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 Sixty Six: Clue Overlooked
Only an hour had passed since the sun rose on the morning Harry deduced Lord Voldemort's objective, but by then Harry was no longer in Hogwarts. Instead he was inside 221B Baker Street getting his hair and attire inspected by Sherlock Holmes. Outside the flat, parked next to the curb, was an obtrusively bland-looking black car.
"Do we really have to visit to him?" Harry asked as he pulled a face at his brown pinstripe suit and blue shirt.
"Time is of the essence and we need his advice," Sherlock replied as he shook his head at Harry's white converses.
"What can he tell me that you can't?" said Harry petulantly.
Sherlock smirked. "In terms of the investigation, nothing much; but for the Muggle-Magic relations involved, we need his political acumen."
Eventually Sherlock and Harry left the flat wearing their winter coats. The driver of the black car opened the right-side door to the backseat as soon as the two set their feet on the pavement. Sherlock and Harry boarded the car, and the driver started to drive as soon as he was back behind the stearing-wheel.
They quietly drove through London. No one talked. Eventually the driver brought the car to a smooth stop in front of the offices for Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs. Sherlock and Harry got out, and didn't give their driver a backwards glance as he drove the car away. Sherlock marched inside the building first, and Harry followed him.
Harry quickly lost his sense of direction as Sherlock led him through several hallways. He passed a few suited people on the way. None of them seemed to take much notice of him or Sherlock.
Sherlock stopped inside a dark and austerely furnished office. Harry nervously sank into the chair placed in front of the unoccupied desk and Sherlock stood behind him. Neither of them spoke as they waited. Harry tried not to knead the front of his suit out of nervousness.
Thankfully, he didn't have to wait for long. Mycroft Holmes entered the office in a few short minutes.
"Sherlock and Harry," Mycroft said blandly as he shut the door behind him. "How nice. So how may I help you?"
Harry waited for Mycroft sit down, and wet his lips before speaking.
"I, um, need some advice," said Harry hesitantly.
Mycroft left eyebrow quirked up, "Really?"
Harry nodded, "On terrorists."
"Ah," said Mycroft softly—and knowingly. "What is the situation?"
"We know what the leader is after," said Harry carefully. "It's just … hard to stop him from getting it."
"How important is this thing?" Mycroft asked.
"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock replied.
"Vital?" said Mycroft shrewdly.
"Can't return without it," Sherlock confirmed.
Mycroft's grey eyes glinted.
"This isn't a lot to go on," he remarked.
Harry remained still and silent. After studying him for a few seconds, Mycroft smiled. It was not a nice smile.
"Here is some insider information to facilitate our discussion," Mycroft began. "Elected officials do not actually run the government. None of them are in office long enough to understand all of its intricacies to properly run it. Thus they are at the mercy of advisors such as yours truly for decision making and policy execution. Their standing is also dependent on popular approval. This, coupled with the short-term nature of their tenure, makes satisfying the current desires of his or her constituents the greatest priority to all elected officials. Even the finest political leaders are not exempt. Speaking of," he eyed Harry beadily, "what kind of person is your current leader? Is he preemptive and thoughtful in his policy-making? Does he surround himself with good advisors? Do you picture him doing the 'right thing' even if it results in unpopularity?"
Harry looked down. He couldn't picture the current Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, doing any of the things Mycroft mentioned.
"I thought as much," said Mycroft. "This makes advising a bit easier."
Harry kept his silence.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," said Mycroft, in a manner that said he highly doubted he would require correction, "But your presence here tells me the terrorist leader who led the previous reign of terror is staging a comeback, but the current government officials are oblivious or in denial of his activities. How much of an obstruction this is does not matter at this point—those who are aware of the situation do not have the resources to prevent the leader from obtaining his objective, and he is closer to achieving his goal than you can care to admit."
Harry couldn't help but swallow.
"My advice, then, is obvious," Mycroft said. "If you can't stop him, let him. Only control how and when he gets his prized objective. That way you can ensure he is placed at a great disadvantage."
"I'd rather him not," Harry mumbled. "If he succeeds, he'll murder so many people…"
"Death is inevitable," said Mycroft phlegmatically. "It's only a matter of when and how."
