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 Three: The Invitation
"Sirius Black, the Wizengamot declares you innocent of all charges."
Remus sat limply in relief as the entire court stood up in thunderous applause. Sirius was also slumped into the defendant's chair, like he couldn't prop himself up anymore.
And no wonder, for Sirius was now finally free to take up the only thing that sustained him through the long, harrowing days and weeks of his exoneration process: Harry's invitation to his London home, which he'd extended to Sirius inside the Shrieking Shack.
When Sirius turned himself in hours after Harry, Ron and Hermione had somehow found him, the Ministry didn't dare return him to Azkaban, not when there was a public outcry over injustice. So the Ministry allowed him to stay in the old ancestral home of the Blacks until his charges were thoroughly reinvestigated and his trial took place, provided he stayed under 24-hour guard. A good compromise, they thought, and it looked good on paper.
Except the old ancestral home of the Blacks, 12 Grimmauld Place, had gone derelict over the years, after all of its old occupants died. Doxies infested every curtain and drapery, and Boggarts made home in almost every enclosed drawer, cabinet and wardrobe. The cobwebs were so old they'd practically developed their own life forms, and a damp, dusty, and sweetish, rotting smell pervaded everywhere. The existing décor lend no help whatsoever to improve the atmosphere: besides the grandfather clock that developed the unpleasant habit of shooting heavy bolts at passers-by, a murderous ghoul, and a purple curtain that almost strangled two hit-Wizards on guard duty, the portrait of Sirius's late mother, Walburga Black, which couldn't be removed, screamed: "Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers!" if someone so much as made a sound when they walked passed it—that is, if the person nearby wasn't Sirius, then the portrait howled: "Yooou! Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!"
Then there was the Blacks' old House-elf, Kreacher. The less one said about the ancient thing, the better.
Remus snapped back into attention when he heard the sound of jostling and moving bodies on top of the clapping. Amelia Bones had come down from her seat to present Sirius his old wand. Sirius took it with shaking hands. He conjured a couple of butterflies with it, and stared in a daze as he watched them flutter away.
Sirius was still staring at them when Remus came down and tapped him on his shoulder.
"Time to go, Padfoot," he whispered.
Sirius nodded as he stowed his wand deep inside his robe, "Yeah."
They made their way towards the exit, a difficult process because everyone wanted to shake hands with Sirius and congratulate him. Sirius took it well for the first three people, but became increasingly agitated as the number of witches and wizards who wanted to talk about his trial (and imprisonment) kept growing. Remus pushed Sirius ahead, muttering excuses to the crowd, moving well away from anyone who looked like a reporter.
They were stopped at the checkpoint just beyond the Atrium by a badly-shaved, thoroughly bored-looking security wizard in peacock-blue robes.
"Where to?" he grunted.
"Baker Street," said Sirius slowly. "221B Baker Street. London."
"That's Muggle London," said the security wizard, checking a long roll parchment. "You need to go through Detective Chief Inspector Lestrade's Muggle attire inspection before you head out."
Remus and Sirius stared at him.
"Is this new regulation?" Remus asked.
"Well, yes," said the security wizard matter-of-factly. "The Muggles have upped their surveillance systems since 1994, so we're taking extra-precautions to ensure all ministry employees and visitors are actually incognito. You're in luck; he's here today."
The security wizard pointed at a silver-haired man dressed like a Muggle official striding purposefully towards the gates. Remus recognised him as the witness at Sirius's trial who presented the Muggle surveillance images that showed Sirius hadn't cast any spells when the Blasting Curse that killed twelve people had occurred. Remus had felt amazed when the gruff and solemn-looking man introduced himself as 'Detective Chief Inspector Lestrade from Muggle London's Law Enforcement', and had felt even more amazed when the man projected the images by magic without a wand in sight. A wizard capable of wandless magic, hitherto thought to be Grandmaster Shin's exclusive domain, working as a Muggle Law Enforcement officer? Who would've thought?
Mr. Lestrade stopped right in front of Sirius and extended a hand.
"Congratulations, Mr. Black," he said, shaking Sirius's hand. "Heading off to Baker Street?"
Sirius nodded.
