A/N: Guys! I just reached 100 reviews, and it feels so, so awesome! A thousand thanks to all of you who read this fic and let me know what you thought. It's really an amazing feeling when readers actually like your stuff! So in honor of having 100 reviews, I stayed up all night just to finish this chapter super quick. Rest of A/N is at the end. Enough babble, on with the story!
…
"Thought pedantry denies,
It's plain the Bible means
That Solomon grew wise
While talking with his queens."
―William Butler Yeats, On Woman
...
Gemini
...
Smiling a predatory grin of his own, he squared off against Ms. Business-suit.
"Yes, do show me around. I vould like that very much."
The woman stared at Sherlock and her smile widened. To Sherlock, she momentarily looked like a cat, ready to pounce on an unsuspecting song bird, and devour it in one gulp. Her eyes were quickly calculating him, glittering with the intelligence that Sherlock there perceived before.
She motioned her head, and started walking down the cobbled street, with Sherlock trailing behind. Sherlock briefly thought that perhaps he should have asked Harry more about wizarding culture, and wizarding norms, before rushing into this adventure. As of now, the woman he was following had the upper hand, and the detective was not comfortable with that. Well, he thought, the more dangerous the game, the more fun to be had.
As he followed her, she briskly pointed to the various shops, and establishments, reciting their titles.
"There's Eeylops, if you're looking for a new owl. They have some on loan too, if you need to write a quick letter. There, behind that corner is Madame Malkin's. It's mostly robes in the old fashion; nothing that could be worn in muggle London..."
Sherlock listened to her, memorizing all the locations. He felt grateful to the woman for getting him into this alley; but right now, he dearly wished she would walk a bit slower. He wanted to crane his neck into every shop he passed by.
The shops all had moving displays, and lively colors. Sherlock approved of this, as he secretly thought that London really needed a splash of color. Or a few buckets of it, thrown about not too carefully. Besides all the shops, there were street vendors selling candy, roasted nuts, and jewelry. One vendor had a large stall of tropical flowers, that had been magicked to serenade those that walked by them.
"A clever witch, a lion's heart..." sang a troupe of red hibiscus flowers, as the woman walked in front of him. A bouquet of tiger lilies joined with "with handsome eyes, and quick of wit...," as Sherlock crossed the same stall.
They were reaching the end of the main street, where a tall, white building dominated the skyline. Sherlock saw, by the woman's trajectory, that this is where she was headed. It struck Sherlock that she had not yet introduce herself, nor asked for his name before taking him on this whirlwind tour. Sherlock would not call himself an expert in common courtesy, and had no problem with not knowing the woman's name. Still, it was strange.
Upon reaching the building, she suddenly stopped.
"This is Gringotts. Main wizarding bank in England. If you need to make any transfers, withdrawals, this is the place." Sherlock looked at the white building which looked like it was bending from a great blow to it's side. Architecturally, it was impossible that it was even standing, at this angle of declination.
"You have been very helpful, Miss. Vhat may I call you?" Sherlock asked. She smiled the same Cheshire smile, and offered her hand.
"Granger. Hermione Granger." Sherlock smiled, and shook her hand.
"And you are...?" She asked with a tone of light skepticism that Sherlock didn't like one bit.
"Roman Turgenev, it haz been a pleasure, Hermi-ohneh." Sherlock deliberately butchered her name, as a foreigner would with a name like 'Hermione.' She smirked a bit, amusement shining in her eyes, as though she was sharing a private joke with Sherlock. The detective frowned slightly, wondering what had was going through the woman's head. He changed the subject.
"If I vanted to exchange currency, could I do this at Gringotts?" He motioned towards the dilapidated building, that still managed an imposing quality.
"Yes. In fact, I have some quick business there as well. If you would like, we can continue our tour afterward. I know a great, little teashop just down that side street." She said, pointing to a narrow alley.
