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 incorporates elements of season 2 as much as possible. Readers beware!
Chapter Seventy: Plan of Attack
Harry returned to Hogwarts after Sherlock debriefed him on the LV War part II preparation meeting. Ron, Neville, Hermione, Julia and Ginny were waiting for him at the fireplace he used to travel back and forth to London. All five of them looked grim yet composed when Harry stumbled out, scattering soot all over the floor.
"Welcome back, Harry," said Ron.
"Good to be back," said Harry as he brushed off the soot clinging to his school robes.
There was a brief pause as the six of them looked at each other's faces grimly.
"Ready?" said Harry, looking them all.
"Ready," said Neville firmly. "Let's go."
They headed to the Great Hall. Almost every single student they met in the corridors stared as they walked pass.
"How is Miss Jackie doing?" Harry asked as they walked across the empty entrance hall.
"She got a few Howlers and about a hundred letters of complaints," said Ron, shrugging his shoulders, "Nothing unexpected."
"That's not too bad," said Harry. "So did we get any word from the Ministry?"
"Percy sent us an Owl," said Ginny. "He wanted to know how it happened. He also hinted that there's going to be an inquiry— again, nothing unexpected."
Harry nodded grimly as Hermione opened the doors to the Great Hall.
A sudden hush seemed to fall upon the Hall's occupants as Harry and his friends walked in. Harry could feel the multitude of eyes staring at him as he walked towards the Gryffindor table. From the corner of his eye, he could see the Slytherins pointing and hissing.
The quiet lasted until he reached the Gryffindor table. Almost predictably, it was Fred and George Weasley who broke the tension.
"Harry, what happened to your hair!?" Fred shouted.
Harry smiled wryly at his fellow Gryffindors, who were now openly gawking, gibbering and pointing at him … More specifically, pointing and gawking at his hair, which was now heavily streaked with white.
"Dunno," Harry answered. "I woke up this morning and found my hair like this…"
-oo00oo-
Six days before Harry showed up in Hogwarts sporting salt-and-pepper hair — which was also the day after Winky the house-elf took Harry's blood and the evening Mr. Lestrade information Harry, John and Sherlock the Aurors were investigating Barty Crouch, Sr.'s murder— Harry had another vision of Lord Voldemort. It showed him Voldemort raging at Crouch, Jr. for bringing only Harry's blood and not Harry himself. When he woke up from the terrible vision, he found Sherlock and John watching his memory of the vision via his MMN phone.
"How did you…?" Harry started to ask.
"Where were we the last time you used this paper charm to show us your vision of LV?" said Sherlock as John waved Harry's memory harvesting charm.
Harry smiled sheepishly, "So now what? Tell Dumbledore?"
"No," said Sherlock. "First, we plan."
John took Benedict from Sherlock, who clasped his palms under his chin.
"LV now has what he needs to fully resurrect his body," Sherlock began. "The chances are high he'll use it, though we can't rule out the possibility he might use the second task to kidnap you."
"Won't he know better than to try, since Crouch is dead and people know it?" said John.
"It would be absolutely foolish if he tries, yes, but the agent may attempt to replace someone else in a desperate act of contrition," said Sherlock. "However, LV has five days to brood over his options. I highly doubt he'll let the agent pick the foolish one when he isn't pressed in time."
"So we should expect him to use the blood," said John grimly. "What do we do?"
"Prepare for an uphill battle," Sherlock declared. "Unlike us, the public has no earthly clue Voldemort has spent an entire year engineering his return and has succeeded. All they do know is that Death Eater Peter Pettigrew is still at large and that Barty Crouch, Sr. was found murdered in his back garden. They likely will not see the connection between these two facts, unless the Ministry announces Crouch was the person who was Imperiused to help Pettigrew escape."
Harry and John nodded.
"We can expect the Ministry of Magic to downplay Crouch's murder case and keep his past a secret since both are an embarrassment to the current administration," Sherlock went on. "Thankfully we have Jacqueline, who will not let this happen. She will report the grievously disturbing news at great length and detail—especially the fact Crouch had been Imperiused two Christmases ago and was manipulated to help Pettigrew escape. This will bridge the connection we want in the minds of the public and bring LV back to the forefront of their minds."
"But that won't be enough," said John.
"Obviously," said Sherlock. "Therefore the Wizarding World must receive another dose of disturbing news. That one is easy, we have one pending already."
"We do?" said Harry blankly.
