AN: Parts of this chapter are taken from Chapter 15 of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, by J. K. Rowling. The excerpt is denoted with *...*. Some of it has been rewritten, but the dialogue largely remains the same. As always, I do not own anything from Harry Potter or Sherlock, which makes me sad every day.
The POV switches a couple of times in this chapter, just as a heads up.
...
"But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them."
―J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone
…
The Wizard and the Witch
…
"Hermione, how would you like to see my flat?"
Sherlock was carefully observing the witch, gauging her reaction. The next hour would be critical. He could not afford to make any mistakes. Hermione seemed incredibly taken aback. She blinked a few times, and opened her mouth. Then, she closed it. It took her some time to decide on what to say.
"Are you…" she started.
"Yes?"
"Sherlock, you aren't trying to flirt with me, are you?" Granger asked, shyly, obviously nonplussed by the idea.
Sherlock threw his hands up in exasperation.
"No!"
"Then why would I…" Hermione started to say, but Sherlock immediately cut her off.
"There is something in my flat I need you to see." Someone, actually.
Hermione's eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"I don't know Sherlock…"
"Look, you're a witch. I'm unarmed. What could possible happen to you in a muggle's flat?" Sherlock asked. His temper was steadily rising.
"Or, do you simply not care anymore about solving this case? I suppose Potter will just have to deal with it himself." Sherlock knew as he said the words, that he had found Granger's pressure point. Her expression showed resolve, She would brave the detective's flat, if it meant helping her old friend.
"Alright, let's go." She said.
…
Sherlock insisted on taking a cab. He claimed that apparition had made him feel very sick, which of course was false. Hermione believed him, and sympathetically offered tea and an anti-nauseant potion, which Sherlock declined.
Once they were in the cab, Sherlock leaned over and whispered that Hermione ought to cast a silencing charm. She obliged him. Sherlock noticed that Hermione kept her wand in an inside pocket of her jacket, close to her chest. No chance to steal it, then. Thankfully, Sherlock had backup plans. Though none as elegant as simply disarming the witch.
"You've spent more time trying to find Potter?" Sherlock asked Hermione, once he knew their conversation was private.
Hermione didn't answer, but rather looked out the window.
"I told you, we need the information more than we need him…" Sherlock began saying.
"I know! I know, but you don't understand. I need to find him." The witch said with a note of desperation in her tone. Sherlock suppressed a smile. This should be easy. He raised the chance of his success from 95% to 98%. Good odds, he thought.
"Do you think he is in danger?" Sherlock asked.
"I don't know."
"Are the aurors close to finding him?" Sherlock tried again.
Hermione chuckled.
"No, I don't think so." She said. Sherlock noted a hint of pride in her words. He supposed he was also proud of Potter for evading the Aurors for so many years.
"Hmm, but perhaps whoever framed him might be after Potter as well..." Sherlock said, almost to himself. Of course, it was purely a show for Hermione.
"Do you think so?!" Hermione was visibly frightened at the thought.
Sherlock shrugged.
"It's a possibility." He said. And it was, but he doubted the murderer was any closer than the aurors.
"Otherwise, why go for the Dursleys, if not to draw him out?" Sherlock said, while giving Hermione a sideways glance. He noticed her clutching the hem of her blazer.
"I think we need to find him, Sherlock." She said with determination. "I just know I'm very close, there was that house on Archer street, and I'm sure I just missed him. If I had your help…"
"What would we do with Potter if we did find him? Did you not say that he was dangerous? Not exactly in his right mind, either?" Sherlock asked.
"I have no idea what he's like now. The last time I saw him, he was… not all there. But, I've been thinking…" She trailed off in uncertainty.
"Yes?"
"If he's been able to avoid the aurors for so long, he must be better. And, he was able to escape Azkaban, which is no small feat." Hermione finished. Sherlock had yet to broach the subject of Azkaban to Harry, so he had no idea how the wizard accomplished this.
"Do you know how he escaped?" He asked Hermione.
