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 Three: A Bucket of First Tasks
"Harry—what happened?"
Harry stared at Ron, Neville and Hermione, whom he met inside the Gryffindor common room, thinking he must look exceptionally bad to elicit that remark from Ron.
Harry didn't fall asleep until daybreak. When he woke up, he lay in bed for a long time, wondering why it felt like his joints had turned to slime and his stomach was trying to expel the decomposing boa constrictor festering within. Once he remembered the reason, Harry did his best not to get sick, dressed and paced around inside his bedroom, brooding over last night's revelations. He only stopped when John knocked on his door so they could attend service at their parish in South East Peckham. After a deeply inattentive hour and a half, John told Harry on their way back to Baker Street that he should tell his friends the news.
"Why?"
"They're going to know something is up," John said. "They won't leave you alone until you tell them."
Hermione would certainly nag until he capitulated, Harry thought.
"But they're going to worry," he muttered.
"They're going to worry either way," John pointed out. "If they must worry, let them worry for the right reason."
Harry kept imagining Hermione's shrill and panicky voice and Ron and Neville's dumbfounded expressions as he and Remus returned to Hogwarts. Before Harry could head back to the Gryffindor tower, Remus paused for a second, squeezed his shoulders gently and assured him: "You'll be fine; don't let it get to you." Harry nodded, thinking he wished he could believe it.
"Harry?" said Ron's voice uncertainly.
Harry blinked back to reality. He vaguely noted the common room was unusually empty.
"Where is everyone?" he asked.
"Dinner!" said Ron, watching Harry closely. "We were going to go when you came. Should we go now?"
"You can go, I'm okay."
Harry slumped into a chair next to the fire. Crookshanks was spread out in front of the fire like a large, ginger rug.
"You really don't look well, you know," Hermione said, peering anxiously into his face.
"And don't say you're fine, because you're obviously not," said Neville when Harry opened his mouth.
Harry closed his mouth and looked at them. Then he covered his eyes because he felt like tearing up. He had to tell the news to these three and Julia sooner or later. He would have to, least his death leave them traumatized and asking themselves: why, why, why?
"You're right, I'm not okay," Harry mumbled.
"What happened?" asked Hermione urgently.
Harry worked on his jaw. He couldn't get the words out; they just stuck to his throat.
"…I might have to die," he finally choked.
Then he told them all about Voldemort's soul fragment embedded in his scar and everything Grandmaster Shin and Dr. Ju told him about it while he kept his eyes covered. No one said anything after he finished speaking. Curious, Harry peered through his fingers.
Ron, Neville and Hermione's expressions were almost exactly as Harry had imagined them back in 221B. Hermione and Neville looked absolutely horrified and Ron simply looked dumbstruck. Harry waited a bit to see what kind of reference books Hermione would suggest and what kind of people she would advise him to talk to, but apparently the news was too horrible for her to think about such things.
Ron was the first person who spoke.
"But – how does Grandmaster Shin know this? I mean – how can he know?"
"I'm not sure exactly, but Dr. Ju sensed the fragment the moment he touched my scar. I guess he sensed it too," Harry said quietly. "And it's happened before, soul fragments of murderers staying behind on other people, I mean. Only those soul fragments didn't stick around very long."
"Maybe that'll happen," said Ron hopefully.
"Thirteen years sounds like an awfully long time for a dead soul fragment to stick around if it's supposed to leave on its own," said Hermione desperately. "Does Professor Dumbledore know? He ought to know!"
"He already knows. He just didn't tell me," Harry muttered. "I guess he couldn't bring himself to, when there isn't a solution that doesn't involve me dying."
There was a silence in which Ron fidgeted absentmindedly in his seat.
"Does Grandmaster Shin have any ideas?" asked Neville.
"He mentioned some kind of spell that can remove all magic. Since the thing that's tying LV's soul fragment to me is magic, he reckons if we remove that magic, it'll go away."
"Brilliant!" said Ron, his expression clearing. "So there is an alternative! Why d'you say you need to die, then?"
"The spell may not work," said Hermione, in an I-can't-believe-you're-this-stupid sort of voice. "The spell sounds self-contradictory… I mean, getting rid of magic using magic? That doesn't sound right."
"Dr. Ju's words almost exactly," said Harry dully. "Even if you ignore the contradiction, he'll have to remake the spell because the old instructions don't make any sense. Mr. Shin and Miss Jackie are going to help him."
"Wouldn't they be able to figure it out, then, if Grandmaster Shin and Miss Jackie are helping?" asked Neville.
"Maybe, but that's only half of the problem. Mr. Shin said Dr. Ju would die if he lost control of his magic while trying to do the spell." Harry sighed. "I guess I could always ask a dementor to suck it out for me…"
"I don't think that would work, Harry," said Hermione seriously. "I doubt you can control a dementor like that, and why would they bother with a tiny soul fragment when they can go after a whole one?"
"Hermione, I was only joking," said Harry wearily.
