"You need your Inner Eye tested, if you ask me."

― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Teddy

The June sun was slowly sinking behind the trees, and the ripples on Lake Menteith were glittering gently. Two skinny teenagers were sitting on a rickety pier, which was in danger of being overgrown with reeds. Teddy Lupin splashed the water with his bare feet, while Victoire Weasley was sitting with her legs crossed, like a yogi.

"I really saw it. I don't know why no one believes me." She said with a petulant pout. She would be going into her fifth year of Hogwarts, but Teddy thought she still acted like a complete child.

"Because Vic, if there were really mermaids at the bottom of this lake, your uncles would know about it, don't you think?" They had been having this discussion for hours it seems, and it had not gone anywhere in that time. Both were obstinate, and there was nothing better to do, anyway. The summer holidays seemed to stretch forever in front of them.

Teddy didn't mind the summer's slow and lazy progression. He liked visiting the lake house. He liked the Weasleys. He was always happy to be included in their summer plans.

"There's merpeople at the bottom of the lake in Hogwarts, you know." Victoire stated matter of factly. Teddy fought hard not to roll his eyes.

"Yeah, I know." He said.

"What do you think Hogwarts looks like now, in the summer? There's probably no one there." Vicky said. "I bet it's creepy, with just the ghosts wandering through the halls, and all the rooms are abandoned…" She continued, but Teddy cut her off.

"The teachers stay there over the summer. Some students do, too." He said.

Vicky glared at him.

"And how do you know that?" She demanded. Teddy just shrugged. In truth, he could not, and would not, tell her how he knew.

"Whatever, I bet you're full of it." She said playfully, and jabbed him lightly in the side. Teddy twitched.

"You can believe whatever you want to believe." He said, trying to sound mysterious and wise. Victoire just scoffed.

"Professor McGonagall stays there, and professor Trelawny. Sprout does too, on occasion." Teddy continued. There were also a few students who stayed every summer, but Teddy didn't share their names with Victoire.

"Like you've been there over the summer…" Victoire huffed.

"One does not have to be at a place, to know what is there." Teddy said again in his mock-mysterious tone, that made Victoire giggle. He knew that the young Weasley disliked Trelawny, and thought it hilarious when Teddy made fun of the divinations professor.

"When the veil, that billows like an old warlock's pantaloons, is lifted from your eyes, you shall seeeeee into the great beyond…" Victoire began intoning, in what Teddy thought was a fairly accurate imitation.

"But seriously, how do you know?" Victoire suddenly asked. Teddy didn't say anything and just stared out, over the lake.

"You've never had to stay at Hogwarts over summer have you? Because I'm sure you could come stay with mum and dad. They'd let you if I asked-" Victoire said hurriedly. Teddy looked at her. A blush was spreading through her fair face, and she looked down as she talked.

"No, I never stayed there over the summer." Teddy assured her.

"I knew you were full of it." She replied and aimed another poke at his ribs.

She got up then, and stretched out.

"C'mon. Let's see if they have dinner ready yet. I'm starving." She said.

Teddy got up, too.

"I'll race you back!" Victoire said, and suddenly she was off, running towards the magical house that sat between old beech trees, overlooking the lake. Teddy didn't try particularly hard to outrun her.

When the two teens got back to the lake house, they found Victoire's grandmother laying out dinner for the hungry horde gathered at the lake house. With food taking most of her focus, Victoire seemed to have forgotten all about the conversation she had been having with Teddy.

Teddy and Victoire had been close at Hogwarts, but despite this, he could never share his secret with her. Like for example, how he always seemed to know about every passageway that was hidden in Hogwarts. Or, how he knew about who was there in the summer.

The biggest secret he had was a ragged piece of parchment that Teddy always carried with him, even in the summertime, when it was largely useless.

It was delivered to him on a stormy April morning, that had been his thirteenth birthday. He had woken up to the sound of a sharp rapping on his window pane. At first Teddy thought it was an owl. But when he opened the little window above his bed, a hooded crow, black and grey, rather wet and mangy looking, flew in and settled on his nightstand. It carried a heavy envelope attached to its black leg.

Teddy remember fumbling nervously with the tie, and finally getting the parchment loose. The whole time the crow just sat there and looked at him with unnaturally intelligent eyes.

It was only when his dorm mates started waking up, that the bird hopped on the window sill, and was gone into the rainy, morning gloom.