"No. I don't know. But I do have some theories." She said.
Sherlock was not very interested in theories. He could simply ask the wizard, later.
The cab rolled through London lazily, stopping at every red light, or so it seemed to an impatient Sherlock.
Finally, the cab drove up to Baker Street. Sherlock and the witch got out.
"We're about a block away. Let's go." He said to her. Sherlock could tell that Hermione was confused about getting out and then walking, instead of getting a ride directly to his flat, but she did not say anything. Sherlock, for his part, did not want anyone getting forewarned of their arrival, and inconveniencing him by apparating away.
When they strode up to 221b, Sherlock was glad to see that judging by the soft light coming from the windows, Mrs. Hudson was busy watching her shows, in her own flat. It would not do to have her involved in any of this. His wizard was also, thankfully, home. It would have been unnecessarily complicated if he had to fetch Harry back from another 'excursion.'
He opened the door, and showed Hermione through.
Sherlock let Hermione take the stairs in front of him. It would be advantageous if he remained behind her, at all times. Sherlock did not particularly want to jump a woman, but ever since Irene Adler, he had been less squeamish about using physical force when necessary, even if it was with the 'gentler sex.' He thought with amusement that between Hermione and Irene, he did not know how those old Victorian coots ever came up with that moniker for women.
"Sherlock this flat is very…" Hermione began saying something, no doubt a senseless compliment.
"Quiet, please." He said. They were in the small landing, directly in front of the door to his living room. Hermione looked back at Sherlock with more confusion. He simply pointed towards the door. Hermione gave him one odd look, and strode purposefully forward. Sherlock followed her.
Naturally, upon stepping into Sherlock's flat, the witch froze in her track. Harry, was standing in the middle of the living room, as though he was expecting them. Of course, judging by his expression, he was not.
Sherlock remembered Moriarty, more clearly than he ever wanted to. He remembered with the precision of photographic memory the scene next to the swimming pool, with John wearing a vest full of explosives, and Moriarty saying 'Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face...' How could one revel in a look of surprise, he didn't know until now.
Harry looked... 'surprised' was putting it very lightly.
Hermione, for her part, was much quicker in overcoming her surprise, and digging out her wand. Harry was a split second behind her. A wizard's duel was going to happen in Sherlock's flat. The detective calculated that there was a 64% chance of this situation arising, so he did not panic. He was mostly glad that at some point he convinced Potter to make every important object unbreakable.
The witch was the first to have her wand out and pointed. She did not say anything, but a red light burst out of her wand, aimed carefully at Potter. Sherlock had less than a second to worry, before Harry spun easily, dodging the spell. As he did, the wizard flicked his wand at Hermione's direction, and a white arc of blinding light burst in front of her (and by extension Sherlock). Instead of shielding her eyes, like Sherlock, Hermione swept an arc in the opposite direction of Harry's, and the light dimmed.
Sherlock quickly retreated away from Granger. He did not want to get hit by any stray spells, since he had no means of defending himself. He was still within easy reach of Granger. If this duel did not go their (meaning his and Harry's) way, Sherlock could still do something about.
Harry sent another spell at Granger that looked like a cloud of shimmering air. Hermione could not dodge, since the circumference of the spell was so large, and therefore she put up a translucent golden shield, that easily dissipated the cloud. However, the time she had taken to summon the shield had cost her, because Harry immediately sent a brightly glowing purple arrow. It lodged in the golden shield, and with a loud noise, both cracked, sending Hermione stumbling backward.
Hermione regained her footing quickly, and sent two successive bolts of light at Potter. Sherlock was impressed with the wizard's dexterity as Harry easily danced between them, and managed a counterspell while still moving. Hermione's bolts struck Sherlock's couch and fireplace, and immediately covered them with a thick, cobweb-like material. It was apparent that neither duelist was going for a kill or injury. Sherlock thought this was fortunate. It would be harder to reconcile the old friends if one of them was busy spurting blood.