"Well it wasn't very funny," said Hermione before saying very fast: "Listen, the best wizards in the world are handling the problem. If they can't solve it, no one can. We need to trust them. In the meantime, we should familiarize ourselves with the problem as much as possible…"
She went on about the library search they should (inevitably) conduct. Ron and Neville just nodded dumbly, unable or unwilling to contradict her. Harry felt too tired to feel exasperated. None of them seem to understand at all, but then, why would they? They didn't have death hanging over their heads … they didn't have a reason to think they might die tomorrow, a month later, whenever, if things didn't work out … they didn't know death can sneak up on you when you least expected it…
"Let's go downstairs for dinner," said Ron, interrupting. "Come on, there's no point worrying about it. And being hungry just makes you more miserable."
Hermione gave him a reproachful look. "Ron…"
"Yeah, let's go," said Harry, getting up suddenly. "Hang on; I'll put my stuff in the dorm."
Harry felt the eyes of Ron, Hermione and Neville follow him all the way up the boys' dormitory entrance.
They were still watching him nervously when Harry came back. Nobody spoke on their way downstairs until they encountered a group of sixth-year girls crowding around Cedric Diggory, begging him to sign their school bags.
"Don't they have better things to do?" growled Ron, throwing a contemptuous look at the simpering girls as they walked past.
Harry felt a little better after he said that.
They found Julia at the mostly empty Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, where she was talking to Ginny. Harry could tell from the sombre, inscrutable look on her face that she knew. Harry didn't know if he was grateful that he didn't have to talk about the news again or feel something else at Miss Jackie/Mr. Shin for spilling the beans.
"Hi, Harry, what do you need?" Julia said as he sat down.
"A way to make a dementor take a peck at my forehead without giving me mouth-to-mouth," Harry replied.
"Maybe I should ask grandpa to give them the Eyebrow. Perhaps they'll be too scared to do anything but that."
Harry smiled briefly as he pictured Grandmaster Shin barking orders at a cowering dementor.
"If only," he said wistfully.
Harry just watched his friends eat because he felt too queasy in the stomach. Neville kept flickering worried glances at him, and Hermione tried to entice him to eat by ladling different kinds of food on his plate. Harry just pushed the food around with his fork, unwilling to risk opening his mouth. He wanted to stop thinking about death, but it kept coming back to him, like vultures circling around a carcass…
"Don't wallow," said someone sharply.
Harry looked up, wondering who said that. Neville was choking and coughing, Hermione was glancing to her side, Julia was blinking, eyebrows raised, and Ron was goggling at Ginny with a large forkful of shepherd's pie protruding out of his mouth. Ginny flushed red when she noticed Harry's stare, but this time, she looked steadily back.
"You shouldn't wallow," said Ginny again, looking rather fierce. "Because that's what he wants—for you to wallow in self-pity so he can laugh at how weak you are. Don't let him."
"He?" asked Harry stupidly.
"You-Know-Who," said Ginny, her jaw set in a stubborn way that strongly reminded Harry of her brother George. "You're only this down when You-Know-Who is involved. Well, I may not have had to deal with him as often as you did, but I know what he's like."
"You do?"
"Of course! You know what happened to me two years ago!"
Harry couldn't believe he forgot about that. "…Yes. Sorry."
Then he sat straighter, his feelings taking a slight upturn now that he started to see, if only dimly, what he should do henceforth. He didn't want Voldemort to win. Therefore he shouldn't wallow in despair, which would only make it easier for Voldemort to have his way. Harry also remembered wondering about Ginny turning perfectly happy again after she was un-petrified and Tom Riddle's diary was destroyed once and for all. Perhaps it wasn't so much that she was actually happy as it was her determination to be happy so she wouldn't give Tom Riddle, a.k.a. Lord Voldemort, the honour of scoring any kind of lasting victory.
Don't give anything the honour of ruining your life…
"Thank you, I really needed that reminder," said Harry honestly.
Ginny turned flaming-scarlet as she looked down.
Harry didn't get to see her recover because Professor McGonagall came over to the table the next moment, telling Harry Professor Dumbledore wished to see him in his office.
"A little something on the way, Potter," she said, handing over a squat little brown jar with a white screw top.
Harry stuffed the jar into his pocket and trudged all the way to the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Once there, he realised he didn't know the password.
"Sherbet lemon?" he tried tentatively.
The gargoyle did not move.
"Okay," said Harry, staring at it, "Pear Drop. Er—Licorice Wand. Fizzing Whizbee. Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans … oh no, he doesn't like them, does he? … oh just open, can't you?" he said angrily. "I'm supposed to meet him here!"
The gargoyle remained immovable.
Harry kicked it, achieving nothing but an excruciating pain in his big toe.
"Chocolate Frog!" he yelled angrily, standing on one leg. "Sugar Quill! Cockroach Cluster!"
The gargoyle sprang to life and jumped aside. Harry blinked.
"Cockroach Cluster?" he said, amazed. "I was only joking…"
He hurried through the gap in the walls and stepped onto the foot of a spiral stone staircase, which moved slowly upward as the doors closed behind him, taking him up to a polished oak door with a brass door knocker. On his way up, Harry opened the jar Professor McGonagall gave him and immediately felt immensely stupid because several Cockroach Clusters were nestled inside; he couldn't believe he missed such an obvious hint.