"I can take you there," said Mr. Lestrade, smiling affably. "You and your friend just need to look Muggle before you head out. The MoM can set you two up if you don't have the right attire. Just follow me."
Mr. Lestrade led Sirius and Remus to a narrow door adjacent to the golden gates. Shelves of full shoes, and racks overflowing with Muggle clothing were inside the brightly lit room beyond door, which also had three full length mirrors.
"Why is the ministry going through all this trouble?" Remus asked, while Mr. Lestrade browsed through the racks.
"Partially my fault," said Mr. Lestrade ruefully. "I brought to Amelia Bones's attention that non-magic people have this thing called CCTV—security cameras. You lot can't afford to get yourself caught on tape looking and acting wizard, yeah? So the MoM updated their security policy. Mind, they wouldn't have gone this far if I didn't keep telling people: no, bloody hell, no you're not going to Muggle London dressed like that— unacceptable. Now I'm stuck doing this."
"Are we really that bad?"
Mr. Lestrade let out a snort.
"I have a photo gallery of shame; got more than a hundred of pictures in it. Me and the wife look through them when we want a good, long laugh."
Really bad then, Remus thought, as he accepted the tweed jacket Mr. Lestrade handed over to him.
They left the ersatz walk-in closet after Sirius finished dressing himself in a black leather jacket, white shirt and black trousers and Remus wore kakis and a brown chequered shirt under the tweed jacket Mr. Lestrade gave him (their shoes were acceptable). Mr. Lestrade, Remus and Sirius then walked down the long hallway where wizards and witches were arriving and departing through the multitude of gilded fireplaces. A few stopped and stared when Mr. Lestrade marched by. Remus thought he heard someone whisper the name Lestrange when they did so.
Sirius spoke for the first time since the security gate after the three of them squashed themselves inside the broken telephone booth that served as the lift to and from the Ministry of Magic's visitor's entrance.
"Why are people calling you Lestrange?" he asked brusquely.
"Because I am, technically," Mr. Lestrade replied. "You're pure-blood, yeah? Then you'd've at least heard about my father, Hamon Lestrange. He tossed me to the nearest Muggle girl when I tested negative for magic as a baby."
Sirius let out a bark-like laugh. "He would do that. But you must have magic if you're here. What happened?"
"Lost my magic temporarily after getting a blood transfusion and then got it back after donating blood for a couple of years. Don't ask, I don't understand it, either. I'm still new to magic; thought I was a Muggle until this wizard doctor told me I'm a wizard last year."
"It must've been a shock to you," said Remus.
"I'm still in denial," Mr. Lestrade declared. "I'm not a wizard. I just happen to have magic, which is not the same thing. And if I ever catch the berks who let it slip my last name used to be Lestrange, I'm going to commit some serious acts of police brutality against them."
Sirius warmed up considerably after Mr. Lestrade made his threat. The three of them awkwardly stepped out of the lift when they reached Muggle London. Sirius shot out like a loose Bludger. Remus, who left after Sirius, banged himself against the telephone apparatus on his way and winced.
Sirius took for a long moment to stare up at the sky above the dingy street that contained several shabby-looking offices, a pub and an overflowing skip. He looked as though he couldn't believe he was seeing it as a pardoned man. Mr. Lestrade and Remus shared a sad, knowing look and let Sirius stare as long as he liked.
They walked to the garage where Mr. Lestrade had parked his car after Sirius came to. Sirius took the front seat and Remus the back one on the right. Mr. Lestrade told them put on their seatbelts, wearily showed them how when both Sirius and Remus just stared at him, expertly turned on the engine and started driving.
Sirius asked about Harry's adoptive parents on the way.
"Do you know them? What are they like?"
"I'm chummy with Harry's mum," said Mr. Lestrade. "We'd go for drinks at the Leaky Cauldron when we have time. Not lately since she's expecting. You'll like her. Just don't get tripped over by the name: it's John."
Sirius frowned at that. "Isn't that a…"
"Yes, it is. There's a story behind it."
Mr. Lestrade told them how Harry's new mum decided to rename herself John as a living memorial to her dead twin brother. Remus nodded in understanding after the tale. His mind conjured up a strong woman, standing military-straight with loose fists to the sides, whose calm expression hinted at the past memories both sad and glad.
