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 One: A Dissident View
Hermione woke up early next morning with a head full of blind-panic. Once she placed the source of her panic, she got up, left the dormitory without waking up any of the girls, and padded down to the deserted common room. Here she took out her personal timetable and started pondering it.
The chief difficulty was finding timeslots where she could make her trips without being seen, Hermione thought anxiously. She'd already established a pattern of studying in the common room, and people might notice any change. She could say she was in the library, but the library closed an hour before curfew and that hour was precisely what she needed to squeeze more homework time. She needed a plausible excuse for her absences. The music chamber was an option, of course, and Hermione was certain Miss Jackie wouldn't mind her studying inside one of the noise cancelling screens. The trick was how to do it without her friends knowing when the Music Room was Harry and Julia's favourite evening haunt throughout the week.
Hermione let go of the hair she was fisting and rubbed her eyes. She couldn't think. Her eyeballs felt as though they'd swollen inside their sockets, and her brain felt as though it was made of nylon—non-absorbent and full of static. She'd even taken up coffee-drinking to help her go through the day, but it had been a long time since she felt the alertness from the first time she drank the stuff.
Hermione was still nowhere near making a plausible plan when her fellow Gryffindors started milling out from the dormitories.
"Have you been working since the crack of dawn?" asked Ron incredulously when he spotted her.
Hermione stared at the boys numbly. The early morning hours. Of course. Hardly anyone was up by then. She could use that time to make the trips. Why didn't she think of this earlier?
"Oi, are you there?" asked Ron, waving a hand in front of Hermione's face and looking concerned. "C'mon, let's go to the Great Hall. You won't be able to stay up if you don't eat a decent meal."
"Oh, yes, of course," said Hermione abstractly. "I wonder what we're having. I'm starving."
"Same as usual I expect, but…" Ron pointed at the table. "Where are your books?"
Hermione blinked. "I must've put it back in my dorm. Wait for me."
"Why do you need them? It's Saturday!"
"Homework!" shouted Hermione as she dashed back to the girl's dormitory. There she started stuffing her books haphazardly into her bag. But it was no use, her bag just wasn't big enough, Hermione thought furiously as she lugged the bulging bag on her shoulders, nearly falling backwards as she did so.
"I think it's time to think about Expansion Charms," said Harry over breakfast as he stared at her book bag.
"That's NEWT level," said Hermione as she mechanically spread marmalade over her toast. She didn't have any appetite, honestly, but she had to eat get through the day. "I do wish we learned about them, but I don't think we start that until seventh year…"
Harry put on the bland look he always assumed when he had things in his head he didn't want to say. Hermione was too tired to ponder what was churning inside that inscrutable brain of his.
"Are any of you free today?" asked Ron.
"Of course not, do you have any idea how much I have to do?" Hermione snapped.
"No, I had absolutely no idea," grumbled Ron. "Just so you know: Miss Jackie's going to start working on the Triwizard Tournament broadcast today and she needs camera people."
Hermione dropped her knife.
"You mean we get to see how she did the World Cup broadcast?" she squeaked.
"Well, yeah," said Ron exasperatedly. "She wanted to keep it very quiet, so she asked me to ask us … but you're too busy, aren't you?"
"Nonsense. I can make time," said Hermione, feeling her face heat up as she thought logistics. Three hours. Three hours early Sunday morning. That ought to be enough to finish the rest of her reading after she tackled her Potions and Transfiguration essays this afternoon…
Hermione followed Harry, Ron, Neville and Julia to the Music Room. Ron irritated her to distraction by keep telling her she ought to spend her time doing more productive things, like napping (honestly!).
"You do look like you need one," said Julia tentatively.
"I'm fine!" snapped Hermione. "Stop nagging me!"
The rest of the trek to the Music Room continued in an awkward silence.
They found Miss Jackie at her private corner of the music room, pulling an iMac out of its box packaging. She was dressed in a plain black jumper, blue jeans and black New Balances; it was the most casual they'd ever seen her be.
"Good morning," she said, smiling. "Can you lend me a hand here?"
"Are these for the broadcast?" asked Julia as they came over.
"No, these are just for show," said Miss Jackie. "I have deep qualms against anyone learning my so-called camera trick, so I'm going to make it look like I'm using regular video editing."
"Wouldn't people know you're not using regular video editing?"
"Yes, but putting this up won't help them figure it out, and obfuscation is what I'm after," said Miss Jackie grimly.
