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 backward 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 Forty: Caring Inspiration
February was dawning in Hogsmeade. As the earnest and hardworking residents were yawning and groping for their morning brew, they blearily looked outside their windows to watch the new spectacle that spiced up their village. As the sun brightened the sky above the rooftops into a dusty pink, a man wearing a swamp-coloured T-shirt and fluorescent blue trousers, climbed out of the top window of the Three Broomsticks and vaulted up to the roof. Visibly steaming the frigid winter air around him, the man stood, perfectly poised and motionless, and gazed over the horizon with an empty longbow in his hand.
Flying specs appeared from a distance. Once they got close enough to be identified as Post-owls, the man made a drawn archer's pose. His bow bent obligingly, despite lacking a bowstring. He released, and a thick beam of light shot out and flew toward the owls. The beam divided into hundreds of small clusters of light beams mid-way. The light beams went through the owls harmlessly but ignited some of the letters they bore like miniature fireworks. But when the smoke cleared, the post appeared intact.
The man sent several flurries of these lights until it went through all the owls and their post. Then he waited for the owls—twenty plus in number on that particular day—to settle around him so he could collect the mail. Once he filled his bag with post and the owls took flight again, the man swung back into the Three Broomsticks through the top window like a gymnast.
Inside an airy studio that had a kitchenette, the man— Robert by name— slapped on a headset connected to a glass case that looked like a touchscreen mobile phone, except emerald-green flames were burning inside it, and called out a name.
"Hey Tim," said Robert once the phone clicked.
"Bob! 'Sup, brutha?" a voice replied.
"I'm good. How's the baby?"
"He's good. Healthy, eating well and sleeping well; can't ask for more."
Robert smiled as he sat before a small oak desk. "Awesome."
Tim and Robert chatted as the latter sorted through a small mountain of mail. Envelopes were sliced open with surgical precision, their contents were scanned rapidly and then put into different piles, one made entirely of empty red envelopes. Only two bits of mail needed more than ten seconds; one contained undiluted Bubotuber-pus, thus required the use of Dragon-hid gloves, and the other contained a long, scathing letter from an old witch from Bath, who felt insulted when she didn't receive a proper letter (handwritten on parchment) in response to her complaint.
"So how are you calling me, I thought phones just blow up on you," asked Tim.
"The UK has a phone that doesn't."
"Sweet. And how is England?"
"Scotland, actually," said Robert as he contemplated the long letter. "Feels like I'm living in a perpetual Ren Fest."
"Is that a good thing?"
Robert shrugged. "The villagers are friendly, no one stares, the indoor plumbing scares the living daylights out of me and the food is British; thank God for kitchenettes. I love my boss and my temp job is awesome."
"Your Facebook status said you played Halo 3 at work for three hours. What kind of job is it?"
"My title is customer service rep, but I only have to do customer service-y things ten minutes a day. The rest, I'm idling about or helping the boss with her funny side projects or playing video games with her."
"And you get paid full-time for it. That's sick, man."
"Honestly, I wouldn't have even gotten the job if the boss was allowed to hire non-magic people and she had fewer scruples about hiring students."
"What does the company do?"
Robert grinned. "It makes phones that don't blow up on me."
"What!?"
Robert explained the Magical Mobile Network at great length while painstakingly constructing replies using pre-typed responses on a laptop with the hunt-and-peck method of typing. After ensuring he got all the recipient names right and the font had the appropriate script-like look, he fed a long roll of ironed parchment into an ancient printer and printed the letters. He then cut and enclosed all the letters into parchment envelopes, stuffed the whole lot into a drawstring bag, opened a window and hurled the bag into the Post Office's open window.
"Basically it's like the iPhone, only magic," Robert concluded as he dusted his hands. "Connecting to the regular wireless telecom network is a recent development. No idea how my boss did it; I just remember donating a bit of blood one day and boom, it worked."
"Cool. So when are you coming home?"