Hermione, it seemed was not as nimble on her feet as the wizard. Sherlock heard the wizard yell 'Stupefy!' which produced a bright, red flash. Sherlock had guessed that it was a feint, thought Hermione did not. She conjured another shield that blocked the red flash instead of dodging, while Potter sent a quick and wordless spell at a nearby dining chair, flicking his wand in complicated twirls. Sherlock did not think that the witch even noticed the spell. The chair gave a little shake, and then slowly began making its way towards Hermione, using its four wooden legs like a strange animal.
Hermione cast two more spells towards Harry, which the wizard dodged skillfully.
While Harry was dodging her spells, Hermione pointed her wand to the floor. There was a rumble, and the wooden floor shook. Suddenly, the spot where Harry was standing seemed to jump up. This sent Harry flying, and Hermione took advantage by sending another spell in his direction. Sherlock had another split-second pang of worry, but Harry responded in time. He was in a heap on the floor, but still managed to cast a bubble-like shield around himself. It deflected Hermione's spell like a mirror, and it hit Sherlock's ceiling. His ceiling was promptly covered by twisting and grasping tropical vines.
Unbeknownst to Granger, Harry's enchanted chair was making its stealthy (for a chair) path toward the witch. It was now right behind her. With a little shove towards the back of Granger knees, the witch toppled backwards, and found herself seated in the chair. As soon as she was, thick, white ropes sprouted from the chair and bound the witch's arms effectively to her sides. She looked positively terrified at this turn of events. Her wand was still in her hand, but that was remedied easily when Harry pointed his wand at her with finality. Hermione's wand flew from the mess of ropes and Harry caught it in the air. Another quick flick of Harry's wand, and Granger slumped in her chair, like she had suddenly fallen asleep. Sherlock realized the duel was done. Harry had won.
"Brilliant!" Sherlock had said loudly. And it was. There were few things as exciting as wizards' duels, he decided.
"Brilliant?!" Harry gasped. Sherlock guessed that Harry was on the verge of becoming very angry with Sherlock, but could not quite manage to do it.
"Brilliant?" The wizard repeated, emotion seeping out of his voice until it was calm again, "Sherlock what the hell is she doing here?"
"Thought you might like to see an old friend?" Sherlock replied.
"Oh lovely, Sherlock, really lovely. Very considerate of you." Harry said, a little out of breath.
"I thought so." Sherlock said non-nonchalantly.
"Sherlock what...what is she doing here?" Harry said. Sherlock thought he might as well explain.
"To help solve your case, obviously." He said, as he strode through his living room. He wanted to examine the evidence of the duel that now littered his flat. "We need someone in the magical world. Someone who can go into the ministry without fear of being arrested, obliviated, or kissed. Since that rules out you, and me, I thought Ms. Granger would be the next logical choice." Sherlock finished. He was poking the cobwebs around his couch with curiosity. He wanted to test their consistency, but to his disappointment, the cobwebs were slowly disappearing, melting away into nothing. However, the vines on the ceiling were not going anywhere. In fact, it seemed like they were quickly growing downward, toward them.
"Oh that's clever. Proper genius, Sherlock. Except for the tiny fact that when she does get to the ministry, she might march right to the auror's office and tell them where I'm hiding. You realize this implicates you too? I don't know if they have special prison cells for muggles in Azkaban, but trust me on this Sherlock, you don't want to find yourself there." Harry was very physically agitated, while he spoke. He was flailing his arms, pointing to Hermione and to Sherlock, and slapping a green tendril of the ceiling-plant out of his face.
"I don't think we need to worry about that." Sherlock said. He also approached the growing vines and was almost ready to cut a piece for further investigation. Suddenly, all of the greenery disappeared. Sherlock quickly determined that the culprit was Harry, who had banished the magical plant.
"You could have warned me!" The wizard said, with that hollow tone that Sherlock knew meant he would be very irritated if he were capable of it.
The possibility of warning Harry had crossed Sherlock's mind. But he knew it would not have been possible.