It took about twenty minutes to get the new iMacs, inkjet printer, digital cameras and other electronic equipment out from their packaging and onto the desks Miss Jackie indicated. Once they'd done so, Hermione and her friends hung back and just watched, as no one knew how to connect everything together except Miss Jackie.
"Okay, all set," said Miss Jackie after she successfully turned on the iMacs, which were powered by the enchanted windmill generators. "Now let's get down to the business of broadcasting, shall we?"
The five of them gathered eagerly around her.
"Before I let you know anything about it, I need you to sign this," said Miss Jackie as she solemnly held up a sheet of parchment that had at least two signatures on it already. "Signing this puts you under a binding magical contract; you're basically agreeing to never divulge anything I've told you about the Magical Mobile Network's broadcasting technique. You must not mention the name of the technique, any spells or enchantments the technique uses, names of people associated with its development, or that you've signed a binding magical contract to keep the technique secret unless I tell you otherwise. If you can't shoulder this responsibility, you better leave right now."
Neville shivered. Ron and Harry stared wide-eyed at Miss Jackie, and even Julia blinked at her aunt.
"Why all the secrecy?" asked Hermione. "What will happen if we break the contract?"
Miss Jackie twisted her mouth into a crooked half-smile.
"If you break the contract, your magic is forfeit," she said. "And you will know why it has to be secret once you've sign it."
Hermione felt a chill in the pit of her stomach. What kind of enchantment was it, that Miss Jackie would enforce such a dire consequence?
Hermione, Ron and Harry signed their names on the parchment, which Miss Jackie folded so they wouldn't be able to see the signatures already on it. Hermione had a strong feeling of submitting to a binding vow when she signed her name. Neville jotted his name, too, after much hesitation, and Julia signed her name under his. Once they'd finished, Miss Jackie wordlessly rolled up the parchment and put it in her cream-coloured handbag. Then she took out a familiar-looking rice paper sheet full of symbols from her pocket.
"This is the secret," Miss Jackie announced.
Hermione recognised it immediately. "Your memory-harvesting charm!" she exclaimed.
"Yes," said Miss Jackie. "As you all know, Julia's dad couldn't go to the World Cup due to unforeseen circumstances, and this was the closest thing to a magical video recorder that I could come up with in a week. I never intended to use it for public consumption, but then my fool of a brother went ahead and sold the World Cup broadcasting deal to the Ministry of Magic."
Ron goggled, mouthing 'even the World Cup…?' which made Hermione even more incensed at Mr. Jeremy. So he lied to Ron and Miss Jackie since the World Cup! The nerve of the man!
"So the live footage of the World Cup, it was—" Harry asked while Hermione fumed.
"My memory of the event," said Miss Jackie, "Or more precisely, one of my clone's memory of the event. I couldn't risk broadcasting my own memories since the viewer was still Beta version."
"How did you broadcast the memories?" asked Julia, who swelling with deep interest.
"I can't tell you that," Miss Jackie replied. "No, don't argue. This charm is all I'm willing to disclose."
Julia deflated completely.
"Why is the charm so dangerous?" Harry asked. "All it does is harvest your clone's memory."
"Harvesting my clone's memory was my sole intention when I made this," said Miss Jackie wryly. "But this charm can do more than that. Most memory spells of this stripe only works on the caster, but this charm can harvest someone else's memory without their permission. The possibility of abuse is endless: You can siphon off someone's most painful memory and show it to the world, or you can target an important government official and harvest their memories of handling secrets. All concept of privacy would vanish if this goes public. Can't you see how dangerous it can be?"
The five of them nodded slowly.
"Hence the magical contract," said Miss Jackie. Then she sighed wearily. "I'm very sorry, I really didn't want to put this kind of burden on you, but …" she slumped. "… Jeremy is on a warpath to market all of my inventions. I can't afford to let him know about this. The contract magically limits the knowledge to the people who signed it. The contract is now closed, so that eliminates the possibility of him knowing it as long as you lot don't break it."
"Why'd you choose m—eh, us?" asked Neville timidly.
"I've already shown Harry, Ron and Hermione this charm. Julia has seen it since she was little, though I didn't tell her what it was until I told them. Neville, you're best friends with these four, so it is only a matter of time before they told you about this charm."
Neville nodded as he looked down, turning very pink. There was a bit of a pause.
"You must've realised how dangerous your charm can be only recently," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Why did it take you so long?"
Miss Jackie blushed. "I don't … I hardly ever share my work with other people. All my friends are Muggles, so it not as if I could. It didn't occur to me to think about how other people might use them since I'm the only intended user. It was only after MMN took off I started to ask these kinds of questions."