Sherlock was taken aback by this offer. He examined the woman's face. She was still suspicious of him, that's for sure. But her eyes held something more. Something that made her pupils dilate suddenly. Was that...attraction? Sherlock blinked rapidly. Strange, strange woman. Sherlock had a distinct urge to simply run away from her. But it was obvious that she knew something he didn't. And the weight of that unsolved something hung over Sherlock's head.
"I vill gladly accompany you, Miss." He agreed. The witch smiled in triumph, and they strode into Gringotts together.
…
As they walked out of Gringotts, Sherlock happily pocketed the old fashioned wizard money. It clinked along merrily in his pocket.
The goblins had made a strange impression on him. The one who had exchanged his currency had a round, flabby face, and an unpleasant smile, that reminded Sherlock a little too much of Mycroft. He chuckled and made a mental note to ask his dear brother if he knew what goblins were.
Hermione was now leading Sherlock towards what might be the South side of the district. However, it was hard to tell the coordinates, as the whole alley's existence was baffling. They passed by cafes with colorful umbrellas, under which wizards and witches sat, enjoying the warm afternoon.
Hermione strode past them, and turned down a tiny dead-end alley, just big enough for two shops. One had all manner of interesting silver machinery, and delicate instruments, that Sherlock could spend hours examining. But Hermione ducked into the other shop, that had a hanging sign saying "Gemini" above its door.
Sherlock followed her into a the small room with little round tables for two, crammed every which way. There were multicolored oriental lanterns hanging from the low ceiling, and garlands of lights on the walls. It gave Sherlock the impression of being inside a Christmas tree. Hermione confidently sat them down at a booth, next to the window. The table had a little bowl of water, with a floating flower bloom inside.
An Indian woman appeared next to their table, with a smile and familiar greeting for Hermione. The woman's eyes rested on Sherlock, and they traveled up and down his physique. Sherlock was used to this response from some women, and he was privately glad that he elicited the same looks from witches. It would make his integration into their culture much easier, he decided.
The woman looked like she was about to ask Hermione something, but Granger cut her off.
"Two butter beers please, Parvati."
"Sure thing, Hermione." The woman, Parvati, flicked her wand over to their bowl and flower bud ensemble, and swished away. Sherlock noticed her giving Hermione an approving wink, as she left their table. The flower bud bloomed, and emitted a soft light. Oh, Sherlock, thought, like a candle. So they had flowers instead of candles, and candles instead of lamps.
"I always thought they were rather silly, when we went to school together. But the charms they've put over this shop are ingenious." Sherlock wondered who Hermione was talking to. Presumably him, but it was a piece of information that was completely out of context. He settled for politely nodding.
She raised an eyebrow, challenging his understanding.
"There are silencing charms placed between the tables, so none of the patrons can hear the others' discussions. You'd think a lot of dodgy types would show up, but it's mostly couples who want have their whispers in secret." It was Sherlock's turn to raise his eyebrows. What exactly was she getting at? Sherlock decided it was time to switch tactics.
"Iz this why you have brought me here, Miss? For the...privacy?" He leaned forward, putting his elbow on the table, and arranged his eyes in a way he's seen John do countless times on his 'dates.' He's heard it described as a 'smoldering stare,' but had no idea what a facial expression had to do with slow, low-temperature, flameless form of combustion.
"Yes. I thought we'd both rather have this discussion in private, Mr. Holmes." Hermione had a triumphant smirk on, as Sherlock snapped back. Uttering a few quiet curses he ripped the stupid scarf of his throat. And he had really worked it up for that accent...
…
Life had not been boring since Sherlock came into John's life. It had been exhilaration, adrenaline packed, sometimes dangerous, and sometimes very, very surprising. John never thought his life would be more exciting than it was already, considering he was married to an ex-CIA assassin, and occasionally solved crimes with his genius best friend.
Well, John thought, it was certainly a sound analysis. After all, how was he to know that a wizard, (and he still had trouble using that word seriously in his head) would be joining their little rag-tag family. John would never have predicted it, but his life had decidedly become a lot more not-boring.
