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 Eight: Many Unexpected Discoveries
Harry got a call from John the night before he boarded the Hogwarts Express. He hesitated, wondering if it was Sherlock masquerading as John, John calling him to tell him she was disappointed at him for his outburst (which, as painful as it was to admit, had been unwarranted), or … something else. Something more horrible.
Harry reluctantly put his MMN phone to his ear.
"Hey, babe," said John quietly.
Harry held his breath. It had been years since John used endearments to Harry, and he didn't know what it meant, John using it now.
"Are we good?" John asked.
"Yes!" said Harry immediately. "I was never angry at you! And I didn't … I know Sherlock didn't…"
John waited as Harry tried to come up with the right words.
"He, um, just meant that I don't have to stay around, right?" said Harry in a small voice.
"Yes," said John calmly. "I'm not saying this as an excuse for him, but Sherlock didn't want to see you stick around and feel useless when you could spend your time better enjoying Ron's company."
"But I couldn't do that! You're sick!" Harry protested.
"I'm always sick," said John flatly. "But just because I'm sick, doesn't mean you have to be miserable too. If you're going to be a doctor, you need to get that or you'll burn out."
Harry went silent. After a moment, he heard John sigh.
"Speaking of your future," John said, "Sherlock and I had a talk with Dumbledore and Snape. Not the two of them together and Sherlock did most of the talking."
Harry had a bad feeling about this.
"Relax, I said that I was there, didn't I?" John paused. "Alright, fine, it would've have helped, but we agreed to what he was going to say. Long story short, we said we're not going to allow Snape sabotage your Potions education."
Harry's heart took a huge leap. "Really?"
"Yes. Now don't expect too much change in the classroom. He's still going to be a horrible teacher, there's just no going around it. But if he gives you zeros for no good reason, or if he gives you a look or mutters something that's derogatory around you—and that's from your POV, not his—then we're going to talk to the Press."
Harry marvelled. John and Sherlock hated the Press. Yet they must've thought it was worth braving.
"Sorry, Harry, we should've done this earlier," said John softly. "I thought … I hoped, at bare minimum, Snape would ignore you and mark you as harshly as everyone else. Apparently I gave him too much credit."
"I don't care," said Harry hotly. "As long as he doesn't look at me or talk to me, I don't care. That's good enough."
"You have really high expectations, don't you? And NOPE," John barked suddenly, making Harry jump. "You're not going to skive off when I had to listen to you rake Snape over the coals. You're going to do your hard part!"
Bewildered, Harry turned on the holograph function of his phone.
The projected image showed John tugging hard on an arm Harry recognised as Sherlock's. It was amusing to see Sherlock putting up such a fight and refuse to come into view. As he watched, John did a huge tug and Sherlock tumbled backwards and fell on the floor.
"It's okay," said Harry, laughing at the curly hair on the bottom edge of the holograph. "I know what you meant."
"…Yes, obviously," said Sherlock stiffly. "Now do prove your difficulty with Potions is mostly the fault of the teacher, not any lack of effort or talent from your part. I hate to be corrected later."
"I will," Harry promised fiercely.
-oo00oo-
Heavy rain was still splattering against the windows when Harry woke up the next morning. But he was feeling none of the gloom he felt this past week as he got dressed in dark jeans and collared shirt. This school year was going to be different, he just knew it.
He, Ron, Fred and George entered the kitchen together. Mrs. Weasley was adding more buttered toast to the stack on the kitchen table. Ginny and Hermione were already there, eating porridge, and Mr. Weasley was reading the paper.
"Good Morning, boys," said Mr. Weasley, smiling over the Daily Prophet.
"Morning, Dad. So how are we going to London? The car?" asked Fred as he spread marmalade to his toast.
"Yes, your father is driving us," said Mrs. Weasley as she started frying up eggs. "I do hope everyone can fit in… there's going to be—goodness, ten of us at least."
Bill, Charlie and Percy soon joined everyone at kitchen table. Bill and Charlie decided to come and see everyone off at King's Cross station, but Percy, apologising most profusely, said that he really needed to get to work.
"I just can't justify taking more time off at the moment," he told them. "Mr. Crouch is really starting to rely on me."
"Yeah, you know what, Percy?" said George seriously. "I reckon he'll know your name soon."
After everyone ate their full of breakfast, they entered the rain-soaked yard to load their trunks in the Mr. Weasley's Turquoise Ford Anglia. Several Filibuster's Fabulous No-Heat, Wet-Start Fireworks went off unexpectedly when Fred's trunk sprang open, causing Ron to yell with pain when Crookshanks clawed his way up his leg. It took a while for Crookshanks to recover from the fireworks and rain, and by the time everyone got into the car and Mr. Weasley turned on the ignition, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all severely scratched.
