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 Nine: Respites in Disguise
Lestrade was accustomed to Sherlock leaving him in the dark until the very last minute. Therefore he was poleaxed when Sherlock decided to disclose his progress in the mid-point of his investigation.
Lestrade and Ellen was visiting 221B when it happened. Sirius was curiously absent and Sherlock chose to linger and watch the Triwizard Tournament's first task with them. Once the broadcast was over and Ellen and John started talking about mummy things, Sherlock bullied Lestrade into the kitchen, and there he informed Lestrade of the latest in flushing out LV's agent (i.e. identity still unknown). He also told him about Remus Lupin's sudden—but not entirely unexpected—heart attack, subsequent transfer to St. Mungo's and the setbacks this entailed.
After listening, Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose several times to relieve his encroaching headache.
"Okay, now what?" Lestrade asked.
"Dumbledore told me about his substitute teacher," said Sherlock. "He's a retired Auror named Moody."
"He's bringing in an old-time wizard copper as a teacher?"
"Yes. Moody incidentally possesses the highest Death Eater arrest rate among those who survived LV's reign of terror."
"Things are really serious, then."
Sherlock nodded once. "Dumbledore and I are in agreement that the agent made an attempt to spirit Harry away during the first task. LV pushed up his comeback timeline, it seems."
Lestrade suppressed a strong urge to swear. "How do you know?"
Sherlock pulled out a glass-case MMN phone. A few pokes on the screen later, the holographic image of Harry on flying broomstick circling around a sleepy-looking scarlet dragon that had a gold mane around its face projected out of the phone. Lestrade wondered how Sherlock could remain calm as he watched Harry expertly dodge a jet of fire snorted at his direction.
"The pivotal clue is this," said Sherlock, freezing the image for a moment and focusing into the badge hanging on Harry's neck. "Keep watch on the badge."
Sherlock resumed play. Harry yanked off the badge, stuffed it into his camera bag, and patted the Velcro cover firmly shut. The footage afterwards was Viktor Krum tackling the Hungarian Horntail from the perspective of Harry's camera bag. Lestrade again wondered why in the name of all things good the kids decided to delete this scene as he stared, mesmerized, at Harry saving one of the blokes trying to calm down the rampaging Horntail.
He didn't notice anything strange until the footage reached the part when Percy Weasley asked for the badges back and Harry couldn't find his from his camera bag.
"Wait, go back, I didn't see the badge falling out," said Lestrade.
Sherlock smirked in approval. "The badge didn't fall out."
"You mean it just vanished?" said Lestrade incredulously before he reminded himself he was dealing with magic. And the moment he remembered that, he knew what the problem was.
"The badge was a portkey."
"Obviously," said Sherlock. "It's was likely time-triggered. The agent also likely planned to provoke one of the dragons just before it activated."
"So everyone would be too busy staring at the dragon to pay attention to the cameraman, yeah?"
"Again, obvious," confirmed Sherlock. "But as it transpired, Krum saved him the trouble of personally poking a dragon in the eye and Harry decided to keep his badge inside his camera bag. Since he wasn't touching the badge directly, it didn't take him away."
Lestrade whistled. "Your kid is seriously lucky."
"In more ways than one," said Sherlock quietly. "The plan failed and the agent left a slew of clues … more than he ever intended, I'm sure. Now it's a matter of putting them together."
"What are the clues?"
"I don't have them all right now, but I know where you can find them."
In other words, Sherlock expected him to produce them, Lestrade thought.
"So what do you want me to do?" he asked.
"I need a sample of Crouch and Bagman's DNA," said Sherlock.
"Why?"
"They are the only ministry officials who have the necessary access to the badges. Percy Weasley does as well, but I doubt the agent is using him: Too young, too new and Arthur didn't detect anything untoward from his son."
Lestrade marvelled at the fact Sherlock bothered to explain, rather than just hissing: 'just do it!' as he normally did.
"Leave it to me."
"Make sure you get it when they're at the ministry," Sherlock warned.
"Will do," Lestrade promised.
-oo00oo-
While Lestrade and Sherlock commiserated in the kitchen, John and Ellen Lestrade shared their respective baby's latest shenanigans.
"I tried sleep training Benedict," said John.
"How did it go?"
"It was a disaster," said John wearily. "He wouldn't stop crying. I mean it. He cried so much he couldn't even breathe properly. I had to pick him up. He's been refusing to sleep alone since then. He starts hyperventilating if I put him down and act like I'm going to leave." John looked down at Benedict, who was drooling rivers on his mummy's chest. "I think he's traumatized."