But waking up on this particular Saturday, John Watson found that he had literally nothing to do. So after whiling away a lazy morning, John decided it might be high time to pop over to 221B. He hadn't had much contact from Sherlock except for a single text in the early hours. It was mildly worrying, but so were most texts Sherlock.
Breaching wizard territory today. Under no circumstances tell Potter. Unless I do not return within 12 hours. In that case, inform Potter immediately. -SH
John had placated himself that Sherlock could handle this situation. But as the afternoon wore on, and John was still at home doing squat, he thought he might see how the 'breaching' went. Or, in worst case scenario, wait for Sherlock and try to see if the new tenant of 221B would show him more of his magic.
Arriving at Baker Street, John met Mrs Hudson on the lower landing. She greeted him in her warm, motherly manner as always. She seemed in much higher spirits since he last visited, which he always liked to see. Mrs. Hudson hardly got all the credit that she deserved.
Making his way to his old flat upstairs, John discovered that Sherlock had still not returned from his 'adventures.' But Harry was there, sitting in an armchair, and puzzling over one of Sherlock's thick, dusty tomes on chemistry. Harry was wearing the same disgruntled expression that John remembered constantly having while taking orgo-chem at Bart's. The 'I don't have a single bloody clue about what's on this page' expression. The point is, John sympathized.
Upon seeing him, Harry abandoned the book (with what John thought was a look of relief), and got up to greet him. The wizard offered him tea, which John accepted. The tea, he noticed, began making itself in the kitchen. John was struck at how polite this fugitive was, compared to the lunatic that also lived here.
"Were you looking for Sherlock?" Harry asked, once they settled down.
"Yes, but he's still out I suppose."
"Yeah. Do you know where he went? It is his job or...?"
Yes. He's off "breaching" some secret territory, the location of which you probably let slip while talking to him. It happens. Oh right, under no circumstances tell him.
"Haven't the foggiest. Probably on a case." John answered. "Bit of light reading?" John asked, pointing over to the heavy chemistry volume.
"I don't know. I thought I'd try to read one of these books, but that one could be written in ancient runes for all the sense I can make out of it." Harry said, with an exasperated air.
John and Harry made small talk. John agreed with him on chemistry, it being one of his least favorite subjects in med school; and Harry told him about the magical equivalent (potions), and how that was his least favorite as well. They talked about John's job, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson (whose sister apparently was also magical).
"What about Sherlock? Doesn't he have...a family?" Harry asked tentatively.
"Well, he's got his mum and dad, who are much lovelier than he is. And then there's his brother..."
"Right, I've met him. I mean, he hasn't any kids or anything?"
John couldn't hold down a chortle. The image of Sherlock running after a toddler, while trying to blowtorch eyeballs popped in his head.
"No, kids are definitely not his area. I'm sure you've noticed, but Sherlock's not exactly standard-issue." John tried to put it lightly, he really did.
"He's a bit eccentric, I suppose." Harry answered lightly, as though they were talking about an elderly aunt who dressed in an old-fashioned manner. A bit?! Yeah alright Potter, John thought. Understatement of the century.
"So, has he ever had any sort of relationship?" Harry pressed on.
"Mm, no not really. Well...there was one, but he was just using her to break into her boss's office. You know, for a case." Harry creased his brows at this.
"Why, are you interested?" John added as an afterthought.
"No! I mean I'm...not that there's anything wrong with... I'm just not..."
"Right." John nodded quickly. He observed Potter looking away quickly, and just the hint of a blush creeping into his cheeks. 'Yeah, I just bet you're not.' Of course, John's deductions weren't always correct. In fact, as Sherlock just loved pointing out, they were hardly ever correct. He had a good feeling about this one though, but for now, decided to keep his mouth shut.
The two men sat in a somewhat awkward silence for a few minutes, while John finished his tea. Deciding to be the one to break it, John cleared his throat.
"You don't have some sort of magical disguise, or something do you?" John asked. "Or non-magical. I don't know maybe a wig, or a stick-on mustache." He added.