The journey to London was very noisy, owing to the fact Ron's new owl was making an ear-splitting racket.
"Shut up, Pig," said Ron irritably at the tiny owl, who zoomed around inside its cage, twittering madly.
"Why'd you decided to name it 'Pig'?" asked Harry, thinking some variation of 'Feathery Snitch' would've have been more appropriate.
"He's just being stupid," said Ginny from the front passenger seat. "Its proper name is Pigwidgeon."
"Yeah, that's not a stupid name at all," said Ron sarcastically. "Ginny named him," he added. "She reckons it's sweet. I tried to change it, but he won't answer. So he's Pig."
They arrived at London fifteen minutes before eleven. Everyone was relieved to get out of the car, though the rain was pouring down harder than ever. As Harry, eight Weasleys and Hermione left Mr. Weasley's Ford Anglia and removed six sets of trunks from its small boot, Harry fervently hoped no Muggle would pay even a fraction of attention to them, because they would instantly notice something was seriously strange about their group.
Everyone got soaked on their way to the King's Cross station, but thankfully no one asked them about impossible car loading stunts. Sherlock, John and Sirius were waiting for them at the solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten, which served as the gateway to the hidden platform nine and three quarters. Sirius was dressed in a black leather jacket, T-shirt and dark trousers as usual. Sherlock and John on the other hand, looked quite different from their normal selves. Sherlock was wearing a tie for one thing, and instead of a tailored jacket, he was wearing a grey cardigan. He'd also groomed his hair to part on the left and settle in elegant waves. As for John, she was wearing the long blonde wig that reached pass the shoulder-blades and a stylish maternity dress of navy blue.
"Are you going undercover?" asked Harry as Ron and Hermione lined up against the barrier.
"I'm a rising lawyer at a private London firm; Escott by name," Sherlock confirmed. "I've been commissioned to locate and retrieve certain documents from Appledore & Melverton Associates."
"How are you going to—" Harry caught the twinkle in Sirius's eye. "…Never mind. I shouldn't ask."
"Plausible deniability," John agreed.
The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming scarlet steam engine, was already there at platform nine and three quarters. Clouds of steam billowing from it, through which the many Hogwarts students and parents on the platform appeared like dark ghosts. Pigwidgeon became noisier than ever in response to the hooting of many owls through the mist. Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off to find seats, and met Julia Lestrade and her father, Detective Chief Inspector Lestrade, at a compartment halfway along the train.
"My Dad knows how to Apparate now," said Julia proudly after greeting them.
"No, I don't," Mr. Lestrade denied affably. Then he started at the sight of Sherlock and John. "What the bloody hell are two up to? Why are you—" he stopped. "—No, don't tell me. I don't want to know."
"You really don't," John agreed.
Harry, Ron and Hermione stowed their luggage inside Julia's compartment. They then hopped back down onto the platform to say good-bye to Sherlock and John, Sirius, Mr. Lestrade, Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie.
"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged Ginny good-bye.
"Why?" Fred said keenly.
"You'll see," said Charlie. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it … its 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,' after all."
"Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year," said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train.
"Why?" George said impatiently.
"You're going to have an interesting year," said Mr. Lestrade, his dark eyes twinkling. "I might get time off to come and watch it."
"Watch what?" asked Julia.
But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley chivvied them toward the train doors. All the magic adults kept mum on the subject to the very end, only smiling and waving when Fred bellowed: "Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts! What rules are they changing?" as the train sped up. Then they Disapparated before the train rounded the corner.
Harry, Ron, Hermione and Julia went back to their compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out one of his school robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle his hooting.
"Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," he said grumpily, sitting down next to Harry. "At the World Cup before Crouch shut him up, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what it is."
"Whatever it is, Uncle Jeremy and Auntie Jack are involved in it too," said Julia. "Mind, Auntie Jack is really grumpy and Uncle Jeremy is really excited, so I think it's—"
"Shh!" Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to theirs. Harry, Ron and Julia listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door.
"… Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore — the man's such a Mudblood-lover — and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defence rubbish we do…"
Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy's voice.
"So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" she said angrily. "I wish he had gone. Then we wouldn't have to put up with him."
"Durmstrang's another wizarding school?" said Harry.
"Yes," said Hermione, sniffing disdainfully. "It has a horrible reputation. According to An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts."
"I think I've heard of it," said Ron vaguely. "Where is it? What country?"
"Well, nobody knows, do they?" said Hermione, raising her eyebrows.
"Er—why not?"
"There's traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "Durmstrang and Beauxbatons conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets. I think they're also unplottable, to keep foreign wizards from finding it…"
"Come again?"
"Well, you can enchant a building so it's impossible to plot on a map, can't you?"
