...
The Department of Mysteries
...
"High high in the hills, high in a pine tree bed.
She's tracing the wind with that old hand, counting the clouds with that old chant,
Three geese in a flock
one flew east
one flew west
one flew over the cuckoo's nest"
― Ken Kesey, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
…
It was still dark outside when Teddy was woken up by a sharp knocking on his bedroom door. He had been having a pleasant dream about flying on the back of a big, grey crow over glittering summer lakes, and was not very happy about being woken up, especially at such an early hour. He was about to ignore it, when his grandmother's voice accompanied the knocking.
"Ted, are you awake? Teddy you need to get up now." He heard her say through the door.
Teddy wished she would have told him why he needed to be awake before the crack of dawn. It was the middle of the summer holidays! Nonetheless, grumbling and half asleep, Teddy got out of his comfortable bed and began to get dressed.
His grandmother was already preparing a simple breakfast of fried eggs and toast when he came to the kitchen. It smelled delicious, and Ted plopped himself into their little kitchen to await food. When his grandmother spotted his rumpled appearance however, she screeched and told him to march back in his room and make himself presentable.
"Wear those blue robes Ted, I want you looking sharp today." She said to his retreating back. She still failed to mention the reason for all this,
"Are we going to a ball at six in the morning, I wonder?" Teddy mumbled to himself.
When he was dressed and moderately presentable, his grandmother revealed the plan of the day.
"Your grand-uncle agreed to take you to work today. I've only been asking him to do it for a year. And of course, he let me know by sending me an owl the morning of!" His grandmother was obviously annoyed, and so was Teddy. He would not have stayed up half the night reading 'Crazy Trolls and Weird Stories,' if he had known that he would have to spend the next day in a productive manner.
Teddy wanted to complain to his grandmother. He did not know his grand-uncle well, and the thought of spending the entire work day with him did not sound appealing. Teddy also knew that complaining was useless. His grandmother could be kindly like any other, but she could also be very strict: especially when it came to education and 'career opportunities.' Last summer she had talked an old friend of hers, Alsimion Dribble, into taking Teddy on a very boring tour of the Department of Magical Transportation.
"Doesn't uncle Henry work in the Department of Mysteries? They don't just let anyone in there, I thought…" Teddy said.
"You're not 'just anyone,' you're his grand nephew. Merlin knows he's done little enough for this family. Taking you to work to show you around should be a simple matter." His grandmother replied in an irate manner. Teddy knew that his grandmother did not think much of his grand uncle Hank. When the first war with Voldemort started, Hank had gone into hiding, instead of helping his newly wed brother Ted. 'Like a rat on a sinking ship.' According to Andromeda, the only contact they had with uncle Hank was a few letters over the course of nearly two decades.'Then, when Harry Potter defeated You-Know-Who, he comes back and tries to re-establish ties, and the like. Saying how he's the uncle of that brave auror who died in the battle of Hogwarts, like he's ever met Nymphadora!'
Teddy's grandmother had only shared these complaints with Teddy, of course.
"Ted, you know you might like the Department of Mysteries. You would be learning about new discoveries in magic every day! Doesn't that sound like an exciting career?" Andromeda asked Ted, as they were finishing up their breakfast. Teddy had once voiced his desire to become an auror like his mum. The next day Andromeda had pamphlets about the exciting career he could have in wizarding banking. Ever since, she's been trying to interest him in all other possible careers available to wizards.
"Yeah, maybe." Ted replied.
"Oh, and Ted, your hair is bright orange. Not that I mind dear, but it does clash with your robes…" She added.
Teddy scrunched up his face. He decided to look non-descript. He felt the warm tingling that accompanied his transformations. He knew his hair would turn a dusty brown, and his face would resemble a compound of his mother's and father's if he looked in the mirror. Teddy often wondered what he would look like had he not been a metamorphmagus. His grandmother had told him that his gift had manifested itself almost as soon as he was born. Hope you were proud, mum.
Just then their fireplaces billowed with green flames, and Henry Tonks stepped out onto the singed carpet. He had the handsome grey uniform worn by the unspeakables, with a black badge over his left breast pocket that was simply engraved Tonks, H. Dept. Myst. in white letters. He was an aging man, vaguely round in shape, with fair hair that had mostly turned as grey as his robes.
"Are you ready Ted?" He asked Teddy, who looked at the mess on the little kitchen table left from breakfast.