Teddy wondered who would have sent him mail by crow. He had never heard of crows being used instead of owls, and it had frightened him, initially. The envelope merely had his name, written in black ink. Teddy opened it, and found a blank piece of worn parchment, and a short note:

Teddy,

Perhaps it is a bit late for birthday gifts, but I hope you accept this one. Enclosed is a rather special piece of enchanted parchment. I hope this letter finds you alone, as it would be wise to keep it a secret. It is simple to use. Press your wand to the parchment, and say 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.'

Your father was a rather brilliant student. Together with some friends, they created this map. I've kept it for a very long time, but I believe it is time it was passed to you.

Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail, and Prongs have aided magical troublemakers for two generations now, and it would be a shame to let their achievements be forgotten.

Oh, and Happy Birthday!

Neither the note, nor the envelope carried a signature.

Teddy did just what the note said, and suddenly, the marauder's map was revealed to him. He was amazed by the intricacy of the detail, and the scope of the map.

At first he didn't trust the map's magic. How could this parchment possibly know where everyone was, at all times? That didn't stop him from testing it out though. And sure enough, whenever he spotted footprints on the map, the corresponding witch or wizard would be there. His amazement with the map grew each time he used it.

What was most impressive about the map, or at least for Teddy, was that Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail and Prongs were able, in some sense, to talk. Or rather, write. It had taken him a couple of months to discover this amazing quality.

He had been looking for a shortcut between Divinations and History of Magic, when he spoke his wish aloud to the map. He was talking to himself really, but the map must have heard him. Four distinct handwritings appeared in the middle.

Monsieur Padfoot would like to suggest the path that starts from the tapestry of Alexei the Wicked, and leads to the 2nd floor girl's bathroom.

Monsieur Prongs would like to suggest that Padfoot is a dunderhead who is girl-crazy, and really the best way to approach this is to go through the winding staircase in the Northeast corner, where the two singing suits of armor are.

Monsieur Moony humbly declares that both Prongs and Padfoot are spectacular idiots, and that the shortest way is actually through the main stairwells. Monsieur Moony would suggest simply running.

Monsieur Wormtail is staying out of this one, as he has no idea.

After this discovery, the map became Teddy's most prized possession. It did not take a genius to figure out which one of the marauders was his own father, with a nickname like Moony. There were no enchanted portraits of his parents, and his parents did not stay with him as ghosts, but this small piece of his father was just as good, Teddy reasoned.

On some days Teddy would spend hours talking to the map behind the drawn curtains of his four poster bed. He had learned that in his days at Hogwarts his father was responsible for more mischief than Teddy thought he could brew up in a lifetime. And, in comparison to Padfoot and Prongs, he was the most responsible one.

The marauders would regale him with endless tales of sneaking out, pranks, and other scenes from their young lives. In exchange, Teddy would tell them about his life. It didn't take very long for the four boys, trapped forever in a magical parchment, to catch on that Teddy was actually Remus Lupin's son, and as such, heir to the title of marauder.

Monsieur Padfoot would like to extend his condolences to Monsieur Teddy, as he is sure that Moony would be stricter than McGonagall on a bad day.

Monsieur Moony would entreat Padfoot to shut his canine gap, and ask Teddy to entertain the others with stories of how cool a parent he really is.

Monsieur Prongs will only add that if Teddy's mother is one Lily Evans, that he would wallop Moony so hard, his children (ie Monsieur Teddy) would certainly feel it.

Teddy felt desperately sad then. He couldn't break the news to Moony about what happened to him, and how much he really missed him. So he made up stories, of what he thought his dad might be like, if he had survived fighting against Voldemort.

Grateful for this piece of his father, Teddy wanted to thank the sender properly. However, Teddy didn't have the foggiest of who could have sent him the map.

He racked his brain constantly on the identity of his mysterious benefactor. He even went so far as to ask Professor Trelawny about crows.

"A crow, or a raven, is a traveller between worlds. It traverses this world and the next, and carries messages between the two planes. Seeing a crow in your dreams, this is an omen. A message from the other world. Perhaps, a message of fatal significance…." She had told him.

"She means you're gonna snuff it." His classmate whispered to him.

"Doesn't she always?" Teddy whispered back.

Teddy was invited to the lake house every summer since before he can remember. The house on Lake Menteith was owned by George Weasley and his wife Angelina, and it was large and spacious. Mr. Weasley had done very well for himself with his joke shop on Diagon Alley.

