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 Forty One: A Sense of Timing
Albus Dumbledore was preparing to launch his final bird to decimate the pigs' fortress when Shin stepped into his office carrying a moke-skin pouch. Dumbledore hastily put his iPhone away, but forgot to lock it, thus the bird was launched as planned and noisily wrecked the computerized fortress of sticks and bricks.
Dumbledore and Shin stared at each other while the victory ditty played.
"…Angry Birds?" asked Shin blankly.
"It is an alarmingly addictive game," said Dumbledore, abashed.
"I know," said Shin, still staring. "At least you're addicted to a respectable game. I play Anipang."
Dumbledore tilted his head to the side in curiosity, but Shin didn't deign to enlighten him and instead sat on a chair on the other side of the headmaster's desk.
"The inheritance business went well, I take it," said Dumbledore.
"It did," said Shin. "Hamon Lestrange's will was traditional to the letter, just as we hoped: 'I do hereby bequeath all properties, Gringott's vault, land holdings, furnishings, and other residue of the Lestrange estate to my eldest wizard son, with a single exception: that he provide in gold the single payment of six thousand Galleons to all my younger sons who are wizards, which is to be divided equally among them.' It did not specify names. Thus Greg is the head of the Lestrange family and owner of the Lestrange family vault."
Dumbledore smiled. "Excellent."
"Greg actually wondered at how smoothly things went," Shin remarked. "I wondered myself. Why not specify his heir as Rodolphus? Why grant Greg a name that would make his relations to the Lestrange family so clear?"
"Yes, it's very curious, isn't it?" said Dumbledore, resting his elbows on the desk with his fingertips touching. "Philomena Lestrange was one of the victims of Incident of 1962. She was still fragile when she was pregnant with her first child. The pregnancy was fraught with complications— complications a Muggle woman may experience, but a witch would not."
"I know. I speculated aloud the most charitable extrapolation of the known facts: Philomena Lestrange wished her son born no matter what the cost. Thus she submitted herself to the care of muggle doctors who have experience treating her problems. Her son was born, but magic indicator test time and time again show the boy doesn't possess magic. Thus the boy was, per tradition, left to live in the Muggle world. But contrary to tradition, he was allowed to keep his name; a heartfelt wish of a mother for her son, that should he ever recover his magic and receive a Hogwarts letter, his name would tell him where to find her."
"A wish that didn't get fulfilled during her lifetime," said Dumbledore, shaking his head. "It is strange for me to think in these lines, but had Philomena loved him more, Greg may not be the good man he is today, and we would be facing an entirely different set of circumstances. You and I, for one, may not be having this conversation."
"In all likelihood, no," said Shin quietly.
There was a moment of silence.
"I found an interesting trinket in the Lestrange vault," said Shin abruptly.
Shin reached into his moke-skin pouch and pulled out a shining golden cup with two finely wrought handles on either side. There was a badger engraved on its surface. Dumbledore's eyes widened at the sight of it.
"Is this…?"
"A soul wand of sorts, yes."
"That is not what I meant," said Dumbledore, adjusting his glasses. "Did you notice the badger engraving? It is the symbol of Helga Hufflepuff and her house. This is her cup."
Shin sniffed. "You know I have no regard for relics."
"I would not ask you the impossible, my friend," said Dumbledore, looking very amused. "I did not mention this to draw your extremely reluctant attention to the historical significance and value of this cup. I merely informed you that this is Helga Hufflepuff's cup so I could tell you Lord Voldemort had keen interest in relics such as these, particularly anything that had to do with the Founders of Hogwarts."
"Ah," said Shin, "So I spoke too early, my apologies. This cup not only confirms our hypothesis Voldemort had split his soul into multiple fragments, but also tells us what kind of vessels Voldemort used to protect his soul fragments."
"Precisely," said Dumbledore. "Harry destroyed his diary and the soul fragment within it last year using Basilisk's venom. Now we have Hufflepuff's cup, which you say is a soul wand 'of sorts'. I assume you have tried to destroy it with your usual methods, but failed."
Shin pulled out a red paper charm from his inner coat pocket. Unlike his other paper charms, it lacked symbols.
"Soul wands are more powerful than regular wands, but the wand's vessel is only as powerful as the material it is made of. Transfer the soul to paper, then releasing the soul is a matter of tearing it. But this method did not work for this cup."
"I'm not surprised," said Dumbledore grimly. "For I suspect this cup is a Horcrux: the receptacle in which a Dark wizard has hidden a fragment of his soul for the purposes of attaining immortality. In many ways it is the reverse of a soul wand; the purpose of a Horcrux is to protect the soul it was given, thus the magic strengthens the container, but not the mutilated soul."
"Only the most destructive sort of magic could destroy it, then," said Shin thoughtfully. "I know a few such spells, but the feasibility of using them is—."
Dumbledore rose from his seat and walked over to the wall behind his desk. The patched and ragged Sorting Hat was standing on a shelf. A glass case next to it held a magnificent silver sword with large rubies set into the hilt. Dumbledore opened the glass case and retrieved the sword.
"The Sword of Gryffindor," explained Dumbledore. "One founder's relic I am certain Lord Voldemort did not manage to get his hands on. As a Goblin-made blade, it imbibes only that which strengthens them. When Harry, Neville and your granddaughter Julia used this sword to kill the Basilisk, it became impregnated with its venom."
"Venom powerful enough to destroy a Horcrux," said Shin in understanding. "What are we waiting for?"
Dumbledore grasped the sword's handle with both hands and pointed the sharp tip towards the gold cup on his desk. As if sensing it was in danger, darkness seemed to envelop the cup and it started to twitch.
"It is trying to resist," said Shin.
"Indeed."
Shin reached over and grasped the sword's handle. The aura around him appeared to extend out to all directions. Soon the air inside the office felt as though it was full of static. A few visible crackles of light sparked mid-air. Even the portraits of the old headmasters and headmistresses sensed the charged atmosphere and watched with bated breath.
"Your power is something else," muttered Dumbledore.
"No more side-talk," growled Shin.
Together they drove the sword home.
-oo00oo-
Ten minutes later, the smoking, broken shards of the cup were swept unceremoniously into Shin's moke-skin pouch and Dumbledore and Shin were back in their original seats.