"What about his adoptive father?" Sirius asked.
"I've known him for the last … g-d, it's been almost eleven years," said Mr. Lestrade, gaping slightly in disbelief. "He's hard to describe. He's both a boon and a pain in the backside to us police."
"He works for the Muggle Law Enforcement?"
"Not exactly. He calls himself a private consulting detective. The guys in the station and I ring him up when we're stuck with a funny case—as last resort, usually. Sometimes he invites himself to a case whether you like it or not."
"Ms. Jacqueline said he is bit of an eccentric," said Remus.
Mr. Lestrade rolled his eyes and huffed.
"My sister-in-law can't be mean even if you pay her. Sherlock is an eccentric, sure. He's also the biggest berk I've ever met. If he acts like a tit, you have my permission to turn him into a toad."
Mr. Lestrade eventually parked his car in front of a café named Speedy's. Remus's stomach twisted into knots when he noticed the black door next to the café had the brass lettering 221B. Sirius looked just as jittery at the sight of it.
"We're here," said Mr. Lestrade as he pulled the break.
Mr. Lestrade pressed the buzzer to 221B after everyone left his car. An old lady opened the door shortly. She and Mr. Lestrade exchanged pleasantries. From the short conversation, Remus gathered the old lady was Mrs. Hudson, who insisted she wasn't the housekeeper, but nevertheless she was going to bring up a cuppa because John shouldn't be moving around too much. She only mildly noted Sirius and Remus when they entered. Apparently she thought they were officers working under Mr. Lestrade.
The three of them climbed up a flight of stairs. Remus heard the faint sound of a violin playing. He briefly wondered who it was.
Then Mr. Lestrade opened the first floor's flat door like a man thoroughly at home.
There was a cluttered and yet spacious living room beyond the door. A person who had short blond hair and wearing a red cardigan, cream-coloured shirt and jeans was resting in the leather armchair next to the tiny fireplace. There was a noticeable swell around the person's abdomen, over which the cardigan stretched snuggly.
"How is everyone doing?" asked Mr. Lestrade, gesturing the person to remain sitting.
The person stood up, nevertheless. "He's in a good mood; been dancing on top of my new kidney for the last hour or so. I've been feeling like a beached whale deprived of tea."
"Isn't it okay to drink a cup or two?"
"I'm not risking it," said the person firmly. Then to Sirius and Remus, the person said: "Hi, I'm John Watson. I hope Lestrade didn't colour-code you two."
Remus only then realized that they were. "Uh… Remus Lupin."
"Sirius Black," grunted Sirius.
"Welcome. Lovely to see you," said John, smiling cheerfully as she shook their hands. "Please take a seat. Did Mrs. Hudson offer to make tea? Yes? Okay, then."
John sat heavily back into the leather chair. It was clear she was not used to the extra weight mostly distributed around the front. Remus gently prodded Sirius to sit on the red armchair across from John. Mr. Lestrade brought a chair from the kitchen, placed it next to the red armchair and gestured Remus to sit in it. Remus did so whilst acutely feeling the charged and awkward air that was slowly encroaching upon them.
"That's Harry playing," said John, pointing at the ceiling after everyone took a seat. "Sherlock's with him."
"Why aren't they coming down?" asked Mr. Lestrade.
"They can't hear us. I put a noise-cancelling paper charm on Harry's bedroom door. Sound can go inside-out, but not outside-in."
"Shouldn't it be the other way around?"
"The one time we did, Harry used the fact we can't hear him to skive off practicing."
Mr. Lestrade grinned knowingly.
"But Sherlock figured it out the moment he saw his fingers, yeah?" said Mr. Lestrade.
"Harry did try to make the right indent marks on his fingertips," said John. "But nope, it didn't pass Mr. Sherlock 'I-see-bloody-everything' Holmes's inspection: though you've made indent marks on your fingertips, you have failed to make corresponding marks under your chin. Your hands also lack the smell of rosin. Try harder!"
Sirius, Remus and Mr. Lestrade chuckled over Harry's failure to be sneaky. Meanwhile, John did something with a small, black device that looked a lot like a Magical Mobile phone. Whatever it was, John only used her thumbs to do it.
"There. I just texted Sherlock and Harry; they should be here any moment now," said John after the last press.