"Don't worry about this, I'll clean up," Andromeda piped up, "You go on. Thank you again, Henry."
Henry Tonks' face stretched into a smile.
"Anything for family." He said.
…
Harry Potter came down to the little kitchen in 221b and found that Sherlock had not yet gotten up. This was not unusual in itself, so the wizard decided to start on breakfast.
An hour later, Harry was sitting by himself at the kitchen table and his tea was all gone. He felt a little rubber ball of anxiety in his throat. What if there were after-effects of what Sherlock had experienced with the Goetic diagrams? Harry got up, and decided to check on Sherlock, kicking himself mentally for not having done it earlier.
When he got to Sherlock's closed bedroom door, the wizard hesitated. He had no trouble rushing in the previous morning, after seeing the spirit of a serial killer in the living room. Now, he was not sure if his reasons were very good. He supposed the worst that Sherlock would do is be grumpy and scold him, which was worth knowing the detective was safe.
Harry knocked on the door. "Sherlock?"
After no answer greeted him, Harry stepped through.
He found the detective's room very tidy, with the bed made. No Sherlock was in it. Harry left the room, cautiously closing the door, and began to search the rest of 221b. After not locating Sherlock anywhere, he tried the Hominem Revelio spell, which also yielded no clue of the detective's location.
Harry settled himself in to read something, but found out after a few minutes that he could not focus on the pages. He turned on the telly next, and listlessly changed channels.
He did not know how long he sat there, but eventually Harry had to turn it off. He bounced his feet and looked around the flat for something to occupy his time.
He had spent nearly a decade doing nothing more interesting than reading, watching telly and occasionally conversing with the spirits of the newly dead. He was not used to the sensation of boredom. Along with a few other sentiments, he had not felt bored in many years.
Harry supposed that living with the detective had gotten him used to a more active life. When he was out on a case with Sherlock, or just assisting one of his mad experiments, Harry felt the old rush and sense of adventure. He wondered if some other pieces of himself might make their way back to him as well. A soul is the hardest to injure, and the slowest to mend. Harry suddenly recalled the portrait of Dumbledore telling him about his affliction, a million years ago. He remembered Snape huffing, and saying how they did not have long before Voldemort destroyed everything. But by all means Potter, take your time to 'mend,' I'm sure the muggleborns in Azkaban are in no hurry…
He shook his head, as though he could literally shake the memories out of his head. Harry had perfected Occlumency in his years of exile, for no better reason than he hated remembering the past. Every time he thought of her, it felt like his soul was shaking, trying to break loose again. It was exceedingly unpleasant.
Harry began to pace the flat. To the fireplace, to the couch, and then to the kitchen. It didn't help.
Sherlock had left before. The detective was certainly in no way obliged to report his every move to Harry. Infact, Harry suspected he might not even want to know what Sherlock was up to.
Harry sat on the couch facing the fireplace. He aimed his wand at the fireplace, and lit it wordlessly. An old conversation floated back to him.
'Do you remember me telling you we are practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?'
'Yes.'
'Yes, sir.'
'There's no need to call me 'sir,' Professor.'
Harry chuckled when he remembered Snape's scowling face. He wondered where the man was now. The last time they spoke, the potions master said he was making his way for Europe, and would only come back if Potter did not succeed in destroying Voldemort. 'Let us both hope this is the last time we see each other, Potter.'
Harry meant to clear Snape's name as soon as Voldemort was defeated; unfortunately, soon after, Harry was in no condition to defend anyone, much less himself.
Harry got up as memories assaulted him once more, and started pacing. He tried breathing evenly, and clearing his mind. Despite his enmity with Snape, he had to admit the man had taught him a lot. Begrudgingly, of course.
Harry wondered whether the rest of death eaters that had evaded capture after Voldemort's fall were still out there, hiding. He supposed they would be. It was hard to find a wizard who did not want to be found.
Harry plopped himself down on the couch again, and stared at the flames in the fireplace. He thought of the visit with Sherlock's uncle. Was it possible that Rodolphus Lestrange was hiding in plain sight? Sherlock had said Harry was mistaken. Surely, Sherlock was right. The man was right about everything. His own uncle being one of wizarding world's worst was not a small oversight.