"If you have the time, could you explain to me the new magic you devised for your son-in-law?" asked Dumbledore.
Shin shrugged. "It's not really new. You'll recognise it."
"Ah, yes," Dumbledore leaned in to examine the paper charm Shin held up more closely. "Yes, I recognise the Sephiroth-like arrangement, but I also see the eight trigram pattern—quite ingenious. One can prepare them like paper charms, but can cast multiple spells by adjusting the position of the paper."
"I'm not satisfied with it," Shin demurred. "Greg's vocation is fraught with dangers and unexpected situations. He requires the kind of range a wand offers."
"Perhaps you can increase the number of subsections? I could see room for multiple subsections interacting with each other, perhaps shutting down sections not in use…"
"That would increase the real estate, and I want to keep each card as small as possible."
"I was thinking along the lines of folding in the subsections one does not need."
"Ah, so the subsections are arranged the octagonal pattern, and perhaps a flap of sorts to cover and block the parts that are not needed at the moment— but wait. I'm not certain if this would lead to too many dud patterns…"
When Professor McGonagall entered the headmaster's office to inform Dumbledore Ms. Jacqueline had started moving business operations (and employee) to Hogwarts, she found the Headmaster and the Grandmaster in their shirtsleeves, poring over a large diagram chalked directly on the floor. They were so immersed in their discussion they didn't even notice her entrance.
McGonagall left quietly without saying a word. After all, one shouldn't interrupt the work of intellectual giants.
-oo00oo-
Minerva was thinking nothing in particular when she headed back to the Music Chamber where Ms. Jacqueline was (re)establishing her base of operations. This state continued when she arrived there and saw a young man wearing a brown suit which he had unfortunately decided to wear on top of a black waistcoat, salmon coloured shirt, magenta tie and purple opera scarf and trainers. He was staring at his surroundings and the large heap of boxes and crates in a manner that suggested that he didn't know what to do with it or himself. Then he started opening the boxes and unloading their contents with magic without a wand in sight.
"Is that wandless magic?" said Minerva, unable to help herself.
The young man jumped, and the box full of M-mobile phones he was levitating dropped to the ground heavily. The glass cases scattered all across the marble floor.
"Oh, goodness, I'm so sorry," said Minerva as she pulled out her wand to recollect the glass phone cases.
"It's okay," said the man breathlessly. "I can do this. Oh, you've already done it. Thank you. Hi, I'm Robert, who are you?"
Minerva raised an eyebrow at Mr. Robert's graceless handling of the conversation.
"I'm Professor McGonagall. I teach Transfigurations here."
"Hi."
Mr. Robert then walked towards to the rest of the boxes, failing to acknowledge Minerva's proffered hand. Minerva was just thinking how unspeakably rude he was when Mr. Robert backtracked gawkily and shook it.
"I'm so sorry, I'm really awkward," said Mr. Robert, batting his large tawny eyes.
Minerva deflated despite herself. "Are you nervous?"
"You have no idea…!" exclaimed Mr. Robert, excitement contorting his handsome face. "This is Hogwarts! It's the gold-standard of magic education! The castle is older than the entire length of official American history! The closest thing to an enchanted castle America has is Disney and it's not even real! How the loving heck did I get here?"
Minerva smiled as Mr. Robert continued to flail around like a little boy on his first visit to Honeydukes.
"Is it true there're merpeople living in the lake?" asked Mr. Robert, flapping his arms.
"Yes, there's a small community—"
"Centaurs and unicorns in the Forbidden Forest?"
"Yes—"
"What about Acromantulas? I heard there's a colony of them living nearby!"
"I suspect there is one—"
"And a pet Basilisk?"
"…Is dead, thankfully."
"Oh," said Mr. Robert in palpable disappointment, but his enthusiasm picked up again. "Do I have access to your library? Am I allowed to walk around? I swear I won't damage anything!"
"…Yes, and by all means," said Minerva, feeling slightly out of breath after the barrage of excitement. "Just be mindful that Hogwarts is a school, therefore there are classes in progress."
"Okay," said Mr. Robert, bobbing his head. Then more to himself, he muttered: "This is like a dream…!"
Mr. Robert eventually came back to his senses and started unloading the boxes and crates again. Minerva helped him. The crate she unloaded first had an immense quantity of wires and cables. Minerva asked Mr. Robert what she was supposed to do with it, and Mr. Robert just shrugged his shoulders helplessly, stating he and technology had a turbulent relationship. So they left them in a large heap on the floor.
As she moved the contents of the other boxes, Minerva asked Mr. Robert about the wandless magic he was performing.
"It's a way of magic that's on its way out," said Mr. Robert as he erected a five story rack by hand but summoning the needed tools with wandless magic. "Where I was born, there are basically five flavors of magic. The first is the shaman kind, which focuses on the dead and communion with spirits. Then there are the seers, focusing on divination. Then there are the charm makers and the court wizards, the latter mostly charged with monitoring the weather and crop growth of the nation. Then there're the monks and hermits who believed mastery in magic was directly related to achieving Nirvana or Enlightenment. I was raised in the last one."
"You weren't raised in America?"
"I got adopted by a nice couple in Maryland when I was nine," said Mr. Robert, scratching his neck. "My biological parents did the traditional thing and tossed me to the nearest Buddhist monk when they realized I had magic. Mind you, Shihon biguni didn't know what to do with me either when she found me inside her shiju box."
Minerva stared at him. "That is—"
"Hilariously tragic, yes, but it happened all the time back then. Shihon biguni eventually found Han Bin guhsa, but he punted me back to her after two years. She then sent me to Doe Hae seunim and he tried to raise me into a monk, but—come on, can you imagine me a monk?"
Minerva didn't even try.
"See? It doesn't work," said Mr. Robert. "Anyway, Han Bin guhsa and Doe Hae seunim taught me the only proper way to do magic is never letting it depend on tools. The only way to do that is cultivating your magic to the point your body becomes a wand."
Minerva frowned. "I don't follow you."
"For most magic people, their magic is just floating around inside their body, minding its own business, until an external wand focuses it," Mr. Robert explained. "Now what would happen if your whole body is saturated with magic?"
It clicked. "You essentially turn into a wand, where your magic acts as the core and your body the vessel. That's why it takes decades to properly do magic this way."