Harry clawed at his thighs as he tried to keep his temper in check. It's easy for you to say, he thought angrily. You're not the one whose life is on the line…
"I will have you know that my life is always on the line," said Mycroft, correctly deducing Harry's thoughts. "But that is irrelevant. You are here for my advice, and gave it to you. Take it or leave it."
Harry glared at Mycroft mutinously. He only succeeded in making Mycroft put on his reptilian smile again.
"You are just like your mother," drawled Mycroft. "My advice is not as objectionable as you think it is. Perhaps if I further advised you on how you can put your enemy at a disadvantage, it would be more palatable. But for that I will have to know what the leader wants to accomplish after his return."
"He wants to live forever," said Sherlock before Harry could say anything.
"He seeks immortality?" said Mycroft, eyebrow raised.
"As well as omnipotence," said Sherlock, shrugging his shoulders. "We might as well say he wants to be a god."
Mycroft snorted disdainfully, "How unimaginative."
"It's nothing to laugh at!" said Harry furiously. "You have no idea what he did in order to get as close as he can!"
"Indeed I do not," said Mycroft, looking amused. "That's the whole point of your world's secrecy, isn't it?"
Harry balled his fists.
"I suppose the power you and your kind possess make the goal look more, shall I say, obtainable," Mycroft went on.
"But still fundamentally flawed," said Sherlock scornfully. "Even if mere mortals fail to exterminate him, he will succumb when the sun becomes a red giant. Even if he survives that event, there is the heat death of the universe."
"You've retained modern cosmology. How unusual of you," Mycroft remarked.
Sherlock shrugged, "John found it amusing."
"I hope you're not thinking to let nature take its course," said Mycroft with a smirk.
"I wouldn't have minded," said Sherlock indifferently.
Mycroft's smirk grew.
"For practical purposes, then, I shall categorize the leader as a charismatic megalomaniac," he said, switching back to the previous subject. "He will seek power—absolute power. I assume he is quite intelligent."
"One of the most brilliant the Others have seen in long time," Sherlock replied. "He is also quite methodological."
"He will take a systemic approach, then," said Mycroft. "First: rally his followers. Second: infiltrate the government. Third: control the media and flow of information. Fourth: eliminate or otherwise incapacitate his enemies."
"He's accomplished the second and third by virtue of the current administration's refusal to consider his comeback and his ability put people under his complete control."
"Then you will need a media outlet that can sow seeds of doubt against the current administration," said Mycroft without missing a beat.
"Done," said Sherlock.
"How nice," Mycroft said ironically. "Well, since you already have a media outlet you can use, you may stage an incident that you can blame on the leader. For instance, if a calculated and contained explosion occurred in 221B—"
"MYCROFT!" Harry and Sherlock shouted together in outrage.
"—the law enforcement may wake up to the possibilities," Mycroft continued without even blinking. "But this scenario involves parties whose response is not always predictable."
Harry seethed at Mycroft. Setting 221B on fire wasn't a light matter, not with Benedict and Mrs. Hudson around. How could Mycroft joke about this?!
"The second option is my previous advice: allow the leader to get what he wants," said Mycroft. "Only you must control both when and how. Then you must follow the agent who has done the actual work without being detected."
"Why?" Harry growled.
"Because that agent will return to the leader," Mycroft declared.
The office went completely silent after this statement. Harry felt his throat tighten and his heart thud against his chest as he thought through this scenario. If the plan worked, it would allow Harry to find Voldemort when he was still relatively weak … but if something went wrong, he, Harry, would be responsible for bringing Voldemort back.
"It is a delicate and difficult operation to pull off," said Mycroft quietly. "But the results are quite rewarding if done properly. I will leave the details to you. Only remember to take some insurance. The agent shouldn't touch the genuine article, for example, so you will need a suitable substitute … unless, of course, no substitute exists."
Harry looked down.
"What exactly is the leader after, anyway?" Mycroft asked.
"Why d'you want to know?" Harry grumbled.
"Quid pro quo," said Mycroft. "My advice is not for free."
"I already gave you a lot," snapped Harry. "Thanks to me, you know what's going on—more than anyone in this world. This means you have an advantage."
Mycroft smirked again.
"I see so much of you in him, Sherlock," he said mockingly. "You must feel very proud."
