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 Fifty: The Madman Returns
Severus was in the staffroom when Ms. Jacqueline Shin announced Watson had successfully delivered a healthy baby boy. The news was met with much celebration and relief, as Potter had been fretting worse than a father awaiting the arrival of his first child the week leading to the birth and the teachers were informed why when Ms. Shin mentioned in passing Watson was having a 'high risk' pregnancy due to age and previous war injuries (and Merlin forbid Potter lose a mother a third time).
"So how is Dr. Watson?" asked McGonagall.
"She's recovering well; just waiting to get discharged from the hospital," said Ms. Shin.
"Were there complications?" asked Pomfrey, turning concerned.
"Oh, no. Just some second degree tearing and—"
The staff drew a collective gasp of alarm. Then Flitwick burst into tears, Hagrid jumped to his feet and started dancing uncertainly on his spot, and Pomfrey demanded to know tearing in where. Ms. Shin tried to placate them.
"It's not uncommon for Muggle women to experience tearing around the, uh … during labour, especially when the baby is larger than average," she said. "The doctor applied the usual stitches—"
"Stitches?" asked several teachers at once, sounding equal portions bewildered and appalled.
"It's a well-established Muggle medical practice that uses thread and needles to, um, close open wounds," said Ms. Shin in a shrinking voice.
The staff started panicking in earnest. Flitwick wailed Dr. Watson must receive proper treatment immediately, Pomfrey wondered if she could make it to London in time and Ms. Shin tried, and failed, to restore calm as she explained stitching was a perfectly safe procedure when done under the sanitized conditions of a Muggle hospital and the expertise of a doctor—and no, the threads didn't stay there for life, it dissolved on their own in a few days.
Severus left the staffroom in the midst of the hubbub.
He quickly made his way to the Dungeons and into his private quarters. There he called Watson. As he anxiously waited for the call to connect, it occurred to Severus Watson may refuse pick up the phone. Muggle mobile phones had the ability to identify the name of the caller; therefore it was perfectly within the realm of probability Watson would look at the name Severus Snape—Persona Non Grata—and let the phone ring off.
The call connected.
"Hey, Snape," said Watson's tired voice.
Severus let go the breath he was holding. "Ms. Shin told us the news," he said, more tersely than he'd intended.
"Already?" said Watson bemusedly. The utter lack of worry infuriated Severus somehow.
"She mentioned tearing," Severus snapped. "The Muggle remedy she said you received didn't inspire confidence."
"You sound like Molly Weasley," Watson grumbled. "Relax. Jason cast the Episkey spell to spare me the trouble of recovering in weeks. Did I mention maternal death via stitches is virtually zero?"
"But the blood loss?"
"Not enough to die from." Watson yawned. "Sorry, I'm dead tired and everything hurts."
"I thought the pain ended with the labour."
"That's utter shite. The pain can linger up to a month," Watson yawned again. "Molly said I can't take potions for this because it can wind up in the breast milk, and that's not good for the baby."
Severus shut his mouth; he had been about to suggest some Potions that could address the pain.
"Perineum tearing not a common thing to witches, I take it," Watson remarked.
"Healers use stretching spells to ease the birthing process."
"That sounds nice. And you guys probably don't use oxytocin to induce labour either."
"What are you talking about?" said Severus crossly.
"Mummy things," Watson teased amiably, before making low rustling noises. "Here, you should take a look at Jamie before I fall asleep. I'm known to do it out of the blue. Switch to MMN."
"Jamie?" said Severus as he did so.
"A nickname that sprung up after saying JB too many times; Sherlock naturally hates it," said Watson as more rustling sounds filtered through the MMN phone.
The image that eventually projected out of Severus' MMN phone was an infant swaddled in white cloth. The lines of his shut and swollen eyes, tiny cupid-bow upper lip and button nose were the only distinguishing features on the baby's pink and chubby face.
"I can't tell who he looks like," said Watson fondly. "But he definitely got Sherlock's mouth."
"I sincerely hope this isn't a sign he will develop his father's silver tongue as well."
"Oh, G-d, don't say that," groaned Watson. "Either way I'm planning to teach him to speak truth with love, dammit."
Severus snorted. Then they stewed in a comfortable sort of silence.
"Never thought I'd be a mother to a baby," said Watson softly, as she gently caressed the infant's invisible brow. "Have I thanked you for making it happen?"
Severus looked away, feeling deeply uncomfortable and awkward. "Mmnm," he grunted.
"Well…" Watson began.
A blonde-haired head suddenly appeared and landed with a loud thunk on the cot where the baby laid. As Severus stared, alarmed, the infant twitched, screwed up his face, and then started to cry in series of short, ear-splitting screeches. The blonde head didn't move despite the racket.
Severus was trying to think of what to do, when he heard a noisy clatter of footsteps approaching. Soon a pair of large hands snatched the baby away from the cot.
Severus was about to end the call when the projection shifted from the cot to Sherlock Holmes. The image showed him Holmes cradling the infant against his chest whilst holding Watson's MMN phone at arms' length (he could see the extended arm). There was a brittle air about Holmes that Severus had never seen before.