"And why bother when you can do magic more reliably and quickly with external wands?" said Mr. Robert. "I do magic wandless only out of necessity. If I don't, my magic either goes stagnant or explodes. But regular expenditure increases my magic capacity, so I end up having a little bit more to spend each time. It's a vicious cycle."
"…All of a sudden my father's body shrinking antics makes perfect sense," said a familiar voice.
Minerva and Mr. Robert looked back. A wide grin spread across Mr. Robert's face when his eyes landed on Ms. Jacqueline, who was impeccably dressed as always in her pressed white blouse, black suit, and boots. Unlike her usual self, she was frowning.
"Robert," said Ms. Jacqueline sternly. "Pairing a brown suit with a black waistcoat does not work. It never works. You need to stop trying. Please pick one colour and stick to it."
"Hi, boss," said Mr. Robert, grinning. "You're looking very monochromatic today."
Ms. Jacqueline scowled. "You don't improve your brown suit with a salmon shirt and magenta tie. It doesn't work."
"If I didn't know any better, I would've thought you didn't know colors existed," said Mr. Robert cheekily.
Ms. Jacqueline's scowl increased. "Why is your scarf so purple? I'm starting to suspect purple is your favourite colour, Robert."
"I don't think I've ever seen you wearing something that has color. Boss, you know colors don't hurt, right?"
Minerva left soon after this, vaguely thinking Hogwarts had another odd addition to its residents.
In a few days, Minerva had a full appreciation of how correct she was.
The students were starting to talk about the mysterious madman who was prowling around the grounds carrying a longbow in the mornings, climbing the outer walls like a monkey, and shortcutting through the castle by leaping between the towers, windows, and battlements. Hagrid reported the centaurs in the forest were baffled at the 'new creature' that jumped through the treetops in speeds too fast for eyes to follow and Merchieftainess Murcus actually came up to the surface of the lake to ask about the person who kept swimming towards her village. Fred and George Weasley were determined to catch the man, but so far their efforts were in vain.
"Ms. Shin, restrain your help," snapped Severus after reporting his N.E.W.T. Potions students arrived late for class because they'd sighted Mr. Robert racing across the battlements and had tried to follow him.
Ms. Jacqueline shrugged artfully.
"Constant physical activity is the only thing that ensures his continued wellbeing, and he has the right to do what he pleases during his non-working hours as long as the Headmaster does not object."
She looked at Albus. "I certainly don't mind," Albus said, as though on cue.
Severus turned thin-lipped. "Surely the distraction he is causing to the students is—"
"One could say it is the students' responsibility to arrive promptly to class, no matter the distraction," argued Albus with a twinkle in his eye. "It is not as though Mr. Robert is a making a grand spectacle of himself."
"…You do not consider jumping from tower to tower a spectacle?"
"He does it quietly."
Severus stormed off after this. Thus Mr. Robert was allowed to continue his perilous physical activities in peace. Minerva and her other colleagues didn't worry about it at all—that is, they didn't until the first full moon of February occurred, by which time Ms. Jacqueline started to join Mr. Robert in his antics…
-oo00oo-
Ron waited until Hermione left the Gryffindor tower to meet up with Julia and Ginny to ask the question that had been burning inside him the whole afternoon to his other best friend, Harry Potter.
"Harry," he whispered urgently. "I might sound crazy, but … do you think Lupin is a werewolf?"
Harry blinked at him. "How d'you reckon?"
"I just realised he gets 'sick' on a monthly basis," said Ron meaningfully, "and only when there's a full moon. And when I had detention in the Hospital Wing back in November when Lupin was out sick, supposedly, he wasn't there. Besides, his Boggart is…"
"…A full moon," Harry finished. "Well, you're right. I asked him about it last year and he said yes."
Ron studied Harry's composed face. Then he closed his eyes. He should be used to Harry's breathtaking ignorance of wizard matters by know, but sometimes … it was too much.
"Harry," said Ron, very slowly. "Lupin. Is a werewolf."
"Yes, so?"
Merlin's pants, it was like talking to an idiot. "They hunt and bite people specifically to make more werewolves."
"Yeah, it's really messed up," said Harry with quiet indignation. "I don't know how people managed before the Wolfsbane potion. Did you know someone actually tried to banish the moon to stop his son from transforming? It didn't work, obviously, but still. You can really feel for the man."
Ron gaped open-mouthed as Harry went on talking about the various ludicrous treatments for lycanthropy wizards and witches concocted over the years. Obviously he had taken the time to look them all up, which wasn't something Harry did unless he was stewing over an idea. That meant…
"Harry, are you trying to find a werewolf cure?"
"Kind of. I mean, I wasn't really thinking about making something new," said Harry, scratching his head. "The werewolf curse cuts down a wizard's lifespan easily by a third and ruins their health. Like that's not enough, gits like Snape treat them like they're nothing but rabid wolves no matter what the moon phase. That's not right."
Ron said nothing, but inside he felt an immense sense of relief. Harry going to such lengths to understand werewolves meant he felt very strongly about it, and Ron didn't fancy his best mate thinking he was a prat at the same level of Snape, who was Prat King, full stop. Anyway, Lupin was a very decent bloke, werewolf curse aside. Perhaps he overreacted.
"You reckon Hermione knows too?" asked Ron, scowling fiercely to hide what he was really thinking. "The way she said the reason why he was out sick today was obvious…"
"I suspect so," said Harry, frowning. "Probably since Snape assigned the werewolf essay, but I figured Hermione wouldn't even hint at it."
"She can't help but show off when she knows something," said Ron knowingly. "Still, all that work she puts into her school stuff, earns her bragging points, eh?"
Harry snorted. "Julia works about as hard as Hermione does, and you don't see her showing off all the time."
Ron was about to argue back, but then Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas came over.
"Are you two talking about girls?" said Seamus, grinning.
Ron and Harry stared as Dean and Seamus took seats at their table. "I guess?" said Ron, because they were. Sort of.
"I'm not sure about Julia Lestrade. She's not bad looking now, but you can tell how she's going to look like later from Ms. Shin," said Seamus.
"What's wrong with Miss Jackie?" asked Harry, frowning.
"She's way too skinny. Me, I like them blonde with a good amount of bosom, like Veronica Brocklehurst."