Harry angrily wondered if he could get away with turning Mycroft into a gnat.
"Here is a freebee," said Mycroft, still smirking. "I foresee your government staying in denial as long as possible, until it is no longer possible to hide the true nature of the disturbances that is to come. Until that day arrives, it will need a convenient scapegoat. Perhaps they will think to use us."
Mycroft's eyes then bore into Harry's.
"Make of that what you will."
A few minutes later, Sherlock and Harry were outside, Sherlock hailing a cab and Harry stomping furiously at a discarded soda can.
"I hate him!" hissed Harry as he glared at the can. He wondered if he should take up something pointlessly rebellious like smoking just to annoy Mycroft.
"You'll have to think of something more creative," said Sherlock, looking very amused. "You've handled him well. Nothing you've said is something he hasn't already deduced."
Harry kicked the flattened can. It clanged noisily against the HMRC building wall.
"Good!" he snarled.
-oo00oo-
Harry and Sherlock returned to Baker Street shortly. Once back in 221B, Sherlock instructed Harry to keep his enchanted maps with him at all times, and regularly check if all persons in Hogwarts were who they appeared to be. Then Harry said good-bye to John and Benedict (who spit up on him) and travelled back to Hogwarts through the mantelpiece mirror, which had somehow transformed into an enchanted portal connected to an identical-looking mirror inside the Room of Requirement.
Ron, Hermione, Julia, Neville and Ginny were waiting for him eagerly.
"How did the meeting go?" asked Ron.
"Good—or bad, depending on how you look at it," Harry grumbled.
"What did Mycroft tell you?" Hermione asked. "Did he have good advice like Sherlock said he would?"
"He sounded right," Harry admitted grudgingly. "And his idea would work. But I don't think I'm cold-blooded enough to actually pull it off. Hopefully Dumbledore has a better idea. We should go tell him."
"Not now," said Julia, checking her watch. "It's breakfast time. It will look suspicious if we all don't show up."
The six of them left the Room of Requirement after checking the Marauder's map, and headed to the Great Hall. The usual breakfast crowd was there. As Harry surveyed his fellow students at the Gryffindor table, he couldn't help but shake his head in disbelief. It seemed so profoundly strange to him how everyone was living so obliviously when there was evil brewing—an evil people knew about, and feared so much they couldn't even speak his name.
Then Harry noticed Professor Moody approaching the Gryffindor table and blinked.
"Come with me, Potter," growled Professor Moody.
Harry blinked again. "Why?"
"Professor Snape accused you of stealing powdered horn of Bicorn from his private stores," Moody said.
"But I didn't!" Harry exclaimed. He felt outraged at Snape for the false accusation—but also felt uneasy as he wondered if Snape found out he and his friends were brewing the Polyjuice potion extra-legally.
"That's for me to decide," said Moody in low voice. "Now come along."
Harry reluctantly got up. As he trotted after Moody, he heard Dean Thomas whisper to Seamus Finnigan: "Snape's having a go at Harry again…"
Harry followed Moody into his office. Moody closed the door behind them and turned to look at Harry, his magical eye fixed upon him as well as the normal one.
"You ever thought of a career as an Auror, Potter?" he asked abruptly.
"No," said Harry, taken aback.
"You want to consider it," said Moody, nodding and looking at Harry thoughtfully. "Dumbledore told me how you figured out what You-Know-Who is up to. I haven't heard such a brilliant reasoning in years. The Magical Law Enforcement needs someone like you."
Harry didn't know what to say; this wasn't something he had expected at all.
"Sit down," said Moody, and Harry sat, looking around.
He had visited this office under two of its previous occupants. In Professor Lockhart's day, the walls had been plastered with beaming, winking pictures of Professor Lockhart himself. When Remus lived here, before he took a medical leave because of his heart attack, you were likely to come across a specimen of some fascinating new Dark creature he had procured for them to study in class. Now, however, the office was full of a number of exceptionally odd objects that Harry supposed Moody had used in the days when he had been an Auror. He recognised a few of them, having seen them inside the Room of Requirement. There was a cracked Sneakoscope on Moody's desk, an extra-squiggly, golden television aerial like object on a small table, and a mirror displaying nothing but shadowy figures on the wall opposite to Harry.