"No, he isn't," said Ellen confidently. "He's just not ready to sleep through the night, that's all. Try again at six months."
John exhaled, "Okay."
"Why did you want to sleep train him now?" Ellen asked.
"I needed him to sleep more," said John evasively.
"Why do you need him to sleep more?" Ellen pressed. "I feel like it's not because you're sleep deprived."
John smiled wryly.
"It's stupid," said John, "Utterly stupid. I wanted to get back in shape."
"Why? You're still nursing!"
"In case the Wizarding World goes to war," said John quietly. "It's not a set thing, but … the best brains in the UK have been working to foil LV since Halloween, and even though they know what to look for and how to identify him, they still haven't found his agent."
Ellen Lestrade covered her mouth and let out a soft 'oh'.
"Not exactly a vote of confidence, my attitude," John went on. "But things don't look good to me right now. I have to prepare for the worst. But then again I can't."
There was a beat.
"I understand," said Ellen. "I mean … I don't know. Magic is, like, something over there, a different world thing, and usually we can treat it like that. But, like, LV won't let us, if he comes back."
"No," John muttered. "Plus Harry is LV's archenemy."
"Ohmygosh, you're right," said Ellen, eyes round. "That makes you a target, doesn't it?"
John nodded. "If I were him, I'd assassinate me and Sherlock first."
"That's horrible!" Ellen exclaimed. "Do you really feel like—"
"Doesn't matter what I feel," said John flatly. "If the enemy thinks it is good strategy, chances are he'll use it. This is a simple matter of fact."
Ellen shut her moth, and the two sat in a bout of quiet.
"You are like a pillar," Ellen marvelled. "Seriously, I don't even know how you can stay calm. I'd be, like, scared out of my wits and sobbing every day."
"I actually am scared out of my wits," said John matter-of-factly.
Ellen stared. "You don't look it."
"I try not to freak out in front of people, particularly Sherlock and Harry," said John grimly. "They never did well when I do."
There was another bout of quiet, and this one was much longer than the previous.
"I can stand a magical war if it was just me," John murmured at length. "I can cope. But now I have Benedict. How am I supposed to protect him and Harry both from wizards?"
Ellen just looked at John helplessly. At length John held Benedict tightly, her eyes shiny and her glance faraway.
"Is it wrong for me to wish he had never been born?" John whispered.
Ellen wrapped her arms around John and murmured several prayers.
Later that night, miles away from London, a mobile phone started ringing inside the Hufflepuff girl's dormitory. The owner of the phone, Julia Lestrade, woke up with a start at the piercing sound. Then she groaned and started groping for the phone. Several books on her four-poster bed at her either side fell to the floor when she searched her bedside cabinet, and the long roll of parchment she'd been reading before falling asleep slid off as she lifted her bedcovers.
At length Julia located her glasses (under her pillow for some curious reason), the ringing phone (found wedged between the pages of her copy of Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3) and connected the call.
"Hello?" she grouched.
"Hi Julia," said Ellen's voice. "Sorry to wake you up, babe, but this is important."
"Why? What happened?" asked Julia, alarmed.
"There's something I need to know," said Ellen urgently. "Tell me—just tell me!—what are you and Harry doing about this LV agent?"
Julia groaned loudly.
"Why do you need to know now, all of a sudden?" she complained.
"Harry's mum is freaking out so I need to know what to do!" Ellen cried.
The grumpy expression on Julia fell off.
"…Okay," she said. "Okay, just give me a minute, and I'll tell you everything…"
-oo00oo-
Three weeks passed since the first Triwizard Tournament task happened. Winter was in full swing now, and several blizzards had already swept through Hogwarts's landscape and castle. On the particular day in December, the skies were grey and stormy—much like Ron's mood since he encountered Rita Skeeter.
Ron felt sick in the stomach whenever he recalled the incident. There he was, innocently heading to the Great Hall with Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Neville rather late because the five of them stayed up until 2 AM in the morning plotting how they were going to brew the Polyjuice potion in secret. As they walked across the entrance hall, Ernie Macmillan accosted them.
"Ron Weasley, I just wanted to let you know I don't believe what the Daily Prophet says," he said pompously.
Harry looked as mystified as Ron felt.
"Okay," said Ron. "Thanks, I guess."
Ernie nodded and then rejoined his fellow Hufflepuffs. At the Great Hall's doors, they met Cedric Diggory, who was carrying a stack of toast in a napkin and had the morning edition of the Daily Prophet tucked under his arm.
"Good morning," he said. "Listen, can we talk in private? I need to tell you something."