"I'm not sure about Brocklehurst, I think she pads up her bra," said Dean. "Now Padma and Parvati, they've got nice legs."
"You're right about the legs," said Ron, thinking about Amy Pond, "And the bosom. Women should be curvy. Madam Rosmerta, case in point."
Dean and Seamus murmured their agreement. "What about you, Harry?" asked Dean.
"I don't even know how you notice these details. I'm too busy noticing the face and hands," said Harry, turning a bit pink.
"Face I can understand, but what is up with you and hands?"
"I like them! What about you Neville?"
Ron, Seamus, and Dean looked up, startled. Sure enough, Neville was sitting at their table too. Neville turned bright pink under their scrutiny.
"Um… I like girls who are … nice and, um, doesn't mind that I can't remember stuff…"
Seamus and Dean gaped slightly, as though considering personality hadn't occurred to them at all. To be honest, Ron wasn't thinking about it either.
"Yeah, I don't like the catty ones."
"Don't think I could date someone who's stupid. How are you going to talk to them?"
"No nagging."
"Yeah, no nagging— definitely no nagging!"
-oo00oo-
Hermione paused to scratch the inside of her left ear before she resumed speaking to her friends, Julia and Ginny.
"So I think Ron is going to figure out Professor Lupin is a werewolf soon." Then she added, "About time."
"Okay, that brings up the total number of people who know to four: us and Ron. Who else?" said Julia.
"I'm pretty sure Harry knows; he seemed to understand what I was hinting at when I was working on the werewolf essay back in November," said Hermione.
"Harry's been spending a lot of time with Lupin lately," said Ginny thoughtfully. "Do you think it's related?"
"Maybe; he's been reading a lot of books about werewolves, too," Julia remarked.
"Well, recently it's been for Anti-Dementor lessons," said Hermione. "But I didn't know he was reading books about werewolves. How do you know, Julia?"
"I know because I couldn't get hold of those books," said Julia. "I checked the flyleaves after they were returned to the library, and the last person who checked them out was Harry each time."
"Why did you want to read them?" asked Ginny.
"I had this idea," said Julia. "Wouldn't it be nice if there was some kind of potion that stops the werewolf curse from taking hold to begin with? It would be like the smallpox vaccine."
Hermione was intrigued. But, "You know there's no cure for werewolves. It's virtually impossible to develop one because the curse seeps right into a person's magic and embeds itself into it."
"I know that now," Julia sighed. "It was just an idea…"
"Well, I don't know what you mean by vaccine, but I think the basic idea is good," said Ginny. "Who knows? You might find the cure!"
"But the idea sounds stupid, even in my own head," Julia mumbled.
"You already have an idea?" said Hermione, surprised. "Let's hear it, then."
Julia slowly caved under Hermione and Ginny's anticipatory gaze.
"Since the full moon triggers the curse," said Julia slowly, "wouldn't the curse fail to trigger if you make the curse, I don't know, forget that the moon exists?"
Hermione and Ginny stared without making any comment. Julia looked at their faces and drooped.
"I knew you were going to think it was stupid," she grumbled.
"I don't think it's stupid!" said Hermione hastily. "It's just … Julia, c'mon! Curses don't have minds that can forget things!"
"You might be onto something, though," said Ginny. "Removing the trigger, that's a good idea. It's a start."
"But how do you even start with that?" said Julia, pulling a face.
"You could ask Professor Snape," said Hermione.
Julia looked horrified. "Hell, nooooo!"
"But he's the Potions Professor and he likes you … kind of," said Hermione.
That only made Julia look even more horrified. "Ew, Hermione, are you even listening to what you're saying? To do that, I'll have to actually ask him!"
"Why not?" said Ginny. "All you need is a bit of nerve."
"And if by some miracle he actually listens and thinks it's worth trying, which I seriously doubt, I'll have to work with him." Julia shuddered. "No. Just … no."
They sat in silence for a while.
"Let's talk about something else," said Ginny. "Any boys you like?"
"Cedric Diggory is nice," said Julia. "I like that he's smart and thoughtful. He's way older though—four years is a bit too much for me. What about you Hermione? Anyone strike your fancy?"
"I'm too busy to think about boys," said Hermione loftily. "Do you have any idea how many classes I'm taking?"
"I think you're trying to do too much," said Julia.
"Yeah, even Ron is worried about you and your workload," said Ginny, grinning.
Hermione went red. "I don't want to worry about that kind of stuff right now! I can think about it later! Fourteen is too young to do anything about it, anyway! That reminds me, Ginny, how are you doing with you-know-what?"
Ginny turned bright pink as she let out a gusting sigh.
"I thought I was doing okay until you told me Harry found out Lupin was a werewolf about the same time as you. It's obvious he doesn't care Lupin is a werewolf, and he's even taking the time to get to know him! Why so caring and bright, you life-ruiner?"
Hermione bit on her lower lip to stop her giggles, and Julia covered her mouth.
"How do you cope with your crush?" Ginny grumbled at Julia.
"Well, the thing I have for Cedric isn't really a crush since I just think he's a catch like everyone else," said Julia. "But for my last crush, I imagined him taking a huge dry dump: you can't say it didn't happen before and it makes him look a lot less perfect."
Hermione and Ginny giggled for a long time.
-oo00oo-
Harry headed to the Music Room for his evening violin lessons after escaping the long (and slightly harrowing) conversation about girls that ended in a fight inside the Gryffindor common room. Julia joined him about halfway there as usual.
"You have that preoccupied look," Julia said. "What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing," said Harry. "I'm just ashamed to be a guy today."
"At least you have the sense to feel ashamed. What were the guys talking about?"
"You don't want to know," Harry muttered darkly. "What about you? Did you, Hermione and Ginny have a nice long Lupine discussion?"
Julia stopped for several shocked beats. Harry quietly sniggered at her expression, which was identical to the one Mr. Lestrade always wore when Sherlock did something outrageous and clever (again).
"How did you know?" Julia hissed.
"Ron was asking me about Professor Lupin today, and he mentioned Hermione said the reason why he was sick is obvious," said Harry. "Hermione can't keep things herself when she knows something and she's pants at lying. I figured she was going to talk to you two about it because it was only a matter of time before Ron put two and two together. We're both keeping mum, by the way."