Immediately the violin playing stopped. A noisy scuffling sound came from the floor above. A thunderous pall of feet clattering down the stairs rang the flat. The footsteps stopped right behind the closed door for a moment.
Then the door flew open and a tall and lean man, who had a mass of curly black hair, a long pale face, exotic cheekbones and the most lavishly accentuated upper lip, framed the doorway. The man's sharp blue-grey eyes raked over Remus and Sirius. Then he nailed his intense stare on Sirius, pointed a finger at him, and started marching towards his direction.
"Sirius Black," the man pronounced. "You MUST show me how an Animagus transformation is done."
John sighed heavily. "Yep, great introduction. Ta, Sherlock."
"Why bother, both of them know who I am already," said Mr. Holmes dismissively. "More importantly: what is the difference between a regular human-to-animal transfiguration and an Animagus transformation? Do you think differently when you're in your animal form for the latter? Is a wand required for Animagus transformation? I think not because you've done it without one. Come on, speak up, man!"
Sirius closed his gaping mouth. "Wait, what…?" he said weakly.
"Haven't you been listening? I've been asking you about Animagus transformations!" said Mr. Holmes, looking annoyed. "How long did it take you master the spell? When did you start training? What books did you reference?"
Remus noticed Harry waving at the doorway from the corner of his eye.
"Hi, Sirius! Hello Professor Lupin!" he piped.
"Toad," Mr. Lestrade reminded them. "Do it if he's too annoying. You don't have to change him back."
-oo00oo-
As it happened, neither Sirius nor Remus transfigured Sherlock Holmes into a toad or some other animal, despite Mr. Lestrade's repeated exhortation that they do before he left. For one thing, Sherlock's introduction and consequent behaviour seem to assure Sirius that nothing he did could possibly make Harry lose his regard for him. As John wryly put it, almost every word that came out of Sherlock's mouth had a subtextual invitation to punch him in the face, and it was very hard to beat that level of rudeness. At any rate, letting Sherlock take over had the effect of drawing Sirius out of himself and give him and Harry something to do together: namely, talking about the Animagus spell.
"So the clothes simply meld into the transformation, but certain vital items may manifest as markings," said Sherlock, his eyes gleaming.
"Yeah. Like, when James transformed into a stag, he had gold markings around the eyes, where his glasses should be," said Sirius.
Sherlock regarded Harry thoughtfully. "You might consider getting laser eye surgery before attempting this. It wouldn't do to manifest such obvious markings if you want to be discreet."
"But what if I turn into a black-furred green-eyed stag?" asked Harry.
"Augh, magical intuition," Sherlock spat, like he was expunging something foul. "I'll never get the hang of it!"
Sirius and Harry shared a grin as Sherlock ranted over the unreasonableness of magic. Remus smiled faintly at the proceeding from his vantage point at the sitting room table, located between the twin windows. Now that Sirius had settled in and Mrs. Hudson had delivered the tea as promised, Remus was able to take in his surroundings. The décor was as eccentric as the man who lived here. The lamp hanging on the wall between the windows looked like a bull's head wearing white earmuffs, a yellow smiley-face was painted on the adjacent wall, a skull poster adorned the same wall as the smiley-face, and a real human skull was sitting on the mantelpiece. Other odds and ends like Arabic oil lamps and Chinese calligraphy inkstones were sitting on the shelves behind him and a bundle of red chili-peppers were hanging on the kitchen doorpost.
"You're taking him very well," John remarked from the other side of the table.
"Well, he seems to doing Sirius a lot of good," said Remus, cradling his teacup.
John smiled. "Oddly enough, yeah, he is. It's a bit hard to stay inside your head when someone whose ego is as big as a black hole rolls into your personal space."
Remus tried very hard not to laugh. "Most would stay clear out of the way."
"Normally, yes, but I don't think he's ready for that yet," said John lightly, before turning sombre. "So from a scale of one to ten, how wretched has he been?"
Remus felt the smile on his face fade. "Your scale sounds a bit biased," he deflected.