"Think, Harry," said Sherlock impatiently. "LV is on the cusp of success. Not exactly the success he envisioned, but a success nevertheless. Now picture him as he prepares for his rebirth and comeback. He will feel excited, nervous and anxious. In short, his emotions will run high. You know what happens when his emotions are at such a height."
Harry felt his hands turn cold and clammy as it all clicked.
"…I dream about it."
Sherlock nodded curtly.
"I don't expect him to brood for long—a week at most. But in due time I expect you to have a vision of LV's rebirth. Your memory of that vision is the second dose of disturbing news we need to give to the Wizarding World … and the first step to announcing his return."
Harry and John nodded slowly.
"So we have a newscast that will jolt the wizarding world," said John. "Hopefully it won't cause collective panic attack and heart failure. Now answer me this: how are we going to convince the average wizard that what they're seeing is LV resurrecting? I don't think they know what he looks like and even if they did, chances are this resurrection spell LV is planning to use is going to alter his looks—for better or worse. Also, how are we going to explain where and how we got the footage? We can't let LV know Harry has a direct connection to his brain."
"Thank you for the succinct summary of all the problems we're facing, John," said Sherlock, heavy with sarcasm. Then more sombrely, he said: "We will have to decide the best way to broadcast LV's rebirth after we see the vision. Not the best, but it can't be helped. As for the newscast itself, we must put as much distance between the source of the news and us. Alienating the public would only hinder our efforts to ultimately destroy LV, and chances are the public will lash out against the persons responsible for feeding them bad news. In fact, depending on the public reaction to the news of Crouch's murder, we may have to delay broadcasting LV's rebirth indefinitely."
"But we still need to warn them," said Harry. "And if you were planning to work in secret, you wouldn't even mention broadcasting Voldemort's return."
Sherlock smirked. "So you understand that we must turn public opinion. Good. You are ready for the warning, then. Expect greater resistance to the idea of LV's return after we show them his rebirth."
"Why?" said Harry, taken aback. "They'll see him coming back! How much more obvious can it get?"
"What do normal people do when they face too much bad news?" asked Sherlock.
Harry just blinked at the question.
"Go into denial," said John, answering for Harry. "Seeing doesn't mean believing, no matter what people say. Convincing a person in denial is bloody difficult, if not impossible. Hopefully the Wizarding World won't stay in denial for long, but for now let's claim the right to say 'I told you so'."
"But we don't have the time!" exclaimed Harry. "Voldemort isn't going to dither around! And why would anyone deny it, they'll see Voldemort returning! He won't even look human, so who else could they think they're—"
"Harry," said John, interrupting, "Think about it: there are students out there who lost aunts, uncles, grandparents and cousins thanks to LV. A few of them even lost parents. They all know who the murderer is and for the last fourteen years they believed he was gone for good. But now we're going to tell them, with very little prior warning that he's back. This is about the worst news you'll ever get. It's like telling someone the cancer that went into remission years ago developed metastases and now they're in stage four. Are you going to tell this person: 'You're being stupid; just accept the facts,' and then shove the biopsy report in her face?"
Harry looked down. "…No."
"Good to know you won't. I've actually met people who said that they'd do that in medical school," John sighed. "We'll have to do this carefully. First we have to get people to think the footage is a record of a real event. Then we can talk about the content. It's going to be tough, but we've got to do it."
"Okay," said Harry, sighing, "What about the footage? How are we going to explain where we got it?"
"We won't," said Sherlock, smirking horribly.
John frowned. "But they're going to ask, Harry has to—"
"They won't ask," said Sherlock confidently. "In fact, if everything goes according to plan, no one will think to ask us where we got the footage from."
John's frown deepened. "How? What are you up to?"
Sherlock told them. When he finished talking, John and Harry were both speechless.
"That—" John started.
"Was brilliant? Excellent? Clever?" said Sherlock, looking impish.
"I was going to say that I can see your plan going horribly wrong," John growled.
Sherlock looked offended. "Why?"
"There are too many contingencies! And you're making Harry do almost everything!" John shouted.
"Yes, so?" said Sherlock irritably.
"Backup plans would be nice," John snapped. "At the very least, get other people involved. We should do something, too."
"We are doing something," Sherlock retorted. "If you want more direct action, then let me ask you: How are we going to take them? In case you've forgotten, John, we're Muggles."
"What about the kids?" John argued, "Arthur and Molly? Lestrade? Jack? Especially Jack, since you're risking her business and reputation here."