Julia rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. "I knew Hermione was too confident about hiding this from you to be true."
"Next time you three want to have a secret meeting, tell us you're off to have girl talk. We'll scarper off real quick," said Harry, grinning.
"I'll take that into consideration," said Julia dryly. "So why are you reading so many werewolf books?"
Harry blinked at her. Julia looked back balefully.
"Someone was hogging all the werewolf books and I wanted to know who," she said.
"Why did you want to read them?" asked Harry.
"The same reason why you want to read them: I wanted to look up werewolf cures," Julia replied.
Harry scratched the back of his head, "Any bright ideas?"
"Only stupid ones that make people laugh," Julia sighed.
"You mean Hermione and Ginny. At least you have ideas," Harry looked at her keenly. "So what is it?"
Julia told him her idea of vaccines and making the werewolf curse forget the full moon existed. Harry considered it. He had thought about vaccines, too, but he couldn't think how exactly it would work. A vaccine that made the curse forget the moon wasn't completely beyond the realm of possibility.
"You should tell this to Miss Jackie," he concluded.
"I'd rather someone tell me my idea is stupid than to be too nice to say so upfront," said Julia, frowning. "So you don't think it's stupid?"
"No," said Harry. "One thing I learned from making the Holographic map is, as long as you're not violating the laws of logic and you're not messing around with life and death, you can make magic do almost anything." He knew it was so; Harry actually invented a few spells for the map, mostly because he was too lazy to look them up and see if they already existed. He mashed up plausible sounding Latin to create the incantation and, wonder of wonders, they worked. "Make a curse forget something—why not? Ask Miss Jackie if the idea has contradictions, and if it doesn't, go for it."
Julia turned very thoughtful as Harry opened the door to the Music Chamber.
Then the two of them stopped short. After blinking a few times, they rubbed their eyes and squinted again.
Miss Jackie was playing Halo 3 with a man wearing a pink suit that looked vaguely tartan in nature, a blue tie that had red and yellow floral patterns, a white shirt, jeans and purple accented footwear that looked a lot like the socks people who had foot fungus wore except they reached only to the ankles. The man incidentally looked a lot like Dr. Robert D. Ju, except he had a lot of scruff on his face and his hair was longer and curled around the back of his neck. Both the man and Miss Jackie looked back at Harry and Julia standing at the doorway, gobsmacked.
Then Julia pointed a finger at the man and shouted: "YOU! You're that Dr. Robert Ju person!"
Miss Jackie lifted a well-plucked eyebrow at Dr. Ju, who looked slightly frozen.
"Doctor?" she said.
Dr. Ju sighed. "I knew video games would be my downfall," he murmured.
"Why are you here?" Julia demanded.
"You two met before?" Miss Jackie asked again, rather mildly.
"In a hospital last summer," said Dr. Ju. "I reported a crime to her father."
"And you out-ed my dad as a wizard!" shouted Julia.
Both of Miss Jackie's eyebrows ascended. "You convinced my brother-in-law he has magic?"
"He's your brother-in-law?" said Dr. Ju blankly.
"You didn't answer my question!" Julia shouted again.
"Just … don't mind me, I'm having an existential crisis," Dr. Ju muttered.
Julia opened her mouth again, but Miss Jackie raised a hand for quiet.
"I heard about you," said Miss Jackie calmly. "Your American passport says you're Robert Ransom because that's the name your adoptive parents gave you. Before you were adopted, your last name was listed as 'Ju' because you were found in a Buddhist donation box as a baby: the Shi-ju box. You go by 'Robert' in both the Muggle and Magic worlds because you like the name, and indeed both worlds know you best as Robert Dongyi Ju—genius healer."
Dr. Ju looked away.
"You lead a peripatetic life," Miss Jackie went on. "You have a reputation of staying at a hospital for two years max, but always leaving a deep impression wherever you happen to be. What you did between hospital jobs, no one knew. I never would've guessed customer service work, unless you are really serious about your existential crisis."
"I'm always completely serious," said Dr. Ju, very seriously.
Miss Jackie considered that. "'I know I'm meant for service-oriented jobs, but after working sixteen years in the medical field, I've started to wonder if I would be more effective elsewhere.'"
"You remember that?" asked Dr. Ju in wonderment.
"I had no reason to forget."
"Wow. I can only do that for medical stuff," said Dr. Ju, scratching the stubble on his chin. "So am I fired?"
"Why would I do that?"
"You're angry that I hid something from you," said Dr. Ju simply. "And it was a pretty big something."
"Of course I'm angry that you hid something from me," said Miss Jackie, raising an eyebrow again. "That's what people do."
Dr. Ju blinked.
"For the same reason, I understand why you wanted to hide in the first place," said Miss Jackie gently. "I rather hoped you knew me enough to know I'd respect your boundaries and trust me not to cross them."
Dr. Ju frowned at Miss Jackie, as though she was speaking a half-intelligent foreign language.
"…You're funny," he said. "I've never met someone like you before."
"Likewise," said Miss Jackie serenely. "I don't think I've met someone who listens so much."
Dr. Ju's jaw fell open. "You—"
Miss Jackie rose to her feet, ignoring him. "It's time for me don my music teacher hat. Carry on, Robert."
"How can you trust him, Auntie Jack?" asked Julia inside a noise-cancelling screen. "He's weird—freaky weird!"
"I know he's weird," said Miss Jackie. "It's hard to miss. Just look at his footwear."
"They're Vibram FiveFingers!" Dr. Ju shouted from the other side of the screen, making Julia and Harry jump. "Dr. Daniel Lieberman from Harvard wrote an article on the benefits of barefoot running and minimalist shoes! You should look it up, boss, it was published in Nature!"
Miss Jackie poked her head outside the screens.
"They look like gorilla feet for the colour-blind, Robert!" she said tartly.
Miss Jackie poked her head back in and huffed when she saw Julia and Harry snickering. Her face turned fixed and stormy when Dr. Ju shouted Miss Jackie was so monochromatic it was planting grey shards into his heart. Miss Jackie poked her head out again and shouted that Dr. Ju's jacket looked like a pink suit had a baby with a tartan suit and there were no dominant genes. Furthermore, his tie looked like an Abstract Expressionist nightmare made of primal colours, at which point Julia and Harry lost it and fell on the floor laughing.