It made sense, Hermione supposed. Miss Jackie's Magical Mobile business only began two years ago because the Basilisk attacks forced her to disclose her laptop's contents to Sherlock, which in turn led Hermione and her friends to develop the first Magical Mobile phone. Had the Chamber of Secrets debacle not happened, no one would've known anything about Miss Jackie's inventions.
"So do you understand what you need to do?" asked Miss Jackie.
The five of them nodded. "Just watch and let the charm do its work," said Ron.
"Correct," said Miss Jackie. "Now for security purposes, I want the charm to only work for you. I need your help with that."
"Is it going to be difficult?" asked Neville nervously. "I'm no good at this sort of thing…"
"You'll do fine, Neville," said Miss Jackie kindly. "It's so easy even a virtual Squib like me can do it."
"You're not a Squib," Julia muttered.
"Considering how much magic I don't have, I might as well be," said Miss Jackie airily. "But that's irrelevant. The point of interest lay in the fact for paper charms, the person who fuels the magic behind a spell and the person who defines the spell don't have to be the same, as it is the case for wands." She patted the inkjet printer on the desk. "I've already designed the charms on my computer. All you have to do is put a drop of your own blood into the ink cartridge. That way your blood would mix with the enchanted ink when I print the charm out."
"It's okay, it's just how Oriental style magic works," Ron whispered to Neville when he sputtered in dismay.
They obligingly prinked their fingers one person at a time, the next person in line donating their blood only after Miss Jackie finished printing the customized paper charm for the person whose turn it was. All of the charms were different; Hermione and Harry's were written in Runes, Ron and Neville's were written in Latin and they had to donate two drops of blood instead of one, and Julia's was written in Chinese (presumably).
"I never understood why this is the basically the same thing as wand-spells," said Julia as she held her charm up.
"Language, Julia darling," said Miss Jackie. "Spells are magic of people. People express themselves through language. That's why spells can either be written or spoken; the intent behind the words is the same either way."
Julia turned to Miss Jackie sharply.
"You mean you can craft spells with any kind of language?" she demanded.
"Yes," Miss Jackie replied. "It's not something European magic communities know much about, since most of their spells are based on verbal language, but there are entire branches of magic based on body language. North East Asia developed a particular branch of spells you can cast using hand signs(印), and Africa and South America often use dancing for spells. I've also been told Native Americans have spells you cast with marching feet."
Hermione was entirely fascinated. Spells you could cast via body language! Who would have thought? None of the books she'd read mentioned anything of the sort …
"So spells are really not about particular words, just the intent behind the words," said Harry, awed, as Julia shook her upturn hands minutely with her mouth open, apparently in the throes of an epiphany. "So why did you use Runes to make mine and Hermione's?"
"You two take the Study of Ancient Runes, don't you?"
"Yes…?"
"I can construct a paper charm for you, but you still need to understand the incantation to make it work," Miss Jackie explained. "Having said that, I could've just written them all in Latin, but Latin, you have to put one character in front of another to construct a word, so it takes a lot of individual characters to get the intent across. I wanted to limit the blood usage to bare minimum, so that's why I used Runes for you two, since you're familiar with them. Ron and Neville I used Latin, but as you can see theirs are big to the point of being cumbersome."
That was true; Ron and Neville's paper charms were easily twice the size of Hermione and Harry's and three times the length of Julia's.
Harry studied his paper charm.
"So Runes are better than Latin for written spells," he remarked.
"Runes were created for the express purpose of casting written spells, so no wonder."
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
"Any more questions?" Miss Jackie asked.
Harry pointed at the heap of boxes that once contained the iMacs and other such equipment.
"Why do all these boxes have an American address on them? Baltimore is an American city, isn't it?"
Miss Jackie turned bright pink and refused to answer.
Hermione also noted Julia's face crumpled when she did so.
-oo00oo-
Later that Saturday afternoon, Hermione left the Gryffindor tower ostensibly to go to the library. She didn't tell Harry, Ron or Neville who she was planning to meet there and what she was going to do, as she had a strong feeling it wasn't something she could discuss with the boys.
Julia and Ginny were waiting for her at the Library entrance. Instead of going inside, they headed to the lake.
"She's seeing someone," Julia finally admitted after Hermione and Ginny questioned her on why Miss Jackie had her electronic goods delivered to an American address and why she blushed when Harry pointed it out.
Hermione's heart took a huge leap of excitement. "Oooooh, who is it?"
"I don't know," said Julia sullenly.
"You must have some idea who or you wouldn't admit that she is," Hermione pressed.