"Er … if you say so," said Ron.
"But I think Durmstrang must be somewhere in the far north," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Somewhere very cold, because they've got fur capes as part of their uniforms."
"Ah, think of the possibilities," said Ron dreamily. "It would've been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident … Shame his mother likes him…"
The rain became heavier and heavier as the train moved farther north. The sky was so dark and the windows so steamy that the lanterns were lit by midday. Several of their friends looked in on them as the afternoon progressed, including Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom. Seamus was still wearing his Ireland rosette, which was still squeaking "Troy - Mullet - Moran!" but in a very feeble and exhausted sort of way. After half an hour or so, Hermione, growing tired of the endless Quidditch talk, buried herself once more in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, and started trying to learn a Summoning Charm.
Seamus and Dean eventually left, though Neville stayed behind to talk some more.
"Uncle Algie bought a new wand for me," he said, proudly showing it to them, "Cherry wood and unicorn hair, ten inches."
"What happened to your old wand?" asked Harry.
"I, um, lost it," said Neville, turning very red, "At the World Cup. Gran was very displeased."
The afternoon melted slowly into evening. Ron started talking wistfully about the start of term feast, and Julia gloomily dreaded it (as a vegetarian, Julia had a hard time with Hogwarts' meat-and-poultry dominated cookery).
Harry was thinking about having a word with Blippy and the Hogwarts House-elves when someone far less pleasant than Seamus and Dean entered their compartment…
-oo00oo-
"Why are you here, Lestrange?"
Hermione looked up from her reading and found Draco Malfoy at the doorway. Behind him stood Crabbe and Goyle, his enormous, thuggish cronies, both of whom appeared to have grown at least a foot during the summer.
Julia, whom Malfoy was addressing, pretended she didn't hear him and started to clean the lenses of her glasses carefully.
"Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy," said Harry coolly.
"You can't be eager to join the likes of Weasley and Longbottom," said Malfoy, throwing a scornful look at Ron and Neville. "I know you're fairly new to the Wizarding World proper, but didn't your uncles teach you better?"
"Eat dung, Malfoy!" snarled Ron, turning as red as his Christmas jumpers, while Neville balled up his fists.
Julia just kept cleaning the lenses of her glasses, as though she had suddenly turned deaf. Malfoy narrowed his eyes slightly and then turned to Ron again.
"So … going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know … you'd be able to afford new things if you won…"
"What are you talking about?" snapped Ron, stuffing his second-hand school robes back into his trunk.
"Are you going to enter?" Malfoy repeated. "I suppose you will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?"
"Either explain what you're on about or go away, Malfoy," said Hermione testily.
A gleeful smile spread across Malfoy's pale face
"Don't tell me you don't know?" he said delightedly. "You've got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don't even know? My God, my father told me about it ages ago … heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry … Maybe your father's too junior to know about it, Weasley … yes … they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him… "
Laughing once more, Malfoy beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle, and the three of them made moves to leave.
"I win. Sorry, Julia, pay up," said Harry loudly.
Malfoy stopped. Julia looked up.
"Oh, fine," she said, tossing a silver Sickle at Harry, who caught it one-handed.
"What are you talking about?" said Malfoy, his eyes narrowing to slits.
"I bet Julia here you wouldn't pass the chance to taunt us about the 'friendly inter-school competition' Hogwarts, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are going to enter this year," said Harry calmly.
"And I said you can't be that boring," said Julia, sighing a little. "Must you be?"
Malfoy flushed pale pink. Then, angry and abashed, he stalked off, Crabbe and Goyle blundering stupidly after him.
"You knew what Malfoy was harping on about! How did you know?" Ron said as soon as he shut the compartment door again.
"I didn't know, I figured it out," said Harry.
"How?" said Hermione, Ron and Neville together.
"Ron's brother Percy has been hinting about a top-secret event he's working on all summer," Harry explained. "Bagman and Crouch mentioned it, too, in their own way at the World Cup. Mrs. Weasley said something exciting is happening in Hogwarts this year. What kind of event could happen in Hogwarts this year that needs the Department of International Magical Cooperation, where Percy and Crouch works at, and the Department of Magical Games and Sports, where Bagman is head? Some kind of inter-school competition, with foreign school teams coming over to Hogwarts to compete against us."
Hermione clapped her forehead. "Of course! I see it now! But the bet! When did you two make it?"
"We didn't," said Julia. "I just went along because Harry sounded like he knew what he was talking about."
"Sorry for springing it at you like that," said Harry apologetically.
"I didn't mind," said Julia, smiling.
"It could've ended badly if Malfoy used his brains a bit," said Harry wryly. "I couldn't figure out what kind of competition. So I threw in the names Durmstrang and Beauxbatons to make it sound like I knew what it was about. If Hermione hadn't mentioned those foreign schools earlier, I would've sounded too vague."