After their normally thirty minute music lessons, which ended fifteen minutes late because Julia and Harry simply couldn't stop laughing, the three of them left the screened area. Dr. Ju was still there in his hideous outfit. Hagrid was there too, which wasn't exactly out of the ordinary, except the gamekeeper was talking animatedly with Dr. Ju, and was carrying a bunch of wooden crates.
"Though' yeh two'd be back at yer common rooms by now," said Hagrid cheerfully. "I wonder yeh cou' help us prepare these crates…"
"What are they for?" asked Harry.
"Care packages fer Sirius Black," said Hagrid. "Professor Dumbledore reckons he's prob'ly out there in the forest … Jack an' me been makin' 'em and puttin' them out there fer 'im."
Harry felt a nasty pang of guilt. He had completely forgotten about the fact Sirius Black was still out there, not knowing he was proven innocent in the eyes of public, and the official announcement of thereof was only a matter of time. He merely assumed he'd turn up eventually. It never occurred to him to think about finding him.
Dr. Ju walked over and looked into the crates.
"Blankets, food, and clothing: check," he muttered. "Water: check. First-aid kit?"
"We put in bandages, salves, and pepper-up," said Miss Jackie.
"Add a gangrene remedy," said Dr. Ju, "And a potion for frostbite. I doubt Sirius Black knows how to live rough in the winter time. Most don't unless a veteran homeless person gives them pointers, and they don't realize their flesh is dying because of the cold."
"Gangrene and frostbite, I haven't considered that," said Miss Jackie thoughtfully. "Have you done this before?"
"Well, yeah," said Dr. Ju, as though it were obvious. "I live in Baltimore when I'm not travelling. When winter rolls around, I soak gloves and socks in a remedy paste and hand them out."
"You do this often."
"If I cure their gangrene, everyone would notice the magic; and an ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure."
Miss Jackie smiled. "So for you, it's a matter of when not if."
"What else could it be?" said Dr. Ju curiously.
Miss Jackie shrugged, still smiling faintly. "I don't think we have those potions in store. Can you make them, Robert?"
"Why not ask your potions master?"
"Why ask him when we have a healer right here?"
Dr. Ju blinked at Miss Jackie (who twinkled), Hagrid (who refused to meet his eye), Julia and Harry (who would agree to any limited/lack of exposure to Snape).
"It's one of those things, eh?" Dr. Ju said at length. "Fine. I'll make the potion."
He walked over to a corner, where a black wheeled Samsonite was standing. First, he pulled out a large wooden chest that had many small drawers from the Samsonite. Then, instead of a cauldron, he whipped out a flat pan with very short sides.
"I hate cauldrons," he said before anyone asked. "I made better potions using Woks and Dutch Ovens."
Dr. Ju put the pan to the side and conjured a large terracotta pot out of thin air—without a wand in sight. He blew on the pile of charcoal briquettes inside the terracotta pot and they suddenly ignited. Dr. Ju placed a grate in the terracotta pot and covered the pot with a vented lid. Then he started to rummage inside the wooden chest's drawers. Harry recognised most of the ingredients Dr. Ju was pulling out, many of which were too big to be kept inside the drawers unless the inner dimension of the drawers were extended by magic (which Harry reminded himself, they probably were). The dry ingredients were neatly placed in the centre of white square sheets of paper folded twice and the wet ingredients on small white ceramic dishes. Finally, once he had all his ingredients in place, Dr. Ju pulled out a glass teapot full of water and a stone vessel Harry usually associated with fancy Bibimbap from the bottom-most drawer, which was the largest. The teapot was placed on top of a ceramic stand that had a lit tea candle on the bottom, and the stone vessel and pan were placed on top of the grate placed inside the terracotta pot.
"Not that I know a thing about Potions, but this is an odd way of doing it," Miss Jackie said, staring at the terracotta pot that was burning like a jet-exhaust.
"Most magical fires aren't reliable," said Dr. Ju, who was grinding spices with a mortar and pestle.
"Aren't there special fire pits for this sort of thing?" asked Julia.
"Why shell out hundreds of galleons for a uni-tasking stove?" Dr. Ju retorted. "I can generate the thousand degrees Fahrenheit I need with a terracotta pot and charcoal, and it only costs me fifty bucks at the hardware store. Also," he clicked his tongue at the pestle. "I'd use an electric coffee grinder for this normally, but I didn't bring one."
Harry, Julia, Hagrid and Miss Jackie watched as Dr. Ju worked. The spices were placed on a cheese cloth, which was then tied into a ball and left to steep inside the teapot. The steeped amber liquid was eventually poured into the stone vessel that was heating up a thick white paste. Then came what comprised the majority of the potion making process: waiting.
While waiting on the potion, Dr. Ju honed his knife, which was made of carbon steel instead of silver.
"How come you don't use a silver blade?" asked Julia.
"Silver is traditional; it's pure and draws out impurities from the ingredients—supposedly. I don't buy it. Unless you have a Goblin-made silver knife, you just have a blade that has a soft edge and goes blunt too easily. As for impurities, as long as you keep your ingredients separately in proper containers, you don't have to worry about it."
Dr. Ju started chopping and dicing the ingredients. In the fraction of the time it took Harry on a good day, he julienned his gurdle roots, grated his sophouric rhizomes and diced the leeches into perfect cubes, losing very little liquid or fine fibres in the process. He didn't just add the ingredients to the potion either; some he toasted (to draw out the oils), others he baked over the coals (to remove moisture) and he actually massaged a slimy octopus for over ten minutes before he carefully tipped it into the blazing-hot pan.
"Do healers do more spell-based healing or potion-based healing?" asked Harry.
"Potions, hands down," Dr. Ju answered. "Potions work with the body—it draws out what the bodies naturally does, and lets it heal on its own terms. Spells overrules the body—hence you see a lot of scar tissue resulting even with the best charmers. The difference is as stark as major open-heart surgery and a vaccine shot. Mind you, spell work has it place just as much as accident and emergency medicine."
"So, if I wanted to, say, create a treatment for the werewolf curse…"
"…You should think potions," said Dr. Ju. Then he looked at Harry and Julia keenly. "You mentioned the werewolf curse particularly. Why?"