Harry stood before the oak doors. He could hear voices from inside the office, but they were too soft to make out. He hesitated a bit before rapping the brass knocker.
"Enter," said Dumbledore's voice.
Harry pushed the door open. He had been inside Dumbledore's office once before; it was a very beautiful, circular room, lined with pictures of previous headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts, all of whom were fast asleep, their chests rising and falling gently.
Professor Dumbledore was the only person inside the office. The other occupant was Fawkes, Professor Dumbledore's phoenix, and he was standing on his golden perch beside the door. The size of a swan, with magnificent scarlet-and-gold plumage, he swished his long tail and blinked benignly at Harry.
"Hello, Professor. Hello, Fawkes," said Harry.
"Good evening, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Do come in and sit down."
Harry sat, feeling unaccountably nervous.
"First of all, I would like to apologise," said Dumbledore, hands clasped as though in prayer. "It is clear to me now that I have committed the folly that plagues so many old men such as I: preventing youth from knowing the terrible truths as long as possible, so they may remain ignorantly happy."
The tight knot in Harry's chest seemed to unclench a little.
"I don't think I would've been able to say anything if I were in your shoes, Professor," he mumbled.
"You are too kind," said Dumbledore sadly. "But now you know. It is now imperative that you know the other known facts. As young as you are, you must understand the depths of the terrible truth, as much as you are able, for only then you will know what to do."
Harry nodded.
"I had a theory—just a theory, Harry, nothing more—that Lord Voldemort may have torn his soul to fragments and stored them in different objects when his old diary resurfaced," Dumbledore began. "It may not have struck you as strange, Harry, but Tom Riddle's diary had capabilities far beyond a typical memory-storing device. It was able to think for itself, act independently and control its owners through possession. No mere memory would ever be able to do such things. It was, in fact, acting eerily like a person … or a soul wand 'of sorts,' as Grandmaster Shin no doubt told you."
Harry nodded again.
"Grandmaster Shin confirmed the worst possible variation of my theory when he told me that he had detected a soul fragment in your scar," Dumbledore continued. "As curious as I was on how he was able to sense the soul fragment, I had no doubt he was telling the truth when he, by lucky chance, retrieved an object that served as a receptacle for another soul fragment. As the object was retrieved from one of Voldemort's most loyal followers' possessions, I have little doubt the soul fragment was Voldemort's."
Harry sat there, horror-struck. There were more? Not just Tom Riddle's Diary, but another one?
"The object has since been destroyed," said Dumbledore calmly. "But its existence leads to a troubling thought: there may be other objects out there, containing and protecting Voldemort's soul fragments. Unfortunately, we do not know what they are and we do not know for sure how many of them are out there."
"But if we don't find them and destroy them, Voldemort won't…" Harry faltered, unable to continue.
"As long as they exist, Voldemort cannot die," Dumbledore confirmed.
A heavy silence fell in the office. Harry dimly noted many of the portraits of the old headmasters and headmistresses were awake and listening raptly; one corpulent, red-nosed wizard actually took out his ear-trumpet to better hear.
"Our ultimate course of action must be clear now," Dumbledore resumed.
"We need to find Voldemort's soul fragments and destroy them," said Harry; he felt a leaden sense of panic in the pit of his stomach as he considered the prospects. "But how?" he erupted. "There're hardly any clues—and we have to do this before Voldemort gets strong enough to return, don't we? And Voldemort is getting stronger … Mr. Shin said the reason why the dream was clearer this time was because he's getting stronger! We don't have much time!"
"We may have more time than you think," said Dumbledore. "You have noticed, of course, the odd thing that happened in the Triwizard champion selection."
"The goblet's fire turned red four times," said Harry. "No name came out for the fourth time, though."
"Precisely," said Dumbledore, blue eyes ablaze. "A powerful magical object such as the Goblet of Fire would not make such a mistake unless someone hoodwinked it to think there are four schools entering the tournament instead of three. My guess—and generally my guesses are very good—is that Voldemort meant for you to be the fourth champion. Thus his agent placed a powerful Confundus charm on the goblet, entered your name as a candidate for the fictitious fourth school, and entered no other name to ensure your selection. However, an unexpected bit of luck has prevented you from being selected."
"So that was Pettigrew's blunder," said Harry, thinking rapidly. "I bet they put in the name 'Harry Potter'. I might be known as that, but I'm really 'Harry Watson'… Pettigrew either forgot to tell Voldemort or he didn't know…"
"That is my theory as well," said Dumbledore. "Though the goblet was tricked into selecting a fourth champion, since the only available candidate doesn't actually exist, it didn't select anyone."
Harry let out an unsteady breath, thoroughly shaken at the close-shave he didn't know he had.
"However, we cannot afford to rest," said Dumbledore. "That a Confundus charm was placed on the goblet means Voldemort's agent successfully infiltrated Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic. Also, though Voldemort's plan to force you to participate in the Triwizard tournament failed, we know from your last vision that Voldemort believes the mistake can be rectified. This is sobering news. As you know from the way he treated Quirrell, Voldemort shows as much mercy to his followers as he does his enemies. That he allowed Pettigrew to live despite his failure means Voldemort thinks the ultimate purpose of your participation can still be achieved.