The Weasleys, who were a large family, always gathered there in the summer, but there were others too. Besides Teddy and his grandmother, professors McGonagall and Hagrid had always made appearances; a woman named Hermione Granger, who worked in the ministry and always brought her dark haired and quiet daughter; Mr. Longbottom, who was rumored to be taking over the post of Herbology professor soon. There were many other visitors, and though Teddy did not know all of them, they all seemed to know Teddy, and always asked after him.

His grandmother told him that most of the people who visited fought Voldemort alongside his mother and father. That's how everyone knew him.

The visitors would sometimes share things about his parents. Although it made Teddy feel slightly awkward, like he was being measured against them, he also craved any information the visitors could give him.

It seemed like everyone in Teddy's life would gather there in the summer. All his friends and distant relations, and more. The only exception was his own great-uncle, Henry Tonks, who never made an appearance, which puzzled Teddy. Though, in a way he was glad, since Teddy never grew to be fond of his great uncle, anyway.

It was at the lakehouse that Teddy finally learned the identity of the mysterious sender of the marauder's map.

Two summers ago, on a warm summer night, Teddy had been staying up with Ron and George Weasley. Ron Weasley was there without his wife, drinking heavily from a mug which constantly emitted steam.

The two red haired men were telling him about their time in Hogwarts, when George mentioned it.

"My brother and I served uncountable detentions with old Filch. One day, we found a blank piece of parchment in one of Filch's filing cabinets. We took it, not really thinking why, but it must have called to us in some way. It took us ages to figure it out, but long story short, it was this enchanted map."

Teddy had gone white, thinking that George Weasley must somehow know about his possession of said map. But it was evident, as George kept telling Teddy about the properties of the marauder's map, that he did not suspect anything.

"We only found out later, from talking to Sirius Black, who the Marauders were. They were our childhood heroes, and suddenly two of them were real; people we knew. One was your dad." George finished.

Teddy couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Who do you think has it now." He said, tentatively.

George frowned. He thought about it for some time.

"We gave it to Harry Potter. With the trouble he got up to every year, we figured he had more use for it than us. Plus, me and my brother had already memorized the thing. I wouldn't have any idea where it is now." George finished sadly.

"My godfather." Teddy said with bitterness in his voice. His godfather was, as he knew, deranged, and wanted for murder.

"And he would have made a fine godfather if he hadn't gone barmy towards the end." Ron Weasley added with a hiccup.

"Barmy, Ron? Don't you think that's putting it lightly?" George asked, with a cold edge to his voice.

His brother just shrugged, and drank once more from his mug. It was common knowledge that Ron Weasley and Harry Potter had been very close once. Teddy did not think that Ron would ever defend the man, considering Ron was an auror.

Suddenly, Ron put down his mug with a slam, and motioned vaguely towards Teddy.

"Your father was the best damn professor we ever had. If it weren't for Snape, that slimy git…" Ron had said, with a slur. But Teddy never did find out what Snape had done. George had ordered him to bed.

They were onto dessert, apple pie, which Victoire seemed to enjoy the most. Teddy watched out of the corner of her eye as she ate it hungrily, even though they had all just finished a rather spectacular and filling dinner.

The dining room in the lake house was grand and expansive, but with all the Weasleys present, it was almost full to capacity. There was a strange subdued quality to the Weasleys, almost morose, which Teddy wondered about. The only Weasley who was conspicuously absent was Ron.

Teddy rather liked Ron, and looked up to him. He admired the man's frankness and humor. Teddy had also been considering a career in magical law enforcement, and since Ron was one of the Senior Aurors, he had found the man endlessly interesting. Usually, Ron with his jovial and carefree manner was happy to indulge all of Teddy's questions about his job.

"Where's your uncle Ron?" Teddy whispered to Victoire. She gave him a dark look, and since her mouth was full, made a motion with her hand that seemed to imply, 'ask me later.'

Teddy did. When they were done washing up the dishes, Teddy repeated his question. Victoire looked worried.

"Mum and Dad won't give me the details, but I think he got injured or something. No one's supposed to know, with him being an auror and everything. So keep it hushed." She answered in a whisper, even though they were alone.

"He got injured? On the job?" Teddy asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"I don't know, I don't know, but mum and dad looked worried. It can't be good." She said.

