"THIS is the Form of the Secret Seal of Solomon, wherewith he did bind and seal up the aforesaid Spirits with their legions in the Vessel of Brass"
-S.L. MacGregor Mathers, The Lesser Key of Solomon
...
Ars Goetia
…
It was as pleasant as any summer day in London could be. The heat had not yet become oppressive, and the afternoon felt warm and lovely. Even Sherlock, who usually viewed seasons as nothing but obnoxious temperature changes which sometimes rendered his favorite coat useless, decided it was the right time to take a stroll outside.
So, exiting the apartment block on Holborn road, with Potter in tow, he started making a lazily and circuitous path through central London.
Like everything Sherlock did, the walk had a secondary, and more practical purpose. Sherlock had fully expected Harry to immediately divulge everything he knew about what they had seen in the flat. From the diagram carved into the wooden floor of the woman's bedroom, to the walls which were covered with a dialect Potter had called Goetic. But the wizard remained tight-lipped, and did not say a word as they strolled block after block.
It was an odd trait that the wizard had. Secrets and silence were not something Sherlock was accustomed to in an assistant. And Potter seemed a natural at keeping information to himself. The worst of it was that Sherlock could not easily deduce the wizard's secrets, unlike John, whose only real secret was his middle name, and too easy to discover once Sherlock got a hold of his birth certificate.
"Now that we are out of Lestrade's presence, care to fully explain what we saw in there?" Sherlock began, as politely as he could manage.
"I don't know too much about it, really." Potter answered.
"Let's start with the beginning. What is Goetic? Which group of people speak it?"
"People don't. I already said, it's a language used to communicate with beings which are not human. Sherlock, they would never let us study something like that at our school, and I certainly never picked it up afterwards."
"How do you know about it then?" Sherlock snapped. The wizard was being less than helpful.
"I only know what it looks like, since it is very distinctive…" Harry answered, and Sherlock agreed. He had never seen anything like it, and he considered himself an accomplished linguist. The letters and words he remembered scrawled on the walls, while flowing together in some form of cursive, seemed like they were written backwards.
"And anyway, I don't think we should be having this conversation now." Harry finished, and as though to prove his point, glanced around suspiciously at people passing them by. Sherlock rolled his eyes. The wizard's paranoia was somewhat irritating. He could not fault him, however, since one does not evade the law for a decade by being less than cautious.
Sherlock huffed, and continued walking.
As they walked on Sherlock noticed the smell of cooking food wafting through the street from a small diner, with the doors open, no doubt to attract customers. Sherlock was apathetic to it, since he had already consumed enough nutrients at breakfast to last him until the next day. However he did notice the longing glance Potter gave to the open doors.
Sherlock decided then that he might be able to loosen Potter's silent resolve with food. It had worked with John multiple times. He would notice that sometimes, while working a case, the doctor would get irritable and illogical, for no apparent reason. At first, Sherlock could not make heads or tails of why John could be perfectly happy and energetic one day, and then moody and jumpy a couple days later; but it seemed that a large helping of food generally solved the problem. He had asked Mrs. Hudson about the strange phenomenon, but she had laughed and said something incomprehensible like 'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach,' which Sherlock thought was rather morbid, as he had no intention of vivisecting John to reach any of his organs.
He stopped and turned, grabbing Potter's arm, and walked them into the open doors.
It was only after he had sat them down at a corner booth, some distance away from the other scant patrons, that Sherlock noticed the wizard looking confused.
"Aren't you hungry?" he asked. Potter's expression cleared up, and the wizard smiled at him. Harry nodded, and uttered a quiet 'thanks.'
Sherlock waited until he had ordered food, and was well on the way to consuming most of it, before he recommenced his questioning.
"When I asked you if our case has a connection to your world, you said you didn't thinks so, but it was hard to say. Care to explain what you meant?" Sherlock started.
Potter eyebrows furrowed. He pointed to the plates which Sherlock had ordered and not touched, and asked: "Aren't you going to eat that?"
Sherlock did not think that was a logical follow up to his own question.
"No, all yours." He said and pushed the plates over to Potter.
Sherlock pursed his lips, and began drumming his finger on the table. He had learned from Mycroft that this was an effective way of getting someone to talk, of their own free will.
It worked splendidly. It only took less than a minute for Potter to look uncomfortable, and start talking.
"It's not only people from...uh, our world that have had access to that language." Harry said in hushed tones, as though everyone in the diner was busy eavesdropping. Sherlock scowled in annoyance. There was music pouring from overhead, and a group of three men with beers speaking rather loudly in the middle of the small room.