"Our fight, then, has two fronts. On the one hand, we must find all of Lord Voldemort's soul fragments so we may vanquish him completely. This is a frightfully difficult task, as you yourself noted, due to the disheartening dearth of clues and rapidly vanishing available time. On the other hand, we must discover who Voldemort's new agent is, and we must do so without rousing either the agent's or Voldemort's suspicion. This is also going to be extremely challenging as Hogwarts has never been more accessible to the outside thanks to the Triwizard tournament. We cannot take any person's apparent identity for granted; he or she may be someone else using Polyjuice Potion or an unwitting agent controlled remotely via the Imperius curse."
Harry bit his lower lip as he nodded. Both tasks sounded impossible. He'd handled hard cases before, willingly and unwillingly, but never something this difficult.
"Either task is daunting by itself, but to handle both fronts alone is asking too much from any person," Dumbledore stated. "Thus I believe a delegation of tasks is needed.
"Grandmaster Shin and I shall focus on hunting down objects that contain Voldemort's soul fragments. Grandmaster Shin has decades of experience uncovering and destroying soul wands, and I have known Lord Voldemort since he was a student here in Hogwarts. I believe our combined knowledge and— excuse me if I sound a bit boastful— not inconsiderable magic prowess will allow us to tackle the task a tad better than others."
"It's not boasting if you're telling the truth," said Harry, grinning lopsidedly.
Dumbledore's moustache quivered.
"Indeed. That leaves the second task. Harry, I believe you are the one who must tackle it."
Harry's jaw dropped.
For a long time he just sat there, unable to comprehend what he'd just heard. Surely Dumbledore didn't say…
"With all due respect, Dumbledore," said a portrait of a clever-looking wizard with a pointed beard in a snide voice. "I hardly think a boy this young can handle a task you yourself labelled 'extremely challenging'."
"I hardly expect for you to understand, Phineas," said Dumbledore gravely.
"But Professor, I don't understand either," Harry protested. "Why do you think I can do it?"
"I believe you can do it because you have proven yourself, time and time again, capable of solving mysteries," Dumbledore replied. "For the last three years I have witnessed you displaying the most remarkable combination of resourcefulness, determination, bravery and powers of deduction to tackle the most daunting cases: There was Quirrell and the philosopher's stone, of course, and the Chamber of Secrets. Also, last year you deduced the whole story behind Sirius's escape when no one else did."
"Sherlock did most of the thinking for all of those cases!" Harry protested again. "I'm never going to be as clever as him! And I'm turning stupider … I completely missed the hint to your office's password—"
"I think we should make allowances for the stressful current circumstances," said Dumbledore gently. "Speaking of Sherlock, didn't he say this past summer that you have the power of observation and that of deduction? That you are only wanting in knowledge, and that may come in time? How many people do you think he would give such an assessment?"
Harry felt himself go hot in the face. "Errr…"
"As you can see, it's not an opinion a foolish old man has by himself," said Dumbledore. "There is another reason I believe you should lead the effort. This second task requires more than just cleverness. The other ability this task requires you have in abundance, but Sherlock is rather inept at and Voldemort sadly doesn't even possess."
Harry wondered what Dumbledore was talking about. He couldn't be talking about magic, because he referenced Voldemort as well as Sherlock.
"I speak of your ability to care and love well," Dumbledore clarified.
Harry said nothing, but he couldn't help but think: so what? Few people in the world cared as ineptly as Sherlock, so having the ability to care better than him wasn't a recommendation worth touting. What did the ability to love have to do with solving the mystery, anyway? Caring too much often led to mistakes…
"Trust me, Harry, your ability to love will prove vital in solving this mystery," said Dumbledore seriously. "Now, do not think I have forgotten about the soul fragment residing in your scar."
Harry swallowed.
"By necessity, we shall cross this bridge last," said Dumbledore quietly. "I hope, of course, that we will find a solution far preferable than you sacrificing your life. June Hu has told me about the promising lead he discovered last night, and the existence of the man almost sounds like an answer to a prayer. However, it would be foolish to assume success."
"Murphy was an optimist," Harry murmured.
"It is a heavy burden to be sure," said Dumbledore sombrely. "Few can carry it, and I shall not insult you by trivializing the burden."
"But I'm not going to let it ruin my life," said Harry savagely. "It doesn't deserve that kind of honour."
Dumbledore went still for a moment. Behind Harry, Fawkes the phoenix let out a low, soft, musical cry. Then to Harry's intense embarrassment, he suddenly realised that Dumbledore's bright blue eyes turned rather watery, and stared hastily at his own knees. When Dumbledore spoke, however, his voice was quite steady.
"I am very pleased and a little proud at how well you seem to be coping, Harry. It takes exceptional courage to face slow, encroaching death. I take my hat off to you—or I would, if I were wearing one."
Harry looked up. Dumbledore was looking at him with approval gleaming in his bright blue eyes.
"Now, Harry, permit me to give you the advice that I meant to give you before you've spoken so well: Rather than dwelling on a future that has not yet arrived and forget to live, you should keep yourself occupied and work on your given task as well as perform your duties as a student, lest the agent take notice."
"I understand," said Harry quickly.
