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 Nine: Digging Deeper into Alarm
It looked like the end of Ron and Hermione's friendship had come by the end of Christmas day. Each was so angry with the other that Harry couldn't see how they'd ever make up. Ron was enraged that Hermione had never taken Crookshanks' attempts to eat Scabbers seriously, hadn't bothered to keep a close enough watch on him, and was still trying to pretend that Crookshanks was innocent by suggesting that Ron look for Scabbers outside in the morning. Hermione, meanwhile, maintained fiercely that Ron had no proof that Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers, that Ron had been prejudiced against her cat ever since Crookshanks had landed on Ron's head in the Magical Menagerie, and besides, why in the world he did bring Scabbers to her home when he knew Crookshanks would be there?
"He wouldn't stay put!" Ron said miserably. "He kept clinging to the insides of my pocket and wouldn't let go!"
"Yeah, that's true," said Ginny.
"Chose the comfort of your pocket over safety from Crookshanks, yeah?" said Julia wryly, at which point Hermione lost her temper with all them.
"Oh, fine! Side with Ron, I knew you all would!" she said shrilly. "Everything's my fault, isn't it?"
"No, no, that's not what I meant!" said Julia, reaching out to Hermione, but she just jerked Julia's hand out of the way and marched into her room, slamming the door shut.
Julia, Mr. and Mrs. Granger spent the next hour trying to cajole Hermione out of her room, while Ginny and Harry attempted to cheer Ron up. For all his moaning over Scabbers, Ron had taken the loss of his rat very hard indeed.
"I reckon Scabbers is still alive," said Harry. "He's very hardy, especially for a Rat that's six-years-old."
"That's not the point," said Ron, glaring resentfully at Hermione's bedroom. "If she just acted like she was sorry— but she'll never admit she's wrong, Hermione. She thinks as long as Crookshanks didn't eat Scabbers it's all fine."
In a last ditch effort to find a way to mediate between his two friends, Harry texted John, but John said talking to someone who was not willing to listen was futile.
It was looking like the sleepover was going to be cancelled, when Sherlock called him.
"Where is Scabbers, did you find him?" Sherlock demanded.
"No," said Harry. "Mr. Jason and Jeremy are still looking around, but they aren't optimistic."
Sherlock's face clouded over.
"Pass me over to Grandmaster Shin."
Harry put Sherlock on holographic projection and speaker after Mr. Shin came over (as well as everyone else).
"We need to find that rat," Sherlock declared. "Peter Pettigrew is Ron's pet rat 'Scabbers'."
It took a few seconds for the absurdity of this statement to sink in.
"You're mental," Ron gasped.
"Ridiculous!" said Hermione faintly, surprising Harry with her presence.
"Are you sure?" asked Mr. Shin, eyes burning.
"The edition of the Daily Prophet Black received had only one article of interest: the headline," explained Sherlock in rapid-fire fashion. "The accompanying photograph features Arthur's family. It is highly unlikely featured persons are someone other than who they appear to be. Someone in the family would've noted the person was acting 'off' otherwise. That leaves only the pet Rat as potentially something other than what it appears to be."
"You're mad," Ron repeated shakily. "Scabbers is just a rat."
Sherlock ignored him. "Arthur, how long has your family had Scabbers?"
"…I don't know," said Mr. Weasley, still looking stunned. "Percy found him in our orchard… before he left for Hogwarts, I think?"
"Too long for a common garden rat to stay alive, don't you think?"
"We—we've taken good care of him—" Ron protested.
Sherlock ignored that too. "Has he been missing his toe since the start?"
Mr. Weasley went slack-jawed. "Yes, I remember Molly telling Percy: you don't want that rat, it's missing a toe."
"Don't you see?" said Sherlock impatiently, frustration radiating out of every angle of his face. "The only bit of Pettigrew your people recovered was his finger. We know the finger was cut off when the owner was still alive. We also know Pettigrew is still alive via the Marauder's map, the Holographic map and the testimony of the Hogwarts' ghosts. Explanation: the missing finger remained missing when Pettigrew transformed into a rat to flee from the law; after fleeing, Pettigrew insinuated himself into Arthur's household as a pet—both to hide and to keep tabs on the wizard world, no doubt; the Marauder's map picked up his presence when Percy— and later Ron— brought him to Hogwarts, and it wrote his true name rather than the one he is going by."
Even after the explanation that had the same rigor of reasoning that was characteristic of Sherlock, Harry continued to stare blankly. It was just too much to swallow. How could Scabbers be Pettigrew? But. Sherlock was rarely wrong on this sort of thing, and didn't he always tell him: once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth…? Pettigrew as an Animagus was not impossible, so…
Then Hermione spoke, in a trembling, would-be calm sort of voice, as though trying to will Sherlock to talk sensibly.