"Jacqueline won't mind," said Sherlock dismissively. "She looked delighted when I told her she might lose the MMN in the end."
John looked like she wanted to punch him. "Of course she'd say that. What else would she say?"
Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry. I have full confidence in Harry. He can pull it off."
Then he pinned his most intense stare on Harry.
"I will make sure he pulls it off," Sherlock muttered ominously.
What happened in the eight hours that followed made Harry consider running away from 221B for the first time in his life. At the end, Harry was exhausted but too mentally-wired to sleep, as his brain was buzzing with scenarios and speeches Sherlock made him remember and practice.
Harry returned to Hogwarts the next day, which was a Sunday, at around noon. He quickly discovered the whole school was buzzing over the news of Bartemius Crouch, Sr.'s murder. Harry was surprised at the sheer number of people interested in the case, but then, as Hermione reminded him, Crouch was one of the Triwizard Tournament judges. Harry kept his mouth resolutely shut for the remainder of the day while everyone speculated and asked him questions, as per Sherlock's instructions. Then, on Monday evening after classes, he headed off to meet his Hufflepuff friends in the library, ostensibly to do his Herbology homework with them.
He didn't even get to unfurl a roll of parchment. Ernie Macmillan went straight to the chase as soon as he sat down:
"So the Barty Crouch's murder case, what do you think happened, Harry?" he asked.
All of the other Hufflepuffs present—which included Zacharias Smith—looked at Harry expectantly.
"I'm not sure," said Harry, exactly as he practiced. "I mean the question is: who would want Crouch dead? Killing someone isn't something you can do lightly, especially when that someone is a high-ranking Ministry official. A person might do it in the heat of the moment, but Crouch lives alone from what've heard."
"Maybe … someone didn't like the way he scored the Triwizard Champions?" said Justin tentatively.
Harry privately marvelled at the fact people could actually think this was a possible explanation.
"Murdering Crouch isn't going to help anyone win the Tournament," said Harry, shaking his head. "He marked the champions fairly. And if there's a judge someone might want to murder for biased scoring, it would be Karkaroff."
"Yeah, he gave Krum ten for the first task, didn't he?" said Ernie. "Even though he squashed half of the eggs…"
Harry nodded. "So anyway no, I don't think Crouch got murdered over the Triwizard Tournament."
"But what could it be?" said Hannah Abbott tremulously.
Harry pretended to think over it for exactly five seconds.
"I don't want to speculate," he said slowly to his breathless audience. "There's really not a lot to go on."
"But you have an idea," said Justin eagerly. "You must have something or you wouldn't say that."
Harry nodded. Then he drew in a deep breath.
"Did you know that Crouch was the person who sent Sirius Black to Azkaban without a trial?" Harry began.
Start with a shocking, publically verifiable fact, Sherlock had instructed Harry. Something your fellow students can confirm for themselves. It will bolster your trustworthiness.
Harry smiled wryly as Ernie, Justin & co. gasped in shock. "Crouch was…?" said Susan Bones weakly.
"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "He used to be the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, before your Aunt Amelia. Anyway, this means—" he swallowed, "—Sirius is one possible suspect."
Show them you are willing to consider all the possibilities, Sherlock had said. You have to. Or else they will think you are biased.
Ernie looked suitably horrified. "Isn't he your godfather?"
"He is," said Harry flatly. "That's why I had to really think about it. I mean, I don't want it to be him, but … well, I had to wonder."
The Hufflepuffs nodded wordlessly.
"He has an alibi, thankfully," Harry continued. "Crouch's body was transfigured to a bone. Meaning, the murderer cast a spell that would transfigure a human body to a bone. Sirius let the Aurors check his wand, and they verified it hadn't cast that kind of spell."
"How could they tell?" asked Justin.
"Prior Incantato," said Harry. "If you use this spell on a wand, it shows you the spell the wand performed in reverse order."
"That doesn't mean Black didn't cast such a spell," argued Smith.
"Smith!" Susan and Ernie exclaimed, outraged.
"Yes, that's true," said Harry through gritted teeth. Even though he expected the objection, it still grated him deeply. "Sirius could've used someone else's wand. He might've even used Crouch's wand, just to make the irony thicker. But did you know it takes a very powerful wizard to properly use a wand that doesn't belong to him?"
Smith blinked, and so did several others.