No one would overhear them, he was sure. To convince Potter he stood up, and slid into the opposite side of the booth, where Harry had to quickly slide over and make room. The two men were sitting closely side by side. This way they could speak quietly, if the wizard absolutely required it. And, a convincing voice whispered to Sherlock, the closeness was also a fortuitous turn of events.
"I'd prefer if you didn't try to censor yourself." Sherlock said with his voice lowered. "You realize that whether or not you tell me anything, I will continue searching for this woman. I'd rather know what I am facing, but I have jumped into situations knowing very little as well." Sherlock said, thinking of his trip to Diagon Alley. He noticed, with glee, that Harry had a guilty expression.
"Right. I'm sorry. I'm supposed to help, aren't I?" Harry said. Sherlock nodded his complete agreement.
"From what I remember, it is uncertain where the language came from, or who discovered it, but it rose to vogue sometime in the 11th century. The beings it was used to communicate with were, more often than not, malevolent. Even though it was considered a magical art, both wizards and muggles had some success talking with them." Harry started speaking quickly, still keeping his voice on the quiet side.
"Anyway, halfway through the 14th century, someone supposedly made a deal with one of those beings. The deal was that the Asker would gain ultimate power, whatever that means. In exchange, the being could be granted access to our world." Harry continued.
"This all seems very vague." Sherlock commented.
"Yes, well, that's because whoever it was that unleashed the being was erased from history by the wizards of the time. Goetic, and all the manuscripts containing it, were made illegal. The majority were destroyed, though obviously, some survived.
"After that, most wizard stayed away from Ars Goetia. It's considered a dark art, and to my knowledge, very few have involved themselves with it since then." Potter finished and resumed eating.
"So these beings are able to grant power to whoever talks to them?" Sherlock asked, with skepticism. The whole story sounded like a spooky tale to frighten wizarding children.
"I think that's the point, yes." Harry answered.
"And very few wizards have attempted to make contact?" Sherlock prodded.
"I don't know of any." Harry shrugged.
"Am I to assume that all wizards are devoid of the desire for power?"
"No, unfortunately not." Harry answered. "But, the beings are difficult, or rather, impossible to control. I think wizards, even the dark ones, have instinctively stayed away from it. That, and no one knows how to properly summon them anymore. Not since Goetic was outlawed."
"And what about non-magicals?" Sherlock asked. After all, Laura Baskey was certainly no witch.
"That's where it gets complicated." Potter started. "I think it was around the turn of the century that a group of muggles found some of the writings. They translated them, and pieced together what they could. One of them, Crowley I think his name was, published the translation. It caused a scandal in the wizarding world, but in the end, no harm came out of it. Once the wizards realized other muggles thought Crowley was just a nutter, they left him alone." Harry finished.
"The translations are published? Where could I find them?" Sherlock asked.
"Probably most well-stocked libraries." Harry shrugged.
"And the wizarding authorities are not concerned about this?"
"No. I guess something essential was lost in what Crowley was able to put together. Like I said, no one's been able to so much as talk to one of the beings since Goetic was originally banned. So, the ministry did not deem it a threat." Harry answered.
Sherlock sat back in silence for a few moments processing everything Harry told him. To his horror, he realized Lestrade's theory sounded more and more convincing. Baskey's daughter could have potentially been involved in a cult that was attempting to revive the dead language, and do… whatever it is it was supposed to do.
"Tell me more about these beings." Sherlock commanded.
"That I really don't know anything else about. Our history is deliberately vague on the subject. I think muggles used to call them demons, though I highly doubt any of them have horns or hooves. Other than that…." Harry shrugged, indicating that he had no more answers for Sherlock.
Sherlock scoffed. Demons, indeed.
"It sounds like the only time this Goetic actually proved useful was right before it was banned." Sherlock said.
"Not sure if useful is the right word." Harry muttered darkly. "The being that was unleashed in the 14th century took the form of rats, millions of them. Rats that carried death."
"Are you talking about the bubonic plague?"
"Well, according to wizarding legends, that's how the black death started."
Sherlock thought at least the wizard was smart enough to admit that the whole thing was historical hearsay. He knew perfectly well that the incident known as the Black Plague was nothing more than a form of the Yersinia pestis bacterium, which had been around much longer than the 14th century.
"You believe that half of Europe died because one of these goetic beings was unleashed, but you're not worried about finding so much of it written on the walls of a flat?" Sherlock asked, with genuine curiosity.
Harry sighed.