Harry looked at the busy London street outside of his window. It was cheerful and bright outside. The summer had not yet turned overly hot, and the weather was perfect and golden. He could put on his disguise and stroll outside. Or…
The worries of the past day came back to him. What if Sherlock was wrong? Would there be any harm in just checking? Harry did not think Sherlock would be happy if he found that Harry went to visit his uncle. And what will you do if it's him? Put Sherlock's favorite uncle behind bars? Harry chewed on his lip.
He could have been mistaken about the identity of Sherlock's elderly uncle. But the face, he looked so much like…
He remembered that face, along with Bellatrix's crazed grin, both leering at him, while he was in a small dark room in a Yorkshire Manor, and no one knew he was there. No one would be able to help…
Harry jerked himself down, squeezed his palms, and tightly shut his eyes. The memories receded, and he opened his eyes again. If he did decide to check on Sherlock's uncle he could not disintegrate like last time. He would have to keep tight control of his psyche.
Harry got up. A drive had filled him. He decided that he could not let the matter sit. The consequences for the detective being wrong were unthinkable. Everyone can be wrong, including Sherlock.
The person Harry had been for so many years would have simply shut the blinds, stayed hidden, and out of trouble. Instead, Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak and apparated to Yorkshire.
...
The atrium in the Ministry of Magic was a bustle of activity. Teddy was dodging hurrying wizards left and right, trying to keep up with his granduncle. Finally, they reached the far side of the atrium where the security desk would register their wands.
The security wizard was a younger man, with blonde hair and an upturned nose. He greeted Teddy's uncle as he measured his wand.
"Looks like you'll be lonely at work today. Haven't seen any other unspeakables come through all morning." The younger man said. Henry Tonks just shrugged apathetically, and Teddy gave over his wand to the security wizard. The badge on his uniform was blue, gilded with gold and said Smith, Z. Security.
After they retrieved their wands, Teddy and Mr. Tonks stepped into an elevator and they were on their way down. Where the rest of the lifts were jam packed with wizards and witches, the one heading down had only Teddy and his grand-uncle.
It was only one floor, and soon enough they were stepping into a long, dark corridor. Where the other departments had notices, posters, and sometimes portraits on the walls of their corridors, the one leading to the Department of Mysteries was incredibly bare. At the end there was only a single black door. Henry Tonks stepped forward briskly, and Teddy followed.
Through the door was another room that Teddy considered odd. It was perfectly circular with an eerie blue light, and nothing but evenly spaced black doors.
"Offices and Records." Henry said with confidence.
To their right a door opened on its own, and Teddy's granduncle lead the way through.
The room beyond was as bare as the entrance corridor. It was long and narrow, and contained a dozen black doors on the left side. On each door was a plate with what Teddy thought must be the name of each Unspeakable.
They walked until they reached the door which had Tonks written on the front.
Henry Tonks' office was less bare than the other rooms of the department, but not by much. There was a single desk, a few bookshelves, and a window which looked out on central London. Teddy knew the window view was a charm, since they were many feet underground.
Henry Tonks pulled out his wand and conjured a high backed chair for Teddy and sat himself behind his desk. There were some stacks of parchment on the desk, but as far as Teddy could see, they were all blank.
Hank Tonks looked at Teddy for a long minute.
"I'm going to be honest Ted," he started. "I have no idea what to do with you."
"What do you mean, sir?" Teddy asked.
"No need for sir, just call me Hank. I mean that I can't show you anything I work on. They call us Unspeakables for a reason. I was only allowed to bring you into the department today because all of my colleagues are in Europe for a conference. There is, quite literally, nothing going on today."
"Oh. Why aren't you there as well, si-, er, Hank?"
"Because I'm a department head and can therefore skip boring nonsense." His grand uncle flashed Teddy a warm smile. Teddy smiled in return.
"Maybe you have some questions? Mind you, very basic ones. I obviously can't answer just anything…" Hank said.
"Are those papers really blank?" Teddy asked, pointing to the older man's desk.
"Good observation, Ted. No, they are not. All reading materials in the department are enchanted so that only those they pertain to can read them. Which is why I'm afraid you'll find all of those books utterly useless." Hank said, waving behind himself at the bookshelves.
Teddy was not very interested in reading them anyway. He wanted to get back to reading about Barnabas the Barmy in his own book, 'Crazy Trolls.' If he had known, he would have brought it along.
"Er…" Teddy thought of more questions he could ask his grand uncle. "So, how does one become an Unspeakable?" He wasn't really interested, but Teddy figured this is something his uncle can talk about.