"No, you wouldn't have," said Neville stoutly.
"Yeah, inter-school competition, that definitely sounds too specific," agreed Ron. "So what do you reckon? Think Hogwarts would be holding Quidditch matches against Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, like in the World Cup?"
"Maybe. But Malfoy made it sound like it was an individual thing…"
"Well, if it's Quidditch, I'd like to try out for the team, maybe as Keeper," said Ron. "I've still got some gold left over from the World Cup viewer project. Maybe it'll be enough to buy me a Cleansweep Seven."
"How much did you get?"
Ron smirked a little. "Three thousand Galleons."
"Three thousand!?" Hermione exclaimed. "How did you make that much? And how did you spend it all so quickly?"
"I'm entitled to a percentage of the profits for all the projects I lead," Ron explained. Then his ears turned a bit pink. "I gave most of it to Mum and Dad. They needed it."
"Why?" asked Harry.
"Er, turns out Dad took out a loan to buy the car," said Ron, his ears turning pinker still. "He's also got this plastic card thing he uses to buy stuff from Muggle shops. Someone told him a lot of Muggles use it to buy things, and he liked it better than Muggle money because it was easier to deal with. Only the company he got the card from, they sent us the bills through Muggle mail, and the Muggle postman didn't know how to find our house because he never delivered to our address, so…"
"Oh dear," said Julia sympathetically.
"Well, it's all settled now," said Ron, collapsing back to his seat. "Julia's dad taught my dad how to pay it all off. Dad said your dad knew a lot about Muggle loans and banks."
"He would," muttered Julia.
They changed into their school robes after this. The train slowed down, and finally stopped in the pitch-darkness of Hogsmeade station. As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. Hermione bundled up Crookshanks in her cloak and Ron wrapped his school robe around Pigwidgeon's cage as they left the train, heads bent and eyes narrowed against the downpour. The rain was now coming down so thick and fast that it was as though buckets of ice-cold water were being emptied repeatedly over their heads.
"Hi, Hagrid!" yelled Harry at a gigantic silhouette at the far end of the platform.
"All righ', Harry?" Hagrid bellowed back, waving. "See yeh at the feast if we don' drown!"
"Oooh, I wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this weather," said Hermione fervently, shivering as they inched slowly along the dark platform with the majority of the crowd as the first years were led towards to the lake, where they'd to be taken to Hogwarts castle by small enchanted boats. A hundred horseless carriages stood waiting for them outside the station. Hermione, Harry, Ron, Julia and Neville climbed gratefully into one of them, the door shut with a snap, and a few moments later, with a great lurch, the long procession of carriages was rumbling and splashing its way up the track toward Hogwarts Castle.
"I didn't know those horse-things were tame," said Harry as the carriages trundled, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale.
"What horse-things? These carriages aren't pulled by horses!" said Hermione.
"Yeah they are," said Harry, frowning. "Can't you see them?"
"Nope," said Ron.
"I can," said Julia.
"Me too, I can see them, too," added Neville.
There was a moment of silence as the five of them stared at each other.
"How can there be a horse only three of us can see?" said Ron incredulously.
"But I do see them!" said Harry. "Neville and Julia, the horses, they have dragon-faces and look like they need a lot of feeding, right?"
"Yes, and they have glowing white eyes and fangs for teeth," said Julia, adding more ominous details.
"And leathery wings," Neville said.
"That doesn't sound like a horse," muttered Ron.
"It also has four legs and a long, hairy black tail," added Julia helpfully.
"That still doesn't sound like a horse," Ron argued.
It finally clicked in Hermione's head.
"Oooh, I think I know what you three are seeing! Thestrals!"
"What?" said Harry and Julia, bewildered.
"Aren't those bad luck?" said Ron in alarm while Neville squeaked.
"That's just superstition, just like Grims," said Hermione impatiently. To Harry and Julia, she said: "Thestrals are a type of winged-horse. The only people who can see Thestrals are people who have seen death. I didn't know they could be tamed, though. I wish I could see them…"
As soon as she said this, Hermione noticed the shuttered look on Harry's face. Then she realised what she'd just said and was horror-struck.
"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean—"
"No, it's fine," said Harry. "I know you didn't mean anything by it."
There was a bit of a pause.
"So you two can see them, too," Harry said, nodding at Neville and Julia. "I don't know if this is okay to ask, but … who?"
"My granddad," said Neville.
"There's not one in particular," Julia replied, and when everyone stared at her, she elaborated: "The thing about having a police officer for a Dad is that you end up going to a lot of funerals."