"Mr. Ollivander told me," said Harry, looking pointedly at Smith, "that you will never get good results with another wizard's wand. I actually experimented with Julia's old wand to see if I'd have trouble, and," he shook his head. "It was no good. I couldn't get it to work. You should try it; it's a lot harder than you think. Here, you can use mine."
The Hufflepuffs openly goggled as Harry offered his wand to Smith. Show them you did your research, Sherlock had said. Then challenge them to replicate your results. It will make them trust you more.
Smith eventually took Harry's wand and tried to levitate his quill. Harry felt a deep sense of satisfaction when, try as Smith might, he couldn't get the spell to work.
"See?" said Harry as he took his wand back. "Also, for your information, the guards of Azkaban drain a wizard of his powers if he stays there for too long. Sirius was there for twelve years. It's been almost two years since he left, but he still needs Magic Enhancement Therapy."
Smith voiced no more objections, though from the look on his face, Harry could tell he was not at all satisfied.
"Looks like it can't be your godfather, Harry," said Ernie solemnly. "I'm very glad to know that."
"I am too," said Harry. "But that still leaves the question: who did it?"
"Do you have any bright ideas on that?" groused Zacharias Smith resentfully.
"Things are murky here," said Harry, as he levelled a glare at Smith. "Since Crouch was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when Vol- ehhh You-Know-Who was active, he has plenty of enemies. You could even include You-Know-Who himself as one. That makes the pool of suspects very large. But…"
"But?" said Hannah breathlessly.
"There's common thread to all his enemies," said Harry.
"And that is…?"
"You-Know-Who," Harry declared.
Harry ended the discussion at that, even though he was bursting to say this could mean Lord Voldemort might be engineering his return. Sherlock had been adamant about this point, and drummed it into Harry's head that he must not go further. Harry had to establish himself as a trustworthy source of information and trustworthy people did not speculate beyond the available evidence. Also, any doubt towards Harry would only give Voldemort an advantage.
"We cannot let LV win," Sherlock had said vehemently. "I categorically refuse to let him win. So listen to me."
Harry had a very similar discussion with Terry Boot the next day. It was far easier to lead Terry to point where he saw the connection between Crouch's murder and Voldemort. In fact, Terry took an extra step and wondered if Pettigrew had anything to do with the case.
"Why did you think about Pettigrew?" asked Harry, trying not to sound too excited.
"He's still out there, isn't he?" said Terry. "And he is a Death Eater. He doesn't have anyone to turn to right now, except for You-Know-Who."
"Yeah," said Harry. "I do think he has a hand in it, but there's no evidence that can tell us what. And the reasons why Pettigrew would want Crouch dead are all scary."
"True," said Terry, shivering. "By the way, I can't believe the Hat didn't put you in Ravenclaw. You've definitely got the brains for it." He looked at Harry keenly. "Did the hat give you the option?"
"Eh, no, it actually offered Hufflepuff," said Harry truthfully.
"Really? Huh, I wonder why…"
Harry focused on observing the residents of Hogwarts after his talk with Terry. The students' interest in Crouch's murder case waned as the Second Task approached, but they still talked about it, usually whilst wondering who was going to replace Crouch as a judge. During his silent watch, Harry couldn't help but notice an increasing number of students tried to cast spells using their friend's wands.
The days passed by slowly. Harry had trouble sleeping and had no dreams. In his madder moments, Harry wondered what Voldemort was waiting for and wished he get a move on. He couldn't tell his worry to his friends, as Sherlock said they couldn't risk their minds being read. They had the mind-blocking paper charms Mr. Shin made, of course, but anyone who had been actively trying to read their minds so far would become suspicious if he suddenly wasn't able to read them.
Then the day before the Second Task dawned. Harry, Ron and Miss Jackie headed to the lake after dinner, to prepare to film the Second Task unmanned. Harry couldn't film the task himself, as whatever method he used to follow the champions might help them fulfil their task and that was against the rules. Miss Jackie, with the help of Fred and George, had developed a waterproof spy-cam she could access remotely for this reason. These cameras couldn't swim, so Harry and Ron had to place them in strategic locations when no one was looking (hopefully).
Harry and Ron ate Gillyweed to go underwater. Ron looked revolted when he first laid his eyes on the ball of what looked like slimy, greyish-green rat tails. Chewing on it was awful, too—it felt unpleasantly slimy and rubbery, like octopus tentacles. After swallowing, Harry and Ron waited for something to happen. They felt stupid, standing there at the bank in their florescent colour diving suits, which Miss Jackie insisted that they wear.