"Uh, sure," said Ron, feeling increasingly uneasy.
The six of them went looking for an empty classroom. Once they secured one, Cedric showed them Rita Skeeter's published piece. Her article wasn't so much of a scathing report on their rude behaviour, let alone a report on the Triwizard Tournament, but a tantalizing preview promising series of articles that would write about the colourful life story of Harry Potter:
Harry Potter is a boy of mystery. Even though it has been four years since his return to the wizarding world, very little is known about his life following his historic defeat of You-Know-Who. What little is known only compounds the air mystery surrounding the Boy-Who-Lived. His reputation as Hogwarts' best spell-caster is vouched for and repeatedly demonstrated. Just recently, he saved dragon keeper Bartholomew Bellentine from a Hungarian Horntail, which went on a rampage at the Triwizard Tournament's first task. He then quietly left the enclosure, neither receiving nor seeking acknowledgement for his courageous deed. The writer has interviewed several students since witnessing the incident herself, and as one they have claimed it was 'just the sort of thing Potter would do.'
One would expect such a person to have friends of similar temperament. Yet the people surrounding Harry Potter as friends are most curious. There is the Hogwarts champion Cedric Diggory, who has previously claimed to have defeated Potter in a duel (this turns out to be false). Then there is Arnold Weasley, a fellow fourth year, who claims to lead the Triwizard Tournament filming efforts. The writer finds the latter claim hard to believe; Ms. Jacqueline Shin, owner of the Magical Mobile Network, refused to comment and Weasley has not once been seen filming. Also, when invited to an interview, Weasley responded with derogatory language…
Hermione and Julia's response was lightning swift. Hermione declared they must broadcast what really happened, and Julia put together a short holographic film of their meeting with Skeeter in thirty minutes. The film was aired over the Magical Mobile Network as a special announcement. But before the announcement was seen by all, Ron was an open target. Predictably, Malfoy was the first to make snide comment about it.
"Ah, look, boys, it's the leader of the tournament filming," he said to Crabbe and Goyle the moment he got within earshot of Ron at Care of Magical Creatures. "Really doesn't look the part, does he? Personally I think he's faking it for a bit of recognition. Yes, that's probably what it is. The reporter didn't even bother to get his name right … I mean, if he were really that important, they'd go through the trouble to ask, wouldn't they?"
Crabbe and Goyle guffawed sycophantically, but Malfoy had to stop there, because Hagrid emerged from the back of his cabin balancing a teetering tower of crates, each containing a very large Blast-Ended Skrewt. To the class's horror, Hagrid announced Professor Kettleburn had the flu and that they will be taking care of the skrewts that day. Then he proceeded to explain that the reason the skrewts had been killing one another was an excess of pent-up energy, and that the solution would be for each student to fix a leash on a skrewt and take it for a short walk. The only good thing about this plan was that it distracted Malfoy completely.
"Take this thing for a walk?" he repeated in disgust, staring into one of the boxes. "And where exactly are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end or the sucker?"
"Roun' the middle," said Hagrid, demonstrating. "Er— yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus' as an extra precaution, like. Ron— you come here an' help me with this big one…"
Hagrid's real intention, however, was to talk to Ron away from the rest of the class. He waited until everyone else had set off with their skrewts, then turned to Ron and said with furious pride. "So … yeh started yer own company and it's doin' well, looks like. Congratulations."
"You believe I am, then?" said Ron, concealing with difficulty the rush of gratitude he felt at Hagrid's words.
"Course I do," Hagrid grunted. "Jack says she can' do it without yeh and I've seen yeh spendin' hours in the evenin' workin' fer her in the Music Room."
"Wish everyone else was so reasonable," said Ron bitterly.
The pair of them looked out over the lawn; the class was widely scattered now, and all in great difficulty. The skrewts were no longer shell-less and colourless, but had developed a kind of thick, greyish, shiny armour. They looked like a cross between giant scorpions and elongated crabs—but still without recognisable heads or eyes. They had become immensely strong and very hard to control.
"Look like they're havin' fun, don' they?" Hagrid said happily.
"Yeah, lots of fun," Ron muttered. He assumed Hagrid was talking about the skrewts, because his classmates certainly weren't; every now and then, with an alarming bang, one of the skrewts' ends would explode, causing it to shoot forward several yards, and more than one person was being dragged along on their stomach, trying desperately to get back on their feet.
"Ah, I don' know, Ron," Hagrid sighed suddenly, looking back down at him with a sympathetic expression on his face. "Yer such an ordinary-lookin' bloke … someone who doesn' know yeh might find it hard to believe yer directin' the MMN."