"But Scabbers can't be Pettigrew… it just can't be true … you know it can't…"
"Why not?" said Sherlock, eyebrow raised.
"Because… because people would know if Peter Pettigrew had been an Animagus. We did Animagi in class with Professor McGonagall. I looked them up when I did my homework— the Ministry of Magic keeps tabs on witches and wizards who can become animals; there's a register showing what animal they become, and their markings and things…and I went and looked Professor McGonagall up on the register, and there have been only seven Animagi this century, and Pettigrew's name wasn't on the list."
Harry had barely had time to marvel inwardly at the effort Hermione put into her homework, when Sherlock gave her a deeply pitying look.
"If everyone did what they are supposed to do, the world would be at peace and the police and I would be out of a job. He's an illegal Animagus. Obviously."
"But why would he try being an Animagus at all?" Hermione still argued, "The Animagus transformation can go horribly wrong—one reason the Ministry keeps a close watch on those attempting to do it!"
"We can ask Pettigrew that question after we catch him," said Sherlock dismissively, before turned very serious. "Dr. Shin, are you willing to risk the possibility of letting an actual murderer go free just because of it's too hard to believe who the murderer is?"
Mr. Shin looked at him piercingly.
"I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt," he said. "You have been highly accurate so far. There's no reason to believe you are not accurate right now. Luckily, the search for the rat is still on."
"Are you going all out?"
"I am, as a matter of fact. Pets are a serious business."
"Are you kidding me?"
"I do not kid," said Mr. Shin severely.
"He really doesn't," sighed Miss Jackie. "He and humour are not on speaking terms."
"In all seriousness," said Mr. Shin, interrupting, "Mr. Holmes, you've done your part. I will take it from here. Thank you for your input."
Sherlock was about to open his mouth, but Mr. Shin made a diagonal zipping gesture and the connection was cut off, eliminating the holographic projection in the process.
"Appa, that was rude," Miss Jackie chided.
"He will risk another memory erasure if he continues to get himself involved," said Mr. Shin. "His very existence speaks against the popular notion that non-Magical people simply do not notice nor understand magic. No need for the Ministry to be aware of this and work to destroy that magnificent mind of his."
Miss Jackie nodded.
"We must go to the Ministry," Mr. Shin continued, standing tall. "Arthur Weasley, follow me; Jacqueline, standby."
Mr. Shin put both hands forward and made a grasping gesture, like he was grabbing hold of the very fabric of reality. Then he tore open a hole in the empty space, which revealed a hallway that drew recognition from Mr. Weasley, Ron and Ginny. Without changing his expression, Mr. Shin marched right through the long, lens-shaped hole. Mr. Weasley followed after him, looking completely dazed.
As soon as Mr. Weasley walked through the hole, it sealed itself and vanished.
"You … you don't call him Grandmaster for nothing, do you?" said Mr. Granger shakily after a long pause.
All the magic people shook their heads.
-oo00oo-
Several things happened after Sherlock announced his final deduction regarding Peter Pettigrew. Jason and Jeremy alerted their father that they'd found Ron's pet rat in a sewer nearby. Shin ordered them to keep the rat immobilized and bring it to the Ministry of Magic. Then Shin made a fire-call to the previous Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
"Bartemius Crouch!"
An elderly man whose grey hair was parted almost unnaturally straight, and whose narrow toothbrush moustache looked as though it had been trimmed using a ruler, eventually answered the call.
"What is it, Shin?" said Crouch irritably.
"You've asked me to keep you abreast of any new developments in Sirius Black's recapture, and I'm honouring that request," said Shin brusquely. "The Muggle law enforcement has uncovered film footage that shows Sirius Black did NOT cast the Blasting Curse that killed twelve Muggles. They are working under the assumption Black escaped prison to prove his innocence even as I speak. We also uncovered evidence that show Peter Pettigrew is still alive."
Crouch's eyes started to pop alarmingly. "Are you serious?"
"When have I ever made a joke?"
"Are you at the Auror's office?"
"Yes, and I'm going to alert Dawlish. If I'm not there, he will be."
"Excellent. I will be there in a few minutes."
Shin's head disappeared from the emerald flames in the Crouches' fireplace with a faint pop. Crouch rose from his seat, but he immediately pitched forward when a savage blow landed on the back of his head…
-oo00oo-
Elsewhere in London, unbeknownst to the Magic community, two Muggles were discussing Magic matters.