Then, quite suddenly, Harry felt as though an invisible pillow had been pressed over his mouth and nose. He tried to draw breath, but it made his head spin; his lungs were empty, and he suddenly felt a piercing pain on either side of his neck. Harry clapped his hands around his throat and felt two large slits just below his ears flapping in the cold air … He had gills.
Harry and Ron shared one look before they flung themselves into the lake.
A large gulp of water cleared Harry's head instantly. The icy water felt wonderfully cool to the skin. Harry looked around and marvelled at how clearly he could see. It was also strange because he felt no need to blink. When Harry tried to swim, he was astonished at how swiftly he could move. So he looked down at his feet and discovered they were elongated and webbed between the toes. Weird.
Once Harry and Ron got over their fascination towards their new flippers and gills, they went off to set up the cameras.
It took them two hours. It would've taken Harry and Ron less time if it weren't for the pack of grindylows that ambushed them halfway down, in the forest of black weeds. Harry used the Relashio charm on them, and, instead of sending sparks at the grindylows, the spell pelted them with what seemed to be a jet of boiling water, for where it struck them, angry red patches appeared on their green skin. Harry and Ron got lost after the grindylows stopped chasing them. After wandering around a bit, they got some unexpected help. Harry thought he was having a heart attack when he saw Moaning Myrtle floating hazily in front of him, gazing at him through her thick, pearly glasses.
"Myrtle!" Harry tried to shout— but nothing came out of his mouth except a very large bubble. Moaning Myrtle giggled at him.
"If you're looking for the merpeople village, you want to try over there!" she said, pointing.
Ron wrote on the writing slate attached to his diving suit: How do you know?!
"I sometimes go down there," said Myrtle, "sometimes I don't have any choice, if someone flushes my toilet when I'm not expecting it…"
Harry and Ron shared a grin as they imagined Moaning Myrtle zooming down a pipe to the lake with the contents of a toilet. Harry took the writing slate from Ron and wrote: Thanks, Myrtle! Then they gave her the thumbs up and set off.
They found the merpeople village in the direction Myrtle pointed out. It looked like a cluster of crude stone dwellings stained with algae. The merpeople living there had greyish skin and long, wild, dark green hair. Their eyes were yellow, as were their broken teeth, and they wore thick ropes of pebbles around their necks. They leered at Harry and Ron as they swam past. One or two of them emerged from their caves to watch them better, their powerful, silver fish tails beating the water, spears clutched in their hands. Quite a few watched as Harry and Ron attached spy-cams all around their village-square and laughed unpleasantly when they struggled to put one on a gigantic merperson statue. Once they put all the cameras they had brought, Harry and Ron swam to shore.
"What was it like?" Miss Jackie asked when they broke the lake's surface, gasping and sputtering (they lost their gills and flippers on the way back).
"Creepy," said Ron.
"Eerie," Harry decided.
"Did you meet the giant squid?"
"We saw it at a distance," said Ron. "Didn't come near us, thank Merlin."
"The merpeople?"
Harry and Ron nodded fervently.
Miss Jackie looked wistful. "Would you go back?"
"Mmm, maybe," said Harry dubiously. "Maybe when it's lighter out…"
The three of them returned to the castle. Harry and Ron went straight to their dormitory, changed into their pyjamas and went to bed, as they were both feeling very heavy-limbed and exhausted. Harry heard Ron's snores in no time, and soon his own eyes started to droop…
…
…He stood in the darkness of an overgrown graveyard. The black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to his right. A hill rose above them to his left. Harry could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside. Then, suddenly, he saw a figure approaching. Harry squinted tensely through the darkness as the figure walked steadily toward him between the graves. Whoever it was, he was short, wearing a hooded cloak pulled up over his head to obscure his face, and in his arms he was carrying something … a baby? Or a bundle of robes?
The short man in the cloak stopped beside a towering marble headstone. He put down his bundle, and then pulled out a wand with a hand that had a finger missing. Wormtail! Harry thought numbly as the man lit his wand. Harry then saw the name upon the headstone, flickering in the wandlight, and felt like someone had punched his chest:
TOM RIDDLE
Wormtail left while Harry struggled to comprehend what he'd seen so far. When he came to, he saw Wormtail pushing a large stone cauldron full of liquid to the foot of the grave. It was larger than any cauldron Harry had ever used; a great stone belly large enough for a full-grown man to sit in. Wormtail quickly busied himself at the bottom of the cauldron. While he worked, the bundle at the grave stirred fretfully. Harry couldn't bear to look at it. Every time he did so, excruciating pain shot through his scar.