Julia didn't reply and toyed with a pebble on the ground.
"What is he like?" asked Ginny.
Julia threw the pebble into the lake. "Weird. No fashion sense. So American it makes your teeth hurt. But not bad," she added the last bit very grudgingly.
"You don't seem very happy about it," Ginny noted.
"Why should I be?" Julia grouched.
"He's good for her!" Hermione argued. "Everyone noticed her health is loads better, and her working schedule is getting a lot more reasonable! Clearly her boyfriend is the reason!"
Julia threw another pebble. "So what?"
"'So what'?" said Hermione incredulously, "But Julia, this is probably the best thing that happened to her in a long time! And didn't you say she never dated anyone before? Surely—"
"She's my mum!" Julia shouted, rounding on her. "Do you want your mum to date a man who's not your dad?!"
Hermione slapped a hand over her mouth and Ginny shut her's with a click.
"Until I was seven, I honestly thought she was my mum," said Julia in a voice choked with tears. "I always wondered why she didn't live with me and dad. When I learned about divorce, I thought that was why, so I kept telling dad he should marry her again. Uncle Jason had to sit me down and tell me she was my aunt. Then he forced me to stop calling her mum in front of people."
Hermione felt about six inches tall, she was so ashamed. Oblivious, Julia wiped her eyes.
"I used to have this dream," she whispered, "that one day my dad would finally come to his senses and they'd get married and I could properly call her mum. But year after year it was a different woman— never her. I used to hate him for it. I know better now…"
"You know the real reason?" asked Ginny cautiously.
Julia nodded. "My dad's twenty years older than Auntie Jack."
Both Hermione and Ginny looked down. Ew.
"I know it's stupid and selfish," said Julia. "But … I never stopped hoping it might happen, even after Ellen." She wiped her eyes again. "Now she's dating someone from bloody America and if they get really serious, she might move there. I don't want to lose my mum again."
Then she buried her face into her knees and hugged them.
Hermione and Ginny spent the next hour trying to console Julia, but frankly having no idea how. It was a complete conundrum; they dare not say Miss Jackie would get over her current relationship because that would be horrid, but saying everything would work out when there was no clear way it could sounded hollow.
In the end, the three of them returned to the castle and went their separate ways, Julia trudging back to the Hufflepuff common room looking absolutely dejected.
Hermione was unable to focus on her schoolwork for the rest of the afternoon, for she couldn't help but fret over Julia's situation. At length she gave up, rolled up her finished Transfiguration essay and half-done Potions essay into her bag, and joined the boys at the Great Hall for dinner.
"Did you get a lot done?" Harry asked as she sat down.
Hermione felt her anger flair up against him. Didn't he know what Julia was going through? Why hadn't he figured out what Miss Jackie dating implied? He was the best at deductions out of the five of them, after all!
"No," she snarled.
Harry blinked. Ron paused his chewing.
"Okay, so you didn't get as much as you wanted done. That doesn't mean you can take your temper out on us," said Ron in a reasonable tone.
Hermione's anger spread to him. "Shut up!"
The boys shared a look. Then they shrugged in one accord and bent down to their steaks.
-oo00oo-
All throughout Sunday, Hermione kept a close watch over Julia. No one who saw her would've guessed she was struggling inside; she had the same mild expression as always, and her speech had the same calm and thoughtful quality to it. This left Hermione marvelling at the depths Julia's emotional control and wondering if there were other things she was keeping to herself.
The boys remained in their blissful oblivion as they prepared for the Triwizard Tournament broadcast that afternoon, as soon as Harry returned from his Sunday morning meetings with Terry Boot from Ravenclaw.
"The delegation is supposed to show up here," said Ron as they stood outside the stone steps leading to the main oak doors to Hogwarts.
"Any idea how they're going to get here?" asked Harry.
"Dunno. But I expect they'd put quite a show."
"Nothing discreet like a portkey, then," said Harry thoughtfully. "Say, shouldn't we stand in the front so we can get an unobstructed view?"
"Good point," said Ron, nodding. "And d'you think we should get permission to walk around with the Glidecam we're supposed to be using?"
"We'd have to show it to Professor McGonagall either way, if you don't want it confiscated," Julia pointed out.
"Another good point," said Ron. "Okay, let's go ask McGonagall."
"And when we do get permission, we should do a few test rounds," said Hermione. "Things can go wrong after all, and we need all the practice we can get."
"Yeah, let's do that."