"Uh, well, yes. I've had to forage for supplies more than a few times. I think I'm rather decent at the "disguise" type of magic." Harry answered.
"Brilliant. Fancy a pint?" John asked lightly. Sherlock had asked him, when Harry first moved into the flat, to attempt to befriend the wizard. Sherlock was well aware that some of his personality traits weren't exactly winning. At least he was making an effort, John thought.
Harry looked like he was about to refuse, but then looked about the living room. Particularly, he looked with distaste at the chemistry tome he'd been trying to muddle through. Probably deciding that there wasn't much else going on, he agreed.
"Sure." Harry finally conceded, standing up. "I'll go put on my er...disguise then."
A few minutes later, a paunchy older man with silver hair, a well trimmed beard, and piercing blue eyes exited the bathroom. John was stunned, and almost went into panic mode, until he realized he was wearing Potter's clothes. Oh right, the disguise. Now that he looked, very carefully, he could see Harry's features, just warped and distorted.
"It's not much good against wizards, or really anyone that knows what they're looking for. But if we're just going out to muggle London it should do." Harry, the old man, said in an offhand manner. John wholeheartedly agreed. He didn't think anyone would recognize Potter the 'terrorist' like this.
Just before they left 221B, Harry stopped.
"I almost forgot." He waved his wand over his clothes. The coat-like robe he'd been wearing had swiftly turned into a normal-ish looking jumper and jacket combo. Granted it was the same color, and the same strange material, but it would do, John thought. Harry appeared to have thought the same, and they left 221B together.
…
"Yes. I thought we'd both rather have this discussion in private, Mr. Holmes." Hermione had a triumphant smirk on, as Sherlock snapped back. Uttering a few quiet curses, he ripped the stupid scarf of his throat. And he had really worked it up for that accent…
"Please don't be upset." Hermione said in a genuinely concerned tone. "I knew you looked familiar from the moment I saw you. I was trying to put your face with a name. It took me a some time, but when I finally did, I couldn't pass up the chance to have lunch with the famous Sherlock Holmes!" Hermione said. Obviously she was excited to be in his company. Well, that was something at least, thought Sherlock.
"How could you know who I am? I thought wizards were woefully oblivious of goings-on in the muggle world?" Sherlock asked.
"They are, typically." Hermione agreed. "But my parents are muggles, and they've put me on to your friend's blog. Where he writes about all of your cases? It's Dr. John Watson, isn't it?" Oh, the blog, of course. The root and cause of all the woe in Sherlock's life. Hermione kept talking.
"Anyway, they thought it was the sort of thing that would be right up my alley, and they were right. I'm a big fan, Mr. Holmes." Hermione finished. The butter beers arrived, and she opened hers and began taking little sips. Sherlock gave the waitress a dirty glare as she retreated. The seemed to amuse the woman across from him, and she giggled a bit.
"So. Aren't you going to turn me in to your Ministry? I thought they had some laws about us muggles not being in the know." Sherlock asked. He tried to keep the nastiness out of his tone as much as possible, but he was very disappointed. Mostly in himself, of course.
"No, I'm not." Replied Hermione in a very serious manner. "I probably should, considering I work for 'them.' Oh well, they'll get over it." She added, in a much lighter tone.
"And why not?" Sherlock asked, in a much nicer manner. If she truly didn't intend to turn him in, this might work out to his benefit.
"Well, a few reasons. One, I assume, from what I know of you through the blog, that you would be able to deduce the existence of magic again..." Quite right, Sherlock agreed. In fact, he'd figure it all out again as soon as he got home. But Ms. Granger needn't know that.
"And two, because you're probably on one of your cases. And who am I to obstruct the path of justice. That is, if you really are who the blog says you are..." Hermione let that sentence run into a question. Oh, I see, thought Sherlock. She wants a demonstration. Well, Sherlock was just delighted to oblige.
"You're quite right on all counts. Hmm, so was your ex-husband Polish or Bulgarian?" Sherlock still couldn't decide between the two. Hermione smiled.