That evening Teddy did not fall asleep easily. He thought about Ron Weasley and his godfather. He had never met Harry Potter, but he couldn't stop imagining what his godfather would have been like if he hadn't 'gone barmy,' as Ron had gently put it. It was probably wrong, on many levels, to think about what kind of parent figure his godfather would be, considering that he was also supposed to be psychotic.

Victoire had told him that Ron had been injured, but that was common for aurors, wasn't it? Teddy sensed that there was more to the story. Combined with the recent murders in the muggle world that were attributed to Potter, Teddy had wondered if the two old schoolmates had not bumped into each other, in the course of Weasley's investigation.

When Teddy did fall asleep, he had unpleasant dreams about Ron arguing and pleading with a dark haired, cruel man, who eventually got tired of the Weasley's words and blasted him into the ground. He dreamed about finding the marauder's map in the dead man's pocket, and a crow flying high overhead.

...

Unbeknownst to Teddy, his godfather was currently being bullied by a mad muggle, hell bent on summoning a malevolent being in the middle of his London flat.

The floor of the 221b's living room was littered with books and diagrams. It looked like a few pictures had actually escaped the pages that bound them, and made their way onto the wooden floors of the living room. The floor had chalk outlines of concentric circles, and many pointed stars, with strange and beautiful symbols drawn carefully on the borders.

Sherlock had spent all afternoon and evening working out Goetic. He thought if he had a pronunciation guide, he might be more or less fluent in it, with how much study he's put in.

Sherlock also knew that the dead 'language' was most likely rubbish, but the simple truth was that he currently had nothing better to occupy his time.

Lestrade had no new evidence regarding Laura Baskey's disappearance, and Hermione Granger had not yet provided any information in regards to Potter's case. So the detective's genius, which at all times needed an outlet, was channeled towards figuring out what had been written on the walls and on the floors of Laura's flat, then recreating it in his own.

He thought it was a splendid way to spend an otherwise very dull day, and indeed would have argued that his place needed some more decorations anyway, even if they are temporary.

Mrs. Hudson did not agree, and had told him that the cleaning cost would be part of his next month's rent. The wizard was also not enthusiastic about his idea.

As Sherlock bounced between this wall and that, muttering about the alignment of the moon and Mercury, and its effect on the angles of his diagrams, Harry had not said a word, and only watched nervously from the couch.

When he had finished, Sherlock cornered the wizard, and demand that he recite the necessary words, standing in the appropriate spot, in the middle of the chalk diagrams.

To his surprise, the wizard flat out refused him.

"What if it actually works?" Sherlock had said, with some annoyance. He hated uncooperative people.

"Sherlock- exactly!" Potter flung out his arms in exasperation. "If it actually works, that would be terrible, don't you see?" Harry had said.

"No, I don't see. You don't even know what it's supposed to do." The detective folded his arms across his chest, and sat heavily onto the couch next to Harry.

"Okay then, what is it supposed to do?" Potter asked him.

"It is supposed to summon something named…" Sherlock squinted at the notes, still clutched in his hand, "Baal-Berith."

"Why don't you do it?" Harry suggested sardonically.

"I will, if you won't." Sherlock answered in a huff. "But if there's anything at all to all this Goetic crap, I would make an educated guess that a wizard would have more success with it." He explained.

"I don't think you should either." Harry said, wringing his hands. "We don't really know what we're messing with."

Sherlock groaned. His wizard could really be obtuse, when the mood seemed to strike him.

It was fortunate for the wizard that at that moment Sherlock heard a buzzing from across the room that meant he had received a text. He glared at Potter as he stood up, as if to say that they were not finished with the conversation.

Loping quickly across the room, Sherlock dug his mobile out of his coat pocket, and read the new text. It was from Lestrade. Interesting, Sherlock thought.

It had barely taken any time for Harry to don his 'Allen Dore' disguise, and be out the door with Sherlock. The detective suspected that Harry was eager to get away from his reasonable requests to say a few mumbo jumbo words in their living room.

They hailed a cab, since apparating anywhere in the vicinity of Scotland Yard was not practical. The city was simply too dense. And the cab ride would be short anyway.

Sherlock was not wrong about the cab ride being short. But that does not mean that the ride was uneventful.

The wizard, who was wearing his magical disguise, was resolutely staring out the window. He had a look of concern on his face, which inexplicably bothered Sherlock.

The weather outside was stifling hot, even though the sun was on its way down, and night was drawing on London. The cabbie had the windows open, and driving through the heart of the city, Sherlock allowed himself to enjoy the sights and sounds of England's nightlife.