"Like my Dark Detectors, do you?" said Moody, who was watching Harry closely.
"What's that?" Harry asked, pointing at the squiggly golden aerial.
"Secrecy Sensor. Vibrates when it detects concealment and lies … no use here, of course, too much interference— students in every direction lying about why they haven't done their homework. It's been humming ever since I got here. I had to disable my Sneakoscope because it wouldn't stop whistling. It's extra-sensitive, picks up stuff about a mile around. Of course, it could be picking up more than kid stuff," he added in a growl.
"And what's the mirror for?"
"That's my Foe-Glass. See them out there, skulking around? I'm not really in trouble until I see the whites of their eyes. That's when I open my trunk." He let out a short, harsh laugh, and pointed to the large trunk under the window. It had seven keyholes in a row. Harry wondered what was in there, until the sound of the door to Moody's office opening and shutting brought him sharply back to earth.
Harry felt his stomach do a funny jolt as he saw Professor Dumbledore and Snape striding towards him and Moody. His teachers didn't exchange any greetings. Dumbledore just gave Moody a little nod, which the latter returned before he clunked unevenly towards the trunk with seven locks, taking out a set of keys hanging next to his hip flask as he walked. Moody fitted the first key in the first lock of the trunk, and opened it.
The trunk contained a mass of spell books. Moody let out an angry growl and closed the trunk again. He placed a second key in the second lock, and opened the trunk a second time. The spell books had vanished; this time it contained an assortment of broken Sneakoscopes, some parchment and quills, and what looked like a silvery Invisibility Cloak. Moody fitted the seventh key on the seventh lock after closing the trunk once more, and Harry let out a cry of amazement when he opened it again.
The trunk now opened to a kind of pit, an underground room. Moody straightened up and waved a gnarled hand over his open trunk.
"After you," he growled.
Dumbledore climbed into the trunk first and Snape followed after him. At Moody's prompting, Harry too lowered himself in the trunk and fell lightly onto the floor.
"This is to ensure our privacy, Harry," explained Dumbledore, when Moody shut the trunk from the inside. "I have already informed Professor Snape and Professor Moody of the situation. Professor Moody will be organizing our response."
"We don't want the Dark Lord to get hold of your blood," said Moody bluntly. "Not without a fight. But we can't let him know we know what he's up to either."
"Dunno how you can do it," said Harry. "Winter is nosebleed season for me. This year's been particularly bad." He mimed a copious flow of blood dripping down his nose using his right hand.
"The season does make the task even more challenging," said Dumbledore gravely. "Luckily, it will take more than mere blood for Lord Voldemort to accomplish his objective."
"Why?"
"The circumstances behind the blood's collection—as well as the giver and taker's intent—matters very much in this case, Harry," said Dumbledore seriously. "I would go so far as to say it makes all the difference in the world. No doubt you learned this from last night's events."
Harry stared. Snape and Moody's expressions didn't betray any confusion, but Harry knew they didn't know what Dumbledore talking about.
"So he needs to collect it under some special circumstances?" asked Harry after a long beat. "What kind? If he needs me to give it to him willingly, he's in trouble…"
"Yes, we are well aware of your strong moral fibre," said Snape mockingly, making Harry want to stamp his foot or throw something, just to hear it shatter.
"Here is an early lesson in N.E.W.T. level Defence Against the Dark Arts for you, Potter," growled Moody, cutting off Snape. "When it comes down to it, Dark Arts are always a perversion. There's nothing dark per say with a spell that lets you turn your neighbour into yak. But if you turn your neighbour into a yak and abandoned him in the mountains without telling anybody, the spell becomes a Dark Art. Do you get this?"
Harry nodded.
"Good," said Moody. "Now about blood: the blood of a wizard or witch, willingly given, is among the most potent magical substances out there. It's so powerful it can even restore a completely broken body, as long as it hadn't been dismembered with dark magic. But if you pervert this to the extreme, what do you get?"
Harry just blinked. He had a feeling he knew the answer, but he couldn't bring himself to think about it.
"Come on, boy…" whispered Moody. "You can figure it out … I know you can…"
Reluctantly, Harry recalled the ritual-like words Dumbledore evoked last night for the werewolf treatment and turned it upside-down.