"You also must not isolate yourself. If you have not yet done so, tell your friends Mr. Ronald Weasley, Miss Hermione Granger, Miss Julia Lestrade and Mr. Neville Longbottom what you are facing. You will do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them."
"I've told them and Julia already knows."
"Excellent," said Dumbledore, beaming. "Now my final piece of advice: hopefully it will not happen for many, many years to come, but I find death is generally easier to face when one has fewer things to regret about."
Something about that comment clicked in Harry's head. "So make a bucket list?"
"Something of the sort," said Dumbledore, smiling. "I have detained you long enough. Good night, Harry … and good luck."
-oo00oo-
Dumbledore watched Harry leave his office, quietly shutting the door behind him. After a few seconds of silence, a light glimmer appeared on a spot next to his desk. The light descended downwards to the floor, revealing an old man with short white hair and a clean-shaven, saturnine face in its wake.
"I see why you put so much hope in that child," said Shin June Hu quietly.
"His bravery, even after all this time, comes as a perpetual surprise," said Dumbledore, shaking his head.
"It is better to underestimate a person's moral capacity than to overestimate it and invite disappointment." Shin clasped his hands behind his back. "Are you ready?"
"Of course," said Dumbledore, rising.
Dumbledore waved his wand and the lights dimmed. The next moment, both men were striding across the lawns in the cool, misty darkness.
"What would our pursuit look like, my dear friend?" asked Dumbledore.
"Much like setting a bloodhound on a trail," Shin replied. "Perhaps it is because I have used my own blood so uninhibitedly for so long to perform magic, but my senses have become hypersensitive to the presence of life that has magic. All practitioners of blood-based magic seem to experience this sensitivity. My daughter can hear magic's heartbeat, as it were, and the man I've told you about can perceive magic through touch."
"Fascinating," said Dumbledore. "And you?"
"I can smell it."
"I assume soul wands and Horcruxes have a particular smell."
"They do."
"May I ask what kind of smell?"
Shin stopped. Dumbledore waited as he watched the moonlight playing across Shin's face.
"…Filth," Shin finally muttered, "decay; putrefaction; death; it doesn't matter whether the soul locked inside was that of a good person, bad person, or a young child — they all smell like rot to me."
The rest of their trek continued in grave silence.
-oo00oo-
John stepped into the Diogenes' Club common room and surveyed the occupants. Each person was sitting in comfortable armchairs in their own little nook, napping or reading or munching on cucumber sandwiches. Not a single person paid any attention whatsoever to John and Benedict's entrance. Benedict snoozed inside his sling as John checked each member, confirming Mycroft wasn't among them.
As she turned to leave, John was suddenly gripped with a strong desire to pinch Benedict so he would shatter the stuffy silence with his crying. That she had such a temptation didn't speak well of her motherly instincts, to say nothing of the risk of being bodily escorted out of the club, but John thought it might be worth it to see how these withering, misanthropic bodies would react to the noise and how they'd take John's new favourite universal excuse for everything: 'I have a baby'.
[Un]fortunately, one of the club valets/bodyguards/slaves intercepted before John could do anything foolhardy and directed parent and child to the Stranger's Room, where Mycroft was waiting.
"Did you know Benedict is the first infant to enter these halls?" said Mycroft as he poured the tea.
"No, but I'm not exactly surprised," John remarked. "Screaming babies can't be in accord with the club rules, can they?"
"Certainly not," said Mycroft. "So to what do I owe this visit?"
"Can't I bring my baby to visit his uncle?" said John as she pulled Benedict out of the sling and turned him around to face Mycroft. "You haven't seen him in person since the day he born. Say hi to uncle Mycroft, Benedict!"
Mycroft and Benedict pulled faces at each other.
"You can hold him too," said John cheerfully. "I'm not terribly fussed about germs, but you probably washed your hands before you came here. Seems like the sort of thing you'd do before you greet the unwashed masses."
Then without any further ado, John bullied Mycroft into holding Benedict.
"I must register my disbelief that this is mere a social call," Mycroft grumbled as Benedict started whimpering. "What does he want?"
John mimed sticking a pinky into one's mouth. Mycroft reluctantly offered a finger, acting as though he'd never done something this proletarian in his life. Benedict promptly grabbed it and started sucking it contently.
"Besides suggesting a dummy would be a more sanitary alternative, perhaps I should've stated that it is obvious from the state of your right forefinger that you are foreseeing dangerous days ahead of you," said Mycroft, pulling a look of distaste.
"You know, people should appreciate your and Sherlock's ability more; makes talking about difficult things so much easier," said John.
"I assume the danger comes from the Others," said Mycroft.
"Having a spot of trouble with homegrown terrorists," said John wryly. "No one wants that, especially when their ideology has a racist-extremist bent."
"Yes, such individuals can be very inconvenient, especially when they are armed." Mycroft eyed John. "How is my brother taking it?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen him since last Saturday night," John sighed. "Could mean he's upset; could mean he's thinking. How can I know?"
Mycroft and John sat in silence for a spell, each regarding the other phlegmatically by the dim light pouring through the windows.
"I never wanted to raise a child since Sherlock," said Mycroft.