Ron didn't answer. Yes, no one seemed to think he could do something impressive like direct a famous business because he didn't look like he could. Unfortunately, Ron could see why. He still owned battered hand-me-downs and wore second-hand school robes. He now had the money to buy new stuff, of course, but he didn't have the time to think about buying new things. Also, he was an average student from a poor pure-blood family, and the Magical Mobile Network was the greatest innovation of the century that relied on Muggle technology. Hermione, who was both the cleverest witch of their year and a Muggle-born, and Harry, who wore his Muggle upbringing on his sleeve and was often better at spells than Hermione, fit the part better.
The days following Rita's published piece were among the worst in his life. Ron expected nothing less than vicious insults from the Slytherins—he was unpopular there, because of Malfoy and his best friend was Harry Potter, who so often helped Gryffindor beat them, both at Quidditch and in the Inter-House Championship. But he didn't expect to get hurled with so much contempt from non-Slytherins—including his fellow Gryffindors. Seamus flat-out told Ron he didn't believe he was the director and Dean's silence strongly suggested he agreed with him. In the hallways, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs made similar comments in very loud voices.
"Hey Weasley, just because Potter doesn't mind you, doesn't mean you can pretend to be whatever!"
"Yeah, what do you really do?"
"Ignore them," Hermione muttered under her breath while Ron seethed. "Just ignore them…"
The idea Harry might be the real business director of the MMN only solidified after their first Defence Against the Dark Arts class, led by their substitute teacher, Alastor 'Mad-eye' Moody.
Moody made quite an impression when he first limped into their classroom, his each step generating a dull clunk. His face alone spawned an awed silence. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening. One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye—and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all they could see was whiteness.
Once at the teacher's podium, Moody took out a register, shook his long mane of grizzled grey hair out of his twisted and scarred face, and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his magical eye swivelled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered.
"Right then," he said, when the last person had declared themselves present. "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class; seems like you have a thorough grounding in tackling everyday curses and have just started learning about the stronger ones."
There was a general murmur of assent.
"So that's where I'm going to pick up," said Moody. "I'm going to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. So brace yourselves, because I'm going to assume Dumbledore is telling me nothing but the honest truth when he said he has full confidence in your nerves…"
Moody told them he was going to continue Lupin's lessons on the Unforgivable Curses. Unlike Lupin, he wasn't content to just tell them what they were, what they did or tell them stories of their use from his Auror days. No, after demonstrating all three on a spider, Moody announced he would be putting the Imperius Curse on each of them in turn, to demonstrate its power and to see whether they could resist its effects.
"But— but Professor Lupin said it's illegal," said Hermione uncertainly as Moody cleared away the desks with a sweep of his wand, leaving a large clear space in the middle of the room. "He said—to use it against another human was—"
"Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like," said Moody, his magical eye swivelling onto Hermione and fixing her with an eerie, unblinking stare, "If you'd rather learn the hard way — when someone's putting it on you so they can control you completely — fine by me. You're excused. Off you go."
He pointed one gnarled finger toward the door. Hermione went very pink and muttered something about not meaning that she wanted to leave. Harry and Ron grinned at each other. They knew Hermione would rather eat bubotuber pus than miss such an important lesson.
Moody began to beckon students forward in turn and put the Imperius Curse upon them. Ron watched as, one by one, his classmates did the most extraordinary things under its influence. Dean Thomas hopped three times around the room, singing the national anthem. Lavender Brown imitated a squirrel. Neville performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics he would certainly not have been capable of in his normal state. Not one of them seemed to be able to fight off the curse, and each of them recovered only when Moody had removed it.
"Potter," Moody growled, "you next."
Harry moved forward into the middle of the classroom, into the space that Moody had cleared of desks. Moody raised his wand, pointed it at Harry, and said, "Imperio!"
A familiar look of placid unconcern washed over Harry's face. Then he bent his knees, looking as though he was about to jump on a nearby desk.
Then something about his glance changed. He seemed to be fighting an internal battle of some sort. In the end Harry both tried to jump and not jump at the same time, which resulted in him smashing headlong into the desk and knocking it over.
"Now, that's more like it!" growled Moody as Harry shakily got back to his feet. "Look at that, you lot … Potter fought! He fought it, and he damn near beat it! We'll try that again, Potter, and the rest of you, pay attention— watch his eyes, that's where you see it— very good, Potter, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling you!"
"The way he talks," Harry muttered as he hobbled out of the Defence Against the Dark Arts class an hour later (Moody had insisted on putting Harry through his paces four times in a row, until Harry could throw off the curse entirely), "you'd think we were all going to be attacked any second."