"You need NEWTS in at least six subjects, four of which must be: Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and Potions. You start with an apprenticeship which lasts two years. At the end you must have completed a thesis, and whether you become an unspeakable depends on the value the Department sees in your work." His uncle finished.
Ted was not taking Arithmancy in Hogwarts, so his interest in the Department of Mysteries sank even lower.
He looked around the office awkwardly, fidgeting his hands. He could think of no other questions.
"I have an idea." Henry Tonks said. "If you don't mention it to your grandmother, we could make a day of it Diagon Alley instead. I don't think either of us wants to sit in this office and stare at the walls."
Teddy hastily agreed.
…
Harry landed with a splash. He had apparated into a small stream in the wooded area behind Washburn clinic. This was not intentional.
He was wearing Sherlock's borrowed clothes which had been very stylish. Unfortunately, they were now all soaked. Harry waded out of the stream, and as soon as he was on the grass he tried drying his clothes. It worked well enough, though he felt that the trousers might have gotten even tighter.
When he shuffled uncomfortably through the front entrance of the clinic, a nurse at the front area asked him who he was visiting.
"Rudy. He's in room 118." Harry told her, realizing he did not actually know the surname of Sherlock's uncle.
"Do you have identification? Are you a family member?" The nurse asked with skepticism.
"Yes, I was here only yesterday." Harry could see that the nurse was about to refuse. Grasping his wand in his pocket, he silently cast a Confundus charm in her direction.
Her expression cleared up immediately and she smiled at the wizard.
"Right this way." She said and led him down the corridor.
…
When Teddy and Henry Tonks got back to the circular, blue room, Henry stopped.
"You go on ahead, and grab us a lift. I need to put some protective enchantments on the doors." Henry said. Then with an air of command, he exclaimed: "Exit corridor." A door to Teddy's left banged open.
He left his uncle and went back to the corridor lined with dark stone. As he approached the lift, he realized there was a woman also waiting. He thought she looked familiar. There was a heavy, overfull bag slung from her shoulders, with what looked like files and parchments sticking out.
When she heard Teddy's footsteps, she spun around quickly. Teddy realized it was Mrs. Granger. He knew her from the house on Lake Menteith, where the Weasleys frequently gathered, along with old Order of the Phoenix members. She was very friendly with Teddy. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley always sent him presents for Christmas and his birthday. It was fortunate that Teddy liked to read; Mrs. Granger's gifts had always been books.
"Teddy! What are you doing down here?" She asked, when she recognized him.
"I'm here with my grand uncle. He was giving me the tour." Teddy answered.
"Oh! Well, how nice." She answered, shifting on her feet. Teddy had been involved with enough mischief in Hogwarts to see that Mrs. Granger was acting very suspiciously.
"How are your holidays going?" She asked.
"Good, thank you. How is Darina?" Teddy asked. Mrs. Granger's daughter had just finished her first year of Hogwarts. He had met the quiet Ravenclaw her first week when Peeves decided to dump blue ink all over her new school books. Teddy, who had learned enough cleaning spells from his grandmother, was able to help.
"Good, good. She's with her father." Mrs. Granger said.
Behind them, a door closed, and Henry Tonks appeared out of the corridor. Mrs. Granger greeted Teddy's granduncle like they were old friends.
"Henry, where is everyone?" Mrs. Granger asked.
"They're all gone, I'm afraid. A black hole opened up in the Planet Room, and swallowed everyone. It's been a hectic workday, to say the least." Henry Tonks deadpanned. For a second Mrs. Granger looked shocked, but then giggled. "They're in Europe. The Negavorki's had called an emergency council."
"Oh, is it anything serious?" She asked, with mild concern.
"I expect it's nothing. The Russian department is always calling conferences; you must remember the time they got us all together in Frankfurt over some muggle's scribblings?"
Mrs. Granger rolled her eyes.
"Is your new career going well, then?" Mr. Tonks asked.
"Yes, going well, but I do sometimes miss the Department." Mrs. Granger answered.
"We would always be happy to have you back." Mr. Tonks smiled at her. They all got into the little lift, and the golden grille shut automatically. Mr. Tonks and Mrs. Granger chatted amicably on the ride. Standing next to her, Teddy noticed that Mrs. Granger's overstuffed bag had disappeared. Strange.
Teddy and his granduncle got out at the Atrium. They both bid pleasant goodbyes to the woman as they exited the lift, and she rode up.
...