"I'm going to ask one of my small group girls to do the raising. Jacqueline, probably," said John. Then she let out another sigh. "I just … I know it's not an inherited trait, and my ordinary genes probably cut the chances to half even if it was, but if by chance he does have Sherlock's brains, could you…?"
Mycroft sighed, "If you insist."
"Thanks."
"No, John, thank you."
-oo00oo-
John took Benedict and left Diogenes right after the not-exchange with Mycroft. A black Jaguar and a pretty brunette dressed in black were waiting outside the club building. John didn't know what to feel when she noticed the car had a baby car seat installed.
"Was this custom-made?" John asked as she strapped Benedict into the car seat, much to his displeasure.
"Mmm, no," said nameless brunette, dimpling.
"Shame," said John regretfully. "Benedict hates regular car-seats."
Benedict cried all the way back to Baker Street. Nameless Brunette and driver both looked extremely relieved when John released a red-faced and gasping Benedict and left the car with him.
"You really need to get used to it, Benedict," John chided as she climbed the steps. "Mummy and Daddy like cabs."
Benedict let out series of high-pitched shrieks in reply.
"Fine, I'll give you the boob," John groaned. "You know, I'm starting to think that's all I am to you: the person with the boob."
John was nursing Benedict when the communal MMN phone rang. Without thinking, John picked it up.
The holographic image of six kids—three boys and three girls—projected out of it. The red-haired boy with a long nose and freckles turned purple and looked away quickly, and the round-faced boy turned pink and covered his eyes.
"It's just a boob," John groused. "You know the thing you lived off of for the first year of your life?"
Ron made a gurgling noise as his ears turned red. Hermione, Julia and Ginny giggled. Deciding she'd teased the boys enough, John threw a towel over the exposed shoulder (and boob).
"There, I'm decent, you can look now," said John. "So what's up?"
From the jumbled and highly excited words that followed, John gathered Dumbledore had commissioned Harry and his partners in crime-solving—which now included Ginny Weasley; Molly was going to have a coronary when she found out—to discover the identity of Voldemort's agent who infiltrated the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts and tried (but failed) to enter Harry to the Triwizard tournament. It was exactly the sort of barmy and reckless thing the Headmaster of Hogwarts would do, and John's first instinct was asking what the bloody hell he was thinking. Then John noticed the shuttered and subdued look on Harry and decided reckless but busy was better than depressed and aimless (which was probably AD's aim, now that John thought about it more).
"…Anyway, we wanted to ask Sherlock—" Hermione was saying.
"Sherlock's not here. He's out thinking, I think," said John. Then she sighed. "So you need to hunt down an undercover terrorist. You know, I'm pretty knowledgeable about terrorists."
The kids looked at John in amazement.
"Well, after living through the height of IRA bombings and dealing with the al-Qaeda and Taliban at the front lines, I kind of had to," said John.
"Oh," said Harry, Hermione and Julia. Ron, Ginny and Neville, on the other hand, just looked clueless.
"You're either dealing with a new recruit or a really old one," John began. "I think you can rule out a new recruit. They tend to be young and reckless and senior-level terrorists only use them for brainless grunt work. Deep infiltration/undercover missions are usually given to trusted underlings who proved their loyalty over the years."
"So we should look up old LV followers," said Harry.
"Yes," said John. "Sherlock made an index, so you can read it up for quick reference."
"Oh, that'll be so helpful," said Hermione fervently.
John quirked her lips at her before continuing:
"Now this agent, he or she carried the torch for LV for thirteen years. That's a long time to keep their dedication. And once LV contacted him/her again, he/she immediately does something big, reckless and attention-grabbing like trying to make Harry participate in the Triwizard Tournament, which is a public event. All this stinks of an extreme fanatic to me."
The kids nodded.
"Now the thing you need to know about extreme fanatics is that they want other people to know that they are," John explained. "I doubt anyone like that would've stayed underground after LV got hoisted by his own petard. The agent would've attempted something big and dangerous to bring LV back shortly after he vanished. Even if it didn't work, but the guy would've tried."
The kids went still. Neville in particular looked completely shaken.
"So you should look for an early LV resurrection attempt," said John as she burped Benedict. "I have a feeling the guys involved botched it badly and got caught. Operations like those usually fail because it's led by people who just lost their leader and are more driven by emotion than strategy. If you find one, look up who was involved." John paused. "Sirius might know who got thrown in prison for it, if it postdates his own imprisonment."
"You're right, Sirius would know!" said Ron excitedly.
"Just broach the subject carefully," John warned. "It's not something he'll want to remember."
Ron gulped. Harry nodded grimly. John wryly noted Harry's heightened alertness and stubborn set of his jaw; for someone whose temperament was entirely dissimilar to Sherlock, Harry certainly had Sherlock's single-mindedness when working on a case.
"Just one more thing before I unleash you into the wild," said John. "Don't make your investigation look obvious. Even if you find nothing, the fact that you're trying to find something might convince the agent he/she needs to eliminate you to eliminate the threat. Make a cover story. Give each other plausible alibis. Never discuss things in public where people can overhear you. You're calling me from the music room, right?"
"We're using the noise-cancelling screens," said Hermione promptly.