The smile on Robert's face faded at the question. He paused at the kitchenette, where a saucepan was shimmering something over an open fire.
"…I don't know," Robert replied at length.
"You okay, man?"
Robert made a non-committal noise.
"The kids miss you. Ben called me, like, ten times, asking me how you're doing."
"I'm just tired," Robert sighed as he picked up a chef's knife. "I'm really burnt out."
"Guest surgeon gig didn't help?"
"No, I met my ex after the first month."
"Ouch."
"And check this out: she married Sherlock Holmes and adopted Harry Potter."
Robert pulled out carrots, potatoes, and onions from the root cellar while Tim digested this statement.
"…That's not funny, Bob."
"You know humor and I have been violently estranged since birth."
"I still think you're lying. And isn't Sherlock Holmes having an epic Bromance with Dr. John Watson?"
"My ex is Dr. John Watson. She changed her name from Hailey to John."
"Seriously, stop lying, you're not funny. Anyway, is that why you're hiding out in Scotland? Does that help?"
"It's nice being helpful."
"You're always helpful."
"I'm always useful. Not the same thing."
The phone was silent for another spell. Robert used the time to chop up root vegetable matter in blinding speeds.
"I do miss the states," Robert admitted as he dumped the chopped veggies into a bowl. "The atmosphere is … dark and oppressive here; sometimes literally."
He paused as a tall, black hooded figure glided by from the street below, leaving a rattling chill in its wake. A great multitude of creatures just like they were guarding the entrance of a large castle looming tall in a distance. Robert's eyes lingered on the castle for several heartbeats before he turned his attention back to his current abode.
"I'll head back when the gig is over," he promised. "I have to go back pretending to work. Talk to you later."
"Sure. Good to hear from you, brutha. See ya."
The burning emerald flames inside the glass case shrunk down to pea-size. Robert sighed deeply through his nose. Then he resumed cooking. After filling a bento box and wrapping up it up in a patterned handkerchief, Robert walked over to the wheeled Samsonite luggage bag in the corner. He pondered over the enormous selection of clothes tucked inside by magic. After seriously considering a suit that looked as though it was sewn up after turning a mirror into a piece of cloth and a brown see-through sequined shirt, he picked a pair of baggy cropped trousers, a rainbow cardigan, and a woolly hat that had many different coloured stripes.
Thus dressed—without bothering to remove his knitted footwear— Robert got ready for his day.
-oo00oo-
Meanwhile, in Hogwarts castle, all the Hogwarts teachers were ensconced inside the staffroom. Ostensibly, it was to discuss the latest news regarding Sirius Black. Remus Lupin, for one, seriously doubted this was the real reason.
"No sign of him?" asked Dumbledore gravely.
"No, professor," Hagrid replied, equally gravely. "No sign of big black dogs either."
Dumbledore sighed. "I rather hoped Sirius would reveal himself on his own accord by now."
The look of deep loathing on Snape's face said he'd rather the Dementors find Sirius first. This didn't surprise Remus one whit. Snape had been simmering with rage since the Daily Prophet announced Sirius innocent of killing thirteen people with a single curse. Remus himself reeled at the news, which he received from Dumbledore right after the full moon on December. The two weeks following the announcement were among the happiest in his life; confessing Sirius' status as an illegal Animagus, his continued failure to master the cloning spell and the harrowing experience of teaching Harry the patronus charm did little to abate it. Only when Sirius failed to turn himself in, despite the Daily Prophet running weekly articles about him, did Remus start to worry again.
"What about you, Jacqueline?" asked Dumbledore.
Jacqueline reported negative. Perhaps it was Remus' imagination, but she looked … not healthy, but healthier.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "You will continue to look for him but NOT approach him when you're at Hogsmeade, of course?"
"Yes, sir," said Jacqueline, before looking at Hagrid pleadingly. "You really can't go today?"
Hagrid stared at the ceiling as he shook his shaggy head.