"I can't believe it took me this long to figure it out," Sherlock grumbled into John's sternum. "It should've been obvious the moment we learned only Pettigrew's finger was recovered from the scene and we found the exact newspaper that triggered Black's jailbreak."
"I'm shocked you managed to figure out the connection at all," said John, rubbing his head consolingly.
Sherlock relaxed under John's hair massage. "I'm disappointed at Hermione. I thought she was cleverer than that."
"Law-abiding suburbanites, good students of true human nature do not make."
The rumbling noise Sherlock made was very much akin to purring.
"But oh, the horrors they are capable of creating. One of the curses of a mind with a turn like mine is that I must look at everything with reference to the Work. You look at a charming suburbia and countrysides and are impressed by the peacefulness it presents. I think of the horrors one could commit with impunity simply because no one expects it. At least in London, one's sense that evil is always at bay is sharp. In those isolated, sterile areas that sense is blunted thanks to residents' sheer wilful ignorance of evil."
"Okay, now you're creeping me out with your sinister musings. Let's see if we can change your mood a bit."
There was an interval.
"Feeling better?" asked John.
Sherlock nodded. "Especially since the whole wretched business is now about to end."
But Sherlock proved incorrect the next morning, when the Daily Prophet's headlines announced the capture of Peter Pettigrew—alive and an unregistered rat Animagus to boot—and his subsequent daring escape from the Ministry of Magic shortly after an important, unnamed Ministry Official was attacked at his home.
"How did he manage to escape?" Sherlock asked over the phone immediately upon reading the article.
Mr. Shin looked remorseful.
"It's my fault. I should've stayed until he was transported to Azkaban—or alerted Dumbledore first," he said.
"So it happened after your departure?"
"And while Dawlish waited for the minister to appear. Unfortunately, Fudge was in the middle of entertaining foreign dignitaries and didn't arrive until many hours later."
"What kind Minister delays matters of Homeland security over Christmas parties?"
"One who believes he need not hurry when it appears his trusted underlings has everything under control."
Sherlock exhaled loudly. "I despair over your current Administration."
"As do I of yours. But Dawlish and I were able to verify the fact Pettigrew was indeed an unregistered Animagus and impossibly still alive. I'm certain Dawlish would not have been caught unawares if the third party—yes, I do not doubt there was one—didn't put the 'Important Ministry Official' under the Imperius Curse and stunned him before escaping with Peter. I am not convinced all the facts will be enough to exonerate Black immediately, but the current Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has called for reinvestigation."
"What are they going to do about the Dementors?" asked John.
Mr. Shin pursed his lips. "Fudge decided the Dementors must remain where they are as it is not completely clear Sirius Black is innocent. He might, after all, have been working independently or in league with Pettigrew."
"… How can he even think that's possible?" asked Sherlock incredulously.
"Mighty good show of loyalty, staying in Azkaban for twelve years to keep Peter out it, yeah?" said John.
"For his defence, I should mention Fudge is very distraught at the unexpected turn of events," said Mr. Shin. "Again, I'm deeply sorry how things turned out."
"Not your fault your colleagues are idiots," said Sherlock.
"Don't call my friends idiots," Mr. Shin growled. "One more thing before I go. Is your son present?"
Harry scampered over to join the conversation he was eavesdropping on from the kitchen.
"A genuine prophecy was made yesterday," said Mr. Shin solemnly. "I am alerting you as the Head of Department of Mysteries since it concerns Harry in particular."
All three people started: Sherlock with guarded scepticism; John and Harry with palpable surprise. Mr. Shin proceeded without further ado:
"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 he ever was."
"…Ridiculous," Sherlock muttered.
"It doesn't matter whether you believe it or not," said Mr. Shin bluntly. "But do not say I didn't warn you."
And with that, Mr. Shin's holographic image vanished.
-oo00oo-
Harry spent the rest of Boxing Day brooding over the prophecy and feeling a strong sense an even bigger storm was brewing outside. John and Sherlock acted as though there was nothing to fret over, but then they were John and Sherlock. What would leave anyone else (i.e. Harry) in a useless mess of jittery nerves didn't faze them after years of exposure to danger. Sherlock retorted there was no point in worrying, for there was nothing at all for them to do. John exhorted him to set the whole thing aside, because if it was going to happen anyway, worrying about it wasn't going to help.
However, Harry couldn't help but work his brain to the point of exhaustion asking questions that he couldn't answer: Who made the prediction? How did Mr. Shin know it was real? Was Pettigrew a Voldemort supporter? How could any of his birth father's friends turn out to be Voldemort supporters? How did James Potter become friends with such a fiend, who willingly lived as a rat for twelve years to hide from the law?