The filming process slowly came together as the day inched towards the evening. By dinner time, even Neville was feeling confident about the broadcast. Then Monday came, and Hermione, Ron, Harry and Neville was unable to proceed from the entrance hall after Care of Magical Creatures class, owing to the large crowd of students congregated there, all milling around a large sign that had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase. Ron, the tallest of the four, stood on tiptoe to see over the heads in front of them and read the sign aloud to the other three:
TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT
THE DELEGATIONS FROM BEAUXBATONS AND DURMSTRANG WILL BE ARRIVING AT 6 O'CLOCK ON FRIDAY THE 30TH OF OCTOBER. LESSONS WILL END HALF AN HOUR EARLY. STUDENTS WILL RETURN THEIR BAGS AND BOOKS TO THEIR DORMITORIES AND ASSEMBLE IN FRONT OF THE CASTLE TO GREET OUR GUESTS BEFORE THE WELCOMING FEAST.
"Only a week away!" said Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff, emerging from the crowd, his eyes gleaming. "I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I'll go and tell him…"
"Cedric?" said Neville blankly as Ernie hurried off.
"Diggory from Hufflepuff," said Harry. "He's entering the tournament."
"That idiot, Hogwarts champion?" said Ron as they pushed their way through the chattering crowd toward the staircase.
"He's not an idiot. You just don't like him because he's not Gryffindor," said Hermione. "Julia told me he's a really good student—and he's a prefect."
"You only like him because he's handsome," said Ron scathingly.
"Excuse me, I don't like people just because they're handsome!" said Hermione indignantly.
Ron gave a loud, obviously false cough, which oddly sounded like: "Lockhart!"
Julia didn't join them for lunch that day, opting to talk animatedly with her house-mates at the Hufflepuff table. From the way they were pointing at Cedric, it was clear they were discussing his chances as Hogwarts champion. The other inhabitants of the castle were engaged in similar topics of conversation: who was going to try for Hogwarts champion, what the tournament would involve, how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differed from themselves.
The staff seemed to turn tenser as the week went by. Professor McGonagall exploded on Neville when he accidentally transplanted his ears to a cactus during their Switching Spell lesson, and Argus Filch, the caretaker, was ferociously territorial over the castle, which seemed to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. The suits of armour were suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking.
When they went down to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, they found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers' table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H.
Hermione, Ron, Harry and Neville sat down beside Fred and George at the Gryffindor table. Once again, and most unusually, they were sitting apart from everyone else and conversing in low voices. Ron led the way over to them.
"At least he's writing back to us," George was saying gloomily to Fred. "But I doubt he'll hear us out. We'll just have to argue our case in person…"
"Who's not listening to you?" said Ron, sitting down next to them.
"You," said Fred, looking irritated at the interruption.
"Who are you writing to?" Ron asked George.
"No one you care about," said George.
"You two got any ideas on the Triwizard Tournament yet?" Harry asked. "Thought any more about trying to enter?"
"I asked McGonagall how the champions are chosen but she wasn't telling," said George bitterly. "She just told me to shut up and get on with transfiguring my raccoon."
"Wonder what the tasks are going to be?" said Ron thoughtfully. "You know, I bet we could do them, Harry. We've done dangerous stuff before…"
"Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven't," said Fred. "McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they've done the tasks."
"And we never did any of the dangerous stuff alone. That's not allowed, is it?" Harry said. "So who are the judges?"
"Well, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel," said Hermione, "I know because all three of them were injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on the rampage." Then she noticed everyone around her was staring, looking rather surprised, so she let out an aggrieved sigh. "It's all in Hogwarts, A History. Honestly, you lot should read it one of these days…"
"Why should we, when we have you?" said Ron.
Hermione was opening her mouth to retort, but the whooshing noise from overhead, which announced the arrival of the post owls, interrupted her. It was a very small flock this morning, as it often was the case these days. Ever since the Magical Mobile Network opened to the general public, more and more people stopped using post owls and letters for communication, only using the former for parcel deliveries. Harry reported the owls in the owlry were terribly bored as a result; he had to battle his way to get to Hedwig when he tried to send the enchanted nappy-bag and sling he'd made for John and Sherlock, because almost every owl in there came rushing towards him with their leg sticking out.
Harry paid the grey barn owl that delivered the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. Then he opened it up to read.
"Same as usual," he sighed. "The Magical Mobile Network is undermining traditional wizarding values … students often distracted during class… I don't know why I bother to read this anymore."
"It's the only major wizarding world news source out there," Hermione scolded as she read hers. "And we need to know public opinion, since we're running a business."