"Sorry, Jack. I promised Professor Kettleburn that I'd help him out with the … uh, flobberworms. Right, professor?"
"Yep!" boomed Kettleburn, too loudly.
Jacqueline narrowed her eyes as everyone else muttered their excuses. Sinistra elbowed Remus hard in ribs before he could say anything. Hagrid then used his bulk to prevent Remus from leaving the staffroom before all the other teachers trooped out with the exception of Dumbledore, who remained seated.
Jacqueline let out a long suffering sigh as the room emptied far too rapidly. Then she made a call.
"Hi, Robert. Do you have a way to go from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade without passing through the main gate?"
There was a pause. Then a slit appeared in the room and a very oddly dressed man stepped halfway out from the narrow aperture. He appeared to be around Remus' age, but his athletic build and thatch of tawny hair peeking out from his stripped hat him made Remus feel ancient in comparison. It actually took a couple of seconds to realise the man was Robert; his handsome face, which showed his mixed heritage plainly, was obscured behind a pair of rectangular purple sunglasses.
Jacqueline took one look at him and let out a tiny noise of distress.
"Robert," she said, "What are you doing?"
"You said you wanted to go to Hogsmeade without passing through the main gate," said Robert.
"I didn't mean right now!"
Robert grinned. "I know; just wanted to know if this was okay. Is it?" the last question was directed at Dumbledore.
"Interesting," said Dumbledore. "I've only heard about this spell. Portals, I believe they are called?"
"Yep," said Robert as he peered around the staffroom with great interest.
"I wonder how you came to learn this spell, when it is almost exclusively practiced by Healers in America, from which you clearly come from judging from your accent."
"I used to work in Healthcare," Robert replied easily.
Dumbledore peered over his half-moon glasses. "In what capacity, may I ask?"
"The operating theater; wizards and witches balk at the idea scalpels, you know. So we use portals instead."
"That doesn't quite answer my question," Dumbledore pressed.
Robert was blinking at the headmaster as he mustered his next answer, presumably, but Jacqueline interrupted him.
"Are those knitted crocs, Robert?" she burst out, as though she couldn't hold in the question any longer.
"Uh…"
"Your shoes look like knitted crocs," said Jacqueline, staring in frank horror at the green woolly ankle boots on Robert's feet. "Don't you know crocs are never acceptable as footwear?"
"…They're warm?" Robert offered.
"Furthermore, Robert, your hat is rainbow, but it differs in rainbow-ness from your rainbow cardigan. Nobody should ever wear clashing rainbows, Robert!"
Robert wisely kept his mouth shut.
"Why do you even own cropped trousers, are you trying to make yourself look like a Hobbit?" Jacqueline demanded.
Robert's silence was resolute.
"And … and… your purple sunglasses…! Why, Robert?"
Silence reigned from all quarters after the pained question.
It was Robert who broke it.
"Here, boss, have a bento," he said brightly, shoving a package wrapped in a paisley-patterned cloth into Jacqueline's numb hands. "You like AZN-style curry right?"
Jacqueline didn't answer. Robert grinned boyishly.
"Pick you up at four?"
"…Yes, thank you."
Robert winked and stepped back inside the aperture. The rip sealed itself shortly afterward.
Disquiet reigned for a span of a half-minute.
Then Dumbledore made a remark:
"So he is your one and only fulltime employee."
"He's usually not that bad," Jacqueline sighed. "My customers adore him. Sometimes they call just to hear him speak."
"And yourself?"
Jacqueline scowled. "I find him difficult to hate because he weirdly reminds me of my sister, Ceci."
"They do appear to share the same adventurous sense of fashion," said Dumbledore.
Jacqueline cringed at the comment.
"Heartwarming nostalgia aside," said Dumbledore, turning sombre. "How is he, really? Though I realise many Americans are far more informal than us, he appears to be taking great liberties from you."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about him!" said Jacqueline immediately. "I know he's weird, but he's not weird in a bad way. He always keeps a respectable distance of two feet, and—" she started to blush, "—I knew I could trust him implicitly when he refused to stay alone with me in a closed room. He hasn't deviated once."