"I suppose I have faith that whoever tried to erase it back then kept the secrets well hidden." Harry answered slowly, seemingly unsure of himself.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Something clicked in his head. He thought he understood something about Potter's nature. Before further analysis, Sherlock blurted it out.
"And you, have you kept your secrets well?" Sherlock asked. Harry turned to stare at him with wide eyes.
"That's it, isn't it? You're trying to conceal something from collective knowledge. Something you think is too dangerous for anyone to dabble in…" Sherlock continued. Potter's frightened expression told him he was correct.
"It's scary how you can do that." Potter muttered, looking away.
"Please, legilimency is far superior. That was merely a guess. Though a good one, I assume." Harry merely shrugged, which indicated neither agreement nor disagreement. He was looking out the window blankly, not really seeing the busy street behind the glass.
"If it makes you feel better, I'm sure whatever it is you know will stay hidden, considering that you've led an incredibly reclusive life, and have had no contact from any other wizards." Sherlock added. Not that he cared if Potter felt better or not, of course. But it did cause an odd lurch in his stomach when the wizard turned to him, and smiled.
"I hope so." He said.
…
Sherlock arrived at Baker Street somewhat later than he expected. He had taken a trip to a library, where, like Potter said, he was able to find a wealth of information on the Ars Goetia. He was excited at first, but that excitement quickly soured into disappointment as he glanced through the books. It all looked like New Age mumbo-jumbo to Sherlock, more fantasy than history; and certainly none of it fact. Demons, dead kings, and invocations, which sounded like a non-magical buffoon attempting to recreate the linguistic power latent in spells. Sherlock thought it was closer to bad poetry.
Potter glanced through the books as well, though he found it more entertaining than Sherlock. But then again, the wizard was not above enjoying fiction, unlike Sherlock, who thought it was a waste of time.
Evening was drawing on when Sherlock got two texts at the same time. One was from Mycroft, reminding Sherlock snidely that their uncle Rudy will expect to see his nephews soon, and that Sherlock better be investigating away on Potter's behalf. Sherlock committed the first part to memory, as Rudy had been his favorite relative growing up.
The other was from Hermione Granger, and the tone was as snide as Mycroft's, and for a second Sherlock had the fleeting impression that the two were working together. 'Are you going to stand me up again, Mr. Holmes?' Her text had read. Sherlock quickly checked the time. 19:36. It appears he had, though quite by accident.
He scrolled through his phone until he found her address, which she had sent to him in a timely manner, after their last conversation. It was on the outskirts of London, which would be a long journey by cab. He almost requested that Potter apparate him there, but of course, though it would be very convenient time and travel-wise, if the two magicals were to meet before Sherlock could explain the situation, the outcome could be disastrous.
Groaning to himself, Sherlock made his excuses to Potter, and was out the door and hailing a cab.
…
Granger owned a tidy townhouse, among a sea of townhouses.
He did not feel any sudden and inexplicable urge to run elsewhere, like he had with Harry's hide-out. He supposed that he might not be the only non-magical guest which Hermione Granger would have.
He knocked on the door, and Hermione was there in less than five seconds, greeting him warmly and ushering him through to a small sitting room. He made special note of her shoes, which had a smart, short heel, and were rather scuffed. She also had scratches on her right hand. Cat scratches, if Sherlock had to guess.
"I'm very glad you came, Mr. Holmes. I was almost convinced that I would not see you again; but I was, and am, certainly willing to pay you for investigating the Surrey case, if that is what you wish..." She began speaking, but Sherlock interrupted.
"No need." He took a second to look around, and found himself annoyed at the lack of magicalness in Granger home. If he did not know better, he would have never guessed this woman was a witch.
"I had thought that wizards and witches would live in more eccentric accommodations." He commented.
"I have many muggle acquaintances. I had thought you are more used to taking clients in your own flat?" She countered. Indeed, he was. Though, just right now there happened to be a wizarding fugitive there, probably making tea and watching telly with Mrs. Hudson.
"I was curious as to what a witch's home might look like." Sherlock answered easily. It was not even really a lie.
"I hate to disappoint you with the lack of bubbling cauldrons and missing children." She shrugged. Sherlock chuckled.
"Potions aren't your forte?" He countered.
"They're certainly not my weakness." Granger answered, "I just don't enjoy working at home. You never get the stench of potion fumes out of the upholstery." She sat in one of the armchairs, and delicately motioned for Sherlock to also sit himself, across from herself.
"Could I trouble you for tea, or coffee, perhaps?" Sherlock asked, not really interested in any beverage. He merely wanted to see what the rest of Granger's house might look like.