For a while the two of them just stared at each other as the baby cried into Holmes's chest.
"…Snape," said Holmes in a low voice.
"Holmes," Severus returned likewise.
There was another tense pause. What was he supposed to do? Severus wondered. How did one talk to a man who essentially threatened to ruin you if he didn't back off on his other child?
"I didn't think you'd extend your reign of terror to infants," said Holmes, frowning slightly.
Severus saw red.
"That comment alone confirms my suspicion your reputation of genius is overblown!" Severus snarled. "Don't you see your wife is lying unconscious? Are you so blind that you can't tell there is something hideously wrong!?"
"SELF-RIGHTEOUSNESS DOESN'T SUIT YOU, SNAPE!" roared Holmes, his face twisting into an ugly look. "AND IT IS YOU WHO IS BLIND! DID YOU THINK I WOULDN'T KNOW YOU'RE USING NEVILLE AS A WHIPPING BOY? DID YOU THINK YOU WOULD GET AWAY WITH MERELY FOLLOWING THE LETTER OF THE LAW AND NOT THE SPIRIT? YOUR DELUSIONS OF MASTERY DISGUSTS ME!"
Severus was so furious he couldn't breathe. As his ears rang with the pitiful screams of an infant, Severus vowed he was going to kill Holmes; he was really going to…
The projection vanished before Severus could say or do anything. Enraged beyond reason, Severus threw his phone at one of his storage shelves. It shattered several glass containers before hitting the ground, and the contents spilled all over the floor with its preserving liquid.
"Dammit," hissed Severus as he glared at the wreckage. "Damn it…"
-oo00oo-
John woke up with a start. In the moment of disorientation that followed, John wondered why there was a crying baby in the room. It actually took a few seconds for John to realise the baby was hers.
"Yes, you've fallen asleep. Again," said Sherlock, who attempting to console JB/Jamie without much success.
John dropped her face into the cot's mattress again. "I'm a terrible mother."
"Stop speaking such blatant absurdities. I've been told it takes days for the presence of new child to really sink in."
"Who told you that?" said John as she reached out for JB/Jamie.
Sherlock carefully deposited him into John's arms. Even after the transfer, Jamie kept crying in short, high-pitched blasts.
"I think he's hungry," John guessed. "Hand over one of the bottles."
JB/Jamie stopped crying immediately when John stuffed a bottle into his mouth.
"At least he doesn't mind the bottle, though it's probably too early to tell," John remarked.
"Considering he'll spend much of his time with nannies, he better get used to it," said Sherlock as he pulled up a chair.
"What?!" said John, outraged. "Who said anything about—"
"Don't presume my intentions," Sherlock interrupted. "John, I believe it is high time we got to the root of your unfortunate habit have collapsing to asleep. If incidents like these continue in the immediate future, you can't say it won't happen while you're holding Jeremy."
John went still. John and Sherlock then spent several heartbeats just staring at each other while JB obliviously suckled on his bottle.
"…You're right. I might drop him," said John, looking down.
"Of course I'm right."
"Not encouraging."
"It wasn't meant to be," said Sherlock quietly. "At the very least, we need someone who can monitor your sleeping patterns. I can't be the person."
"No," John agreed. The constant surveillance required was far beyond Sherlock's capacity to do, and John knew the realities of long-term medical care too well to hold it against him.
"Mycroft gave me a list of candidates," said Sherlock, his face crinkling in disgust.
"Vetted and screened them all months in advance, didn't he?" said John, remembering the fateful meeting inside an abandoned warehouse; the hazards/privileges of having the British Government as a brother-in-law. "I have a feeling they're going to hate their life in a week."
"We are difficult people to live with."
"And a baby would only make things worse," John sighed deeply. "I wish we had a house-elf."
Sherlock considered the idea with great interest. "Perhaps Dumbledore could spare us one."
"Aren't they bound to the castle?"
"But if there is an elf that is not magically bound to a particular residence…"
"Oh, c'mon, what are the chances of that…"
-oo00oo-
"…You have two free elves?" John exclaimed.
"Yes, Dobby and Winky," said Dumbledore to the holographic image of John and Sherlock. "Dobby is very fond of Harry, so I expect he will be more than happy to spend some of his working hours helping you. As for Winky, I believe once she gets used to her status as a free elf, she will delight in the idea of caring for a baby."
"That would be great," said John fervently. "So, how are we supposed to pay them? Not clothes, obviously—"
"Winky would be greatly offended if you tried to pay her in any formal way. As for Dobby, I believe he actually delights in clothes, particularly socks."
John looked startled, but Sherlock looked intrigued. "What about cream or honey?" the latter asked.
"The honey would not go unappreciated."
"Honey it is," said Sherlock, nodding.
"You're going to start urban beekeeping, aren't you?" John groaned.
"Of course," said Sherlock, eyes gleaming. "No time like the present."
John groaned again. "Mrs. Hudson's going to evict us."
"No, she won't," said Sherlock confidently before hefting up a swaddled infant. "Behold, our son."