"You know you give away a lot just from saying that," said John shrewdly. "I can tell he hasn't been sleeping much and his eating habits are still way out of whack. And the whole reinvestigation and exoneration process took, what, three months? That's a long time to wait alone in house-arrest, even if you sort-of-kind-of know the outcome. I also wonder how he is now after being rendered incapable of feeling anything positive for twelve years. The possible pathology alone gives me shivers. So: where is he on the scale?"
Remus looked down at his teacup. "I think he's been hoping to feel something once he meets Harry."
"Everything just feels flat, yeah?"
"He tries to act normal when I come to visit. And he does, as long as I don't stay too long. But if the visit goes longer than twenty minutes…"
"He just runs out of steam," said John, understandingly. "You've got your work cut out for him."
Remus said nothing as he pondered the depths of his teacup.
"It's good you kept making contact," said John. "That would've assured him a lot. Did he get Harry's letters?"
"Yes," said Remus, looking up. "Those weekly invite reminders really helped; kept him from staying in a dark place for too long."
"It's always good to know someone remembers you," said John sagely. "You know, I've been thinking: Harry really needs a wizard godfather—possibly a squad of them, if you have any idea what he sometimes gets himself into. We can do most of the parenting, but there's stuff we simply can't do. Like, I'd love to go to the Quidditch world cup with him, but it'll take a very special clause to let me go. So why don't you three go and have some bonding time? I don't mind buying the tickets."
Remus felt his heart leap. "I couldn't possibly—"
"Just take some videos for me to watch later," said John, grinning. "I really, really want to see what a Quidditch match is like. I've been asking Snape to take videos for the last three freakin' years, but the bastard refuses to take them. Please be more reasonable."
Remus was momentarily derailed at the idea John was even in speaking terms with Snape. But then, he reasoned, a woman this lovely could probably manage it … like Lily had.
"Yes, of course," he stammered.
John beamed. "And maybe, when the time is right, you two can take Harry to his parents' grave site. I know he wants to go pay his respects, but we couldn't take him because we have no idea where it is. And even if we did…"
"…You may not be able to see it," said Remus sadly. "You know, I have never felt more keenly how unreasonable the Muggle-Magic divide is."
"We're bit of an exception, if I were honest," said John, smiling wryly. "But for now let's work with what we have."
Just then a noisy scraping and rustling movement came from the other side of the living room. Remus and John looked up and saw Sirius in his dog form, Harry packing his whimsical messenger bag that proclaimed it contained 'a very large knife' among other ominous-sounding things, and Sherlock donning a coat that looked more suitable for winter than early summer.
"Where are you going?" asked John.
"Regents Park," said Sherlock as he buttoned his coat. "I want to determine how accurately Sirius can communicate with other dogs in his Animagus form."
"Oh, an outing! Great, let me get my jacket," said John, rising.
Sherlock's expression became slightly fixed. "Um, John, perhaps—"
"Six months pregnant, not lying on my death bed," said John sternly.
Sherlock pulled a deeply unhappy face, which didn't move John at all. Nevertheless something did make John pause.
"Wait, doesn't Harry have violin lessons in thirty minutes?"
"Cancel it," said Sherlock immediately.
Harry eagerly pulled out his phone to comply, but something on it made him stop.
"…She already did," he said in palpable astonishment.
Sherlock and John turned to stare at him incredulously.
"Perhaps she had an unexpected engagement?" said Remus, while dog-Sirius titled his head to the side in curiosity.
"Miss Jackie never cancels appointments," said Harry.
"Only death, unconsciousness or forced immobilization will stop her from keeping them," Sherlock rumbled.
"And lately she doesn't even let the latter two stop her," said John. "Case in point: she had three doppelgangers running around doing her jobs while her real-self was petrified after indirect exposure to a bloody basilisk."
Now it was Remus and Sirius's turn to gape stupidly as the statement sunk in.
"Such dedication," said Remus with feeling.
"Bloody bone-headed stubbornness, that's what I call it," John growled whilst texting. "Jack, what's going on?"
John frowned more deeply when her phone pinged a few moments later.
" 'The number you're trying to reach is temporarily out of service'? Jack, where the hell are you?"