Ron looked as lost for words as Hermione after that statement. Harry, on the other hand, was looking at Julia as though suddenly seeing her in a whole new light.
"Yeah, that makes sense…" he muttered.
Then Harry turned to lean against the window, where one could see Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain.
-oo00oo-
Lightning flashed across the sky as Hermione, Harry, Ron, Julia and Neville's carriage came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. People who had occupied the carriages in front were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. The five of them jumped down from their carriage and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when they were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall, with its magnificent marble staircase.
"Blimey," said Ron, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, "if that keeps up the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak— ARRGH!"
A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron's head and exploded. Drenched and sputtering, Ron staggered sideways into Harry, just as a second water bomb dropped— narrowly missing Hermione, but bursting on Harry's trainers. People all around them shrieked and started pushing one another in their efforts to get out of the line of fire. Hermione looked up and saw, floating twenty feet above them, Peeves the Poltergeist, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow tie, his wide, malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again.
"PEEVES!" yelled an angry voice. "Peeves, stop that at ONCE!"
Professor McGonagall had come dashing out of the Great Hall; she skidded on the wet floor and grabbed Hermione around the neck to stop from falling.
"Ouch—sorry, Miss Granger—"
"That's all right, Professor!" Hermione gasped, massaging her throat.
"Peeves, stop right NOW!" barked Professor McGonagall, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upward through her square-rimmed spectacles.
"Not doing nothing!" cackled Peeves, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!" And he aimed another bomb at a group of second years who had just arrived.
"I shall call Filch and the headmaster!" shouted Professor McGonagall. "I'm warning you, Peeves—"
Peeves was sticking his tongue out when Julia tossed a blood-red card at him.
Many Hufflepuffs cheered when the card started chasing after Peeves, who zoomed off up the marble staircase, dropping the rest of his balloons on the empty stairs whilst screaming in terror.
"What is that?" asked Ron, awed.
"I don't know," said Julia, looking as surprised as Ron. "Grandpa said I should use it if Peeves is irritating."
"He's teaching you magic?" asked Hermione jealously.
"Uh, kind of," said Julia, blushing. "I always liked his way of magic better because there's not as much rote memorization…"
"Well, move along!" said Professor McGonagall sharply to the bedraggled crowd. "Into the Great Hall, come on!"
Everyone slipped and slid across the entrance hall and through the double doors on the right.
The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. The four long House tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils. It was much warmer in here. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Julia and Neville walked past the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws, Julia joined the Hufflepuffs, and the remaining four of them sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost.
"Good evening," he said, beaming at them.
"Says who?" said Harry, taking off his trainers and emptying them of water. "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I'm starving."
Hermione looked up at the staff table. There seemed to be rather more empty seats there than usual. Hagrid, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first years; Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the entrance hall floor. Hermione scrutinized the staff table more carefully, and counted exactly two empty seats. The expected professors were present. Professor Dumbledore was in the middle; his long, thin fingers were together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. Tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway grey hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra's other side was the sallow-faced, hook-nosed, greasy-haired Potions master, Snape.
Snape was Harry, Ron and Neville's least favourite person in Hogwarts, and Hermione shared their dislike, if not their outright loathing (Ron) or fear (Neville). It was difficult to hold the man in any regard when he singled out some students for bullying, others for favouritism and was downright cruel to everyone else.
Hermione felt herself frowning. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but Snape seemed to regarding Harry with, if possible, greater intensity of hatred than usual. Normally Snape regarded Harry like a disgusting species of vermin he wished to squash, but now he was glaring at Harry as though he'd killed his best friend.
"Oh hurry up," Ron moaned, interrupting Hermione's thoughts, "I could eat a hippogriff."
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall. If Harry, Ron, and Hermione were wet, it was nothing to how these first years looked. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed.
Professor McGonagall brought out the old Sorting Hat, which sang the annual Sorting Song. Harry, who through a combination of extremely unfortunate circumstances was unable to attend any sorting except his own until today, watched and listened the proceedings with deep fascination. Soon Sorting started; boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces moving one by one to the three-legged stool, the line dwindling slowly as Professor McGonagall called out their names.
"Oh c'mon," Ron moaned, massaging his stomach, as Professor McGonagall passed the L's.
"Now, Ron, the Sorting's much more important than food," said Nearly Headless Nick as "Madley, Laura!" became a Hufflepuff.
"Course it is, if you're dead," snapped Ron.
"I do hope this year's batch of Gryffindors are up to scratch," said Nearly Headless Nick, applauding as "McDonald, Natalie!" joined the Gryffindor table. "We don't want to break our winning streak, do we?"
Professor McGonagall continued to call out names. Pritchard, Graham … Quirke, Orla …
And finally, with "Whitby, Kevin!" ("HUFFLEPUFF!"), the Sorting ended. Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and the stool and carried them away.