Dumbledore beamed at Jeremy Benedict, and Jeremy Benedict frowned in return.
"He hasn't figured out smiling yet," said John.
"He is very alert," said Dumbledore as Jeremy Benedict continued to scowl at him.
"Yes, and he likes staying alert," John sighed. "It doesn't bode well for us."
"June Hu here asks me to ask you if he is a vigorous eater with a preference for his mother's milk."
"Dr. Shin is with you?" said John, looking mildly intrigued. "Can you tell him: yes on both accounts?"
"Certainly," Dumbledore turned his beaming face at the glowering Shin. "Yes, on both accounts."
"You're not funny," Shin growled.
"Then I must increase my endeavours to be more so," said Dumbledore before turning to John and Sherlock again. "It's good to see you three are well."
"Thank you," John replied as Jeremy Benedict started to screw up his face in displeasure. "We better go. Oh, can you tell Snape I'm sorry for ending the call in the middle? I'd do it myself, but he's not picking up. You know how he's like when he's like that."
"I will. And good-bye, John."
The holographic image vanished as Jeremy Benedict started wailing.
"I'm going to miss their meddling," said Dumbledore as he put his phone away.
"That is a half-truth," said Shin, who was sitting across Dumbledore at the headmaster's desk. "You will certainly miss Sherlock's insight, especially now. You are, however, relieved the newborn's arrival would naturally lead to their less involvement in the wizarding world, which is turning increasingly hostile to people like them."
"Have I mentioned how much I appreciate your ability to discern my deepest thoughts?"
"No, because the appreciation is a half-lie; you prefer to keep your thoughts to yourself, but you are wise enough to know sharing them is a better course of action."
"Your frankness is also much appreciated," said Dumbledore, "By the by, why did you want to ask John if Benedict is a vigorous eater?"
"All the children I had, with the exception of Jacqueline, were vigorous eaters," Shin explained. "They suckled so hard they literally left their mothers bleeding and raw. I devised a paper charm that accelerates healing."
"So you had thought to gift it to John."
"They are often much appreciated by new mothers," Shin frowned Dumbledore. "What?"
"Nothing," said Dumbledore, smiling fondly at Shin, "Merely amused that you actually sat down and devised such a humble paper charm when paper charms are primarily and traditionally used as weapons in magical warfare."
Shin grunted as he looked away. "It did not make much sense to me that I could destroy soul wands and uproot mountains, but could not alleviate my wife's pain."
"You loved them very much."
"I'm not a very lovable person. Loving them was the least I could do."
Dumbledore opened his mouth briefly, but shut his mouth again. Shin, who was still looking away, didn't know this.
"Returning to our previous subject: Greg and I searched the abandoned manor house in Little Hangleton you told us about," said Shin. "Someone has definitely stayed there recently."
"The evidence?"
"There were multiple footprints on the dusty floors, food eaten and discarded, and traces of new ash in the upper story fireplace."
"But the actual persons who resided there?"
"Not found."
"Alas," said Dumbledore, shaking his head.
"I left a few sentries in the house, but I doubt they'd return," said Shin. "The Muggle investigation into Frank Bryce's death is going nowhere, but I have little doubt he was murdered by the killing curse. Greg alerted Amelia Bones and I expect the law enforcement will soon look into the matter."
"Excellent."
"So have you learned anything about Jacqueline's…" Shin waved a hand, as though saying 'boyfriend' or 'beau' aloud was too painful to bear.
"He has not showed himself in Hogwarts," said Dumbledore calmly. "I have, however, spied Jacqueline burning several articles of adult male clothing in a fire. The clothes made me suspect a certain person as the candidate, but the idea was so ludicrous, I had to reconsider…"
-oo00oo-
Harry greeted the third week of October feeling glum, lonely and discouraged. He desperately wanted to talk to John, but John was in a constant state of insomnia-induced exhaustion/delirium because of Benedict, and Harry couldn't bear the thought of giving her more things to worry about.
"All parents of newborn babies go through this," said John tiredly the first time Harry visited 221B after Benedict was born. "For the first ten weeks or so, you don't dictate a baby's schedule. They dictate yours. And no, not even wizards feed their babies sleeping potions when they're this young."
Harry, who had been contemplating sleeping drafts, kept his mouth shut.
Things had only become more difficult in 221B since then. Much to Sherlock's apparent consternation, Benedict stubbornly rejected all forms of bottle and formula, and would only eat the good stuff directly from the source. Thus John's days largely consisted of sleeping 2-3 hour stretches when Benedict napped, rolling over to the co-sleeper to nurse Benedict when he woke up, change his nappy and entertain him until he fell asleep again. It was a good thing Dobby volunteered to take care of 221B's housework, because Harry had no idea how Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson would've coped on their own. Mrs. Hudson's hip had taken a turn for the worse lately, thus limiting her range of movement. One couldn't discuss Sherlock's ability as housekeeper because it didn't exist (his ability to accurately interpret the subtle nuances of Benedict's cries, however, was extremely helpful).