"You need to stop doing that," said John. "Anyone following your movements is going to know the music room is your base of operations, and that someone can remove the noise-cancelling charm and eavesdrop."
Hermione covered her mouth in horror. John sighed.
"For now, keep changing your meeting places and find a more reliable way of keeping your conversations private," said John. "We can talk about your cover afterwards; just don't start the investigation until you have one."
"But we can work on our covers, right?" asked Julia.
"Yes, but be careful. You don't want other people to know it's a cover."
The kids agreed.
John dismissed them after telling them to get in contact with Sirius, who just left for Thailand in connection to the case Lestrade called Sherlock to take a look at. Once the call ended, John looked down at Benedict. Benedict looked up at John penetratingly.
"Yes, your mummy gives anti-terrorism advice to teenagers and lets them hunt wizard terrorists. Her life is very absurd," John told him.
Benedict gave John a big gummy smile.
"It's nothing to laugh at," John grumbled.
-oo00oo-
Severus observed the signs of tectonic shifts getting ready to shake the wizarding world to its roots shortly after the Triwizard Tournament champions were selected. Specifically, Severus observed the first sign during the double-potions class for Gryffindor and Slytherin fourth years. He immediately noticed there was something defiant about the way Longbottom carried himself. Indeed, he merely glared right back, white-faced, when Severus criticized his ungainly efforts per routine. Wondering what brought this about, Severus probed his mind.
He saw the image of a dormitory late at night, with Longbottom sitting on a windowsill and clutching the sleeve of another boy sitting dangerously close to the edge of an open window. The scruffy outline of the other boy's head made it clear who it was. In the midst of this memory, Severus heard a strong voice of conviction:
I don't have time to be afraid of you.
Severus later wondered about the peculiar phrasing. 'I don't have time' implied urgency, not rebellion. The image that accompanied the conviction showed Potter was at the root of Longbottom's change. Potter had a preoccupied air about him lately, and paid so little attention to the world around him that he didn't even notice the ugly factionist fights Rita Skeeter's article triggered until he literally walked into one.
The Daily Prophet published their first article featuring the Triwizard Tournament Champions the day after the weighing of wands. It was frankly a low quality report compared to the Magical Mobile Network's broadcast of the wand weighing event, but Skeeter did her best to garner reader attention. For her write up on Hogwarts's champion, she slipped in the interesting tidbit that Diggory once beat Harry Potter, acknowledge by many as the best spell-caster Hogwarts had seen in years, in a wizard's duel.
Severus was at the teachers' table when the students clamoured around Potter asking when he and Diggory had their duel. It was clear from his bewildered expression Potter had no idea what they were talking about. Then Granger reminded him that he and Diggory had been matched up two years ago, at the short-lived duelling club, when Severus had the students practice the disarming spell in pairs.
"Oh, that's right, he disarmed me," said Potter, bemused.
The students were revving up to be impressed until Ginny Weasley made a sharp comment.
"That wasn't a duel, and someone crashed into you right after it started."
Potter blinked and scratched his temple gormlessly. "…Yeah, that happened too."
By the end of the day, the Hogwarts student body was torn between those accusing Diggory of giving an exaggerated account of his abilities to the Prophet out of conceit and those defending Diggory. The Hufflepuffs (and many female students) argued Diggory was misquoted and had words put into his mouth by the article's author. The Ravenclaws were inclined to coolly point out the Prophet couldn't have even written an exaggerated account of the 'duel' if Diggory hadn't mentioned it, therefore he must have told the reporter the incident to make himself look good. As for the Gryffindors, they were as one enraged at Diggory for daring to take a swipe at their favourite member. The lower-years, led by the Creevey brothers, spearheaded a campaign in support of Harry Potter, the better dueller, and several upper-years had taken to shouting insults at Diggory whenever he walked through the halls.
The tension between the two factions escalated to a boiling point by the end of the week, when finally a fifty-person strong fight erupted in the middle of the entrance hall. Of course, it was that fight Potter walked into.
McGonagall and Severus were alerted of the fight by one of the ghosts. When they got there, the entrance hall was full of rubberneckers and actual fight participants. McGonagall and Severus quickly pushed their way through, firing bangs in the air with their wands, but the shouts and bangs the students were making drowned out the sound.
"Ah, look, there he is," said Draco's voice somewhere in the centre of the crowd. "Harry Potter. The true spell master of Hogwarts … or is he? How about it, Potter? You and Diggory: right here, right now. Settle the score. Show us who the real master duellist is…"
Several students hooted in agreement. Between the jostling bodies, Severus saw Diggory's pale face. He assumed Potter was somewhere opposite.
"What's the matter, Potter?" Draco sneered. "Are you afraid? Maybe there's something to that article after all."
"Stuff it, Malfoy! If there's anyone who should be afraid, it's pretty-boy Diggory!"
"Yeah, I don't think he wants to risk his face. Just look at him!"
"Can't mar your pretty face for the camera, can you Diggory?"
There were more cat-calls and jeers.
It was abruptly cut short when an explosion like a bomb rattled the hall and fireworks erupted at one end of the centre, shooting up into the air like a fifteen foot tall fountain of sparks. The crowd backed away as one from the display.