"Certainly, how rude of me not to offer. Which is it?" Granger asked.
"Er…"
"Coffee, or tea?" She asked.
"Tea." Sherlock answered with confusion, since Granger remained sitting squarely in her chair. She took out her wand, which Sherlock noticed was slimmer and longer than Harry's, and gave it a complicated twirl pointing it over her shoulder. A tray came floating out of what Sherlock could only assume was the kitchen, and began serving two cups of tea. Granger gingerly took her cup from mid-air, where the plate remained floating. His own had floated towards the other armchair. Sherlock sat himself down as well, accepting that he might have to postpone exploring the witch's house.
"So, what happened in Surrey-" Hermione began. Sherlock had to admit she was difficult to get off track. "Have you been able to find anything else? When we spoke last, you said you did not believe Potter to be responsible, and I was hoping that you have made some headway in finding who the true perpetrator was." She said, wringing her hands. Sherlock, however, was not ready to jump into the subject.
"Very little headway, unfortunately. Other cases got in the way. Don't you have an offspring that's supposed to be home?" Sherlock said, remembering his initial deductions at Diagon Alley.
"Yes. A daughter. She's with her father." Granger answered quickly.
"Very interesting. You did not wish to have her here?" Sherlock was intrigued by this little detail. Something was off.
"What does my daughter have to with anything?" Granger asked, her voice icy.
There were bookshelves lining the walls of the entire study. Among thick and ponderous tomes concerning law, Sherlock spotted young adult books, neatly placed among the others. In fact, he also noticed children's books, which have not been touched in years, though carefully kept with the rest. He pursed his lips. He wondered what it was that had made Granger send her girl away.
"Possibly nothing. What were you asking?" Sherlock said, as he noticed Hermione giving him a suspicious glare.
"The Surrey case, you have gotten no closer to finding the culprit…?" She began.
"The Surrey case is irrelevant." Sherlock said with a bored tone.
"Mr. Holmes, two people were murdered in cold blood, in their own home. Two people who happen to be the only living relations of Harry Potter."
"Yes, you see that's just it. The frame job is so obvious, you'd have to be an idiot to not see it." Sherlock said.
"I am not one of the aurors that have investigated the case, but they are professionals, and they seem to think it's quite clear Harry Potter is responsible, so I don't see…" Hermione's icy tone was giving way to confusion, which suited Sherlock just fine.
"But you don't think he did it. May I ask why?" Sherlock said.
"You didn't think so either! Or have you changed your mind?"
"It doesn't matter what I think. I'd rather hear why you think Potter did or did not murder his dear aunt and uncle." Sherlock was unable to remain sitting. He jumped up and paced in front of the bookshelves, casting a cursory glance at the titles. He had hoped Granger would work it out faster.
He heard her suck in her breath, and for a few seconds she said nothing. Sherlock thought it looked like she was trying to control her temper.
"It doesn't matter what I think, either." Hermione said.
"I'd rather hear it anyway."
"I-" Granger hesitated, "I was not there. I don't know who murdered the Dursleys, I have very little information about the crime, and I don't wish to form an opinion with no information." Hermione said mechanically.
"Ugh, don't be so boring." Sherlock muttered. Hermione looked scandalized, but he pressed on.
"The Dursleys have no connection to the magical world, yet they were clearly murdered by a wizard. I was there, and can tell you that the two were victims of the killing curse. The perpetrator apparated in, killed the man first. Then, the woman, who was hiding in the bathroom, with the door locked. He did not touch anything else in their house. He did not visit any other rooms. It was cold, and impersonal. When the killer was done, he simply apparated out." Sherlock rambled off. He could picture number 4 Privet Drive as clearly as though he was still there.
"Now that you have some information, do you think Potter was the one to murder his relatives?" Sherlock turned to Hermione, who was attempting to keep her face blank.
"I don't know." She said simply.
"Yes you do. You've always known, but you're doubting yourself. Or, you simply don't want to reveal it to me. I must remind you, we are on the same team." Sherlock spoke, hardly noticing that he was pacing.
"The truth of the matter is that considering the method of murder, we have very little evidence from how the crime was perpetrated. The killer left nothing in the house but corpses, and they can't very well tell us who it was. This leaves us only the question of why. Once we figure out why someone would have wanted the Dursleys dead, we can figure out the culprit." Sherlock continued. He was hoping that Granger, being moderately clever, might pick up on what he was trying to communicate.