Luckily, John and Sherlock had no shortage of people who wanted to help. Besides Dobby there was Sirius, who loved entertaining Benedict and kept conjuring things for him to play with, even though he was too young to grasp anything. Mrs. Weasley had also taken upon herself to visit at least once a day and help where she could.
"Don't worry about it, dear," said Mrs. Weasley when John thanked her profusely for braving Tesco to buy nappies. "It's nice to have company during the day. It's gets a bit lonely in the house, actually, now that everyone is either at work or school…"
But despite all the help, Sherlock was having a difficult time. The London criminal underworld had inconveniently decided to become active right now, and apparently a lot of the criminal activity involved wizards, because Sirius was often out and about collecting information.
"What you told us about Crouch's house-elf is latest in a series of strange rumours that reached me," Sirius confided to Harry. "If you notice anything weird, go straight to Dumbledore. Otherwise keep your eyes open. Remus told me Dumbledore talked Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if no one else is."
"Who is Mad-Eye?" asked Harry.
"Alastor Moody; called 'Mad-eye' because of his magical eye. He was one of the best Aurors the Ministry ever had before he retired. Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him."
"And an Auror is…?"
"The wizard equivalent of a police officer."
Harry nodded. "Be careful."
"I will, don't worry," Sirius assured him.
Harry wanted to discuss everything with his friends, but their collective workloads made it difficult to find the time to talk about it at length. All the fourth years had noticed a definite increase in the amount of work they were required to do this term. Professor McGonagall explained why, when the class gave a particularly loud groan at the amount of Transfiguration homework she had assigned.
"You are now entering a most important phase of your magical education!" she told them, her eyes glinting dangerously behind her square spectacles. "Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels are drawing closer—"
"We don't take O.W.L.s till fifth year!" said Dean Thomas indignantly.
"Maybe not, Thomas, but believe me, you need all the preparation you can get! Mr. Potter and Miss Granger are the only two people in this class who have managed to turn a hedgehog into a satisfactory pincushion. I might remind you that your pincushion, Thomas, still curls up in fright if anyone approaches it with a pin!"
Hermione, who usually turned pink and flustered when complimented in class, only smiled tiredly in response. No wonder, for she was taking more subjects than anybody else, and after only a month into the term, her immense workload seemed to be getting to her. Every night, without fail, Hermione was seen in a corner of the common room, several tables spread with books, Arithmancy charts, rune dictionaries, diagrams of Muggles lifting heavy objects, and file upon file of extensive notes; she barely spoke to anybody and snapped when she was interrupted.
Ron had a sizeable workload, too. When he wasn't doing his own work, he was exchanging a lot of Owls with Mr. Jeremy, who was obviously leading a lucrative project for the MMN. He was so absorbed, he actually forgot about the case.
Harry, meanwhile, had to fit in his homework around violin lessons, visits to 221B and extra Potions work. Harry made virtually no improvements in Potions because, though Snape continued to ignore him in class, Harry couldn't return the favour because Snape was bullying Neville worse than ever. It was difficult to talk to Neville when he, Harry, was the reason why Neville was having such a miserable time, even though Neville assured Harry he didn't blame him the slightest. His inability to think of something that would stop Snape—besides cursing him into a hundred slimy pieces— only compounded his sense of helplessness. Julia helped where she could, but she was a third year Hufflepuff. She had her own workload to handle, and her own House-mates to consider.
Thus Harry spent his days feeling trapped and lonely. Then one Friday evening, about a week before the delegation from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang was to arrive, it all just became too much. He stopped in the middle of his trek to the Music Room, lifted his face up towards the ceiling and whispered a silent plea:
"God I need help. I can't do this."
Harry listened to the silence for a few seconds before resuming his dragging steps.
Harry arrived at the music room about two minutes late. He pushed the door open, feeling even more depressed. He didn't meet Julia on the way as he usually did, and it wasn't very often he got to talk to someone who had idea what he was really going through. But apparently she was busy. Like everyone else.
He was wrong. Julia had arrived at the music room early, because the door hit her back.
Harry was about to apologise when he realised Julia wasn't moving. Shouldn't she at least turn around to see why the door hit her? What was she staring at?
Harry followed her line of sight and saw a man wearing a horrible purple T-shirt that had a simplified Star-Spangled Banner printed on the front, maroon skinny jeans, and lime green and pink tartan Sperry's. The underwear that was peeking out from the waistline of his trousers appeared to be fluorescent leopard print.
"Didn't Miss Jackie sack you!?" Harry shouted, unable to help himself.
Dr. Robert Dongyi Ju turned around and waved at them gawkily. "Hiiii. And yes, she did."
"Did she hire you again!?" Julia shouted, sounding very appalled.
Dr. Ju shook his head. "No. No one is that stupid."
"Then why are you here?!" Julia shouted again.
"Paying a visit?" said Dr. Ju innocently. Then he looked at the expressions of disbelief on Harry and Julia's faces and pulled a face. "Oh, c'mon, even crazies like me want to visit people who don't hate them…"
Harry wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to that so he didn't. Neither did Julia, though the way her jaw was twitching said she had a lot to say about this, none of them even remotely polite.