11 minutes left. New Scotland Yard was conveniently very close to Baker Street. Sherlock checked the traffic on his mobile, and estimate his ETA within a very limited margin of error.

The wizard shifted in his seat and sighed. Sherlock looked over. He had to tell his hand to freeze, because right then, he wanted nothing more than to pat Potter on the shoulder, in a consoling manner. He didn't know if the wizard was bothered by something specific or if he had simply fallen into a melancholy and quiet mood. The wizard did this quite often, and it hardly ever bothered Sherlock. It shouldn't now, either, he thought.

6 minutes left. Sherlock decided that it was best if he simply stared straight ahead. It didn't interest him, he decided, what Potter was doing, or how he was feeling. Sherlock stared past the cabbie, and out the front window of the car.

He heard it before he saw it. Two loud car horns, and then an awful metallic crunch, as two cars collided at the intersection in front of them. The cabby swore loudly and creatively, as he he pumped his brakes and swerved to the left. They were able to avoid the collision, given that their speed was low, and the driver seemed to be skilled. The momentum of the sharp turn however, had sent both the occupants of the back seat sprawling.

It was perhaps no more than five seconds, but just as the incident under the invisibility cloak, Sherlock's inner clock seemed to have slowed down. Harry was thrown against Sherlock, and in an effort to steady himself, grasped Sherlock's knee, probably by accident. The wizard's torso was so close to his own, Sherlock imagined he could feel the body heat radiating from under his shirt. Sherlock kept his hand resolutely by his sides, as he noticed his pulse hitch to an uncharacteristic bpm.

"Sorry, guess I should be wearing a seatbelt." Harry said, as he sat up and looked around behind him to fasten the safety belt. Sherlock became acutely aware of his stomach, which was trying to jump out through any orifice of Sherlock's body.

The space between them represented a paradox, in that there was too much distance and not enough at the same time. Sherlock didn't know if he would rather jump out of the moving car, or topple against the wizard in retaliation. They both seemed ridiculous decisions, so he settled with sitting in his own seat, and meticulously counting each breath.

As they passed (or rather, crawled) by, Sherlock noted that the collision was rather minor, both parties surviving, and indeed the vehicles mostly remaining intact. A bumper bender. A black passenger car had hit another taxicab, and the occupants of both had now exited their vehicles, which halted to traffic around them. The cabbie took it all in stride, and was already turning down a side street, and taking an alternate route.

Sherlock only gave the scene of the crash a cursory look, not taking in any details. Indeed, Sherlock was much too busy trying to figure out how it was possible to want to be as close as possible to someone, yet also want to be on another continent, an ocean away from the same someone.

He hoped that Potter was not aware of his uncharacteristic response. Sherlock felt a flush in his cheeks, and he was still having trouble returning his breathing to normal.

It was foolish to think that he would exhibit no symptoms of his condition, even now that he was aware of it. Even if he did not act, having his body disobey him was very annoying.

Sherlock pursed his lips, thinking that there had to be a solution to his problem. There must be a way, after all. People are often hurt (not physically, Sherlock reminded himself, just emotionally) by attachments to the wrong people. Perhaps they've invented drugs for this sort of thing? A pill that made you lose interest, or dulled affection; like an anti-viagra. Sherlock could not think of one though, and he had an extensive knowledge of pharmaceuticals.

It took the rest of the cab ride (delayed by 10 minutes because of detours) for Sherlock to regain complete control. Thankfully, glancing at Harry, Sherlock noted that the wizard was not particularly observant.

Though it seemed much longer to Sherlock, they were in Lestrade's office in under twenty minutes.

However, the DI was not there, which Sherlock thought was rather rude. Sally Donovan had informed them that Lestrade would be returning shortly from a very important meeting, and they were welcome to wait. Those were not her exact words, of course, but the message was there.

"Sherlock, what happened?" Harry asked, once Donovan had left them alone.

Sherlock had a moment of panic, thinking that the wizard was referring to their cab ride.

"What happened? When?" He echoed.

"I mean, why are we here?" Harry asked politely.

"Oh. Baskey." Sherlock answered briefly.

"They found her?" Harry asked.

"No, not the daughter. The father. He's dead."

AN: As always, please leave me any thoughts or comments you might have. It really helps me to see how readers are reacting to certain chapters. Was there too much Teddy in this one? Not enough Sherry? Let me know ;) Reviews always motivate to write faster and more.