"And we can't sell if we don't have good PR," said Ron as he read the paper over Harry's shoulder and surprising them all with his unexpected insight. "But you're right, Harry, this is rubbish. Don't they know we can't even turn our phones on during class?"
"Just a little bit behind the times, aren't they?" Harry quipped, making them all laugh.
There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air that day. Nobody was very attentive in lessons, being much more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. When the bell rang early, Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Neville hurried up to Gryffindor Tower, deposited their bags and books as they had been instructed, pulled on their cloaks, and rushed to the Music Room for the final run down.
"We'll be standing here and here, just like we did during the rehearsals," said Miss Jackie, pointing the marked spots on the sheet of paper that had the Hogwarts' grounds drawn out. "Ron and Harry, you'll be operating the Glidecams. Neville and Hermione, you two hold the microphones. Julia, dear, you stay with me and monitor the recording. You all have your charms, yes?"
The five of them held up their respective paper charms. Miss Jackie nodded in approval.
"My brother should be here today, to provide commentary," she said. "Remember, if he asks you anything about the hows of the broadcast, show him the camera and tell him you have no idea how it works."
They nodded. Then together they headed to the entrance hall.
-oo00oo-
Lestrade felt immensely relieved when he saw the tall and sparse figure of Sherlock Holmes striding towards his crime scene, flaring his poncy charcoal coat behind him as usual. Sherlock had been AWOL for the last two months (hopefully because of Benedict), and the sudden hike in funny crimes that occurred in the interim had made Lestrade and (if they were put under severe torture to confess) his fellow officers at the Scotland Yard miss his acerbic wit.
Sherlock invited himself in, ducking under the crime scene tape and ignoring the other officers on site, also as usual. As he walked over to intercept him, Lestrade noticed the smaller, more compact figure three steps behind Sherlock. It took a few blinks for him to realise it was John.
Baby-mama John didn't look at all that different from pre-baby-mama John, except for the rich chest endowments that was a joy to behold. For a moment Lestrade wondered why John didn't duck under the tape like Sherlock, and if either Sirius or Mrs. Hudson was looking after Benedict (who, at seven weeks, would need his mum constantly).
Then he noticed John had a baby in a sling.
"You brought your baby with you?" Lestrade shouted as he hurried over.
"Yep, Benedict's first crime scene," said John, standing right behind the tape, "I should've brought a camera."
Lestrade did his best to keep himself firmly outraged even as he tried to get a glimpse of Benedict. John and Sherlock, being the reclusive, secretive prats that they were, refused to post baby photos online and didn't even allow the Small Group ladies to take pictures for their private perusal.
All the officers pretended to work as they sneakily inched towards John, who obligingly took Benedict out from the sling so Lestrade could take a better look.
Benedict stared with penetrating, dark-blue eyes and a blank expression. He was still too young to have distinctive features, but he had the same head shape as John and had Sherlock's mouth. Lestrade grinned as he noted the yellow and crusty patches on Benedict's scalp, which was, as Ellen told him, full of fluffy strawberry-blonde hair.
"Cradle cap?" Lestrade asked.
"Yep," said John regretfully. "He loses hair every time he loses a patch. Mrs. Holmes said Sherlock went through the same thing, and the hair he grew afterwards was dark brown."
Lestrade laughed when Benedict gifted him a gummy smile.
"I think he likes you," said John fondly.
"I don't think you called me to ogle at my son, Lestrade," said Sherlock's cantankerous voice right behind him.
"Maybe I did," Lestrade snapped.
"Considering there is several kilos worth of drugs inside this warehouse, doubtful," Sherlock sneered.
Lestrade sighed and went back to work.
"Third case this week," he said as he pointed at the drug cartel. "Several hundred grand worth of heroin from Thailand, probably, though we haven't ruled out other sources."
"Drugs aren't your area," said Sherlock as he donned latex gloves.
"It isn't, but this is," said Lestrade.
He showed Sherlock the shoulder bag that once held the entire cartel inside, thanks to a crudely done Undetectable Expansion Charm.
"…Wizards," said Sherlock, staring.
"Yep," said Lestrade. "They're turning into drug runners."
Sherlock glanced at the officers at the scene.
"Magicals and close relatives of magicals."
"Got a whole team of them at the station now, yeah." Lestrade sighed. "The wizard criminals are wising up. They've figured out they can make more money off of Muggles, and that airline security can't detect drugs if you put them in enchanted bags."
"How did you even find this?"
"Jacqueline. She tipped me off that someone contacted someone else about a heroin shipment over the MMN."
"Thank goodness wizards don't have data privacy laws," said Sherlock sardonically.