"Silence is wiser in this case," said Dr. Ju, nodding sagely. "You're here for your music lessons, aren't you? You're going to have to wait a bit. Jackie's having a fight with her little brother."
"Uncle Jeremy?" Julia blurted. "What has he done now?"
"I have no idea," said Dr. Ju, then he looked at Harry and Julia keenly. "So how have you two been? Are you still thinking about werewolf cures?"
Harry felt a dull pang of guilt. He'd completely forgotten about Professor Lupin's monthly problems, which was frankly appalling because Lupin's lycanthropy was one of the main reasons why he'd decided to improve in Potions in the first place. Then Harry felt dejected again, because he couldn't see how he could achieve either of these goals.
"You stink of guilt and despair," said Ju to Harry, too accurately as he often was, before he turned his sharp gaze at Julia. "You, on the other hand, are really frustrated."
"There's no one to ask help to!" Julia exploded. "I even tried to ask Professor Snape, but he lately he looks like someone shoved a wand up his—"
"Okay, stop right there," Ju interrupted. "Say any more and you'll tarnish your soul."
Julia stopped. Then she looked at Ju in askance, but didn't ask to clarify.
"That's better," said Ju. "So you're angry at Professor Snape for not helping you. I understand that. Now let me ask you this: what would you do if you had to supervise twenty first years wielding sharp knives and open fires for an hour?"
Harry drew a blank. Why was Ju asking this question? Was he trying to make a point?
"Yes, I'm trying to make a point," said Ju. "Let's make the situation even more horrible: not only do you have to supervise aforementioned twenty first years, you have to prepare twenty sets of volatile, poisonous and magically dangerous materials and teach the first years how to brew a potion. The first years, being the cheeky little brats that they are, don't pay attention to your instructions and flick ingredients at each other—ingredients, if added the wrong way, can lead to cauldron meltdowns, which translates to second or third degree burns at the very least, or cauldron explosions, which can kill you. And when they're not throwing ingredients at each other for fun, they're daring their friends to eat some of the poisonous ingredients or stabbing each other with knives. Do you know what this means?"
Harry and Julia just stared at him blankly.
"Some more perspective, then," Ju said. "After spending an hour teaching first years and doing your best to prevent accidental murder, you have to teach six more classes afterwards, some of them lasting ninety minutes instead of forty-five, others containing more than twenty students, all of them handling even more dangerous materials … and don't forget the fire and sharp knives, which the students are now throwing at you. Then you have to spend hours cleaning up after the students, grading their homework and providing feedback. The average working time you put in is around eighty-six hours a week. That's more than double the average working hours of other people. Unreasonably assuming you only work during weekdays, you're working around seventeen hours a day. That leaves you barely enough time to eat and sleep. And forget socializing because you're too tired to even talk after work, unless it's to complain about the students. Do you understand what I'm driving at?"
"…Professor Snape has a very stressful job?" said Julia.
"Yes, and he doesn't have time to spare," said Ju. "So don't be surprised if he's always short-tempered or says he can't help you. He really can't."
Harry and Julia said nothing. Neither of them had viewed their Potions classes or Snape this way. It also partially explained why Snape was always so short with Neville. Neville, who was extremely forgetful and clumsy, must look like a disaster waiting to happen.
That didn't mean he was justified though, Harry thought angrily. Surely Snape knew his bullying style was making things worse for everyone.
"It would be nice if each student got individual attention, but the reality is, very few people want to be teachers," said Ju. "So schools cram as many students as they dare into one class and fling an untrained teacher at them. When you're basically outnumbered thirty to one and have no idea what you're doing, there are only three ways of coping: befriend, be funny, or rule by fear. Many teachers opt for fear because students automatically assume their teachers are boring and not worth listening."
That was true, Harry had to acknowledge, but the fact that teachers in general had a reason to be horrible didn't alter the fact Snape was a horrible teacher in particular. If he was a halfway decent teacher, he would've ignored Neville so he could be less jittery, and stop Malfoy from flicking puffer-fish eyes at the Gryffindors and ruin their efforts.
"You're thinking in circles," said Ju sadly. "Let's move on then. Practically speaking, Professor Snape doesn't have the capacity to think about werewolf cures, which, let's be honest, is very speculative at this point."
"Why are you so interested?" asked Julia.
"Why shouldn't I be?" said Ju, frowning. "I'm a healer. I know I don't look like one, but I am. I'm always on the lookout for new remedies."
"Oh."
"It's actually more surprising young students like you are interested in werewolf cures," said Dr. Ju as he looked at them beadily. "Got any loved ones who are werewolves?"
Harry desperately tried not to blink. Julia turned quite inscrutable, too.
"I'll take that as a yes," said Dr. Ju.
"Why do you want to talk to us about it?" said Harry defiantly. "Like you said, we're just students."
"You guys haven't given up," said Dr. Ju simply. "Except for Damocles Belby, who developed the Wolfsbane potion, there's been virtually no effort to develop werewolf treatments in the wizarding medical community for the last eight hundred years. I'd rather talk to a student who's still trying than an expert who's given up."