"You would not have agreed." Sherlock answered simply.
Harry sighed. "You're not wrong there." He said, looking at Hermione with a sad, but longing look. It made something in Sherlock's stomach stir.
"If you really think that she will go to the ministry after you've talked to her, you can simply obliviate…" Sherlock tried to say.
"I am NOT going to obliviate her." The wizard said, forcefully.
This surprised Sherlock. From what he understood, obliviation was practically harmless.
"Harry, do you think I would have brought her if I thought there was any chance she would go to the aurors?" Sherlock said, trying to placate the wizard. He did not want for Potter to make a run for it, thinking he was in danger here in 221b.
"I don't even know why you did bring her…" The wizard said.
"I already told you why! Now, I suggest you wake her up and listen to her. I am not wrong about this. She is on your side." Sherlock said with some frustration. He hated conversations that went in circles.
"On my side?" The wizard said, his voice hoarse. It was obvious that Harry was very torn on the appearance of Hermione Granger. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Yes, on your side. Now wake her up so we can all hug, kiss, and live happily ever after." The detective said with a bitter bite to his words, that surprised even him.
…
Harry cautiously approached Hermione. His heart was fluttering in his chest, and he thought it might burst loose any moment and fly away from him.
"She might be more informative if she were conscious." He heard Sherlock's voice behind his back.
Harry pointed his wand at the witch, and said "Enneverate!"
Hermione's eyes opened slowly. She looked surprised to be in her predicament. Harry suddenly felt bad for binding Hermione to the enchanted chair with ropes. It can't be very comfortable.
"Relashio." Harry said, and ropes were gone. He still had Hermione's wand, so he was not worried about her apparating away. Hermione looked at Harry, and then looked at Sherlock.
"Harry?" Was all she said.
"Yeah. Are you alright?" Harry asked with concern.
Hermione didn't reply, but in a second she sprung out of the chair. Harry thought she might be trying to make a run for it, but he was wrong.
He suddenly had an armful of Hermione and his vision was completely obscured by bushy hair. The old familiarity of it brought back so many memories that Harry's throat felt very raw. He thought he heard a quiet sob coming from the witch.
He could not blame Sherlock for this. In fact he should thank him, Harry thought, as he hugged Hermione tightly. The duel that happened only minutes prior seemed long ago. How childish that was, Harry thought, clinging to his old, best friend.
"Will this take very long?" Sherlock's drawl sounded behind them.
Hermione seemed to remember Sherlock in that moment. She unwound herself from Harry, and turned on the detective.
"You've had him here the whole time?!" She yelled, with a wild edge to her voice.
"Yes." Sherlock said, shrugging his shoulders.
Harry was confused, still. Sherlock had said that Hermione was here to help them solve his case, but that was not really an adequate explanation.
"Hold on, how did you even find Hermione?" Harry asked.
Hermione looked between the two men. It looked like she was not completely in the know, either, about how this chance meeting was engineered by Sherlock.
Sherlock threw his hands in the air, in a dramatic gesture of exasperation. Harry fought the urge to giggle. Now that the initial panic was over, he felt very light, like a balloon that might lose hold and flow away on a strong breeze. It had been so long since he'd seen Hermione. He did not realize until this moment how desperately he missed his old friend. He felt something warm pass over him. Souls need love, as flowers need sunlight, the voice of the Headmaster (rather, his portrait) floated to him over all those years, and especially broken souls. Love is the only thing that can mend them. Harry almost chuckled as he remembered Snape's scathing reply about what Dumbledore could do with all that 'love,' and where he can put it.
"I met Hermione when I explored Diagon Alley," Sherlock started. Harry was about to interrupt to ask how Sherlock managed to get into the wizarding district, but Sherlock held up his hand, "save the questions for the end. You told me where the district was, remember? I met her there by chance. I have to admit, she is more clever than the average blithering idiot, and not only knew who I was, but guessed that I was on a case. I've been in contact with her for two weeks; she had agreed to help me solve your case, and has been digging in the Ministry of Magic on my behest. The reason I brought her here was because Ms. Granger had trust issues, but now I think we can put all of that aside."