"Not yet," said Lestrade grimly. "Once this case goes public, there will be sooner or later."
Sherlock nodded curtly. "Did Jacqueline tell you who the parties involved are?"
"Yeah, but they were false identities," Lestrade replied. "We tried tracing them through post owls, but no joy. Jacqueline doesn't monitor phone locations, so no joy there either, and wizards don't have identification numbers. I have the dates when they started their subscription, but I doubt it would help. MMN had a huge influx of new customers since the World Cup, and they were part of the wave."
Sherlock clicked his tongue irritably.
"Why did you call me at all? This is beyond my capacity to handle."
Lestrade was shocked to hear this. "Sorry, what?"
"You heard me correctly, I won't say it again," Sherlock spat. "The entire crime is clearly magical. I can't interact with magic."
"I didn't call you for the magic stuff. I'm not supposed to."
"Not that that stopped you," Sherlock quipped.
Lestrade ignored the tone. "Something about this doesn't smell right. We're finding drug cartels, yeah, but there're no signs of other cartels making it to the streets. Heroin doesn't work the same way on wizards as it does Muggles, so it can't be flooding the magical black market. The timing is suspicious, too. Grandpapa Shin's been warning me to keep my eyes peeled since September, and the sheer amount of protective charms he's been loading into my car and jacket tells me he's really worried."
Sherlock looked at him sharply.
"He hasn't told you why he's worried or what he's worried about."
Lestrade shook his head, "Nah."
Sherlock brought his palms together in contemplation as he studied the dusty ground.
"Two men, one shorter than the other," he said, his eyes following an invisible trail. "One formally of the military, one not; they had a confrontation. The military one got the better of the argument, and the murderer from Little Hangleton stormed off. Obvious."
"Where are you pulling this out of? Your arse?" Lestrade exclaimed.
Sherlock flared up, just as he expected.
"Look!" Sherlock snapped. "Two sets of feet, clear as day. One is male size eight and other male size ten. Size eight paces erratically, but size ten stands firm until he turns heel right here—" he pointed the spot, "—calmly walks away three steps and vanishes. Conclusion: Size ten knew size eight wouldn't dare do something behind his back; therefore he is the winner of the argument. But why did he turn heel so dramatically? To make a point; putting a particular emphasis on the military past. A military man would know better than to leave a body for the police to find, and one who is as calm under pressure as this one certainly wouldn't, so he isn't the Little Hangleton murderer. Therefore his companion is."
Lestrade folded his arms, "What do you mean by Little Hangleton murderer?"
"Have you heard of Frank Bryce?"
"You know him?!"
"Of him, yes," said Sherlock. "An old gardener of a manor house in Little Hangleton; died under the same suspicious circumstances as the Riddle family Bryce was once accused of murdering. The Greater Hangleton police contacted me and asked me to look into the matter. I couldn't provide any solid remarks since Bryce was obviously murdered by the Killing Curse."
"What else do you know," said Lestrade, sighing.
"The killing curse can earn a wizard a life sentence in Azkaban if caught. Black and Lupin assures me it is not a curse one can use lightly or easily, even if the penalties weren't so severe. It requires more power than most spells and one must enjoy the thought of taking away life. What kind of magical are we dealing with, then, if he or she has no qualms of murdering a non-magical cold blood, enjoys it even, when a memory charm would have sufficed to hide whatever it is he or she is doing?"
Lestrade felt a chill. "Someone who has done it before — someone who can do it at all."
"Obviously," said Sherlock. "Lupin and I did some analysis on the number of confirmed and suspected cases of killing curse use. Turns out murders done by the killing curse are astonishingly low, even at the height of Voldemort's power. It was virtually unheard of for the last thirteen years until Frank Bryce and this warehouse, where a middleman drug-dealer was murdered by that curse. If the number of people who can and is willing to use the Killing Curse is so limited, balance of probability is that the murderer of Little Hangleton is the one responsible of the murder here."
Lestrade sighed again. "How do you know there was a body?"
"You lied," said Sherlock as he loomed menacingly at Lestrade. "Jacqueline wouldn't actively monitor suspicious communications. No matter what the Prophet says, I know she resents the work involved with the Magical Mobile Network. Her sense of integrity would disallow snooping into private conversations. She only provided you the information because you asked. And you were only able to ask because you were contacted about the dead body—which is definitely your area—from which you made the magical connection."
Lestrade let out a guttural sigh as Sherlock glowered at him.