"Blood of an enemy, forcefully taken…" he whispered in quiet horror.
"…and you shall resurrect your foe," Dumbledore finished.
There was silence for a span of a minute.
"It's not that hard to engineer the circumstances," said Moody quietly. "A quick, sudden attack or an unexpected kidnapping—either one will do. Personally, I put my money on kidnapping. The agent already used a portkey for his first kidnapping attempt and there's no reason why he won't try again since portkeys can be anything. You'll need to practice constant vigilance, Potter. Don't accept anything a stranger offers to you and don't pick up anything that doesn't belong to you either. And if any of your belongings turn up somewhere even slightly out of place, don't touch it."
"How long is this going to last?" Harry asked apprehensively.
"As long as we need it to," said Moody grimly. "We can only relax after we catch the agent—or the unthinkable happens. Professor Lupin agreed to extend his leave to an indefinite one—"
"Why?!" said Harry, dismayed.
"I need an undercover reason to stay," said Moody simply. "As long as Hogwarts needs a substitute Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher, I do."
"Why can't Professor Lupin do the surveillance?" asked Harry.
"Surely you remember he suffered a massive heart attack," said Snape unpleasantly. "And are you saying you find Professor Moody wanting as your bodyguard?"
"Don't put words in my mouth!" Harry shouted furiously. "Why are you here, anyway? What does this have anything to do with you?"
"Professor Snape is here on my request," said Dumbledore calmly.
"But WHY?!" Harry demanded.
"He acted as a spy in the last war," said Moody. "He is going to resume his old role if the worst case scenario happens."
Harry went completely still for a moment. Then he started breathing deeply, like he was running very hard.
"…If he was a spy," he said slowly. "Do you mean he was a…"
"Death Eater, yeah," Moody growled.
There was another long moment of silence, during which Harry reeled at the news. Never, for all his nastiness, did Harry ever imagine Snape as a Death Eater. And not just any Death Eater, but one who turned into a spy against Lord Voldemort. How did this happen? What made this happen? Had Snape really changed sides? How did Dumbledore know he could trust Snape?
Then Harry remembered the strange, sort-of friendship between John and Snape, and he started to wonder…
"He is not anymore," Dumbledore said calmly. "Professor Snape was indeed a Death Eater. However, he rejoined our side before Lord Voldemort's downfall and turned spy for us, at great personal risk. He is now no more a Death Eater than I am."
But Harry still felt sceptical. He looked at Dumbledore's composed face to see if he could detect any uncertainty. Then he turned to look at Mad-Eye Moody. Moody was wearing a look of guarded scepticism behind Dumbledore's back. Harry finally looked at Snape. He had an expression of malicious enjoyment on his face, like he knew Harry couldn't say anything against him, not when Dumbledore was vouching for his trustworthiness. That infuriated Harry.
"You know I asked my uncle for advice," said Harry recklessly out of temper.
"You don't have an uncle, Potter," said Snape silkily. "Not anymore."
"Vernon Dursley was never my uncle," snapped Harry. "And I was talking about Mycroft."
"Who is he?" asked Moody.
"The British Government," said Harry. "Elected officials don't run the Muggle Government; it's their departmental advisors who do the real work. But Mycroft isn't just any advisor. The other advisors send in their specialist advice, but Mycroft takes these and builds a solution that balances them all."
"No one is that clever," drawled Snape.
"Well he is!" snarled Harry, even as he wondered why he was defending Mycroft, of all people. "Anyway, he told me we should stage a way to—to let Voldemort get what he wants. Only he'd get a fake. And we follow his agent back to their HQ when he shows up."
Moody hummed in apparent approval.
"The bait-and-hunt method," he murmured. "Sounds good to me. It certainly helped us catch the filth that tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom…"
"Alastor!" said Dumbledore warningly.
Moody fell silent and Harry gaped in shock.
There was another long pause.
"…As you may have gathered, Harry, Professor Moody was talking about Neville's parents," said Dumbledore. "Has Neville ever told you why he lives with his grandmother?"
Harry shook his head numbly.
"Then I think it is best you asked him directly," said Dumbledore solemnly. "Please understand if he chooses not to answer. He has the right to let people know when he is ready."
"Yes, Professor."