Harry looked at Julia, but she just shook her head. So Harry spoke instead; as weird as Dr. Ju was, he wasn't nasty like Snape.
"Julia had this idea maybe if you can make the curse forget the full moon exists, the curse won't trigger at all."
"Ah, yes, the trigger removal," said Dr. Ju, nodding. "A lot of healers love that idea for werewolf treatment, seeing as curse removal would require magic removal, and most people don't want that."
"Most wou' rather die than live witho' magic, yeah," said Hagrid sagely. "Quite a' few of 'em did, I heard, chosin' ter die than live a Squib afta' 1962 happ'n'd."
"What happened in…?" Harry began to ask, but Miss Jackie looked so sad he shut his mouth. "Err, so why didn't anyone discover a way yet?"
"Well, the idea is straightforward," said Dr. Ju as he stirred the potion counterclockwise. "Rather than tackling the curse, which can't be altered or lifted because it embeds itself into a person's magic, why not make a victim's magic forget that the full moon exists?"
"Oh, of course! You should target a person's magic, since it's magic that has sentience, not spells!" said Julia.
"But therein lies the problem," said Dr. Ju. "Where is this magic? How do you locate a person's magic? Does it even make sense to say that magic is located somewhere specific? Mind, the magical core hypothesis is very attractive. Dead spirits can't do magic. Magical creatures always have a body, and their active magic vanishes the moment they die. So there is a relationship between having a living body and having active magic. But how can you locate it? Unless you know how to locate magic, you can't create a potion that targets active magic. You can't aim at something you can't see."
"Is it really necessary to know where it is?" asked Harry.
"Oh yes," said Dr. Ju. "You see, there is physicality to magic. Not a lot of people appreciate this fine point. Magic can touch abstract, intangible things such as Time, Secrets and Memory, but only if there is an underlying physical reality it can be tied down to. You can hide information, but only if you have a living person to seal it inside to. You can erase memory, but only if there is a brain that stores it. Did you know you can't make a ghost forget things because they have no corporeal body?"
Harry didn't know that. "Really?"
"Yes, really," said Dr. Ju. "I tried it."
Harry gaped at him for a moment.
"The problem is twofold, then," said Miss Jackie pensively. "In order for this kind of treatment to work, magic must be tied to a body in such a way there is a physical memory storage one can access. The first question to ask is: Is magic tied to the body? The fact that dead bodies do not have active usable magic seems to suggest this is the case. If so, where could it be?"
"The heart?" Harry guessed.
"Popular candidate, showed a lot of promise, but no, it didn't quite work out," said Dr. Ju.
"The brain?" said Julia.
"Same as the heart."
"Skin or bones?" said Hagrid.
"Same story."
Miss Jackie closed her eyes with her hands clasped and both of her thumbs pressing the bridge of her nose in a pose of deep thought, while Dr. Ju poured the glutinous and golden paste from the stone vessel into vials, using a funnel.
"The tie between magic and the body seems to be life," she said slowly. "So where life is, magic must be there also. Life is in the blood. Therefore, magic is in the blood."
Dr. Ju stared at her, lips parting. He seemed to have forgotten the vial he was holding. Oblivious to his staring, Miss Jackie continued to think aloud:
"Blood has information storage in the form of DNA, protein, and enzymes. Whether the existence of information and information storage in the blood is enough for memory charms to work, I don't know, but it does pass the 'mind' and 'brain' test. Robert, do you think—"
Only then did Miss Jackie open her eyes to see Dr. Ju was staring at her with dilated pupils.
"What's wrong with you?" she asked, frowning.
Dr. Ju blinked and snapped his mouth shut. It took several more blinks for him to be able to say anything.
"…Care packages?" he said, raising the vial.
"Oh! I'm sorry, yes, we shouldn't forget him," said Miss Jackie, blinking at the crates and turning pink.
They filled them up. Miss Jackie created copies of all the Daily Prophet articles that wrote about the reinvestigation into Sirius Black's case, stapling them together in chronological order. Harry put an unbreakable charm on the glass vials per Dr. Ju's request. Dr. Ju carefully labelled each one, and attached instructions on how to use them. On top of the non-perishable foods, Hagrid included a bundle of Bath Buns into the food packages, which Harry discreetly discarded (Harry had too much experience with Hagrid's cooking).
Hagrid and Dr. Ju were getting ready to take the crates to the Forbidden Forest, when Miss Jackie lifted the lid of the pan, which was cooking a very fragrant and colourful rice dish.
"What is this?" she asked.
"Oh, that's for you," said Dr. Ju, grinning cheekily. "Paella. It's my own recipe."
Miss Jackie looked up to stare, but Dr. Ju was exiting the music chamber through a hole very much like the one Harry had seen Mr. Shin make in Hermione's house. He could see dark, thick trees from the other side of the hole, and Dr. Ju walked right through it fearlessly whilst carrying four wooden crates like they weighed nothing.
Miss Jackie sighed when the hole sealed itself. "I wish he was easier to hate," she complained.
Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room shortly after Hagrid left for the Forbidden Forest—which he did after he supped on the delicious Paella with Harry, Julia and Miss Jackie.
He spotted Ron and Hermione at a table, with Crookshanks stretched across Hermione's lap and Ron absently scratching his chin. Ever since he discovered Crookshanks had been attacking Pettigrew because he sensed the Rat animagus was suspicious, Ron had warmed up to the cat considerably.
"You're late today," said Ron as Harry sat down.
"A lot of stuff happened," said Harry.
He then told them about the care packages Miss Jackie and Hagrid were making for Sirius Black.
"I saw Miss Jackie's new employee too," said Harry. "He's seriously weird."
"Weird how?"
"He wears shoes that look like gorilla feet for their health benefits."
Ron and Hermione stared.
"…Are you sure he's safe?" asked Ron.
"Miss Jackie thinks so," said Harry. "Hagrid doesn't seem to mind him either."
"Professor Dumbledore wouldn't let him in if he wasn't safe," said Hermione sensibly. "And can you imagine what Grandmaster Shin would do if he wasn't?"
The three of them looked at each other and shuddered.
Crookshanks, who had been staring at Harry keenly throughout his talk, suddenly leaped off of Hermione's lap and stood on top the table, right in front of Harry.