The nurse left Harry right outside of the door. Harry took a few moments to gather his Occlumency shields around his mind. He did not know if the man inside was a legilimens. It was mostly to keep his own thoughts from spiraling out of control. He had learned to build a maze in his mind. Funnily enough, it resembled the Department of Mysteries as he remembered it from his visit there in fifth year. It was an endless expanse of empty rooms and doors that opened into more rooms and doors. Only Harry knew where his thoughts and memories were stored. 'Every mind has a design,' Snape had taught him. 'Most are organic, with thoughts and memories haphazardly running into each other; but to truly master Occlumency you must impose your own design. One that should, in theory, protect the knowledge inside.'
From others, and from myself, Harry thought.
A feeling of calm stole over the wizard. He looked around, and seeing no one, walked through the door.
Sherlock's uncle was lying on the neat white bed, and he looked to be dozing. The wizard approached cautiously. He examined the sleeping man's face.
Harry throat was dry. He could not doubt that the man was Rodolphus Lestrange any longer. Older, perhaps, and frailer. But it was the same man who had captured him so many years ago.
The black doors in his mind started to shake, as though someone was banging on them. Harry stood there, trying to calm down. What now?
Harry took out his wand, and pointed it at the man, and uttered a quiet legilimens. He saw the man's dream. He was sitting on the porch of an old house. A woman he did not recognize was sitting across, smoking a cigarette. There was a dog in her lap, yawning lazily. Well, what was he supposed to make of that?
Harry decided the only way to get to the truth was to wake up Lestrange.
He gave the man a little shake, still pointing the wand at him.
The older man came awake gradually. He mumbled a sleepy 'Good morning,' and then closed his eyes again. Harry frowned. He flicked his wand thinking the words Ennervate and the older man's eyes snapped open.
"Blimey, you're not the nurse." Rudy said, looking at Harry with wide and frightened eyes.
"No." Harry replied.
Rudy examined the wizard and a look of comprehension dawned on his face.
"I would bet you're the wizard that came here with Sherlock." He said.
"Yes. And you're Rodolphus Lestrange." Harry stated.
"I am, though I go by Rudy Holmes now. Did Sherlock tell you?" The older man asked.
Harry did not know how to reply to that. So Sherlock knew?
"He did not. I recognized you." Harry said.
"How? I'm sure I've never met you before." Rudy said.
"You have." Harry said, thinking of the small cell under a Yorkshire manor, and the sick, red light from a Cruciatus curse.
The old man took some time to examine Harry's face. Of course, he did not recognize him. He was Allen Dore. Harry did not think it would be a good idea to drop his disguise.
The old man took some time to reply.
"I do not think I am the person who you think I am. Are you perhaps looking for my brother Rabastan?" He asked.
"Your brother has been in Azkaban since '98." Harry replied. The old man's face fell.
"Huh." He said sadly, and looked out of the window.
Harry thought that was odd. He should know about his own brother, shouldn't he? He felt a spark of doubt.
"How did you evade the aurors after Voldemort fell?" He asked Rodolphus.
The old man's eyebrows rose comically.
"The aurors were after me? For what?" He asked. Harry wasn't sure if he was playing dumb, or being genuine.
"I would imagine they were. Something about being a death eater. Uncountable unforgivable curses. Torturing Alice and Frank Longbottom into madness…" and me, Harry thought, but could not say it out loud.
The older man blinked a few times.
"You must believe me, I've done none of these things. You can ask Sherlock. I've done nothing, I've been living with muggles since I was a teenager, I don't even do magic anymore…" Rudy stammered. Harry locked eyes with the older man, and plunged himself into his mind. He sometimes wondered what he looked like when performing legilimency. Dumbledore's eyes looked like they were glittering, while Snape's had become hard, cold, and piercing. In truth, Harry never meant to become a legilimens. He had developed the skill while trying to pull his fractured mind together with Occlumency. He found that the two branches of magic were intertwined. When one became sharper, so did the other. He did not even think it was a very moral branch of magic. However, sometimes the circumstances were dire.
Harry saw the woman again. She had light chestnut curls, and was smoking a cigarette. Rudy's mind was jumping from memory to memory, with little connecting them. This was not uncommon. It was infact, how most minds operated. He saw a little house, and a flower garden. Arguing with the woman. Hugging the woman. He saw two little boys running after a big shaggy, brown dog. A teenager with dark hair coming to visit (Sherlock!) and complaining about idiotic teachers. He pulled himself out of Rudy's mind.