Suddenly there were crackling flames beneath the cauldron. The liquid in the cauldron heated very fast. The surface began not only to bubble, but sent out fiery sparks, as though it were on fire. Steam thickened, blurring the outline of Wormtail tending the fire. The movements beneath the robes became more agitated. Then Harry heard a high, cold voice.
"Hurry!"
The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks now. It might have been encrusted with diamonds.
"It is ready, Master."
"Now…" said the cold voice.
Wormtail pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was inside them.
It was as though Wormtail had flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimy, and blind—but worse, a hundred times worse. The thing Wormtail had been carrying had the shape of a crouched human child, except that Harry had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face—no child alive ever had a face like that—flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes.
The thing seemed almost helpless; it raised its thin arms, put them around Wormtail's neck, and Wormtail lifted it. As he did so, his hood fell back, and Harry saw the look of revulsion on Wormtail's weak, pale face in the firelight as he carried the creature to the rim of the cauldron. For one moment, Harry saw the evil, flat face illuminated in the sparks dancing on the surface of the potion. And then Wormtail lowered the creature into the cauldron. There was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface. Harry heard its frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud.
Wormtail then started speaking. His voice shook; he seemed frightened beyond his wits. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night.
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"
The surface before the marble gravestone cracked. Horrified, Harry watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.
And now Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs.
"Flesh – of the servant … w-willingly – given you will – revive – your master…"
He stretched his right hand out in front of him— the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward. Harry realised what Wormtail was about to do a second before it happened – he closed his eyes as tightly as he could, but he could not block the scream that pierced the night, that went through Harry as though he had been stabbed with the dagger, too. He heard something fall to the ground, heard Wormtail's anguished panting, then a sickening splash, as something was dropped into the cauldron. Harry couldn't stand to look, but he nevertheless opened his eyes … the potion had turned a burning red.
Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony. He fumbled around his cloak with his remaining hand, still panting with pain, and pulled out a glass vial full of blood-red liquid.
"B-blood of the enemy … forcibly taken … you will … resurrect your foe."
He poured the contents of the vial inside the cauldron. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Wormtail dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing.
The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness.
Nothing happened for a long time … Harry prayed nothing would happen … that it had gone wrong …
But then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Harry, so that he couldn't see Wormtail or anything but vapour hanging in the air. Then through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.
"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.
The thin man stepped out of the cauldron. His face belonged to someone who had haunted Harry's nightmares for three years … whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils …
It was Lord Voldemort.
…
Harry woke up immediately after. For a long time he didn't move as he panted frantically whilst lying on the cold floor of his dormitory. It was still dark outside and all of his dormitory fellows were still snoring in their four-poster beds except Ron, who was mumbling something about spiders in his sleep.
Eventually, Harry remembered protocol. He first collected his memory of the dream and sent a text to Sherlock and John. Then, after stuffing his MMN phone and memory harvesting charm in his pocket and sealing the pocket shut, he shook Ron awake.
"Ron," Harry whispered. "Ron!"
Ron swatted at him. "g'way…"
"I just had another dream of Voldemort," said Harry, directly in his ear.
Ron turned over and buried his face in his pillow for a second. Then he abruptly threw his covers off and sat upright with his eyes wide open.
"WHAT?! You—"
Harry quickly covered Ron's mouth before he could wake everyone up with his shouting.
"Listen," said Harry in rush. "Sherlock gave me instructions on what I should do if I have this kind of dream. I have to go the Hospital Wing and you need to tell everyone where I am at. Just make it sound like I'm down with something horrible."
"…Like what?" asked Ron, incredulous.
"Pneumonia, lupus or the bubonic plague—it doesn't matter," said Harry. "Just hint that it looks really awful. Don't worry about the details, Miss Jackie will fill you in."
And with that, Harry left the dormitory. On his way to the portrait hole, Harry cancelled the spell Dumbledore placed on him a week ago to hide the fact his hair had turned grey after he gave his blood to Remus to cure his lycanthropy. Then Harry took out a small blue pill from the lining of his jacket and swallowed it.