"Yeah, I know," said Ron. Privately he wondered how Harry fought the curse at all, for he had no clue how anyone could. When Moody put the curse on him, he was enveloped with the most wonderful feeling. Ron felt a floating sensation as every thought and worry in his head was wiped gently away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. He stood there feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of everyone watching him. Then he heard Mad-Eye Moody's voice, echoing in some distant chamber of his empty brain: skip every other step … skip ever other step…
Ron obediently skipped every alternative step. He felt the empty, echoing feeling in his head disappear some time later, but he still found himself skipping. Moody assured him the effects would wear off by dinner time, but that didn't stop Ron from remembering what exactly had happened. It was humiliating to lose control so completely in front of his classmates, especially when everyone doubted his abilities, both as a wizard and as a businessman.
"Listen, people will know what really happened soon," said Harry, looking like he knew what Ron was thinking (and he probably did). "We put out a special announcement and people can't use their phones until they see it. Just give it time."
Eventually, enough people did view the special announcement to get angry at Skeeter, but the announcement still managed to backfire on Ron. Many students, particularly the girls, disliked his passive reaction to Skeeter and didn't hesitate to tell him so:
"You were just standing there and let that woman do whatever! And you call yourself a friend?" accused a curly-haired third year Ron had never seen before.
"And where were you when I had to face that horrible Skeeter cow?" Harry shot-back angrily.
The girl went away looking rather hurt, but there were others just like her queuing up to shout at Ron. Miss Jackie offered to invite the Daily Prophet to a press conference after someone sent a Howler through the Owl Post. Ron couldn't bring himself to agree because he knew Miss Jackie was deathly afraid of all reporters, ever since Skeeter practically assaulted her at Hogsmeade last year.
"Maybe I should just quit," said Ron. Mr. Jeremy had suggested the idea of taking a more hidden role to Ron over the phone, saying the media uproar over him could harm the OBH's future.
"Don't you dare," said Miss Jackie sternly. "The Prophet is targeting you because you've made the MMN their first major competitor in two hundred years."
"Errr, how?" Ron asked.
"The bulletin board," said Miss Jackie. "You put it up last summer, remember?"
The bulletin board was an offshoot of the Magical Mobile Network's phone user manual and the precursor of the Quidditch World Cup viewer. All it did was allow people to 'post' holographic photos and short films to a virtual board accessible to all MMN users. Ron had opened it to the public as a free service because Miss Jackie wanted to test the Network's ability to share images to all users. He'd completely forgotten about it because he was so busy with the Quidditch World Cup broadcast project.
"Why is the bulletin board hurting the Prophet?" asked Ron.
"Businesses are posting their ads there," said Miss Jackie. "And some users post photocopies of the Prophet. Do you know what this means?"
It clicked immediately.
"They're losing customers," said Ron slowly. "Why subscribe to a newspaper if you can read it for free? Why pay for an ad in the Prophet when not as many people are reading it?"
"And why pay for an ad at all if you can post it for free somewhere people view all the time?" said Miss Jackie. "The bulletin board is very popular. It's a bit messy right now, but once I make it look pretty and organized, it will explode."
"Yeah," said Ron, before adding: "Eh, do you have time to, though?"
Miss Jackie put on her Iron Lady face, something Ron hadn't seen since he was second year.
"Ron, the Daily Prophet just publicly slandered my most valuable employee. Do you think I'm going to just sit down and take it?"
Ron gaped. "But … I'm your only employee."
"Exactly," said Miss Jackie severely. "So don't worry, Ron. I'll do something about this…"
Ron left the meeting wondering what Miss Jackie would do. He couldn't imagine her doing something that would harm someone in anyway. But then again, when Miss Jackie threatened to do something, she did it, and nothing short of death and immobilization was going to stop her. Which inclination would win out?
He didn't see anything indicating what Miss Jackie was doing in the days that followed, but he did notice she was working a lot (again). Meanwhile, Ron had to suffer his family rising up to his defence on top of the hate pouring from all sides. His father and mother exhorted him to keep his head held high, for they knew the truth and that was what really mattered. Ginny said she'd slapped a couple of third years when they told her they thought he was a fake or a bad friend. Fred and George, the prats, paraded in front of him in the halls, shouting: "make way for the director of the Magical Mobile Network, the greatest enterprise since self-stirring cauldrons…!" but then would tell him in private to not let the Daily Prophet get to him. His aunts, uncles and cousins from all over told him to cheer up except Great Aunt Muriel, who sent a long note that scathingly said she was disappointed in him and threatened to cut him off if he didn't keep his toe out of the line. Since she'd threatened to disinherit him and his brothers on a regular basis, ever since Fred pranked her at age seven, this didn't bother Ron all that much.