That sounded old-fashioned to Remus. "Isn't that cumbersome?" he asked.
Jacqueline shook her head. "I appreciate the effort to stay above reproach."
"Still," said Dumbledore sombrely. "I would rest more easily if you moved your base of operations to Hogwarts. Please realise that I speak out of concern for your wellbeing, and not from any lack of confidence in you or your ability to work."
"But I can't use school resources for personal business!" Jacqueline protested.
"You can."
"That doesn't mean I should!"
"That alone informs me that you will conduct business in a worthy manner," said Dumbledore, beaming. "Listen to me, Jacqueline: you have no idea how many students have been enriched by your entrepreneurial venture. There are things one simply cannot learn from a classroom, and you gave it to them willingly. I, for one, appreciate what you have done for them and wish you continue to do so."
Jacqueline stared at her lap, burning pink up to her ears.
"We can discuss the details separately, but do say yes," said Dumbledore.
"Okay," said Jacqueline to her hands. "Just, um, only if the school governors and parents are okay with it…"
"Of course. Most excellent! Let us discuss the particulars tomorrow evening when we will both have time."
Jacqueline bowed herself out of the room after this. Remus was about to leave, too, but Dumbledore raised a hand.
"One moment, please, Remus. I have something to speak with you."
Remus slithered back down to his seat, feeling apprehensive.
"I merely wished to talk about your private lessons with Harry," said Dumbledore, clasping his hands. "How is it going along?"
Remus felt the tension leave and ruefulness take over.
"He can create an indistinct Patronus for about a handful of minutes until he succumbs to the Boggart-Dementor's influence," Remus replied. "He doesn't stay catatonic, though. He wakes up immediately when I shake him."
Dumbledore nodded. "So there has been a good deal of progress."
"I've told him as much, but Harry is still frustrated at his current rate of progress."
"We can be so impatient during our youth. But now I must digress. Do you have any fresh thoughts on where Sirius could be hiding?"
"No. Sorry, Headmaster," said Remus, looking down.
"No need to apologise for the lack of inspiration, seeing as they are such a rare and endangered species of thought," said Dumbledore ruefully. "You will tell me if something hits you?"
"Yes, of course."
"On a related note, I think the Minister of Magic is starting to warm up to the idea that Sirius' innocence in one particular crime could also mean he is innocent in regards to another."
Remus looked up hopefully. "Really?"
"The two crimes are deeply related," said Dumbledore. "And, unlike certain individuals, he doesn't have a predisposition to view Sirius as guilty by default."
Like Snape, Remus thought passionately. "You're optimistic."
"Cautiously so; Fudge seemed quite amenable to correcting, I quote, the mistakes of the previous administration."
Blame shifting, in other words. "What about the court case?"
"Grandmaster Shin informed me that he'd finally found a solution to the problem of validating the key witness."
"You mean he found a way to show the Wizengamot that Mr. Lestrade is a wizard?" asked Remus.
"Oh yes," said Dumbledore. "I hope to get the full story soon. It promises to be quite the tale."
Remus nodded happily. "Anything else, sir?"
"Only one more thing, if you may so indulge me."
"Certainly."
Dumbledore leaned forward with his hands still clasped under his chin. His bright blue eyes were sparkling in a way that filled Remus with a sense of presentiment.
"I believe there is an adage," Dumbledore started, "that says when one shares sadness it is halved, but when one shares happiness it is doubled."
Remus stared at him.
"Perhaps this would help you give Harry the extra nudge he needs," said Dumbledore.
-oo00oo-
The final Thursday lesson before the Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor match arrived far too soon for Remus' likening. Dumbledore's advice bounced around his mind whenever he let it wander, which wasn't conducive to effective teaching. Sound though it may be, asking what was one's happiest moment could come across as very intrusive and personal to someone like Harry, especially considering what his happiest memory would be. However, Remus couldn't help but guilty wish for Harry to confide it to him.