Madam Pomfrey wasn't at all pleased when she found Harry knocking on the Hospital Wing's door at the crack of dawn.
"Who did this!" she raged, holding Harry's head between her hands. "What happened to you?"
"I don't know," said Harry, trying to sound desperate. "Can you fix it?"
"I shall certainly try," said Madam Pomfrey grimly, pulling Harry inside. "This might take a while…"
But whatever remedy Madam Pomfrey had in mind, she didn't get to use it on Harry, as he blacked out after a few steps. Harry had a vague memory of feeling extremely hot and weightless afterwards, and hearing unfamiliar voices saying that he was burning his sheets.
When Harry woke up again, he was lying on a bed that definitely didn't belong to the Hogwarts' hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was sitting on a chair to his left. An elderly, long haired but clean-shaven wizard wearing lime-green robes, which had the emblem of a wand and bone, crossed, embroidered on the chest, stood next to her. Both looked immensely relieved when Harry stared at them quizzically.
"Looks like the fairy ointment did the trick," said the wizard, scribbling something on the clipboard he was holding.
"What happened?" Harry asked, genuinely puzzled.
"We're not entirely sure, Mr. Potter," said the wizard. "We certainly couldn't decide if you had to go to the Dai Llewellyn Ward or Spell Damage when you kept turning into a fiery salamander, a firebird, and a burning coal and then back again … Luckily, visiting healer Robert Ju was able to identify the ailment and administer the remedy."
"I … what?" Harry stammered. "What did I have?"
"The Tamlane Curse," said the wizard, shaking his head, "It's a rather obscure jinx … almost completely forgotten in this day and age. Speaking of which, Mr. Potter, do you remember anyone casting a Scottish-Gaelic spell on you?"
Harry answered no (not that he knew what a Scottish-Gaelic spell would sound like). The wizard—who eventually introduced himself as Hippocrates Smethwyck—asked several additional questions, but when Harry failed to confirm any of his suspicious, he shook his head in disappointment and made movements to leave.
"Do I have to stay here?" Harry asked.
"Well…" said Smethwyck hesitantly. "You're certainly not turning into a fiery animal …"
"That means I can go, right?" said Harry quickly.
Smethwyck grimaced. "I would rather you stay a bit longer for observation … your white hair worries me, but Healer Ju assured me it's probably due to the blood tests you went through as a child … oh, alright."
Madam Pomfrey and Healer Smethwyck talked while Harry prepared to leave. He asked them if his Muggle parents knew what had happened to him, and Madam Pomfrey said yes.
"I better call them, then," said Harry fishing around his pockets.
Then he stopped.
"Hey, my phone's gone."
"Really?" said Madam Pomfrey, frowning. "That's odd … I just used it an hour ago to contact Dr. Watson."
"Did you put it back into my jacket?" said Harry as he made a huge show of turning out all his pockets.
"Yes," said Madam Pomfrey, now helping Harry search for his phone. "Isn't this strange…"
The phone didn't turn up, even though several ward wizards and witches looked for it. In the end Madam Pomfrey took Harry to the Welcome Witch on the first floor to file a missing item report.
"I can't afford to lose it," said Harry urgently. "I use it to do stuff for the Magical Mobile Network."
"We'll send you an Owl if we ever find it," said the blond witch irritably. "Personally, I doubt it'll turn up. Next!"
-oo00oo-
"…So you lost your phone at St. Mungos?" said George in a hushed voice when Harry finished talking.
"Uh-huh," said Harry. "I hope no one did something funny with it …"
George and Fred looked at each other.
"What?" said Harry, frowning, "Did something happen?"
Fred wet his lips. "Eh, sort of."
Harry deepened his frown. "Spit it out."
"Don't panic," said George reassuringly. "I'm sure it'll turn out okay. It's just … well, at the end of the second task, a really, creepy footage showed up on the screen…"
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: I hope this answers any questions concerning how LV's rebirth was broadcasted over the MMN. I had to rewrite the chapter three times before I got it okay. Sigh. The structure is a bit awkward, so I hope it didn't cause too much confusion.
After OOTP, I'm thinking to create a separate story for the remaining years of ASIM. Partly because ASIM is getting hideously long (the projected end of OOTP is chapter 82; the more realistic number is 90 … eek!), but also, after OOTP, Harry, John and Sherlock will focus on applying magic, rather than study it. The provisional title of this hypothetical fic is: "A Magical Application" #BOCneedstostopnamingthingslikeanengineer