All in all, it was a horrible three weeks. His friends, Harry and Hermione particularly, stood up for him throughout and for that he was very grateful. Nevertheless, Ron found it hard to be around those two, as they were a large part of the reason why he was in his current situation in the first place. He felt disgusted at himself for even having these thoughts, but they were still there.
So he took a break. Harry understood, though he wasn't happy about it. Hermione wouldn't leave him alone, though, and kept trying to talk to him. Ron avoided her as much as he could, but had limited success because they shared so many classes. Hermione used every opportunity to whisper to him under her breath when she wasn't trying to corner him. Seamus Finnigan checked his cauldron for leaks the one time she hissed to him nonstop at Potions.
Oddly, Cedric Diggory was the person Ron could talk most freely to during his break. Cedric was still receiving heat from their fellow students because of Rita Skeeter's articles, therefore he knew very well what Ron was going through. Also, Cedric just listened when Ron ranted and gave him deep sympathetic looks.
"Are you and Harry okay? I haven't seen you around him lately," Cedric asked after one ranting session.
"We're good," said Ron, "Just taking a break."
"He's okay with that?"
"I don't think he minds."
That naturally led them to talking about Harry.
"I didn't know how to take it when Harry warned me about the dragons," Cedric said. "I knew he was telling me the truth, but … I thought he wouldn't want to have anything to do with me, especially since that fight."
Ron stared at him, "Did he really?"
"Yeah," said Cedric, grinning. "And I'm glad he did. I might have passed out cold from the shock otherwise."
Cedric told Ron how his friends gave him the cold shoulder after the fight in the entrance hall, because they thought he'd ratted on them. Their relations only started to improve since the first task. Ron told Cedric his twin brothers, Fred and George, started tormenting him for 'breaking up' with Harry (seriously). Their camaraderie was odder than a two headed dog with five legs, but there you go.
About a week before Christmas break, Ron felt good enough to go back. Cedric was quite happy about the news. Then he asked an odd question.
"Who are going to the ball with?"
"What ball?" Ron asked.
Cedric frowned at him.
"The Yule Ball," he said. "McGonagall should've announced it a week ago."
"She did?" said Ron blankly. He hadn't been paying attention to much, least of all his classes.
"It's a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament," Cedric explained. "It's going to be held on Christmas evening. I can't back out because I'm champion, and I have to have a dance partner… we're supposed to open the ball."
Ron really didn't envy him. "So who are you taking?"
"Cho Chang," said Cedric, grinning a bit. "I'm surprised she said yes. For a while I thought I'd have to ask the Moaning Myrtle."
Ron was more shocked that he had time to ask a girl out. "Right…"
"You might still find someone," said Cedric encouragingly. "There's still time left."
"Yeah," said Ron sceptically.
Cedric returned the Hufflepuff common room and Ron headed upstairs to the Gryffindor tower afterwards. About mid-way, it dawned on Ron that he had to find a partner. George put his name down on the list of students staying at school during the Christmas holidays, which meant he was going to the Yule Ball.
"How am I supposed to do that?" Ron wondered.
-oo00oo-
Ron was still thinking about the horrible prospect of asking a girl out to a ball when he climbed over the portrait hole. His horror was momentarily replaced with apprehension when he found Harry sharing a table with Neville in the very crowded common room. Then Harry looked up and caught the sight of Ron approaching a bit nervously.
"There you are," he said lightly. "I wondered where you were at."
Ron felt immensely relieved. "Harry, I—"
"It's okay," Harry said, before he could finish. "It's fine."
"But…"
"It's really okay."
Ron grinned nervously at him, and Harry grinned back.
"So what's up with this Yule Ball?" asked Ron, feeling at peace as he sat down at their table. "Who are you taking?"
"Not going," said Harry firmly.
"What, why?" said Ron, derailed.
Harry gave him a look that said he couldn't believe he had to spell out the reasons.
"It's Sirius's first Christmas as a free man," he said. "It's Benedict's first Christmas, too."
Ron gaped a little. "Oh yeah… so you're going home?"
"Uh-huh."
Ron felt very disappointed. He was hoping he would be able to share the pain of going to a ball with him.
"What about you, Neville?" he asked.
"No one yet," Neville said anxiously. "I asked Hermione, but she said no."