At eight o'clock on Thursday evening, both Harry and Remus found themselves in the History of Magic classroom once more.
"Ready?" asked Remus, grasped the lid of the packing case.
Harry nodded as he stared at the case with his wand out and a look of determination on his face.
Remus nodded back as he pulled the lid. A Dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned toward Harry. The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out. The Dementor stepped from the box and started to sweep silently toward Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath. A wave of piercing cold broke out-
"Expecto patronum!" Harry yelled.
A huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of Harry's wand, to hover between him and the Dementor. It stood there like a semi-transparent cloud, neither forming shape nor form, but not retreating either. Remus started to count as Harry kept bellowing the incantation as his knees slowly gave away, his face turned paler a second at a time, and his eyes slid in and out of focus.
"Riddikulus!" roared Remus, springing forward when Harry almost doubled over.
The Dementor transformed into a small full moon. The vaporous Patronus vanished in its wake. Remus forced the Boggart back inside his suitcase as Harry heaved on the floor as though he'd run many laps around the outer edges of the castle.
"Still not good enough," Harry grumbled furiously. "I'll never make a good one for the match on Saturday."
"You're expecting too much of yourself," said Remus sternly. "For a thirteen-year-old wizard, even an indistinct Patronus is a huge achievement. You aren't passing out anymore, are you?"
"I thought a Patronus would— charge the Dementors down or something," said Harry dispiritedly. "Make them disappear—"
"The true Patronus does do that," said Remus. "But you've achieved a great deal in a very short space of time. If the Dementors put in an appearance at your next Quidditch match, you will be able to keep them at bay long enough to get back to the ground."
"You said it's harder if there are loads of them."
"I have complete confidence in you," said Remus, smiling. "Here—you've earned a drink. Something from the Three Broomsticks. You probably had some already."
He pulled two bottles out of his briefcase.
"Butterbeer!" said Harry, brightening up. "Yeah, I like that stuff!"
Remus smiled. "Well—let's drink to a Gryffindor victory against Ravenclaw! Not that I'm supposed to take sides, as a teacher…" he added hastily.
They drank the butterbeer in silence until Remus decided to take the plunge.
"I've been given some advice on the Patronus charm," he started. "Would you like to try it?"
Harry looked up immediately. "Yeah! What is it?"
"It's just a simple question. But it might make you uncomfortable. You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
"Okay," said Harry, looking very curious.
Remus hesitated for another second before asking:
"What is the happy memory you're concentrating on when you cast the Patronus charm?"
Remus watched Harry shrivel under the weight of his embarrassment. His entire body seemed to sink lower into his chair as his eyes went downwards and as he turned red.
"As I said before, you don't have to answer," said Remus quickly. Then an inspiration hit him. "Would you like to know what I think it is?"
Harry peered up. He stared at Remus for a moment, considering. Then he nodded.
"I think it is the day you were adopted," said Remus.
Harry's cheeks turned deep-red again. Remus waited as Harry fumbled around for words.
"I did focus on that the first time," Harry admitted. "But … it didn't work that well. So I thought of something else."
"What is it?"
Harry looked down again. "It's kind of stupid."
"I can't imagine it would be stupid if it lets you summon a Patronus," said Remus earnestly.
Harry hesitated for a long moment before he haltingly started to speak:
"A few weeks after my … Muggle parents started to foster me, my mum took me to a walk down Northumberland Street. The manager of the Italian restaurant we go to, he said hi and asked her who I was."
Harry paused again. He worked on his jaw several times before the next part stumbled out:
"She said, 'This is my son, Harry.'"
Tears sprung to Remus's eyes and the deep inner parts of his nose tingled. His hand flew to his mouth as he struggled to control himself, a difficult feat for he suddenly found it almost impossible to breathe through the tightening of his throat.