"Look, I didn't want to hide anything, okay?" said Lestrade. "And yes, you're right, there was a body; probably the reason why size ten and eight had their argument. Figures you could see that far without a body. But did you know the Ministry of Magic flagged you and John as high-risk?"
Sherlock's eyes flashed.
"There's a huge debate going on if they should even allow you to keep custody over Harry," said Lestrade in quiet undertones. "I've managed to convince them hell no, not when you've got an older brother who's under top security surveillance, but things don't look good for you two right now. Grandpapa Shin wants you two to lie low for the time being, but I disagree. You're involved in this mess one way or another. So take a good look, get to the bottom of it, but for Christ sake, make it look like you don't know what's going on."
Sherlock wiped his face clear of expression as he stood straight.
"Hiding the body was your only concession to new policy."
"Yeah," said Lestrade, looking down at his feet. "And I'm supposed to find out how much you know; a lot more than they'd ever be comfortable with, obviously."
"Any mind-readers in the Ministry?"
"Mind-readers?" Lestrade exclaimed. "The bloody—"
"You obviously haven't heard of them," Sherlock interrupted. "If your father-in-law is a cautious as I think he is, he probably put measures against it on you."
Lestrade felt the multitude of paper charms sewn directly on the inner-lining of his jacket and nodded.
"Who do you work with in the Ministry?" asked Sherlock.
"Arthur Weasley, head of Magical Law Enforcement, senior magic crime investigator equivalent, and the head of the international magic affairs."
"Barty Crouch?"
"I don't even want to know how you know," Lestrade groaned. "But yes, I've been working with Crouch since this involves internationally travelling wizards."
Sherlock smirked. "Keep an eye on him."
"Why?"
"He sacked his house-elf last year over Christmas."
"…Okay, so?"
"Why let go of such a valuable resource?" said Sherlock cryptically. "We employ a house-elf named Dobby part-time and he's invaluable. Harry also rightfully pointed out how suspicious the timing is." He said the last part with a hint of pride.
Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Fine. Anything else?"
"Is there an enclosed, discreet place nearby?"
"I have my car. Why?"
"It's Benedict's feeding time," said Sherlock, checking his watch. Sure enough, they heard a baby screaming from a short distance. Sherlock hurriedly walked away, pulling off his latex gloves and muttering 'oh hell…'
Later, when Lestrade gave his report to Minister Fudge and Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge, he was only half-joking when he told them Sherlock did come over to investigate the crime scene, but had to leave before he could take a good long look because his wife, who accompanied him, had to go feed their crying baby in the middle of it. To his great astonishment, they accepted this report without question.
"You guys are okay for the time being, I think," Lestrade told John that evening. "Do you want to watch the Triwizard Tournament broadcast at my place?"
"Got a wizard downstairs and it's Benedict's nap-time then, but thanks for offering." John sighed. "Being a mum is really tough."
"Your life is basically over, yeah."
John snorted. "But still worth it."
-oo00oo-
Ron sighed in relief as the flames of the Goblet of Fire turned red for the third time. Filming and broadcasting the Triwizard tournament turned out to be a lot less fun than he'd thought. For one thing, he had to film while everyone else was enjoying the festivities, including the feast, and it hurt to see everyone else eat when he couldn't. Though he was able to enjoy the food later, half of the fun was eating with everyone else. Also, Fred and George, the great prats, kept doing gratuitous shows of enjoyment whenever he turned the camera at their direction.
There were, however, a lot of unexpected bonuses. He was able to get very close to Victor Krum when Durmstrang arrived, for one thing (to no one's surprise, he was selected as champion), and doing close-ups at the Beauxbatons students, the veela girl who got picked as champion in particular, wasn't bad either.
Sparks were showering out of the goblet now. Then a tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.
"The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"
Every single Hufflepuff jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. The applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real—"
But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him.
The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and…
…Nothing. There was no parchment at the end of the flame.
"Well," said Dumbledore thoughtfully as the goblet's flames died down. "That was unusual…"
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: Now who expected that? (Certainly not Voldemort :D)
I've combed through HBP to see how memory collecting spells work, and it appears the memories Dumbledore collected from other people were gleaned first via legilimency and then collected from his own mind; the memory of a memory, as it were. But I think I've worked out how the memory-harvesting spell would work. Stay tuned.
I might take a month break from fanfic to work on an original novella/novel. The story is something that's been incubating in my mind for months, and I'd like to flesh it out. I'm also getting a bit weary of writing nothing but ASIM. Writing this chapter was like pulling teeth. I am, however, determined to finish this story, so the break may not happen (it's always harder to pick up after a long break…)