That wasn't the response Harry was expecting at all.
"So what's giving you trouble?" asked Dr. Ju. "I could help."
Harry hesitated. He was still wary of Dr. Ju, but so far he'd proved himself quite harmless—very helpful, as a matter of fact. He had also been around Sherlock for too long to not know just because a person was on the side of the angels, didn't mean the person was going to be pleasant or nice or even normal.
"…I just don't get Potions," said Harry at length. "I can make them okay, but I don't understand why I'm doing what I'm doing."
Dr. Ju beamed.
"People rarely ask that question," he said. "Most wizards and witches are content to simply know how to brew a potion and leave it at that."
Chuckling, Dr. Ju looked around the music room.
"Looks like Jackie isn't going to show up for a while," he said. "If you like, I can give you two a primer on Potions. Keep in mind I'm American and not a teacher, so I don't give a flip about tradition or British school standards."
Harry recalled Dr. Ju's rant over cauldrons and nodded.
"In order to make sense of Potions, you need to think soup," Dr. Ju started. "Because that's what a potion is: a soup. I mean, you make it in a pot full of liquid over an open fire, you shove a bunch of ingredients into it and simmer them all together to mingle the 'flavors'. If that's not a soup, I don't know what is."
Harry grinned at the irreverent description and wondered how Snape would respond to it.
"Now soup has three basic components: a flavorful liquid, spices, and chunkies. Yes, chunkies is a technical term for whatever solids you use in soup," said Dr. Ju. "Now what do you need in order to make soup?"
"A vessel?" said Julia.
"Yes. What else?"
"A heating element," Julia continued, "solid ingredients; liquid base; time."
"Yes. Very good. Anything you want to add?" said Dr. Ju, looking at Harry.
"Something to stir it with?" Harry guessed.
"I'd put that under tools, but yes, a stirring instrument; a knife; whatever else you need besides the vessel, which I treat as a separate category," said Dr. Ju. "Then there is the thing that's confusing you: the recipe.
"A recipe is like directions," Dr. Ju said. "It tells you how to go from point A to point B. In this case, point A is the ingredients and point B is the soup. Now, as long as you have the ingredients and follow the recipe, you can go from point A to point B. But what if there is a road block? What if you actually want to go from point B to point A? What if you're starting on point C instead of A? What do you need, then?"
"A map?" said Julia.
"Yes, a map," said Dr. Ju, nodding. "If you have a good map, you don't need directions. Maps can also tell you why the directions are the way they are. And with a map you can find the route yourself, and, as need be, make improvements or corrections. Potions are a lot more forgiving than people think; you just need to be able to read the map."
"But what is the map?" asked Harry.
"Remember a potion is a soup," said Dr. Ju. "For soup you want all the individual flavors to mingle together. Your map, then, are the different ways that let these flavors mingle. Now for potions, the flavors you're after are the magic inside the ingredients, yes?"
Harry and Julia nodded.
"So it makes perfect sense to use magical plants and animals to make a potion. But a lot of the ingredients a potion recipe calls you to add aren't inherently magical. I mean: rat tails, cat spleen, eye of newt, possum brains, frog spawn, leeches … all of this stuff is inedible. In fact most of them are poisonous. So why the heck are we putting them in our soup?"
Harry always wondered about that.
"The cats, newts and possums you use in potions are specifically raised in magic-rich environments," Dr. Ju explained. "You're not going to get the same effect with Muggle raised animals. Though the animals themselves don't have magic, they become imbued with the magic of their surroundings. This imbued magic then starts taking on the animals' characteristics."
"Ooooh," said Harry and Julia together.
"For the same reason, different body parts take on different magical characteristics," Dr. Ju continued. "Eye of a newt will have different magical properties than newt gizzard. But the magic of both body parts will have a 'newt-ness' about it. On the same token, how the magic of individual ingredients interact with each other depends on their source. For example, no potion recipe will add the essence of rat and cat parts at the same time because their magic clashes."
Harry nodded again. He felt very excited— at long last, things were starting to make sense.
"The number of stirs, the direction of stirs and how long you keep the potion brewing has significance, too," said Dr. Ju. "Clockwise in magic speak means 'according to the flow'. Counter-clockwise signifies 'against the flow'. Stirring physically mingles the ingredients together. Remember: magic must be tied down to an underlying physical reality. You need to physically mingle the ingredients together in order to mingle their magic. But the number of stirs, there's a reason why potion recipes specify that. Have you ever wondered why some recipes depend on moon phases?"
"Yes," said Harry swiftly.
"I'll be blunt: whatever your textbooks say, it's not because there's magic in moonbeams," said Dr. Ju, "You know from your Primary school science class that moonlight is just sunlight reflecting off the moon. No one attributes sunlight magical properties. So why give the moon magical properties? It's just a lifeless rock rotating around the earth, okay?"
Harry grinned again. "So what is the real reason?"