"…That's a beautiful memory," Remus somehow managed to say.
Harry smiled, looking more embarrassed still.
"I guess she and Sherlock noticed how much I liked it. Because they kept doing it. When he took me to Barts for the first time, Sherlock said 'my son' to Dr. Stamford and Ms. Hooper. I caught my Muggle mum pointing me out at a school event, telling some parent 'my son'. And if anyone asks, they always say 'our son'."
"You have wonderful parents," Remus murmured.
Harry beamed. "I know."
They didn't talk after. Once they finished their butterbeer, he and Harry stood up for one last try for the night in silent accord.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry bellowed when the Boggart-Dementor rose out of the packing case.
And out of the end of his wand burst, not a shapeless cloud of mist, but a blinding, dazzling, silver animal. Remus screwed up his eyes, trying to see what it was. It looked like a lion of truly remarkable proportions. It prowled away from Harry, regarding the shrinking Dementor with its fangs bared, and then opened its jaws to emit a silent roar. The Dementor fell back immediately, retreating to the packaging case which Remus quickly shut.
The Patronus turned. It was shining brightly as the moon. It was coming back to Harry, its silvery mane bristling…
"Aslan," Harry whispered.
But as his trembling fingertips stretched toward the creature, it vanished.
Remus and Harry regarded one another in the silence that followed. They said nothing to each other.
There was no need to.
-oo00oo-
The Saturday morning Harry and his fellow Gryffindor Quidditch team members played against their Ravenclaw counterparts, DI Lestrade and Grandmaster Shin were having a private magic lesson, the former learning, and the latter teaching. Lestrade had an arrested look on his face as the paper charm he'd successfully created and used for the first time levitated a feather up in the air.
"I did it," he gasped.
"High-five," said Shin with a hint of pride.
Lestrade and Shin awkwardly tapped each other's palms. Lestrade quickly turned his attention back to the levitating feather, and Shin to the notes he was making.
"I like this way," said Lestrade. "It's like building stuff with Legos."
"I thought you would," said Shin. "But you realize that unlike a wand, you cannot cast spells spontaneously unless you carry around pre-constructed, un-activated paper charms on your person."
Lestrade nodded. "I'll probably want to keep around shield and tracking charms and make other stuff on the fly."
"Yes, that would be wise."
"Where did you find this method?"
"I took inspiration from Jewish wizardry," explained Shin. "There are people who have magic out there who, for whatever reason, decided not to follow mainstream magic practices. One of the biggest reasons is theology. Many magic people of Jewish descent have scruples against magic. Ultra-conservatives ban it entirely. Those of a more moderate stance has spawned a unique type of magical practice. They follow Kosher for potion-making, prohibit divination and interacting with the dead, including ghosts, and do not use incantations for spells, per Deuteronomy 18:11. Though paper charms are not unique to Jewish wizards, they are the only ones who do not invoke the name of a god, which is not surprising considering their monotheistic worldview and reverence towards the Unspoken Name."
Lestrade was fascinated. "What about Muslims?"
"The Quran says all magic is haraam—sin. But Muslim wizards follow the interpretation that the magic marked as 'haraam' is only limited to soothsaying and Astrology because those are the two forms explicitly mentioned. Thus all forms of divination are prohibited, but other branches of magic are allowed."
"Like the stuff in Arabian Nights?"
"The book reflects the general flavour of Islamic culture magic, but don't mistake the details for actual practices."
"Okay," then Lestrade asked the question that he'd wondered about ever since Julia told him the Hufflepuff House ghost was the Fat Friar. "What about Christians?"
"Probably the most problematic looking, considering their reputation for witch burning," said Shin. "When it comes down to it, the line in the sand is drawn based on the interpretation of Leviticus 20:13, Leviticus 19:26 and Deuteronomy 18:10-11—'Do not practice fortune-telling or witchcraft', 'there shall not be found among you anyone who burns his son or his daughter as an offering, anyone who practices divination or tells fortunes or interprets omens, or a sorcerer or a charmer or a medium or a necromancer or one who inquires of the dead.'"