"Bulgarian. I must say the accent was spot on. You even mispronounced my name the way he used to." Sherlock nodded in agreement. His accent was spot on, thank you for noticing. But he had a few more deductions for Ms. Granger.
"You've just came back from a stressful work meeting, when you met me. You work a government job, which you dislike. Your previous occupation was much more satisfying, and was a more ...research oriented career. I quite agree, even in the magical government, I'm sure nothing is duller than politicians. You miss your one daughter immensely, and she is coming home soon from her boarding school. You have a ginger cat that you've bought in the last five years, probably as a replacement for another cat. You've had a string of lovers since your divorce that were all very unsatisfying. The last one must have ended badly, and the waitress, Parvati I think, keeps wanting to bring it up. She assumes, by the way, that you're cheating on him with me, and will probably tell him if she has the opportunity. Speaking of which, you are attracted to me, and despite my status as a muggle, hope to interest me romantically. Flattering by the way, but no thank you. Oh, and you're a vegetarian." Sherlock finished.
Hermione's eyes were wide as dinner plates. Yes, definitely floored, Sherlock thought. He smirked proudly.
"Was that everything? I sometimes get one or two things off." He drawled. Hermione shook her head.
"No, that was all... that was all true. I mean that was brilliant, really..."
"It's quite alright, I'm well aware." Sherlock cut her off. He knew how amazing he was. Right now, what he needed from this woman wasn't compliments but information. Sherlock decided to be try and be civil.
"You ought to order, since you're hungry." Sherlock added. Hermione was still looking at him with wide-eyed astonishment.
"Yeah, I suppose I will. Do you want...?" Sherlock refused with a curt shake of his head. The waitress came over again and Hermione placed her order.
"So, what bring you to Diagon Alley? Are you working on a case, Mr Holmes?"
Sherlock quickly constructed the story he would tell Hermione. Obviously, he couldn't let her in on the fact that a highly wanted wizard was currently living with him. But he could certainly illuminate some of the details for her. She would be much more helpful that way.
"Yes, as a matter of fact I am, Ms. Granger. I was to Surrey to assist on the most curious crime scene..." Hermione's face visibly darkened. Good. So she was familiar.
"If you're talking about the Dursley murder, you should know there's already a suspect..." Hermione started.
"Potter? No, I don't think so. Though, the thought did cross my mind." And was just as quickly discarded. Really, for anyone who saw the scene, it should be obvious that Harry had zero involvement in it, Sherlock thought.
Hermione looked like she was trying to hide the fact that she was very upset. Why would she care, Sherlock wondered.
"Did you know him, Ms. Granger?" Sherlock asked. Hermione looked at him, and took her time answering.
"It's no great secret that me and Harry Potter were very friendly. We went to school together." Sherlock examined her clenched right hand, and heightened breathing.
He very much doubted that 'friendly' described their relationship appropriately. If he was seeing things correctly, than they used to share a very intimate relationship. His first guess would be lovers. For some reason, Sherlock felt decidedly not good about that. This woman, with her cat-like, predatory smile wasn't what Harry needed. So he settled on 'they must have been very good friends,' and hoped he was right.
Hermione seemed to be suddenly struck by a thought.
"You're not going to go chasing after him, are you?" She asked him, with a frightened tremor. Already caught him, thank you very much, Sherlock thought with satisfaction. Before he had a chance to answer, Hermione continued.
"Mr. Holmes, I must caution you against this. Harry Potter is probably the most dangerous wizard in Britain. He's very powerful magically, you see. And well..." She seemed to hesitate saying this. "And I'm not sure he's in his right mind." I distinctly guilty look crossed her face.
"He's lived a very difficult life. It'd make anyone unstable, I think. The point is, he has a considerable amount of magic at his disposal, and more than enough combat experience. He'd be the last wizard I would want to face in duel..." Hermione didn't seem finished, but she fell quiet and looked away, in what Sherlock could swear was shame.