Why wouldn't she, Ron thought, but Neville wasn't done speaking.
"She said someone asked her already and she said yes," he said.
"What?!" said Ron, more loudly than he'd attended, but the news flabbergasted him so much he couldn't help it. "Who!?"
"She didn't say," said Neville miserably. "I really wanted her to say yes, you know. She's always nice to me, helping me out at class, and…"
Ron goggled while Neville rambled on. He didn't know what Neville was saying because his brain kept circling around the idea of someone asking Hermione to the ball. When did this happen? How did this happen? No. No, it couldn't be. Hermione was probably just lying. It just wasn't true.
"…Do you think Ginny will say yes?" Neville was saying when Ron's thoughts stopped circling.
"Won't hurt to try," said Harry.
Neville nodded. "Ron, you don't mind?"
Ron shook his head absently, not really paying attention to what he was saying no to, as he was still reeling at the news about Hermione. Neville drew in a deep breath, squared his shoulders, then told them he was going downstairs for dinner and hopefully, he would find Ginny there and ask.
Neville had just left when Hermione climbed in through the portrait hole.
"Why aren't you at dinner?" she said, coming over to their table. Then she gave a cold look at Ron. "Are you done with your tantrum, Ron Weasley?"
"Yes, thank you for being so patient," Ron snapped. "So why did you lie?"
"What are you talking about?" said Hermione, frowning.
"You lied to Neville! You told him you were going to the ball with someone!"
"I wasn't lying," said Hermione, frowning. "Someone did ask and I agreed."
"Who?"
"That's none of your business," Hermione snapped. "And you have no right to ask me after ignoring me for weeks."
But Ron really wanted to know. "Okay, fine, I'm sorry. I was an arse. Please forgive me. So who asked you?"
"I'm not telling," said Hermione, now blushing. "You're just going to make fun of me."
"C'mon, you can tell us," Ron wheedled.
"No," said Hermione flatly.
Ron was about to retort she must be really lying, then, when he noticed something. First it was Hermione's front teeth, which were smaller than he remembered them being. But as he looked for other things that were out of the norm, he noticed something else.
He knew what Hermione looked like. He'd spent three years as her friend, thus could spot her in an overcrowded corridor from twenty feet away, even without seeing her face. But until now he didn't realise Hermione was filling out and turning curvy, like real woman. And her face, it was different from what he remembered seeing. It looked mature somehow, more like the striking woman she was slowly growing to be.
"Hermione, Neville's right — you are a girl …!" Ron blurted out.
"Oh well spotted," Hermione said acidly.
"No wonder he asked you," he marvelled.
"Yes, no wonder," said Hermione, and her eyes flashed dangerously. "Just because it's taken you three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one else has spotted I'm a girl!"
Ron stared at her. Then he grinned again.
"Okay, okay, I know you're a girl," he said. "That do? Will you go with me?"
"I've already told you!" Hermione said very angrily. "I'm going with someone else! So stop talking like I'm lying!"
Then she stormed off toward the girls' dormitories.
"She's lying," said Ron flatly, watching her go.
"She isn't," said Harry.
"Who is it then?" said Ron sharply.
"No idea," said Harry indifferently. "And no, I have not and will not deduce who."
Ron couldn't help but notice the unusual coolness Harry was directing at Hermione. Harry went up to the boy's dormitory abruptly, saying he wasn't hungry. Ron, who was hungry, went down to the Great Hall so he could have dinner and check on Neville. Ron knew from the immensely relieved look on Neville's face that Ginny had agreed to go to the ball with him. Figuring he'd be a good mood, Ron asked:
"What's up with Harry and Hermione?"
"They had a disagreement over house-elves," Neville explained. "Hermione wanted to start this … movement. She said it was an outrage elves were enslaved for centuries and no one thought to do something about it."
"But they like it," said Ron incredulously. "They like being enslaved!"
"She thinks they only like it because they're uneducated and brainwashed," said Neville, shaking his head. "Harry agrees the current elf situation isn't good, but he also thinks Hermione is going about it the wrong way. She wanted us to lobby for fair working conditions and wages for all elves, you see."
"So they fought?"
"They had a row," Neville confirmed. "But then they made up. They agreed they shouldn't fight when LV's agent is still at large."
"But they're still fighting!" said Ron. "Doesn't that mean they haven't really?"
"I don't know about the latest fight," said Neville, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. "Julia might know."
Ron cornered Julia after dinner and asked.
"They had a misunderstanding," said Julia wryly. "Since the teachers announced the Yule Ball, all these girls started queuing up to ask Harry to be their partner, but he said no to all of them. Hermione asked why, and Harry told her if he must go, he's not going with someone he doesn't know."