"Uh, that sounds pretty straightforward."
"Not as much as you think. You must not bring your linguistic bias when you interpret writings. Newer translations of Leviticus 20:6, made based on older and larger body of material, use the word 'necromancer' and 'medium' instead of 'witch'. As for 'witchcraft' and 'sorcery', I've seen it cross-referenced with Ezekiel 13:20: I am against your magic bands with which you hunt the souls like birds, and I will tear them from your arms, and I will let the souls whom you hunt go free, the souls like birds. The magic band mentioned sounds suspiciously like soul wands. The 'witchcraft' that falls under prohibition thus has to do with idolatry, human sacrifice, and necromancy."
"I'm starting to see a pattern," said Lestrade thoughtfully. "Have nothing to do with the dead, don't kill people for magic, and no divination."
"Yes, the three Abrahamic sects of magic agree on that," Shin confirmed.
Lestrade scratched the back of his head. "I'm probably only saying this because I know less than nothing, and I honestly think they got it right, but it still feels like they're bending over backward to have magic and their religion too."
Shin smiled, shocking Lestrade.
"Bending-over-backwards is better than the outright destruction of a worldview's foundation, which is what a Materialist faces," he said. "Mind you, I'm very sympathetic to the atheistic mood and way of thinking. But most brands of that worldview don't fit in a world where things other than that which is material exist—magic being one of the more blatant examples besides the Laws of Logic. One cannot deny the existence of magic any more than one can deny that the sun exists. No amount of disbelief will make magic cease to exist. Magic is part of the world, and as such, a witch or wizard must make sense of their own existence in the context of a worldview, whether religious or nonreligious. The Christians who possessed magic had to answer the question ever since the first band of followers of Jesus emerged in the first century. And they have. Believe it or not, it was the Christian wizards and witches who shaped the magic practiced in Europe and America today. They are the ones who, collectively, removed the old gods and goddesses from the magic practices of Europe and Rome, and started to study magic as a separate entity created and given to them as a gift by the only God, particularly during the so-called Dark and Middle-ages. You won't see that kind of flourishing of magic as a separate source elsewhere except in the Middle-east where Islam took root. Even now, there are people invoking the name of Agni to summon fire, Indra for lightning and Ariel for wind, despite the fact you are better off summoning them without."
Lestrade stared at his father-in-law.
"I personally find it sad that people here are fast turning away from such a fine heritage," said Shin. "But here I bore you again with tangential musings."
"You obviously thought about it a lot."
"I still do, and I'm turning a hundred and five this year."
Lestrade's eyes bugged out. "I thought you were in your sixties!"
"Wizards can live up to three times longer than non-Magic people."
That made Lestrade happy at first until he actually thought it through.
"…So I'm going to outlive Ellen?"
"Hopefully only a couple of decades. But I won't lie to you— it can be up to a century."
Lestrade stared at his feet.
"Something to remember before condemning all pureblood marriages and ideologies," said Shin quietly. "I think you're ready for your family history now. Brace yourself."
Lestrade prepared himself for the worst.
"Your father was probably Hamon Rhosier Lestrange."
"Was," Lestrade noted.
"He died many years ago," said Shin tonelessly. "He married Philomena Nott, and had two more sons since you, the lost Lestrange son, 'vanished' without a trace: Rodolphus and Rabastan."
"Where are they?"
"Azkaban."
"Cool. I have jailbirds for brothers. What did they get convicted of?"
"Are you sure you want to know?"
Lestrade glared at his father-in-law, who sighed and gave in.
"Killing and torturing Muggles; committing numerous unspeakable acts under the orders of Lord Voldemort as two of his most loyal supporters; driving a married couple, both of them Aurors, into permanent insanity via torture curse."
Lestrade laughed bleakly.