Sherlock, on the other hand, was just trying as hard as he could not to laugh. Yes, Harry Potter, the murderous nutter who makes him tea, and has a fondness for Indian take-out. The most dangerous wizard in Britain taking care of stray cats, and helping Mrs. Hudson with the cleaning. Spot on.
"May I share something with you, Ms. Granger?" Sherlock asked, still holding back the chuckles. She looked up at him.
"I don't believe that Harry Potter was responsible for the Dursley murder." Hermione looked taken aback. She opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure in what to say.
"Are you very sure?" She finally asked.
"Yes. I've never been more positive. There was plenty of motive however, which is why I'm assuming he is the prime suspect." Sherlock answered. Hermione fell silent, thinking about this. Her food came, brought by the same Indian girl. She looked at the plate in front of her, with an obvious lack of appetite. She slowly picked up her fork and began to prod it this, way and that.
"It's just that, I don't know who else could have killed those people. They had no ties to our world besides Potter. It doesn't make sense..." She said, more to herself, as she was still looking down in her plate. Sherlock decided to take the questions in a different direction.
"This Potter, he's been on the run for awhile now?"
"Yes. Nearly fifteen years now." Hermione answered. Her voice adopted a hollow, dead quality.
"And the initial crime he was charged with...?" Sherlock really did need more details on this case he was supposed to be solving. Hermione sighed heavily, before answering.
"It was about two years after the war ended. Do you know much about the wizarding war?" Hermione asked.
Sherlock inclined his head to the side. "Not very much, but enough. Continue, please."
"Well, Harry had a rough time. That doesn't really describe it, actually. I think the war changed him, and he was so young..." Sherlock got the distinct impression that Hermione was trying to defend her old friend. She wasn't refuting his guilt, however.
"After he defeated Voldemort, he wasn't really the same. Sort of shut himself in this old house, his godfather's house, and never came out. We were all very worried, but I think we all decided he deserved some privacy after everything that happened." Hermione's eyes looked out the window as she spoke. Her food remained untouched, as she was focused wholly on her story.
"The minister at the time, Kingsley, was friendly with him before. We were all friendly since we were all part of the resistance, you see. He invited Harry to this ministry function. It was celebrating the anniversary of Voldemort's defeat. Honestly, none of us really thought he'd show up. Up to that point he'd avoided all publicity events like the plague. But he came..."
Sherlock noticed that the woman's eyes began to water slightly. He supposed she must still have some residual emotional ties to Harry. The thought that they might have been lovers crossed his mind again, and his stomach roiled. 'Odd,' he thought. 'Why would I care?' Nonetheless, he had to mentally reassure himself that there relationship was probably just platonic, as Hermione continued her story.
"But he came, and it was a surprise. I...I noticed there was something off right away. He had this intense look in his eyes, like he was on a mission of some sort. Up until then, his eyes looked sort of...empty. Like he didn't really care much about anything. I remember the first thing he did was go talk to Ron. He was a good friend of ours, you see. I lost track of him then, but I guess he talked to a few more people. They testified later. I was a little annoyed then, because it seemed like he was deliberately avoiding me..." Hermione let out a bitter chuckle.
"So I kept on my way, enjoying the party. Suddenly I heard screams coming from the far end of the hall. Everyone heard them, and the whole ballroom started running. I remember Ron and I ran towards it though, our wands out." She paused and took a deep breath here. Sherlock wished she'd get on with it. He was utterly enthralled by her story.
"We ran to this small hallway, where the screams were coming from. Harry was there, and he was standing over six dead bodies. One of them was Kingsely Shaklebolt. The only other one I knew was Hestia Jones. They were both...they were very good people. They didn't deserve to die then. I didn't know the other four personally, I don't even remember their names, anymore..." Hermione had stopped talking, and was looking away.
"Did they capture him right then?" Sherlock asked.
"No. He had a broom with him. It's odd, I remember he wobbled a bit when he first got on. Harry was usually so graceful on his broom. The ministry is underground of course, but he flew out to the upper stories and escaped before anyone could catch up. We were unprepared. It was so peaceful after the war, no one thought anything like that would happen. Especially for Harry to do something like that..."