"It's the number of days the moon takes to rotate around Earth," said Dr. Ju. "Most of the potions you learn in class have ancient roots, and their recipes has remained virtually unchanged. That's why wizards and witches still use the moon as a timing device for potions, even though we have better timing devices and the moon doesn't actually contribute anything. Numbers, on the other hand, definitely have magical properties. The number twenty-nine, which is the number of days it takes the moon to rotate around the earth, has special magical properties because it's a prime number."
"Arithmancy," Julia breathed.
"Yes," said Dr. Ju, nodding. "This might surprise you, but knowing a bit of Arithmancy actually helps you understand Potions."
"So the six days of stewing and seven stirs, they're …" said Harry.
"All there for a reason," said Dr. Ju. "Six in magic speak means incomplete, needing one more. Seven in magic speak means rest or complete. Three is stability and unity. Check your potions recipes; you'll always see a six for the second to last step and a seven for the step that takes the longest."
Harry nodded slowly.
"You might want to review all the potion recipes you've learned so far and see if you can see the patterns," said Dr. Ju. "Now one final thought: you must never treat potions the same way you treat spells. Spells draw the magic that is inside of you; that's why we say spells represent magic of people. Potions, on the other hand, draw magic that is outside of you; that's why we say potions represent magic of nature. And before you even think about taming nature, you need to first understand it on its own terms, not yours. Does this help you?"
"Yes," said Harry fervently. "Snape never taught us this stuff…"
"He did, actually," said Julia.
Harry stared at her.
"Not as directly as Dr. Ju, but he did," said Julia, rather grudgingly. "He usually mentions it in passing when he puts notes on the board…"
Harry would have to see for it himself before he believed it. "Right…"
"You know, I might've had a better time learning Potions if my father presented it the way you did."
The three of them looked around to see who spoke. Dr. Ju went misty eyed when he saw Miss Jackie, smartly dressed in the peach-coloured blazer, azure blouse and black trousers.
"You're wearing color," said Dr. Ju, an uplifted expression on his face, "You know colors exist."
Miss Jackie took in Dr. Ju's hideous outfight and sighed.
"I won't comment on your colour-coordinating ability today, Robert," she said. "Sorry, Julia darling, Harry; Jeremy wouldn't let me leave until he and I 'made peace'."
"You mean until he successfully brow-beat you into doing what he wants," said Julia.
Miss Jackie nodded; her expression was uncharacteristically resentful. "One of these days I'm going to make him relent," she muttered.
"What did he want you to do?" asked Harry.
"You better ask Ron. I can't trust myself to speak right now," said Miss Jackie curtly. Then she took a few deep breaths through her nose. "Come along dears. I shouldn't keep you here too long."
Harry spent the next half hour practicing a Kreisler piece.
"Does he visit you often?" asked Harry, referring to Dr. Ju.
"No," said Miss Jackie, turning a pale pink. "He has his own work at Johns Hopkins, and I'm here in Hogwarts."
"He comes all the way from America to see you?" said Harry incredulously.
"He works at St. Mungo's, too, for a single shift," said Miss Jackie, turning pinker.
Harry stared some more. "But all across the Atlantic?"
"Americans have different standards for distance," said Miss Jackie, who was very red now and wasn't meeting his eye. "They think forty miles of driving is 'not bad', and American magic people regularly Apparate from the East Coast to West Coast. The distance alone would qualify that as international Apparation…"
Miss Jackie refused to further talk about the matter afterwards. When Harry met Julia after his lessons, he noticed Julia looked visibly horrified when she left her own screened area. The look of horror only increased as they watched Dr. Ju and Miss Jackie talk about … magic-charged space ships, from the sound of it.
"D'you think they're…?" said Harry as they left the music room.
"No. No one can be that crazy," said Julia, shaking her head furiously in denial.
"John and Dr. Ju were engaged once," Harry argued.
"But she married Sherlock instead," said Julia, as though that settled the matter.
Harry refused to admit that, yes, it actually did. "Extraordinary circumstances."
"Still married—and happily."
"They have a lot in common!"
"Exactly!" Julia said, flinging her hands up in the air. Then she fumed. "No. No way. What can they even talk about?"
"Magic-charged space ships?"
Julia hit him with her tote.
-oo00oo-
Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room just before curfew.
"Miss Jackie started late, didn't she?" said Ron as Harry sat down at his table. Hermione, who on the other side, was barely visible behind several tottering piles of books.
"Yeah; so what was the fight about?" asked Harry.
"Remember Bagman? Turns out he asked Mr. Jeremy after the World Cup if Miss Jackie would be interested in broadcasting the Triwizard Tournament over the MMN. Well, Mr. Jeremy agreed to the deal, but didn't bother to tell Miss Jackie until today."
Harry winced and Hermione jerked her head up, looking outraged.
"She was really upset," Ron continued ruefully. "She even yelled at him; said she didn't want to do it. But Bagman already cleared it with the ministry and I've already advertised it over the MMN, so she can't back out."
"I can't believe he just hijacked her name like that!" Hermione exclaimed. "And you, Ron! I can't believe you just went along with it!"