"So they were terrorists. Way to go, family. You know, whoever said your life doesn't get any harder than your teenage mum abandoning you in her stepmother's care in South East Peckhem was an Idiot."
"Don't call yourself an idiot. At least your grandmother didn't try to make a soul wand out of you at age nine."
"I stand corrected. Anything else I need to know?"
"Rodolphus married a woman from another old wizard family: Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black."
"Wait, that name sounds familiar. Wasn't she a Voldemort supporter, too?"
"One of the most fanatically loyal."
"Yep, might as well have all of your family members be terrorists. Is there any good news? Besides the fact that being abandoned was one of the best things that ever happened to me, I mean."
A curious expression spread across Shin's face. Lestrade couldn't decipher it. He'd never seen his father-in-law make such a face before.
"As the oldest son of an old, pureblood wizard family," said Shin slowly, "you are entitled to the family estate and lion-share of the Lestrange family fortune. The latter should be in the Lestrange family vault in Gringotts Bank."
"Which is empty and have a lot of overdraft fees pending."
The strange expression on Shin's face grew. "I can guarantee you won't find any overdraft fees. The goblins haven't encountered the concept yet, and I'm not about to enlighten them. As for the contents of the vault, perhaps you should take a look yourself."
A few minutes later, Lestrade found himself inside Gringotts Bank, riding a tiny cart that had something called Clankers attached with his father-in-law and a goblin.
The cart twisted and turned through the labyrinthine passages, sloping downward all the time. Lestrade couldn't hear anything over the rattling of the cart on the tracks. His hair flew behind him as they swerved between stalactites, flying ever deeper into the earth. They took a hairpin bend, and there, barring access to four or five of the deepest vaults in the place, was a…
"BLOODY HEEEEEEEELL!" Lestrade shouted as the cart fast approached a gigantic beast that was definitely a dragon, because there was no way in hell it wasn't. Scales, check. Lizard-like body with wings, check. Breathing fire at them, bloody double check.
Shin glared at him. "Shut up and keep your head down."
"WHY ARE WE CLANKING AT IT?!" roared Lestrade, not shutting up.
"Because it expects pain when it hears the noise," said the goblin. "Look—"
The cart advanced around the corner, shaking the Clankers, and the noise echoed off the rocky walls, grossly magnified, so that the inside of Lestrade's skull seemed to vibrate with the din. The dragon let out a hoarse roar, then retreated. Lestrade could see it trembling, and as they drew nearer he saw the scars made by vicious slashes across its face and guessed that it had been taught to fear hot swords when it heard the sound of the Clankers.
"Animal abuse," said Lestrade, very quietly.
"You should get together with Hagrid," said Shin sardonically.
The Lestrange Family Vault was one of the five the dragon was guarding. It had no keyhole.
"Stand back," said the goblin importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.
"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said the goblin.
"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Lestrade asked.
"About once every ten years," said the goblin with a rather nasty grin.
The goblin stood to the side at the opening. Shin gestured at Lestrade to climb out and take a look. Lestrade did so, expecting an empty vault or worse: a vault full of Voldemort propaganda material.
Then he stared. The cave-like opening was crammed from floor to ceiling with golden coins and goblets, silver armour, the skins of strange creatures—some with long spines, others with drooping wings—potions in jewelled flasks, and a skull still wearing a crown.
"All yours," said Shin, who was definitely smirking.
Lestrade stared at the family fortune for a long time. Then he turned to Shin.
"I think I should let you take care it. You know how stupid I am with money."
"I certainly don't want to see you do something foolish like buying another BMW."
Lestrade groaned. "You're never going to let me live that one down, are you?"
"Never," said Shin simply. "Speaking of which, let's get rid of that infernal car loan."
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: I wanted to write a lot of the stuff here in Chapter 35, but the plot wouldn't let me. I almost despaired of even covering it. But now I can! I have too much fun writing Robert and his hideous clothes. Did you know RDJ actually wears stuff like that?
A different Patronus for Harry. I hope you like it ;)