"Good. Now regarding the plan you have told us about, I do believe it has merit," Dumbledore said. "It is better to have something concrete to target, rather than to grasp at smoke. The trick is finding a way that would let Lord Voldemort's agent come to collect on a time and way that is most congenial to us, and feed this information to Lord Voldemort without raising his suspicion."
"Perhaps Potter has an idea since he is so vocal about this plan," said Snape, his black eyes alight with malice. "If not, we can always fall back to our previous plan … though I doubt its effectiveness also, considering Potter's history of rule breaking and wandering…"
"Actually, I have one," growled Moody. "You can always contact the agent for us, Snape, and tell him that you can get him what he wants."
There was a short, heavy sort of silence.
"…And how am I to explain how I knew what the Dark Lord wants, when he has chosen not to contact me?" asked Snape softly.
"Use Potter's reasoning. I'm sure he won't mind," said Moody.
"That does not resolve the problem of how I am to contact the agent," said Snape with a hard edge in his voice.
"That's up to you," said Moody dismissively. "What's wrong, Snape? Aren't you supposed to be Dumbledore's best spy? Don't tell me you can't figure out how to do it…"
"Thank you, Alastor, Severus," said Dumbledore firmly, and Moody and Snape went quiet, though the former's magic eye was still upon the latter, whose eyes still glinted malevolently through his curtain of greasy black hair.
"We cannot make any moves until all the particulars are thought out," said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone. "Until then, we must go on with our daily lives. Harry, of course, will have to exercise all due caution—" Snape let out a derisive noise, "—which he will, I am sure."
Harry turned to leave, but Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I do not think we will have to wait for long to come up with a suitable plan," said Dumbledore cryptically. "We do have all the information we need. It is a matter of putting all the clues together … from beginning to end."
-oo00oo-
Harry hurried to the History of Magic classroom after the meeting inside Moody's enchanted trunk ended. Professor Binn's had just entered the classroom through the chalkboard when Harry ran inside. Binns didn't even acknowledge Harry's entrance and just opened his notes.
"So what happened?" Ron whispered over Binn's droning.
Harry let out the string of invective he remembered John saying once. Ron, Seamus and Dean stared with horrified admiration and Hermione and Neville looked utterly scandalized in the aftermath.
"Cor, I didn't even understand half of that," said Seamus.
"So how many detentions did you get?" asked Dean.
"None," said Harry with savage satisfaction. "Moody didn't buy Snape's accusations. I reckon Snape's a bit scared of him, you know," he added thoughtfully.
"Imagine the two of them in a duel," said Ron, his eyes misting over, "I'd pay good money to see that…"
The lesson went its usual way after this. Before long, everyone but Hermione was asleep.
"So what really happened?" asked Hermione quietly.
Harry wrote everything down in bullet points—nearly everything, that is. He spilled ink all over the parchment after Hermione finished reading it, making it unintelligible.
"So Dumbledore thinks we should use bait, too," she said quietly.
"It makes sense," said Harry. "I can't stay vigilant all the time, and you should never let your enemy chose the time and place of battle if you can help it."
Hermione bit her lip. "And he trusts Snape, even though he knows he was a Death Eater?"
"Yes," said Harry.
Hermione went quiet after this.
History of Magic dragged on at a snail's pace. Instead of joining his classmates in their slumber, Harry studied Neville, who was snoring with his mouth open. True to his word to Dumbledore, Harry had not told Hermione about Neville's parents. As he stared the puddle of drool under Neville's face, Harry tried to piece together what he heard about Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom. Moody said that Frank and Alice Longbottom had been tortured. When and why did it happen? Neville said his grandmother raised him, which seemed to imply his parents stopped raising him when he was very young. The torture must've been exceptionally bad if Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom weren't able to recover from it. Who was capable of such a horrendous deed?
Eventually Harry remembered what Barty Crouch, Jr. got sent to Azkaban for. Barty Crouch the younger had been discovered in the company of people involved in an early botched attempt to revive Voldemort. What if those people tortured Neville's parents for information? The timing of the two events were close enough, and one of the people caught for the crime, Bellatrix Lestrange, was known for torturing her victims at length for sport, according to Sherlock's index of Death Eaters.