"She had a problem with that?" Ron asked.
"No," said Julia. "The problem is: she thought Harry meant he would rather go with her, me or Ginny."
"Ooooh…"
"Of course, what he actually meant was that he would rather not go to the ball, full stop. I mean, isn't he the type to say: 'eff you, you can't make me!' to this sort of thing?" Julia briefly waved both of her fists without actually raising any fingers. "In Hermione's defence, it did look like he'd have to go to the Ball whether he wanted to or not. Sherlock wanted a sample of Crouch's DNA. He asked my dad first, but Dad was having trouble getting it."
"What's DNA?"
"Genetic information," said Julia. "The biological information system that lets you pass down your family traits to your descendants," she tried again at Ron's stupefied face. "The thing you lot call 'it's in the blood!'" After seeing Ron's persistently clueless face, she gave up. "Sherlock wanted the cup Crouch drank out of, his blood or a stand of his hair; whatever Harry could get his hands on without getting caught."
That sounded more like the mad things Sherlock would request. "Okay. But how is going to the ball let Harry get that stuff?"
"Crouch is one of the judges, so he'll show up for the ball," Julia explained.
"Ah," said Ron, comprehending for a moment, before he became confused again. "But Harry said he isn't going. What changed?"
"John vetoed. Violently," said Julia. "She was seriously beating up Sherlock." Julia made vigorous flapping motions to mime someone slapping someone else's head.
"You saw that?!" Ron screeched.
"Oh yes," Julia grinned.
Ron deeply regretted not being there to see the sight.
"That wouldn't have stopped Sherlock, though," he said.
"No," said Julia. "He only relented when Dad got him the evidence he wanted."
"How did your Dad manage?"
"Used the oldest trick in the police officer's book," said Julia proudly. "Once he found Crouch in the Ministry, he came over and said: 'Hey mate, you look parched. Can I get you something to drink?' Crouch said: 'just tea, thank you.' Dad gave Crouch a cuppa, Crouch took a sip, put the cup down, and went away. Dad collected the cup."
Ron goggled. "That's it?"
"That's all he needed," said Julia. "Anyway, since Sherlock has his sample, Harry didn't need to go to the Ball. But by then Hermione was already running with the assumption that Harry was going to ask Ginny to the ball."
Ron winced. "Then Harry tells the happy news that he's going home. Kaboom goes Hermione's plans."
"Basically," said Julia wryly.
"Why did she even think Harry would ask Ginny?" Ron asked. "I mean, Ginny has liked Harry for ages, but I didn't think it was mutual. I mean, wouldn't he ask you?"
"I said I was going to refuse even if he did ask," Julia replied.
"How come?" Ron asked, startled.
"I don't like balls," said Julia quietly, "Too noisy and public."
"You're still going, though."
"I have to," Julia grumbled. "Uncle Jason told me I'm not allowed to go home, I have to go to the ball. When I said no one's going ask me, Uncle Jeremy said just go and ask someone myself."
Ron stared. "What about your grandpa?"
Julia shook her head sadly. "He said he's not going to help me."
Ron stared some more. "I would've thought he wouldn't want you to go."
"You would think," said Julia grumpily. "And he didn't want my mum and Auntie Jack to … fraternize with guys when they were young. Result: Auntie Jack obeyed so well she's still single at age thirty-one, while my mum turned rebellious and married my dad. Let's face it, before his real family background came to light, my dad wasn't exactly marriage material."
It wasn't often you met someone who adored their father and called him non-marriage material at the same breath, Ron thought.
"So he's determined not to make the same mistake," said Julia, crunching her face.
"Your family is seriously weird," Ron declared.
"Dear me, you've discovered our deepest darkest secret," said Julia sardonically. "Now I must kill you."
Ron snorted. Then an idea tickled his mind.
"Are you going with someone?" Ron asked as casually as he could.
"Nah," she replied, making Ron's heart leap. "The only person who asked was Draco Malfoy, and I'd rather go by myself than go with him."
The only thing Ron could think in response to that was: Oh Merlin, thank you, thank you, thank you!
"Want to go with me?" he asked hopefully.
Julia looked surprised. Ron crossed his fingers as she contemplated the idea.
At length she grinned.
"Okay."
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: I love writing from Ron's perspective; he's hilarious and can talk about his feelings (how many guys can do that?). Sherlock slowly head towards the solution … but will he be on time?!
ASIM has passed the milestone of 1,000,000 views. I'm in a state of shock. Thank you, dear readers!