"About time," said Ron, seizing his knife and fork and looking expectantly at his golden plate.
Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome.
"I have only two words to say to you," he told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. "Tuck in."
"Hear, hear!" said Harry and Ron loudly as the empty dishes filled magically before their eyes.
Nearly Headless Nick watched mournfully as everyone loaded their plates.
"Aaah, 'at's be'er," said Ron, with his mouth full of mashed potato.
"You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know," said Nearly Headless Nick. "There was trouble in the kitchens earlier."
"Why? Wha' 'appened?" said Harry, through a sizable chunk of steak.
"Peeves, of course," said Nearly Headless Nick, shaking his head, which wobbled dangerously. He pulled his ruff a little higher up on his neck. "The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast—well, it's quite out of the question, you know what he's like, utterly uncivilized, can't see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghost's council—the Fat Friar was all for giving him the chance—but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down."
The Bloody Baron was the Slytherin ghost, a gaunt and silent specter covered in silver bloodstains. He was the only person at Hogwarts who could really control Peeves.
"Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something," said Ron darkly. "So what did he do in the kitchens?"
"Oh the usual," said Nearly Headless Nick, shrugging. "Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits."
"Poor Blippy and the rest," said Hermione sympathetically. "We better go see them and cheer them up."
"Oh, I'm not sure that's wise," said Nearly Headless Nick. "I mean, you're not supposed to see them, are you? That's the mark of a good house-elf, isn't it, that you don't know it's there?"
Hermione stared at him.
"But they love it when we pay them a visit and compliment them for doing a great job! I mean, why wouldn't they?"
Nearly Headless Nick chortled so much that his ruff slipped and his head flopped off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still attached it to his neck.
"I'm sorry, but that was unusually naïve, coming from you," he said, pushing his head back onto his shoulders and securing it once more with his ruff. "Of course House-elves love the compliments; they're born to serve!"
Feeling deeply offended but unable to articulate why, Hermione huffed and turned to her food.
When the puddings too had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.
"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."
The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. Then he continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year.
"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."
"What?" Harry gasped. He looked around at Fred and George, his fellow members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. They were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak.
Dumbledore went on, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy— but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place."
"You're JOKING!" said Fred Weasley loudly.
The outrage that filled the Hall over the cancelled Inter-House Quidditch Cup suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.
"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar…"
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.
"Er— but maybe this is not the time… no…" said Dumbledore, "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament … well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely."
Dumbledore launched a short history and background about the Triwizard Tournament. Hermione was familiar with the content, though she hadn't known the tournament was discontinued because the death toll was too high (Death Toll?! Whose!?). However, this summer, the Department of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Game and Sports thought time was ripe for another attempt and worked tirelessly to ensure no champion would endanger their life doing the three magical tasks they'd be assigned to do.
"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween," said Dumbledore. "An impartial judge will decide which students are worthiest to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."
"I'm going for it!" Fred Weasley hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches, which was shared throughout the Hall. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quieted once more.
"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age— that is to say, seventeen years or older—will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This—" Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious—"is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion." His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.
"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"
"They can't do that!" said George Weasley, who had not joined the crowd moving toward the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?"
"They're not stopping me entering," said Fred stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. "The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"
"Doesn't sound enough to risk your life for," said Ron.
"Yeah, you would say that, Mr. Business Director of the Magical Mobile Network," Fred retorted.
"Hey!"
"Come on," said Hermione, interrupting the fight, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Fred and George set off for the entrance hall, Fred and George debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen from entering the tournament. Harry, who apparently written off the topic as something entirely irrelevant to him, eyed the stairway leading to the kitchens.
"Wanna take a quick trip before we go to bed?" he asked.
Neville and Ron shook their heads in the negative. Hermione, on the other hand, was all for it, so the two of them bid the other boys good night, went to the underground passage, and stopped in front of the picture of the giant fruit bowl. Harry stretched out his forefinger and tickled the huge green pear. It began to squirm, chuckling, and suddenly turned into a large green door handle. Harry seized it, and pulled the door open.
They had one brief glimpse of an enormous, high-ceilinged room, large as the Great Hall above it, when something small hurtled toward them from the middle of the room, squealing, "Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter!"
Next second all the wind was knocked out of Harry as the squealing elf hit him hard in the midriff, hugging him so tightly the elf's short arms actually managed to encircle his entire ribcage.
"D-Dobby?" Harry gasped.
"It is Dobby, sir, it is!" squealed the elf, his face somewhere around Harry's navel. "Dobby has been hoping and hoping to see Harry Potter, sir, and Harry Potter has come to see him, sir!"