-oo00oo-
Dr. Robert Ransom, more widely known as Robert D. Ju, was well known for his skills as a surgeon and alarmingly accurate insight into people (as well as his disinclination to do anything uplifting with the latter knowledge unless a patient was involved). Since his return from a prolonged stay at Great Britain, many noticed the gift that made him famous became even more acute. Just recently, he successfully operated on the key witness of a shooting case, who had a bullet lodged in his brain in such a way all the other doctors threw their hands up in defeat and made the district court temporarily move quarters and hold session in the witness's hospital room. The witness survived the operation and his prognosis was excellent. As one reporter put it, Dr. Ju's skills were practically witchcraft.
However, those who were in the know, those who worked closely with Dr. Ju, knew that even the knowledge that he had succeeded where all the others had failed, and that the medical community had re-embraced him again, was insufficient to rouse him from the state of gloom he'd fallen into since his return.
"You're not asking me about my wellbeing because you care about it," said Robert tonelessly when his director asked how he was doing. "You're asking me because you're wondering how my current state is affecting my performance. Don't worry. It's not going down."
Questionably altruistic motives aside, the director had good reasons to ask about Robert's wellbeing. When not in the operating theater, Robert was listless and silent, often found staring sadly out of a window. If one were to ask his friend Tim, he would've said the only time Robert was this devastated was when he returned from Europe many years ago, after breaking up with his first and only girlfriend/fiancée.
On this particular day, across the Atlantic the wizarding world was celebrating justice belatedly served, while in the USA the day had been shaping up no different than the others; just another end of a long shift at the hospital and a very morose Robert Ju.
Then his cell phone rang. His colleagues were far more surprised at the fact that he had a cell phone than at the fact he was talking to someone on a cell phone, because Robert was infamous for his resistance towards electronics. They, therefore, weren't paying attention to the first part of the conversation. By the time they thought to eavesdrop, Robert was already beyond hearing range.
"Hello Robert," said a soft voice.
Robert's expression transformed the moment he recognized the voice. His face beheld mixture of terrible sadness—and desperate hope.
"Hi Jacqueline," he said croakily.
"I … wanted to apologise," said Jacqueline, "For cutting you off so suddenly. A friend of mine pointed out that — abruptness aside — you didn't act inappropriately considering the facts. It was I who reacted badly. I'm sorry."
Robert let out a mirthless chuckle. "It's alright, I'm always awkward."
"Can I hire you again?"
Robert swallowed dry-mouthed several times. He looked as though he was on the verge of saying something he knew he shouldn't say.
"That … wouldn't be very … appropriate, now, would it?" he whispered.
"No," said Jacqueline quietly. "But I can I talk to you?"
"In person?"
"Yes."
"Where are you? When can I meet you?" asked Robert as he walked swiftly down the hall.
"I'm in front of a bayside restaurant called Harris Crab House."
"…You're in MD!?"
"I had a sudden urge for Chesapeake blue crab," said Jacqueline shyly.
Robert broke into a wide smile. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes," he promised.
"Okay. See you soon."
The call disconnected with a click.
Robert stuffed his phone back into his pocket and broke into a run.
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: As I pondered what other ugly things Robert would possess, I thought he would totally drive an ugly car. Like the Nissan Cube, which one of the ugliest cars I've ever seen. Here is a snippet of dialogue that didn't make the cut:
"Robert," said Jacqueline. "Your car looks like a shiny, misshapen icebox propped on wheels. I feel ashamed just looking at it."
"It's a Nissan Cube."
"Why is it called 'Cube'? Nothing about this car reminds me of a cube."
I made the Dementor after-effects a bit more serious for Sirius. Mostly because I think it would be highly unlikely he'd abruptly turn normal after feeling nothing but despair and anger for twelve years. Hagrid was only there for about a month in ASIM (two in Canon) and so what he describes in POA, chapter 11, would not apply to Sirius ("Yeh can' really remember who yeh are after a while. An' yeh can' really see the point o' livin' at all. I used ter hope I'd jus' die in me sleep. When they let me out, it was like bein' born again, ev'rythin' came floodin' back, it was the bes' feelin' in the world."). In many ways, the first time Harry was able to interact with post-Azkaban Sirius on a long-term basis was at OOTP. Before that, their meetings were always short, with more urgent agendas at hand, and no time for relationship building. The realism in which JK dealt with the issue, which angered me at the first read right after OOTP came out, now makes me very sad and pained.