Then sometime late in the afternoon, Harry remembered something. He pushed his books aside from his trunk and quickly found what he was looking for—the leather-bound photo album Hagrid made for him a year and a half ago for his birthday, which was full of wizard pictures of his biological mother and father. He sat down on his bed, checking his door to make sure it was locked, and started turning the pages, searching, until…
He stopped on a picture of his parents' wedding day. There was his father waving up at him, beaming, the untidy black hair Harry had inherited standing up in all directions. There was his birth mother, alight with happiness, arm in arm with his dad. And there… that must be him. Their best man… Harry had never given him a thought before.
If he hadn't known it was the same person, he would never have guessed it was Black in this old photograph. His face wasn't sunken and waxy, but handsome, full of laughter. Did he have any inkling he was facing twelve years in Azkaban, twelve years that would make him unrecognisable, for a crime he didn't commit?
Nothing we do will ever make it alright, Harry thought, recalling John's words, as he stared at the handsome, laughing face. 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…
Harry imagined what it might've been like, if the mess didn't happen. The years he might've had instead of the nine years he had with the Dursleys, if Sirius Black hadn't been framed. He had a vague notion of a happier childhood, raised by his godfather. Then he invariably wondered if he would've still met Sherlock and John if that were the case. In all likelihood: no. He would've been raised all Magic, like Ron or Neville probably, not even knowing what Muggles were really like. Harry meant it when he said he didn't want to leave his current home. He would never trade the four years he'd spent with John and Sherlock. It wasn't like he could. But.
But…
You mean that it would have turned out all right—somehow? But how? Please, Aslan! Am I not to know?
To know what would have happened, child? No. Nobody is to ever told that.
Oh dear.
But anyone can find out what will happen.
A rooster crowed.
Harry closed the album, pulled out his M-mobile phone and pressed the home button.
"Hi, Harry, how was your brooding day?" said Julia lightly.
Harry snorted, "Giving me brooding periods, are you?"
"You do like your breathing space when something upsetting happens. Why are you like my Dad?"
"I didn't know your Dad had brooding periods. He's so laidback most of the time. Okay, he busts a vein when he deals with Sherlock, but that's everyone."
"Ellen gives him two hours to stew and afterwards all bets are off; she's in full roaring: 'TellMeEverythingNow'."
Harry laughed. "You gave me a whole day."
"I figured you needed a longer time. But that's it. There're too many things I'm dying to tell you: Like how Ron was freaking out over letting Pettigrew sleep in his bed."
Harry laughed again.
-oo00oo-
Inside the Leaky Cauldron's private parlour, a broad, square-jawed witch with very short grey hair, thick eyebrows and a monocle, and a tall, bald black wizard wearing a single gold hoop earring were sitting on armchairs. The witch, Amelia Bones, checked her pocket watch repeatedly, while the wizard, Kingsley Shacklebolt, remained calm.
"Are you sure he knows how to get here?" asked Madam Bones in a booming voice.
"Yes, ma'am," said Kingsley in deep slow voice that exuded confidence.
"And we can trust him?"
"Absolutely. Lestrade is the only reason why I haven't had to contact the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee for the Embalmer case."
"How did he explain away the potions and the bodies?"
"He told his superiors that it is evidence that the murders have occultist roots."
Madam Bones nodded in approval. "We get a lot of mileage out of that one. Good thinking of him. What more can you tell me about Lestrade?"
"This is strictly off-record, but I suspect he is a wizard who had 1962 syndrome," said Kingsley.
Madam Bones' monocle almost fell out.
"1962 you say? Why wasn't he verified? And how do you know he's a wizard?"
"Muggle-repelling charms don't work with him, and all of his children have magic, despite having three different mothers, two of them Muggles. As for why he wasn't verified, Lestrade was born after 1962, so he can't have been affected by the Incident of 1962. Still, he grew up without knowing he is a wizard or showing any signs of magic until recently. I did some digging around on his background and all accounts point to him having a very difficult childhood after his mother left him in the care of an old Muggle woman who probably wasn't his actual grandmother."
Madam Bones pursed her lips. "In short, he may resent our kind for abandoning him."
"He tolerates magic, but asking him to testify as a wizard may be too much."
"I see. Thank you, Kingsley. I'll keep this in mind when I talk to him."
Bones and Kingsley waited for another ten minutes. Then a middle-aged man, silver-haired, tall and handsome, and wearing a Muggle suit entered the room.
"Sorry, had a meeting with the Super," he said gruffly. "Hello, I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard."
"Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," said Madam Bones, shaking his hand. "You already met Kingsley, of course."