"But he was captured?" Sherlock pressed on.
"Yes. That same day actually. He didn't even try to run or hide. We found him in his house, Grimmauld place. I think he was playing chess with his house elf when we got there..." Hermione was leaning her head on her elbow, and slowly dragging her fork across a full plate of food.
Sherlock needed to think long and hard about everything she'd said to him. He could already see some of the holes, but he needed to know more about magic, what it can and can't allow. He needed to find out more about what happened that day. More details, more context. However, it was clear that Hermione was done talking. And if Sherlock kept pushing her, she might stop talking altogether.
Hermione suddenly looked up.
"Mr. Holmes. Er, Sherlock... I really don't think you should try to chase after Harry, especially alone. I don't imagine I could best Harry Potter in duel, but you'll need someone on your side, even if it's just to get you out of danger." She took out her large purse, and fumbled inside it.
"I have a mobile. Believe it or not, wizards still use owls to carry all their messages and I really think muggles are ahead in this area..."
Sherlock thought this was a brilliant idea. He knew he would need Hermione again. And he knew he would have more questions. He happily exchanged phone numbers with her. They then paid for the butter beers and food (which was mostly intact) and left the cozy safety of the cafe. It was evening now, and shadows fell across Diagon Alley. It still seemed like a merry little street, with all the shop-lights and lanterns.
They walked back towards The Leaky Cauldron, as Hermione said she would help Sherlock get out. All in all, she was extraordinarily helpful.
"Hermione, I might need to speak with you again." Sherlock said. She nodded.
"Go ahead and call me. I'm free most evenings." Good, Sherlock thought. He would definitely need her again. She walked him to the brick wall, and opened it again with a tap of her wand. The archway opened and they both stepped through.
"'ll be fine from here." Sherlock said. Hermione seemed on the verge of saying something.
"I hope you find the person who murdered the Dursleys." She said, resigned, as they waved each other good-bye.
…
Sherlock considered the witch, as they parted ways. It would be above useful to have another acquaintance in the wizarding world. On top of that, she can actually go outside without fear of being captured. Yes, he thought, Hermione Granger would be indispensable.
It was brilliant, dumb luck that she also turned out to be so well acquainted with the details of Harry's case. If he intended to make any headway in Harry's case, she would certainly come in handy.
She was somewhat attracted to him, he could tell, although she was trying to disguise it. He wondered if it may be beneficial to play on that attraction, and commence a relationship with her. Sherlock, as always, wasn't interested in the slightest. However, he couldn't deny the usefulness of having a witch in love with him. With a pang, he remembered Janine, and her 'revenge.'
Of course, Janine's newspaper revenge didn't cost him anything. He couldn't care less what the ladies of London thought of his sleeping patterns, or lack thereof. But Sherlock had a feeling that an angry witch might be a formidable adversary.
Especially a witch as clever as Hermione seemed to be. No, he thought, it would be better if they remained platonic. She seemed interested enough in his cases, and would still offer assistance. Although he wanted to know as much about magic as possible, he really didn't want to find out how unpleasant it could be, coming from a woman scorned.
Sherlock was really glad that Harry was staying at 221B. Really, the circumstances couldn't have been planned better. He needed access to a wizard, and here was one that was on the run from the law, and needed a safe place to take cover. It practically bound him to the flat, in Sherlock's opinion.
Having this exact thought, Sherlock entered 221B, and found that it was empty, and his wizard was gone.
...
A/N: So yes, if you read the a/n in the beginning of the chapter, I'm super excited about the 100th review! Yayayay! So in honor of that, I finished up this chapter in like three days. Which also means that well...quality not assured. I was pretty delirious when I proof read it. But I hope it's okay!
Thank you to all the wonderful people who reviewed, especially:
Harriverse
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Fic's Sly Lover
PiptheSnake
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...and many, many others. You guys are the best!