"So, then, why were the Dursleys murdered?" Sherlock asked, half rhetorical, half expecting Hermione's answer. She rose to the occasion.
"The official report states that Harry Potter had troubles with his relatives beginning at an early age. There are documented instances of him using magic to harm one of them, though it was accidental magic, and the hex was easily reversed. There are also documented complaints of maltreatment which were filed against the Dursleys by parties which were concerned for Harry Potter's safety. This is, of course, ancient history…" Hermione recited all this as though she were reading it from a brief in front of her.
"Indeed? 'Concerned parties?' Might you know these parties Ms. Granger?" Sherlock asked. This information did not surprise him. He remembered the smallest bedroom in the little house, which had, at one point, metal bars installed on the window. He also saw the clear signs in the molding around the window, that someone had forcibly removed the bars, by sheer force. Someone was in the know about how the Dursleys treated their wizarding charge, so a child abuse complaint was not unexpected.
"I'm afraid I don't." Hermione answered, with a slight twitch of her hands.
"Liar." Sherlock stated, "Though it's irrelevant. So, considering everything you've said, it leaves the why quite obvious, no? It had to have been Potter who murdered his relatives. A simple matter of revenge, yes?" Sherlock asked again, hoping that Granger would pick up the bait.
"It appears so." She said, turning pale and clutching her hands. Sherlock scoffed.
"You know very well that's not what happened. Why do you insist on being so obtuse? Or rather, acting obtuse." Sherlock said, with growing irritation.
"Let's go with that theory. Let's imagine Potter, coming back years later to murder his adopted family. Do you think he would have said a little spell, and left, on the spot, without disturbing anything? Does that sound like revenge?" Sherlock was no longer asking rhetorically.
"I don't think he would have murdered anyone at all!" Hermione bit out. She looked like she immediately regretted that outburst.
"Of course you don't. You're more observant and clever than the average idiot, and you were gracious enough to point out the inconsistencies in that original crime, the one in 1999 wasn't it? Different gait, difficulty mounting a broom, etc. You don't think Potter was responsible for any of it, which is probably why you have tried so hard to contact me." Sherlock finished.
"I didn't realize I was being so obvious." Hermione said, her tone still icy.
"No need to worry yourself. Practically everyone is." He answered. "So, the question really is why someone, more specifically a wizard, would murder Potter's relatives?" Sherlock asked aloud.
"Because everyone would assume it was Harry." Hermione said.
"Right. But Potter is already wanted. Surely he wouldn't be any more wanted? If, hypothetically, Potter were caught in the time between his escape from prison and the Dursleys' murder, he would have gone straight to prison. Would they have even given him another trial?" Sherlock rounded back on Hermione.
"No. If he were caught, I believe that the official procedure would be to immediately call for dementors and have them administer the kiss." Hermione answered sadly. Sherlock's eyebrows climbed up of their own accord. He did not know this. He understood that dementors were non-human guards of the wizard prison Azkaban. Judging by the few times he's mentioned it to Potter, and the nervous way the wizard spoke of them, dementors were highly unpleasant creatures. He also understood that the kiss was some form of execution used by wizards for their worst criminals.
"Would you mind very much to explaining exactly what this kiss is? The more information I have about your world the better." Sherlock said. Hermione looked very uncomfortable.
"It's… rather barbaric. The dementor... Well, the exact process has not been studied extensively, which is ridiculous considering we still use the kiss, and no one should have to undergo that when the authorities don't even exactly know what happens…." Hermione started to ramble. She stopped abruptly, and continued in a much more concise manner, for which Sherlock was grateful.
"The dementor lowers its hood, and it is thought that the creature is able to suck the soul out of a human victim. What happens to the soul after this act is still in question, though some think that the soul resides with the dementor while the body remains alive. Once the body dies, the soul would, theoretically move on. But again, this is all theory. After this, the victim, if he or she remains living, is catatonic. It's similar to a muggle lobotomy. Of course, the muggles have mostly done away with that repugnant practice." Hermione finished. Sherlock sensed that the use of dementors has been something that the witch has involved herself in politically. Though, judging by her frustration, she has had little success.
Sherlock was rather disturbed by this. If Harry were to ever be caught, he would be ...kissed immediately? What sort of system worked like that? What if new evidence were to surface which would, rightfully, exonerate Potter? Sherlock froze, and a horrible image floated to the forefront of his mind. He saw himself entering his house on Baker street, and finding Harry sitting slumped over on the floor, drooling and staring aimlessly at the ground. Sherlock had to shake himself in order to dispel the image. Irrationally he almost dashed to Hermione's door and ran back to Baker street, to make sure it was only his imagination. He controlled himself, of course, but the thought still frightened him.