"Yes, how do you do," said Lestrade, bowing.
They sat down.
"My Super already kicked the Sirius Black case back to the Home Office," said Lestrade without any pleasantries. "I expect our Prime Minister will talk to your Minister soon."
"The Minister will certainly have to talk to him," said Madam Bones grimly. "Can you show us the film footage?"
Lestrade shook his head. "I can't take the video out of the office or make copies. More than my job's worth."
Madam Bones and Kingsley looked disappointed, but not entirely surprised.
"But I can show you some interesting screenshots," said Lestrade, grinning.
Lestrade opened the locked briefcase he was carrying and showed Madam Bones and Kingsley several CCTV footage stills. The first one showed the grainy image of Pettigrew and Black facing each other, from a camera that was located on top of a pole at the left side of a street, a few paces behind Black. The second still showed Pettigrew had his wand hand behind his back and Black pulling out his own wand. The third footage showed an explosion happening right behind Pettigrew, and Black's wand tip showing no signs of emitting a spell. The fourth still showed Pettigrew, alive but without a finger. The fifth and final still only had Black standing with his back still facing the camera and staring at the giant crater in front of him.
There was a stunned silence.
"How did you get this?" asked Madam Bones weakly.
"The UK has more cameras per person than in any other country in the world," said Lestrade. "Footages like these are kept in the archives longer. So it was a matter of finding out where and when to look for."
"So Muggles have had footages like these since 2000?"
"Starting 1994, actually."
Madam Bones groaned. "The Ministry only started to do something about security cameras in 2002."
"My non-magic government probably knows all about you guys, yeah," said Lestrade sardonically. "They just haven't done anything about it because it's too troublesome."
Madam Bones groaned again.
"We'll have to deal with this issue separately, Madam Bones," said Kingsley. "Let's focus on Pettigrew for now."
Madam Bones nodded as she gathered herself.
"Kingsley, tell all hands to start looking for Peter Pettigrew as prime suspect. Then look through the archives and see if we still have Black's old wand in storage. If you do, verify Black's last curse isn't the Blasting Curse. We don't want to botch this up."
Kingsley nodded curtly.
"My sincere thanks on behalf of the Wizarding World, Mr. Lestrade," said Madam Bones, shaking Lestrade's hand firmly. "I hope we haven't put you in a difficult position."
Lestrade shrugged. "Ask the Prime Minister if you need more help."
"We may have to ask you to testify in court. The Muggle victims need a voice," Madam Bones added cautiously.
"I know what you're doing," Lestrade growled. "You're not going to convince me with that argument."
"My apologies," said Madam Bones immediately.
Lestrade shook his head ruefully.
"I don't— hate your world, you know. I've lived long enough to know that life has the good and the bad. You wizards aren't saints and your world ain't a utopia. I get that. I'll testify if you need me to, but don't ask me be one of you. I can't."
"I understand. But to let you in our courts, we need to prove you're a wizard. Have you been fitted with a wand?"
Lestrade sighed, "Too wizard for my taste and a bit hard on the family budget."
"Is your father-in-law willing to impart his secret of wandless magic?"
"He is, and I asked, but he said his method of doing magic requires twenty years of training, two years minimum per spell, and a lot of book studying. Book-learning is not my strongest suit."
Kingsley smiled ruefully. "Maybe you're from an old wizard family and have some inheritance due."
Lestrade scoffed at the idea. "Knowing my luck, I'll just end up with a lot of family debt."
"I'll tell you if there is. What's your full name?"
"I'm assuming you want the one I had to grow up with and got beaten up by neighbourhood kids for."
"That sounds promising."
Lestrade laughed hollowly before answering: "Rogerius Gregory Lestrange."
Lestrade waited for a response.
When it wasn't forthcoming after a full minute, he tried waving a hand.
"Hello? Anyone in there?"
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: I am a very evil person.
I was originally going to assign Sirius's case to Kingsley, but he's working on the Embalmer case now, and I figured Kingsley volunteered to take over Sirius's case post-GOF, and the previous lead Auror was more than happy to shift off the responsibility after Sirius evaded capture for two years. So I gave Sirius's case to Dawlish. Dawlish, though a very capable Auror, was expecting Barty Crouch Sr. to show up, and when he did, he was caught by surprised when the Imperiused Crouch stunned him. Shin left because he finally got the message from Dumbledore about Trelawney's second real prediction and went to do his job of recording the prophecy. Alas.
I couldn't resist quoting The Chronicles of Narnia, Prince Caspian
Exactly one year ago today, I posted the first chapter of A Study in Magic. I cannot believe I produced 39 chapters since then. Goodness.