"What?" he asked the cat, who was staring at him pointedly.
Crookshanks swooped down and caught a mouthful of Harry's robe sleeve. He then jumped off the table and started moving towards the portrait hole, dragging Harry with him, his bottlebrush tail high in the air.
"You want me to follow you? Now?" said Harry incredulously, stumbling because he had to bend low.
"But he can't, Crookshanks!" Hermione cried. "We're not supposed to leave the castle after sundown!"
"Is this important?" asked Ron. "Can't this wait until tomorrow?"
Crookshanks swished his tail in a way one would say no.
"…Fine," said Harry. "But we're taking my old dad's cloak."
-oo00oo-
Lestrade didn't think his windfall would change things; the magic business, yes, but not the windfall.
He was surprised, therefore, when he didn't feel any defensive comebacks rising to his throat when the Super hounded him over the Embalmer case. Being debt free and financially independent really did change a man, Lestrade thought almost philosophically, as he calmly watched the Super's red face.
"Are you listening to me?" Superintendent Chambers demanded.
"Yes, sir," Lestrade replied.
"So what have you got?"
"I think the embalmer isn't a serial killer," Lestrade started.
After working on magical hate crimes for over five months, Lestrade started to see a pattern. The really wizard ones were hard to find and figure out because they were so blatantly magical the victims immediately went into denial. But the ones committed by wizards who had a glancing idea of Muggles were often easier to catch because their effort to pass off as Muggle only made the magical tinkering more obvious.
The Embalmer case fell into the latter category. The perps knew enough about Muggle hospitals to pass as a worker, but didn't know the computer system would leave a data trail. The perps had a general idea what serial killers were, but had little notion on how they actually operated.
"The whole crime is made to look like the work of a serial killer almost to an exaggerated degree," Sherlock had said. "If the perpetrators want you to think the crime is the work of a serial killer, there are only two options: you are either dealing with a megalomaniac hedonist or a mundane murderer who is pretending to be one."
Lestrade guessed it was the latter, mostly because of how clever the perps were trying to be. They acted exactly like those idiots who took pains to keep their crimes DNA-free, but then slipped up and showed themselves on CCTV; those who tried to kill their victims without leaving traces, but the very method that left so few traces made them culpable of the crime. The Embalmer was just like that. They took the pains to create an untraceable potion, but the potion's very volatility betrayed the fact the crimes were a team effort and required special ingredients. They took pains to select victims that were similar to each other, but didn't bother to keep a consistent MO.
That was how Lestrade, after a lot of regular legwork, was able to find out the last Muggle victim, Victoria Savage, was heiress to a large fortune, which was now to go to a cousin of hers; a cousin, who at age eleven, was selected to go to a special boarding school up in Scotland.
"One the vic's cousin's name kept showing up on the potion ingredient buyer list," said Lestrade calmly. "The vic was to going inherit a half a million pounds from her grandmother. Now that she's dead, the money goes to her closest relative, which is the cousin."
Chambers sat back as the effed-upness of the situation hit him square on the face.
"The evidence isn't complete, yet," Lestrade warned. "We can't link the murders to him directly; he wasn't the only person who bought the stuff we found inside the victims. They are common 'skin potion' ingredients. You can imagine how many 'witches' buy them."
"But you are certain this isn't the work of a serial killer."
"Pretty damn certain. Right now we're looking for the cousin. I have a couple of people who might know him."
"Good. Keep on at it. I'm expecting results from you soon, Lestrade. Don't mess up."
Lestrade returned to his office feeling rather at peace with the world.
Which was probably why the world decided to declare another war against him: his mobile lit up and the words Baker Street Bastard's Brother flashed across the screen.
"What now?" Lestrade grumbled.
"Good evening, Inspector," said Mycroft Holmes in his cloying tone. "I took the liberty of glancing at the high-profile case you are working on. You must've realised it is not the work of a serial killer, surely."
"Yes, it was obvious."
"Excellent. You're handling the case with less than your usual— that's to say, you're handling it fairly well."
"Gee, thanks," said Lestrade sarcastically. "So why are you calling me? You know your brother hates you interloping."
"I am very much aware, Inspector, but my brother is—how should I put this—indisposed at the moment. So I am informing you what he has meant to tell you earlier: look closely at Culverton and Smith."
Lestrade frowned. "Why is he indisposed?"
"Look up and you will see."
Lestrade looked up and saw John heading towards his office. John stopped right outside the glass door and turned up both palms in an inquiring manner. Lestrade shook his head in the negative, though he didn't know what the question was if he were honest. In the middle of this interlude, Mycroft disconnected the call.
John entered his office while Lestrade muttered a bane on the Holmes brothers.
"So Sherlock isn't here?" asked John, sitting down.
"Haven't seen him today," said Lestrade.
John scratched a temple, "Thought he'd be here since he figured out who the Embalmer is."
"The cousin?"
"Yes, you already knew?"
"Finding out it was the cousin isn't the hard part; proving that it's him is," said Lestrade. Then he looked at John's wane face with concern; John hadn't looked this bad since the early days of A Study In Pink. "You okay?"
"I …" John blinked against the florescent lights in the station while absently scratching her stomach. "I'm okay. I just … excuse me, but did you eat Korma today? I can smell your breath from all the way here. It's making me nauseous."
Lestrade thought this behaviour was very familiar: light sensitivity, bad reaction to certain smells, nausea…
…F—. No wonder Sherlock was indisposed.
"Why the feck are you here and not him when you're…!" Lestrade gestured at his own belly wildly.
"Don't blame him, I'm as much in shock as he is," John blanched. "I need to use the toilet."
John dashed out, Lestrade's insistence that she use his wastepaper bin notwithstanding. Swearing loudly, Lestrade picked up his mobile and texted:
Where the f— are you, your very pregnant wife is in the station and Culverton & Smith are due here in five minutes!
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: The conversations between the kids are based on actual conversations of young teenagers I've heard. The method to get over crushes mentioned above is one my own mother gave me. The effectiveness varies and side-effects include random inappropriate sniggering.
miguel. cura suggested Vibrams for Robert's next footwear. They were too hideous to not show up. :D
Wrapping up POA in the next chapter… I hope.