Harry went still as he imagined the progression of events: Mrs. and Mr. Longbottom (who, in Harry's mind, looked like a much older version of Neville), caught unawares a few short months after Voldemort vanished … Someone discovering their dead bodies or tortured selves … Aurors setting a bait to catch their torturers … the culprits getting caught, with Barty Crouch, Jr. (whose face Harry couldn't imagine) in their company … Barty Crouch, Sr. presiding over the trial, where one of the accused included his own son…
Harry felt a rush of anger and hate toward the people who had tortured Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom. He also recalled all the times Neville seemed to be on the verge of saying something whenever they talked about the agent, and how upset he became whenever the Cruciatus Curse was mentioned. Did the culprits use the Cruciatus Curse on his parents? If so, Harry completely understood Neville's inability to talk about it. He wouldn't have, if it were him. Were Neville's parents still alive or in a vegetative state after the torture they went through? Harry desperately hoped they weren't living vegetables, because that sounded worse than being an orphan. How horrible would it be to have parents who couldn't recognise you?
Then Harry thought about Bartemius Crouch. On the one hand, Harry thought he could respect the man for not trying to unjustly lighten the sentence for his son. But on the other hand, Harry had to wonder if Crouch sentenced his son out of hatred or because of his love for rules—a love that perhaps surpassed his love for family. He certainly presented himself as a person who strictly abided by law and order. That was the main reason why Percy Weasley adored him so much. But then again, Mr. Crouch likely smuggled his son out of Azkaban, even though he knew his son was probably a loyal Death Eater. What was he to make of that?
Who knows what he's like in private? The Sherlock voice in Harry's head asked. Harry had handled enough domestic cases to know what a person was like in public didn't necessarily agree with what the person was like in private. Also, those who tried to build a public persona usually had something to hide in their private lives … and Crouch definitely had something to hide, if Sherlock's deductions on the agent's identity were correct. So—who knew what Crouch was like in private?
It came to Harry almost immediately. And the moment he got the name, he felt the urge to jump around, throw things at the windows, swear loudly, or just scream.
Winky.
Winky the house-elf.
Winky, who still considered Mr. Crouch her master; Winky, who still kept Crouch's secrets because of this.
Winky, who probably saw the agent on Christmas Eve and in all likelihood was in charge of taking care of him.
That was the key he had overlooked all this time. Winky knew the agent. All Harry had to do was make Winky recall him and Harry could collect the memory through his memory harvesting charm, thus gather clear evidence on who the agent was. Perhaps he could even use Winky's connection to the Crouches to feed information back to Voldemort!
I need to tell this to Dumbledore and Sherlock, Harry thought wildly as he looked around the classroom. Binns was still droning something about eighteenth century goblin rebellions and Hermione alone was taking notes. Could it really hurt to just run out of the classroom? It's not like Binns would notice…
Ah, but remember someone is eavesdropping on you, said a voice in Harry's head.
Harry took in a deep breath. He needed an excuse. Thankfully, he had a very good one.
"Hermione," said Harry quietly.
Hermione stopped her scribbling, "Mmn?"
"I need to have a massive nosebleed right now."
Hermione stared at him.
"Just do it!" Harry hissed.
But Hermione continued stare at Harry as though he was insane. Unable to stand the wait or go through the bother to explaining further, Harry pointed his wand at himself and muttered the first spell he could think of.
Immediately Harry felt liked someone bludgeoned his head with a cast-iron skillet as warm blood splattered all over his robes and desk. As he groaned through the self-inflicted pain, Harry furiously thought if only Hermione had done what he asked he wouldn't have to go through this.
"Professor Binns!" said Harry as loudly as he could through the crumpled bit of parchment he used to stem the flow of blood. "I need to go to the Hospital Wing!"
Professor Binns raised his eyes from his notes, looking amazed, as always, to find the room in front of him full of people.
"Hospital Wing?" he repeated hazily.
"I'm not feeling well," said Harry as he got to his feet while gesturing at his nose, which was still bleeding profusely. "I think I need to go to the hospital wing."
"Yes," said Professor Binns, clearly very much wrong-footed. "Yes… yes, hospital wing… well, off you go, then, Perkins…"
Harry flew out of the classroom.
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: GOF is too long … far too long. But it's almost over now. Almost… I couldn't update last week due to the FF Net datacenter move.