"I don't understand." Harry said.
"I don't either. I usually leave the understanding to my two brilliant nephews." The older man said.
"You were a death eater. I've seen you." Harry said, but he knew he was wrong, and the doubt was audible in his voice. The man before him had led a very quiet, murder-free life. He was telling the truth. He had admitted to being Rodolphus Lestrange, yet he had lived in the muggle world. If Rodolphus Lestrange was in the muggle world, who had spent fifteen years in Azkaban? Who had married Bellatrix Lestrange?
Seeing things that aren't there, Potter? Snape's snide voice had floated back to him. It was disconcerting Harry greatly. He thought his soul was coming back together. Perhaps he was wrong?
"I am afraid I do not know anything about death eaters, young man. I left the wizarding world before any of that happened…" The old man said apologetically.
"I believe you." Harry said, trying to be reassuring. "I, er...I must apologize…"
"It's alright, everyone makes mistakes." The old man said, folding his hands across his lap. "Now, I do have some questions for you."
Harry looked up. This was unexpected.
"Oh?" He said.
"Yes. So first, how are you getting along with Sherlock?" The older man said, very seriously.
"Er, well enough…" Harry wasn't sure what was happening, or how the conversation had gotten turned around on him.
"Good, good. You know we, that is to say Mycroft and I, can get a little overprotective sometimes. You two are living together, aren't you?" Rudy asked.
"Yes, we are…" Harry was about to add that he was hiding from the magical law, and Sherlock had offered him Baker Street as an asylum, but quickly realized that revealing this would have been a very bad idea.
"Hmmm. Well, you know Sherlock- he has a lot of enemies. Some of them are very dangerous people…." Rudy said. That makes two of us, Harry thought. "You're a wizard, so… you'll protect my nephew, won't you?" Rudy finished.
"Of course. Of course, I will." Harry said automatically.
"Good!" Rudy said, smiling. "I believe you, too." He added, winking at Harry.
"Er, thanks?" Harry said, uncertainly. "I am sorry for bothering you…"
"Oh, no, it's fine. I was hoping to meet you anyway." Rudy had said, light heartedly. It was like Harry had not just bust into his room to accuse of him of the worst crimes. It made the wizard's head spin.
Harry awkwardly said goodbye to the older man. Rudy had called out a cheerful 'Nice to meet you!' as Harry apparated from the room.
…
After side-apparating with his grand uncle, Teddy almost fell over. He had only done it once before, and did not enjoy apparition at all. He was sometimes worried that he would never take to the magic, and would fail his apparition exam.
They were in the middle of a cobbled alley, with Madame Malkin's shop to the left, and Eeylops on the right.
"Are you alright, Ted?" Henry Tonks asked with concern.
"Yes." Teddy said, though he did not exactly feel alright.
"Hmm. This way." Henry Tonks began leading the way. After a few stumbled steps, Teddy regained his composure, and hurried after him.
Since it was too early for lunch, Henry Tonks had settled on going to Flourish and Blotts. The two had spent a companionable hour browsing the wares, and reading snippets. In the end, Hank bought Teddy a large, leather bound tome entitled Compendium of Lycanthrophy: Prejudice and Truth.
For lunch, Hank walked them to the Leaky Cauldron. Teddy was halfway through his Shepard's pie when his grand uncle suddenly got very serious.
"Ted, do you know that when we apparated, you hair turned green?" He asked.
"Oh, I hadn't noticed… I'm a metamorphmagus, so sometimes it does that…" Teddy answered, while focusing his attention on his hair, willing it to be dusty brown again.
"Yes, it does run in the family. It's a dead useful skill to have." Hank said slowly, "But you must learn to master it. It will not be helpful if you cannot control it."
"I can control it." Teddy said, and then made his hair turn every color of the rainbow in sequence.
"So did you mean to turn it green, then?" Henry asked.
"Well, no but-" Teddy started to say.
"Then you must learn better control over it. Like I said, the ability to transform your appearance at will is a handy skill. But it's useless if you allow it to run wild." Henry said. "Perhaps I'm being too harsh. You're still underage. Plenty of time to learn, hmm?"
Teddy just nodded.
…
Only minutes after appearing in the middle of the living room, Harry heard the downstairs door of 221b bang open. He also heard a din of voices.
Within seconds, the detective had burst through the room.
"Put on your disguise, quickly!" He whispered to Harry. "Oh good, you've already got it; keep that on for a minute…" Sherlock added when he saw Harry.