Dobby let go and stepped back a few paces, beaming up at Harry, his enormous, green, tennis-ball-shaped eyes brimming with tears of happiness. He looked almost exactly as Harry described him; the pencil-shaped nose, the batlike ears, the long fingers and feet—all except the clothes, which wasn't the filthy old pillowcase Harry said he'd worn when working for the Malfoys, nor was it a tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest tied like a toga like other Hogwarts elves. Instead he wearing a tea cosy for a hat, on which he had pinned a number of bright badges; a tie patterned with horseshoes over a bare chest, a pair of what looked like children's football shorts, and odd socks (one black and the other pink with orange stripes).
"Dobby, what're you doing here?" Harry said in amazement.
"Dobby has come to work at Hogwarts, sir!" Dobby squealed excitedly. "Professor Dumbledore gave Dobby and Winky jobs, sir!
"Winky?" said Harry. "Who's Winky?"
"Over here sir!" said Dobby, and he seized Harry's hand and pulled him off into the kitchen between the four long wooden tables that stood there. Hermione followed after them, nodding abstractly at the hundreds of bowing and curtseying House-elves as she did.
Dobby stopped in front of the brick fireplace and pointed.
"Winky, sir!" he said.
An elf was sitting on a stool by the fire. It had enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomato. Though it was very difficult to tell with House-elves, Hermione had a feeling this one might be a female who hadn't had to forage for clothes like Dobby, as she was wearing a neat little skirt and blouse with a matching blue hat, which had holes in it for her large ears. However, while every one of Dobby's strange collection of garments was so clean and well cared for that it looked brand-new, Winky was plainly not taking care of her clothes at all. There were soup stains all down her blouse and a burn in her skirt.
"Hello Winky," said Harry.
Winky's lip quivered. Then she burst into tears, which spilled out of her great brown eyes and splashed down her front.
"Oh dear," said Hermione, alarmed. "Winky, what's wrong?"
Winky just cried harder than ever. Dobby, on the other hand, beamed up at Harry.
"Would Harry Potter like a cup of tea?" he squeaked loudly, over Winky's sobs.
"Er … maybe not now, not when I'm due to bed soon. Maybe later," Harry quickly added at Dobby's crestfallen face. "Like, Saturday afternoon?"
"If Harry Potter and his friends comes Saturday afternoon for tea, Blippy will prepare the treacle tart Harry Potter is partial to," said Blippy, pushing Dobby to the side as he bowed deeply.
"Oh, uh, that'll be great, thanks," said Harry, staring. "So how long have you been here, Dobby?"
"Only a week, Harry Potter, sir!" said Dobby happily, stepping in front of Blippy and edging him away. "Dobby came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir. You see, sir, it is very difficult for a house-elf who has been dismissed to get a new position, sir, very difficult indeed—"
At this, Winky howled even harder, her squashed-tomato of a nose dribbling all down her front, though she made no effort to stem the flow.
"Dobby has travelled the country for two whole years, sir, trying to find work!" Dobby squeaked, as he engaged in a shoving match with Blippy. "But Dobby hasn't found work, sir, because Dobby wants paying now!"
The house-elves all around the kitchen, who had been listening and watching with interest, all looked away at these words, as though Dobby had said something rude and embarrassing. Blippy in fact shuddered and stepped away from Dobby, as though he couldn't bear to stay in close contact.
"Why is that a problem?" asked Hermione, frowning.
"Most wizards doesn't want a house-elf who wants paying, miss. 'That's not the point of a house-elf,' they says, and they slammed the door in Dobby's face! Dobby likes work, but he wants to wear clothes and he wants to be paid. Harry Potter … Dobby likes being free!"
All the Hogwarts house-elves had now started edging away from Dobby, as though he were carrying something contagious. Winky, however, remained where she was, though there was a definite increase in the volume of her crying.
"And then, Harry Potter, Dobby goes to visit Winky, and finds out Winky has been freed too, sir!" said Dobby delightedly.
At this, Winky flung herself forward off her stool and lay face-down on the flagged stone floor, beating her tiny fists upon it and positively screaming with misery. Hermione hastily dropped down to her knees beside her and tried to comfort her, but nothing she said made the slightest difference. Dobby continued with his story, shouting shrilly over Winky's screeches.
"And then Dobby had the idea, Harry Potter, sir! 'Why doesn't Dobby and Winky find work together?' Dobby says. 'Where is there enough work for two house-elves?' says Winky. And Dobby thinks, and it comes to him, sir! Hogwarts! So Dobby and Winky came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir, and Professor Dumbledore took us on!"
Dobby beamed very brightly, and happy tears welled in his eyes again.
"And Professor Dumbledore says he will pay Dobby, sir, if Dobby wants paying! And so Dobby is a free elf, sir, and Dobby gets a Galleon a week and one day off a month!"