"I didn't know she didn't know!" said Ron in frustration. "He kept sending me Owls that made it sound like she knew, but didn't care! You know she just lets me do whatever because she hates dealing with the business stuff…"
"So he tricked you too! Oh, this is just not right!" said Hermione shrilly. "You better stop working with him, Ron! I mean, what kind of person does that to their own sister?"
"He says he's doing it because she's his sister," muttered Ron. "You know how she's like— offering to do stuff for free just because someone needs help and then almost killing herself doing it … she'd really work herself to death if Mr. Jeremy didn't stop her and made sure she gets paid. It's not like he's doing it for himself, you know; he just wants people to know how brilliant Miss Jackie is. I mean, just look at the stuff she makes for fun."
"But doing it behind her back?"
"I have a bad feeling about it, too," said Ron miserably. "Mr. Jeremy keeps trying to put Miss Jackie in the spotlight, but she hates that kind of stuff. I don't know what to do."
"Just stop listening to him!" Hermione snapped as she returned to her homework. "You're the one who has the final say on Miss Jackie's business! Don't let him decide for you!"
"But a lot of his suggestions are really good," mumbled Ron in a voice too low for Hermione hear. "I mean, broadcasting the Triwizard Tournament, that's brilliant."
Silence fell on their table as the conversation died on that note. Harry retrieved his old Potions notes and textbooks from his trunk and started reading through them. To his chagrin, Harry quickly discovered Julia was right; Snape had covered the stuff Dr. Ju mentioned in his short lecture on Potions.
"How's she doing it?" Ron muttered to Harry.
"Doing what?" said Harry without looking up.
"Going to all her classes!" Ron said. "She stopped trying to learn how to make clones, so that can't be it. I heard her talking to Professor Vector this afternoon, and they were going on about last Tuesday's lesson, but Hermione can't've been there, because she was with us in Muggle Studies! And you told me she's never missed a Study of Ancient Runes class, but half of them are at the same time as Charms, and she's never missed one of them either!"
Harry paused. He had a very good idea how Hermione was managing her impossible timetable, but he wasn't supposed to know she had a time-turner. Harry contemplating telling Ron in private, but then he'd have to tell him when and how he knew. Could he stand the inevitable nagging that would follow?
"Well she's obviously able to be at two places at the same time, somehow," said Harry slowly. "And it's not really about how she's going to all her classes, is it? It's about her workload."
"Well, yeah," said Ron. "And if it's this bad this year, can you imagine how bad it's going to be when we take our O.W.L.s?"
Harry nodded, and then peered around Hermione's book barricade.
"Can I interrupt?" he asked.
"I suppose so," said Hermione, stopping her quill for a moment.
Harry looked around, taking in the long Arithmancy essay, on which the ink was still glistening, at the even longer Muggle Studies essay and at the rune translation Hermione was now poring over.
"How are you getting through all this stuff?" Harry asked her.
"Oh, well—you know—working hard," said Hermione. Close-up, Harry saw that she looked almost as tired as Lupin.
"Why don't you just drop a subject?" Harry asked, watching her lifting books as she searched for her rune dictionary.
"I couldn't do that!" said Hermione, looking scandalized.
"Why not? You can't be interested in all of them."
"But I am!" said Hermione earnestly. "Take Arithmancy: it's my favourite subject! It's just wonderful—"
Harry recalled Dr. Ju saying knowing a bit of Arithmancy was helpful for learning Potions, and wondered if he should chuck the Study of Ancient Runes and take Arithmancy instead. But once he spied the complicated-looking number chart next to Hermione's Arithmancy essay, Harry decided: NO. No, no, no.
"Arithmancy looks terrible," said Harry. "But that's just me. Hermione, I don't … I'm not going to ask how you're going to all your classes. But whatever it is that you're using to … do it, can't you use it to do your homework, too?"
Hermione gaped at him, as though she was struck dumb.
"But I'm only supposed to use it for class…" she protested weakly.
"Homework is for class," Harry pointed out.
"He has a point," said Ron quickly from other side of the book barricade.
His words apparently drained what was left of Hermione's energy; she slumped forward and landed face-first on her pile of homework essays.
"I don't believe this!" Hermione wailed into table. "I can't believe I was so stupid!"
"You know what, Hermione?" said Ron, looking down from the top of Hermione's book barricade. "I reckon you're cracking up. You're trying to do too much."
"No, I'm not!" said Hermione, sitting up abruptly and brushing her hair out of her eyes. "I just have to use my time more efficiently, that's all!"
"But that's the problem," Ron said as Hermione looked around hopelessly for her book bag. "You don't have time."
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: Sherlock and Snape are eejits. Sherlock is double the eejit for thinking he can make schedules for babies before knowing anything about his.
The mythological British sprite called a house brownie, like house-elves, secretly takes care of a household, will leave if given clothes or formal payment, but appreciate offerings of cream or honey or porridge. The honey bit tickled me since the original Sherlock Holmes retired to keep bees.
For all ye astronomers out there, yes, I know the average length of a lunar cycle is 29.530589 days. I picked 29 for convenience.
Suggestions on ugly outfits for Robert are always welcomed. I'm tempted to visit my local thrift shop to look for items he might wear…