McGonagall and Severus made it to the clearing as the fireworks died down. Potter was lowering his wand, clearly in towering rage.
"What the HELL is this?!" he shouted, trembling with fury, "Why the hell are we fighting?! Do you have any idea what we look like right now to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang!?"
Silence.
"Well, let me tell you what we look like!" Potter roared. "We look like those hooded-rioters at the World Cup! Do you think this is funny? Do you seriously think this something to risk your life over? Is this really a life and death thing, damn it?!"
"Oi, we just wanted to—" someone protested.
"Defend my honour?" said Potter coldly. "Well, F— you, I don't want the honour you're trying to give me."
More silence.
McGonagall shattered it by using her wand to set off a loud bang.
"All students must return to their dormitories at once!" she barked. "Professor Dumbledore will hear about this, make no mistake! Potter and Diggory, you two stay."
The students ducked their heads and quickly shuffled away. Soon Diggory and Potter were the only students in the hall.
"Inside," ordered McGonagall, pointing at the staffroom door.
They marched inside. Severus shut and locked the door behind them.
"Explain," said McGonagall as soon as the lock clicked.
Diggory haltingly explained his house year-mates started a scuffle with their other house counterparts at the entrance hall when the latter started cat-calling him. The scuffle quickly escalated into a bigger fight as more students joined in. A blonde fourth-year boy, whose name was Malfoy, spotted Potter and goaded him to duke it out with Diggory then and there. Potter and Diggory were pushed to the centre once he did so.
"So neither of you took part in the fight," said McGonagall, her lips set into a thin line.
"No, professor," said Diggory, still pale as parchment but meeting McGonagall's eye.
"I'm glad you're telling the truth," McGonagall said. "It doesn't look like either of you are injured."
Potter and Diggory reported negative. McGonagall sighed.
"Good. Now let's see — twenty points to Hufflepuff for refusing to participate in a riot, and fifty points to Gryffindor for stopping the riot."
Diggory bowed his head. Potter blinked bemusedly, as though he didn't think of it that way.
"Ten points from Gryffindor for your language, Potter," said Severus, because he knew McGonagall was going to, so he might as well.
"What, not twenty?" said Potter, eyebrows raised.
Severus curled his lip. "And another ten points for your cheek."
Potter rolled his eyes.
"I almost forgot: twenty points to Gryffindor for your inspiring speech, Potter," McGonagall said, glaring at Severus. "You may go."
Potter marched off. Diggory left after him.
"I will send Draco to the headmaster," said Severus gravely, saving McGonagall the effort of demanding it.
"See that you do," said McGonagall, nostrils flaring. "The boy nearly made the situation even worse. Thank goodness Potter and Diggory didn't take the bait."
Severus shut himself inside his private quarters after doing what he'd promised to do. As he washed his face, he noticed the odd bruise that looked like a misshapen ring on his forearm—which refused to abate no matter what he did with it—had taken a distinct shape.
Severus stared at it, dripping water everywhere. The ring now looked like a skull, and unless he was in denial, the long curved thing coming out of the mouth was…
His phone rang.
Severus debated just letting it ring off. He had to go to Dumbledore and inform him about the mark. But if by chance the call was from Watson…
He picked it up.
And immediately regretted it; Sherlock Holmes's face sprang into view.
"No. Please stop," said Holmes as Severus moved to turn it off.
Severus froze. He heard the unsteady timbre in Holmes's voice. He also noticed Holmes looked washed out and his skin looked paper-thin, like he'd fasted for days.
"Thank you," Holmes rumbled when Severus didn't move. "Snape, I owe you a thousand apologies."
A few beats passed.
"…What do you want?" Severus hissed. "You won't be saying this if you didn't want something."
The corner of Holmes's mouth twitched. But on the next blink the flicker of amusement was gone, and Holmes's face returned to its previous grim pallor.
"The same thing you want," said Holmes, "Keep Lily Evans's only son alive."
Severus stopped breathing.
"I don't ask anything else," Holmes promised.
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: Sherlock is growing up. Harry should pay more attention to the Crouch-and-Winky case, but he doesn't have the heart for it. As for future 'ships, HRHNJ+G will start thinking about dating soon. My aim is to make the progression believable and not pull any punches. I won't name pairings, but in this AU, both pairings and pairing-process can't and won't follow Canon. Now speaking of Ginny Weasley …
I think the biggest factor that pushed Ginny from selective shrinking violet to fierce lioness abruptly was the return of Voldemort at the end of GOF. She probably decided she needed to get a grip because she no longer had time to be shy around Harry. The girl is definitely gutsy and determined.
In my mind, Grandmaster Shin bears an uncanny resemblance to Hugo Weaving (of Matrix and LOTR fame). On an unimportant note: Cecilia, Julia's mum, took after her father and looks like Brigitte Lin of Asia Invincible fame, and Jacqueline took after her mother, Huang Yue Ying, whom Shin met in Manchuria after he was exiled (see details of the exile in chapter 26).
I've updated several previous chapters (I always do). The changes were mostly details like numbers, grammar and removing the presence of minor (unnecessary) characters to make things smoother and more consistent.