"That's not very much!" Hermione shouted indignantly from the floor, over Winky's continued screaming and fist-beating.
"Professor Dumbledore offered Dobby ten Galleons a week, and weekends off," said Dobby, suddenly giving a little shiver, as though the prospect of so much leisure and riches were frightening, "but Dobby beat him down, miss … Dobby likes freedom, miss, but he isn't wanting too much, miss, he likes work better."
"If you say so," said Harry, shaking his head a little. "What about you, Winky? Are you getting paid?"
Winky suddenly stopped crying, but when she sat up she was glaring at Harry through her massive brown eyes, her whole face sopping wet and suddenly furious.
"Winky is a disgraced elf, but Winky is not yet getting paid!" she squeaked. "Winky is not sunk so low as that! Winky is properly ashamed of being freed!"
"Ashamed?" said Hermione blankly. "But Winky, why are you ashamed of being free?"
"There is no greater shame to a house-elf than being free," moaned Winky, tears leaking down her face once more. "My poor master, what is he doing without Winky? He is needing me, he is needing my help! I is looking after the Crouches all my life, my mother is doing it before me, and my grandmother is doing it before her … oh what is they saying if they knew Winky was freed? Oh the shame, the shame!" She buried her face in her skirt again and bawled.
For long time Harry just gaped at Winky, mouthing Crouch? Hermione was no less astonished. Winky was Mr. Crouch's elf? Percy Weasley's boss, Mr. Crouch?
"Winky is having trouble adjusting, Harry Potter," squeaked Dobby confidentially. "Winky was freed very suddenly and unexpectedly."
"When? How?" asked Harry in hushed whisper.
"Dobby does not know, Harry Potter. But when Dobby went to visit Winky on Boxing Day last year, Winky was already free!"
"Boxing day," Harry repeated, frowning deeply. Then, after giving a meaningful look at Hermione, he knelt down in front of the wailing Winky.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you," he said. "I'm sure you were a very good House-elf to Mr. Crouch. I met him this summer and he looked like he was missing you."
"You has seen my master?" said Winky breathlessly, raising her tearstained face out of her skirt once more and goggling at Harry. "You has seen my master where?"
"At the Quidditch World Cup. He looked like he was trying to do too much by himself."
Winky dissolved yet again in tears; they could hear her sobbing into her skirt, "Poor master, poor master, no Winky to help him no more!"
They couldn't get another sensible word out of Winky. So they left her to her crying and prepared to leave, as it was very late now. The elves pressed their usual snacks for them to take back upstairs. Hermione refused, but Harry filled his pockets.
"Thanks a lot! And good job not letting Peeves stop you from giving us a fantastic feast, everyone!" Harry said to the all elves that all clustered around the door to say good night. "See you, Dobby!"
"Harry Potter… can Dobby come and see you sometimes, sir?" Dobby asked tentatively.
" 'Course you can," said Harry, and Dobby beamed.
"You know, house-elves get a very raw deal!" said Hermione indignantly as they made their way to the Gryffindor Tower. "They're practically brainwashed to believing slavery is good! Why doesn't anyone do something about it?"
"Interesting question, but not very important right now," said Harry curtly. "Don't you see? Crouch freed Winky the day after someone rescued Pettigrew from the Ministry of Magic!"
Hermione stopped short.
" 'An Important Ministry of Magic member, who shall remain anonymous, was put under the Imperius Curse at his residence and was used to reach the captured Peter Pettigrew,'" she whispered, quoting the Daily Prophet article that reported Pettigrew's escape.
"This can't be a coincidence," said Harry, walking faster. "Mr. Crouch must've thought Winky was responsible for the attack somehow, otherwise he wouldn't have punished her. But the only way Winky could somehow be responsible for the attack is if Mr. Crouch was the 'Important Ministry Official' the Daily Prophet mentioned."
"Well it definitely sounds exactly like the sort thing that horrible Mr. Crouch would do!" said Hermione angrily. "Accusing Mr. Shin of running amok for not going strictly by the book … dismissing Winky on the spot for not keeping him from being Imperiused … as if a house-elf could stand a chance against a full-fledged dark wizard! I mean, she might have been stunned first!"
"Yes, it's all very iffy," Harry agreed. "But what I don't understand is: why? Why was Winky responsible for the attack? Why dismiss Winky at all? I suppose Crouch could have ordered Winky to protect him from dark wizards, but why would he give that kind of order to his house-elf? It doesn't make sense."
The question still lingered after Harry and Hermione went their separate ways inside the Gryffindor tower.
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: Arthur Weasley has a credit card. And you didn't think I'd forget about Winky did you?
The mystery begins…