"It's horrible, isn't it?" Sherlock was almost surprised to hear Hermione's small whisper.
"Yes. Does this happen to all criminals?" He asked.
"Only those that have escaped Azkaban." Hermione answered. Sherlock made a note to ask Harry how exactly he did escape the wizarding prison.
"I believe we were on the subject of motive, in regards to the Dursley murder." Sherlock said.
"Yes, so if you don't think it was Harry, who do you think it was?" Hermione asked, demurely.
"Unfortunately, Ms, Granger, you're the only magical person I know. Since the murder weapon was almost certainly magic, my list of suspects is very short." Sherlock replied, sardonically.
Granger grew pale suddenly.
"No, not you." Sherlock snapped. "But if you would like me on the case, I will need a large amount of help from you. I am, you must understand, rather limited in my capabilities. I can hardly access the magical world without some assistance." Sherlock said. He had Harry too, but the wizard was just as limited as Sherlock.
"Of course. Anything you need. Only…" Hermione hesitated.
"Yes?"
"I'm not exactly sure which case we are talking about." She said timidly.
"They are one and the same. I believe if we find the culprit of the Dursley murder, he will lead us to the culprit of the murders that took place in '99. Or, vice versa."
"So you don't think Potter was responsible?" She asked, her timidity disappearing suddenly. Before Sherlock could answer, she spoke again.
"But you have no evidence, and very little information about what happened in '99. All you have is my testimony, which is subjective, considering I was friends with Harry. I even told you this. Are you saying you're basing your whole conclusion of the fact that the Dursley murder was likely not committed by Potter?" Granger had a point. Of course, she didn't know that Harry was currently living with Sherlock. But even then, what evidence did he really have that Potter had not murdered anyone. Besides knowing that the wizard was definitely not cold-blooded psychopath material, very little, thought Sherlock.
"I don't always feel the need to explain my deductions." Sherlock answered simply. Hermione still eyed him suspiciously. She was not the type to trust quickly, Sherlock supposed.
"You were there, at the scene of the crime, and then at the trial? You're also moderately intelligent, and observant. You don't think he did it, and don't bother denying it. For now, this is all I have. I am working off guesswork, it's true. And, if you promise not to tell anyone, I have been wrong before. But we will not know either way until we thoroughly examine the case." Sherlock said, in as friendly a manner as he could manage. Hermione seemed mollified.
"I will help in anyway I can. I want to find the truth." She said, solemnly, as though she were making a legal commitment to Sherlock.
"Excellent! The first thing I will need is access to the building in which the murders took place. I will also need, if you are able to obtain it, a list of every ministry employee in the year 1999; as comprehensive a list as possible, though I admit this might be difficult for you to acquire. It's advantageous that you work there." As Sherlock spoke, he carefully watched Hermione. He was expecting her to argue, or say that this was too much work for her, or that these records were impossible to find. She did not do any of that. Instead, to his surprise, she twirled her wand, and a little, bound journal zoomed to her. She began to scratch in it.
"It will be necessary to keep what we are doing secret. I believe that the person we are looking for works in the ministry, and alerting him or her to our efforts will be a major hindrance." Sherlock said, looking at the journal.
Hermione seemed to understand what he was saying.
"I won't leave it laying around." She said, pointing to the little book.
"Fine." Sherlock said. "I will also need a current list of every employee in the ministry. Judging by the total wizarding population in Britain, I would estimate that the ministry employs less than three hundred people. Is this correct?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes, I know it's roughly two hundred eighty, though the number constantly changes." Hermione answered briskly, as she continued to jot things down in her journal.
"It has barely been a month since the Surrey incident. I admit, I was slow to take the case up, but I am confident we will still find what I need. From the last two months, I will need a separate list of all ministry personnel that have either taken a leave of absence, were fired, quit, injured in the line of duty, or that have just stopped showing up. Pay specific attention to the auror department. If there have been any aurors recently that have been in any way indisposed, I will need full details…" Sherlock stopped talking when he noticed that Hermione had stopped writing and was looking up at him.
"You know of one?" He asked. Hermione nodded.
"A senior auror was poisoned, only a week ago. Do you think it could be related?" She asked.
"It's possible. Is he still alive?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes, but...he's not conscious. The healers are not sure when he'll recover."
"You knew him personally?" Sherlock asked, noticing the way Hermione's voice changed when she talked about the injured auror.
"Yes. I know him very well." She answered.
