hermione's. John gamely tried to distract Sherlock from his contemplation of the copy of the Daily Prophet that triggered the whole Sirius Black mess, but her efforts were in vain. So John left him at it and played around with the newest version of the MMN phone, which Jackie sent for Christmas. It now had a holographic user manual, where a tiny 3D image of Jacqueline demonstrated the basic functionalities for first time users. John vaguely wondered how Jackie got it to work. The last time Jackie mentioned the MMN user manual, she was frustrated by the fact the ideal version she wanted to distribute required too much magic for her to create, none of the students had the necessary skill and knowledge to make it for her and she was wary of asking her father's help because that might open the floodgates of future meddling. Perhaps the new worker she hired last week helped her out. Jackie was as lavish in her praise of his usefulness as she was in vocalizing her despair over his appalling inability to dress himself.
John fell asleep after reading and replying to Harry's tenth text about Ron's pet rat Scabbers's disappearance. Ron was convinced Hermione's cat Crookshanks had finally eaten him after unsuccessfully trying to for the last three months, and Hermione was equally convinced her cat had done no such thing. Harry was inclined to agree with Hermione since Crookshanks showed no evidence of recent rodent consumption (clean mouth, teeth and fur), but was wondering how he was supposed to break the news. Ron was deeply upset at Scabbers' apparent death, thus was in no mood to hear the truth.
A sudden movement from Sherlock's side of the table awakened John.
"Did you figure something out?" John murmured sleepily.
Sherlock sat in silence, staring. Then he lean forward and cupped John's face with both hands.
"John," he whispered, "would you be afraid to sleep with a lunatic, a man with softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip?"
"No," John answered in astonishment.
"Good," he said. Then he carried John bridal style to the bedroom.
-oo00oo-
Severus was enjoying a reasonably good Christmas day, which in itself was a minor miracle all things considered. Watson sent a card as promised. Inside the obviously Muggle Christmas card, which had cartoon reindeer standing on their hind-legs on the front, was a sticker of a gold medal plus decorative ribbons. The handwritten script underneath the medal said: Winner of Colossal Prat Awards; Severus Snape; Merry Christmas, you bastard; JW. A crude doodle of Watson sticking out her tongue was drawn in the corner. After snorting at the card and carefully putting it away, Severus went to the Great Hall.
As usual, the House tables had been moved against the walls and a single table, set for nine, stood in the middle of the room. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick joined him shortly, along with Filch, the caretaker, who had taken off his usual brown coat and was wearing a very old and rather mouldy-looking tailcoat. There were only three students, two extremely nervous-looking first years and a sullen-faced Slytherin fifth year.
"Merry Christmas!" said Dumbledore once everyone expected settled down at the table. "As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the House tables… now dig in!"
As Severus was helping himself to some wine (and resolutely ignoring the cracker Dumbledore was offering), the doors of the Great Hall opened. It was Sibyll Trelawney, gliding toward them as though on wheels. She had put on a green sequined dress in honour of the occasion, making her look like a glittering, oversized dragonfly.
"Sybill, this is a pleasant surprise!" said Dumbledore, standing up.
"I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster," said Trelawney in her mistiest, most faraway voice, "and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness..."
"Certainly, certainly," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "Let me draw you up a chair—"
Dumbledore drew a chair in midair with his wand, which revolved for a few seconds before falling with a thud between Severus and McGonagall. Severus sighed at the theatrics. Trelawney lowered herself into the empty chair, eyes closed as though in meditation. Professor McGonagall poked a large spoon into the nearest tureen.
"Tripe, Sybill?"
Trelawney ignored her. Eyes open again, she looked around once more and said, "But where is dear Professor Lupin?"
"I'm afraid the poor fellow is ill again," said Dumbledore, indicating that everybody should start serving themselves. "Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day."
"But surely you already knew that, Sybill?" said McGonagall, her eyebrows raised.
Trelawney gave McGonagall a very cold look.
"Certainly I knew, Minerva," she said quietly. "But one does not parade the fact that one is All-Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous."
"That explains a great deal," said McGonagall tartly.
Severus tried his best not to laugh as Trelawney's voice suddenly became a good deal less misty.
"If you must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us for very long. He seems aware, himself, that his time is short. He positively fled when I offered to crystal gaze for him—"
"Imagine that," said McGonagall dryly.
"I doubt," said Dumbledore, in a cheerful but slightly raised voice, which put an end to McGonagall and Trelawney's cat fight, "that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus, you've made the potion for him again?"
"Yes, Headmaster," said Severus.
"Good," said Dumbledore. "Then he should be up and about in no time…Derek, have you had any of the chipolatas? They're excellent."
The first-year boy went furiously red on being addressed directly by Dumbledore, and took the platter of sausages with trembling hands.
Trelawney behaved almost normally until the very end of Christmas dinner, two hours later. The three students, full to bursting with Christmas dinner and still wearing their cracker hats, got up from the table and left the Great Hall. Severus had just finished his glass of wine was thinking of returning to his quarters when a loud, harsh voice spoke next him.
"IT WILL HAPPEN TONIGHT."
Severus wheeled around. Trelawney had gone rigid in her chair; her eyes were unfocused and her mouth sagging.
"Pardon?" said Severus.
But Trelawney didn't seem to hear him. Her eyes started to roll. She looked as though she was about to have some sort of seizure. Severus hesitated, weighing his options as his fellow teachers stared. Then Trelawney spoke again, in the same harsh voice, quite unlike her usual voice, but in the same time strangely familiar…
"THE DARK LORD LIES ALONE AND FRIENDLESS, ABANDONED BY HIS FOLLOWERS. HIS SERVANT HAS BEEN CHAINED THESE TWELVE YEARS. TONIGHT, BEFORE MIDNIGHT…THE SERVANT WILL BREAK FREE AND SET OUT TO REJOIN HIS MASTER. THE DARK LORD WILL RISE AGAIN WITH HIS SERVANT'S AID, GREATER AND MORE TERRIBLE THAN EVER HE WAS. TONIGHT… BEFORE MIDNIGHT…THE SERVANT…WILL SET OUT…TO REJOIN…HIS MASTER…"
Trelawney's head fell forward onto her chest. She made a grunting sort of noise. Then, quite suddenly, Trelawney's head snapped up again.
"I'm so sorry," she said dreamily, "I drifted off for a moment…"
Everyone continued to stare at her.
"Is there anything wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing untoward," said Dumbledore, looking mildly impressed.
"…Was she making a genuine prediction?" asked McGonagall after Trelawney headed back to the Divination tower.
"Do you know, Minerva, I think she might have been." Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "Who'd have thought it? That brings her total of real predictions up to two. I should offer her a pay raise…"
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: Of course, it would've taken a long time for Sherlock and Lestrade to grab hold of the incident reports from twelve years ago—if they followed regular due process and if they began looking for them when the holidays started. But if Sherlock started digging the moment Harry told him about the Pettigrew glitch, and they had the help of, say, a certain minor government official, they would've got hold of the microfilms that stored the data a lot faster…
What bothered me the most about Sirius's situation was the loss; granting him public exoneration and all the money in the world isn't going to give him back the twelve year he'd lost and missed. At least now everyone (sort of) knows Sirius is innocent. They just need to find him and convince him they're not out to get him. Without Peter. Alas.
Early update for you! I swear it only took me eight hours to finish writing the whole thing.