Suddenly the detective did a double take. He scanned Harry from head to toe, and his nose wrinkled momentarily as though he was sniffing for something.
"We'll talk about that later." Sherlock said in a lower voice. Harry barely suppressed a groan. He had hoped the detective might not find out about his excursion to Yorkshire, but it looked like he was hoping in vain. How does he know?
Before Harry had time to contemplate what Sherlock might or might not have deduced, an older couple came through the door.
"...oh, it was a marvelous musical Sherlock. I am very glad that they brought it back. I've always loved Andrew Webber's work, you know. Oh, and the costumes were just adorable. You know how I've always liked cats." The woman was saying to a grimacing Sherlock.
"Yes, yes, there's never been a show half as good…" The detective was obviously trying to placate her.
"Well, I wouldn't say that. You know dear, I think I liked the phantom one better." The older man added, and then stopped to look around Sherlock's flat. "Ah, the detective's abode! And who is this Sherlock?" He asked, looking at Harry.
"Yes, this is my new assistant, Allen Dore…" Sherlock managed to interject, pointing to Harry.
"Lovely to meet you, Mr. Dore!" The older woman exclaimed. "Mycroft said you were with someone but he was so secretive; you know how he is, always acting like every wee bit of gossip is a matter of national security…"
"It usually is, with him, dear." The older man said.
"Oh, I know, but we're his parents. Doesn't he know he can tell us?" The woman said, "And you're no better Sherlock. I shouldn't have to find out about your new assistant from your brother…" She scolded a frowning Sherlock.
"Yes, next time I'll phone you directly. Now, I have loads of work, and really the day is at an end…" Sherlock said, and began to shoo the older couple back through the door. They protested at first, claiming it was only noon, but the detective was persistent. With a final 'Lovely to meet you, Allen!' the older couple was gone.
Sherlock leaned against the closed door and let out a big breath of air.
"Finally. I really thought it would never end…" he said, looking at the ceiling.
"Sherlock, were those your parents?" Harry asked, bemused.
"Obviously." The detective bit out. "So then, how is my uncle?" Sherlock glared at Harry. The wizard felt a little shaken. The detective had very good reason to be furious with him. Perhaps, if he explained himself correctly, Sherlock would understand why he had to act, so Harry chose his next words very carefully.
"When I left him, he seemed well…" Harry started, intent on explaining everything to Sherlock. However, the detective had absolutely no patience for it.
"So you reached the same conclusion? There must have been two Rodolphus Lestranges. The false one was taking the place that my uncle had vacated. I'm glad you were able to see it." Sherlock was no longer glaring. If anything, he seemed proud that Harry had stumbled on the same answer as the detective.
"You knew!" Harry stated. Something old flared up in his chest, but died just as quickly.
"Yes, I supposed I lied to you, didn't I? 'Roderick,' and all that toss….Interesting. You were about to get angry with me, but you didn't. Why?" Sherlock was looking at Harry with the narrowed eyes of a predator.
"I...I don't know." Harry said uncertainly. Did he know? It was difficult to sort out what he was feeling on the best of days. Harry wondered if Sherlock had somehow guessed about his affliction.
"I would bet my laptop that you do, but we'll have to figure that out later. I have to go again." Sherlock said. "They really do chose the worst times to come visit…" he added, pointing towards the door from which his parents left minutes ago.
"Oh, alright." Harry said. He contemplated what he could do with the rest of the day as he returned himself to his normal appearance with a flick of his wand. When he was done, Harry noticed that the detective hadn't moved, but instead was looking at Harry with an unidentifiable expression.
"Er, what's up?" Harry asked timidly. Suddenly, Sherlock strode across the room to stand inches away from Harry.
"I'm working on a very sensitive case." The detective began saying. "I will involve you soon enough, but now is not the right time..." Sherlock's eyes flicked above to Harry's brow as he said this. Harry had to suppress an urge to comb his hair down. He knew there shouldn't be anything there.
"Incidentally, the permanent glamour you've cast over your forehead falters whenever you cast transfiguration spells." Sherlock said. "I'll be back soon. Don't interrogate any more family members in the meanwhile, though I do appreciate your enthusiasm for justice." Sherlock stated, and with that, the detective left the flat.
…
AN: Reviews are food for the soul of this long-suffering author. Be kind, and leave a few word about what you thought of the story:)