"Will you able to find out what he was working on before his mishap?"
"I will try." She scratched something in her book, then stopped. Biting her lip, she looked up at Sherlock, a question in her eyes.
"What you are asking for is all classified information. I would be breaking many laws, not the least of which is the International Statute of Secrecy. How do I know I can trust you?" She asked, though it seemed the question was for herself, rather than Sherlock.
"I'm not sure I care whether you trust me or not. The fact of the matter is that I cannot get anywhere without your help. I take cases because solving them is what I like to do. It is my passion. I also like to see justice being done. I assume you want me to solve this case because you want to see your old friend proven innocent. I don't see a conflict of interests." Sherlock said. He was pacing up and down, the length of the little sitting room. His eyes were focused on the bookshelves, and he was reading the titles. The conversation with Granger was only taking a small portion of his thinking capacity, and he was at risk of growing completely indifferent to her moral dilemmas. He noticed one title that was familiar to him: London's Noble Districts. Its subject was curiously out of place among the others.
"If Harry is guilty...I don't- I wouldn't want to see him kissed." She admitted.
"I don't believe either of us have the intention of trying to chase after Potter…" Sherlock noticed Hermione's hand twitch. So she did want to chase Potter, he thought. He wondered what she would do with him if she found Harry. Nothing bad surely.
"I did say I have been wrong before-" Sherlock said, thinking unpleasantly of Magnussen, and what that error had almost cost him, "but I can assure that it is an incredibly infrequent occurrence. So far, everything I know about this case points to Potter being innocent." Sherlock stated.
"However, I usually require full cooperation from clients." Sherlock pointedly added.
"Yes, of course." Hermione said briskly, though Sherlock thought she might not be completely settled on the trusting him issue. This irritated Sherlock. He needed Granger. He hated when he needed other people in order to do his work.
"You sent your daughter to live with her father for the summer-" Sherlock began. He heard Hermione groan.
"Why are we back to this?" She asked, more exasperated than angry this time.
"Because it's relevant, isn't it?" Sherlock asked, in an offhand manner. He could imagine that the child was dear to Granger, and sending her away was no small decision. She was a mother, and she sensed danger.
"I assure you, it's not." She snapped. Sherlock chuckled.
"If I had to make a guess, I would say you've been trying to find Potter yourself." He said.
"I haven't-" She began, but Sherlock could tell he had guessed right.
"Since the Dursley murder. You've been putting all your extra hours into it, in fact. Has it payed off? Do you have any leads?" Sherlock asked, with feigned curiosity.
"You have no proof-" She began, but again, Sherlock cut her off.
"I don't need proof. This is hardly a court case." All he needed was to see her shoes and the worn book in the corner of the bookshelf, to know that Hermione had come very close to having Harry to herself. London's Noble Districts conveniently had a very detailed map of a certain historic neighborhood. He had searched through the book himself when he was looking at the map of old Archer Street, where Harry had been hiding.
Granger had a bemused expression on her face.
"It's going to be hard to keep anything from you, Mr. Holmes." She said.
"Then why bother?" Sherlock asked, going through the rest of the titles more carefully. Since the witch would not admit him to the rest of her house, this was the only source of deductions available to him. He would make good use of it, he decided.
"I suppose I shouldn't." She said. "I think I found where Harry had been hiding. But he wasn't there anymore. Not for a couple of weeks, as far as I can tell." She admitted. Sherlock was fairly impressed by the witch's detective work. She was a month behind him, but still. He almost asked her if the white cat that lived there had scratched her, but restrained himself. As far as she knew, he had never been at the Archer house.
"What would you have done, if you had found him?" He asked.
"I don't know. I don't think I could have turned him in, to be honest." She said.
Sherlock nodded. He noticed a tiny book, barely visible between two larger tomes. The title was Essences and Vessels. It did not seem like the kind of reading Granger would be interested in. He decided to look closer.
"I think that's generally a good idea. If you were to, hypothetically, find Potter, I think the information we could get from him would be more valuable if- WHAT!?" Sherlock couldn't contain his outburst as he picked up the slim book, and read the author's name.
"I mean, er, what is this about?" he tried to recover. He held up Essences and Vessels to Hermione.
"Mr. Holmes, you really are quite strange…" She said, as she stood and came over to look at the what he had found. "And observant. I think that's the only magical book in this entire bookshelf. It doesn't howl or move like some of them, but still. It's a treatise on souls. Mostly it deals with the subject of damaging and healing souls. Incidentally, you can find answers to your earlier question about dementors and the kiss inside there. Or at least, the author's opinion on it." She said.
"And do you know much about this author?" Sherlock asked her. He did not know whether he found all this very funny or very irritating.
"No, I'm afraid I don't." she said simply.
"Would you mind if I borrowed it?" Sherlock asked, but he was already putting the slim volume into his coat.
"Not at all." She answered with amusement.
"Thank you." Sherlock said. He felt that at this point it was best to leave Hermione to finish the tasks he had given her.
"I will be in contact. My full attention is on this case, as of now. When you acquire any of the information I have asked for-" Sherlock started.
"I'll let you know immediately." Hermione finished for him.
…
She walked him to the door. There was already a cab waiting for Sherlock outside, which was lucky, as it had started to rain.
Once seated in the cab, Sherlock took out the slim book he had taken from Hermione. It had a plain paper cover, white and glossy. The title, Essences and Vessels, was written in gray letters across the middle, and the bottom held the author's name: Allen Dore. Sherlock rolled his eyes. For how paranoid Harry seemed to be, he really ought to have thought of a different pseudonym for when he assisted Sherlock on cases.
Sherlock paged through the book, until he came to page usually reserved for the author's biography. There was a letter from the publishers there. It stated what Sherlock already guessed, that Allen Dore was a Nom De Plum, and the author chose to remain anonymous. 'All proceeds from the sale of Essences and Vessels go to the Victims of War Charity, as requested by the author.'
Sherlock tucked the book securely into his coat. It would raise too many questions with Potter if he were to find Sherlock in possession of it.
It will be very complicated working this case with Harry and Hermione, he thought. He would have to walk a thin line between the wizard and witch, without letting either know about each other. Sherlock was confident that he could manage, but it might be easier if they could all combine their efforts.
Now, with Granger in the picture, and Mycroft's threat hanging over his head, Sherlock knew that it was only a matter of time before Harry's case was solved. The thought did not make him happy, however.
All he could see is Harry walking away from him, once he was free to do as he pleased. Perhaps he would get married, like John. Him and Hermione appeared to have a history. Hermione's help with exonerating him could certainly kindle a silliest and most illogical things could sometimes make people fall in love.
Sherlock wondered if he would ever have a reliable partner. One that did not need another person in their life to feel complete. He wondered if there was anyone else like him, or if his solitary status would eventually become permanent.
Being alone had never really bothered Sherlock. Not until John, anyway. It was, well, nice, to have someone to share his work with. Harry had seemed like a competent assistant. And more, a voice whispered in his head.
Perhaps, there is a way to make Harry stay at Baker street, the voice continued. Sherlock considered this. John had left, because he found Mary. He could not fault either of them. He could see how much they needed each other. But what if, what if he could make Potter need him in the same way? His mind automatically shied away from thinking too much about this.
…
When he got back to his flat, he found Harry was still up, and engrossed in a very serious conversation with Mrs. Hudson.
"Yes dear, but the wind is really frightful sometimes. It's really not very good for the flowers. Especially the petunias. They need shelter, but also sunlight, so you see I'm in a bit of a pickle…" Mrs. Hudson was saying.
Harry caught sight of him, smiled, and said good evening. Sherlock felt the now familiar tug in his chest, and he thought it was getting harder and harder to ignore it. Again, a voice whispered that it might be important to keep the wizard with him. Sherlock was one of the smartest people alive. Surely he could figure out how.
Trying to pay little heed to the traitorous whispers, Sherlock said goodnight to his flat mate, and went to bed.
...
They were sitting side by side in a restaurant booth, but their surroundings were definitely not at the London diner. There was stone all around them, and dark hallways, twisting off into every direction.
"Well, at least you figured it out. Why you were acting so strange around me" Potter said.
"It did take me an embarrassingly long time." Sherlock could admit this. It was his dream after all.
"You're just not used to considering that angle." Potter reassured him. "What are you going to do about it?"
"What can I do? It's not like you return the sentiment." Sherlock answered.
"Don't I?" Potter said, with some surprise.
"Do you?" Sherlock felt a little flutter of hope.
"I don't know, I'm not the real Potter." Potter said with a shrug.
"Well, what good are you then?" Sherlock answered moodily.
"You're not going to just ignore it, are you?" Harry asked, with worry.
"That was the plan, yes."
"You can't." Harry whispered. "Remember. Remember what's at the center of the labyrinth." The lights suddenly dimmed and the stone walls seemed to close in around them.
"You can't just ignore it, Sherlock. Or else we'll never get out of here."
…
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