The detective turned on Hermione.
"I found Harry in the Archer house; so you were very close to finding him, though too late. I convinced him that I did not believe he was guilty, and that I can help him. He's been living with me ever since." He said, then addressed Harry again. "She is trying to assuage her guilt from many years ago- my guess is that she abandoned you during the war with Voldemort; I would like to get that story as well, since it might be relevant. Obviously she will not turn you in, nor me, so you have no reason to worry." Sherlock finished.
Harry looked at Hermione. He hoped that Sherlock's deduction was not correct. He did not want Hermione to feel guilty over something that happened so long ago. And anyway, it was sort of his fault.
"Though, to be fair, she was planning on sticking you into a private mental ward in Australia. Hopefully, there won't be any need for that." Sherlock added, giving Hermione a pointed look. Harry didn't particularly want to be placed in an asylum, but he thought the gesture oddly caring, though misinformed. He supposed there was a time that he could have benefitted from psychiatric help. Though maybe not the muggle kind.
"Why is it always Australia with you?" Harry asked Hermione with amusement, remembering the witch's parents. She had altered their memories and relocated them to Australia, during the war.
"They speak English there, and it's more out of the way than America." Hermione replied, blushing. "Harry, I'm not going to do that." She said, with a very serious tone.
"Good. I don't do so well with the sun, anyway." He said.
"Who cares about Australia! We need to get back on track here." Sherlock said. "Let's sit down. We all have a lot to talk about."
…
Sherlock was becoming quickly exasperated with the wizard and the witch. He motioned them to sit down, and they were obliging enough, but neither Harry nor Hermione seemed to want to discuss the case.
"Have you been hiding in Britain this whole time?" Hermione asked.
"I know Britain pretty well. I didn't think I'd manage well anywhere else." Harry answered. "How about you? What do you do? How is Ron? How are the Weasleys?"
"I work in the ministry. I've been bouncing between departments, but right now I work with the Wizengamot. It's not particularly fun. The Weasleys are mostly fine; Ron... er, Ron recently got hurt on the job; he's an Auror now." Hermione said, looking down sadly.
"What happened to him?" Harry asked. "Oh, er, did you and him, did you...?"
Hermione seemed to know what Harry wanted to ask, even though Sherlock had no idea.
"We dated for some time. It ended a long time ago." She said quickly. "He was poisoned by someone. It was supposed to be fatal but… do you remember sixth year?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded. "Well, it was the same poison. Very lucky on Ron's part. It didn't kill him, since the previous exposure to the poison strengthened his magical resistance to it. But he is in a pretty nasty place, regardless. The healers are optimistic about his recovery, but for now he is in a magical coma."
"Oh." Was all Harry said.
"The rest of the Weasleys are just fine, though. George did well for himself with the joke shop. He and Angelina are expecting their second child. Charlie is still working with dragons. Bill and Fleur had three kids, they're all school age now…."
"Why is any of this relevant?" Sherlock asked suddenly. He did not give a damn about any of these people.
"Just because it's not relevant to you, doesn't mean Harry doesn't deserve to know what's been going on." Hermione said stiffly. Sherlock was, however, undeterred.
"You two will have time to catch up. Now, let's start with the beginning. It was your seventh year of school, and Voldemort was out in the open. I need the story as detailed as you can remember. Though, leave out the unnecessary information, if you will."
Hermione opened her mouth to talk over Sherlock, but as soon as he mentioned seventh year, she quickly shut it. The witch blushed, and looked away.
"He's not right, is he? You don't still feel guilty, or whatever, about something that happened 16 years ago?" Harry asked Hermione.
"Of course I'm right." Mumbled Sherlock, but he decided to let Granger take this one.
"Why wouldn't I? Ron and I, we left when you needed us most…" Granger said. Sherlock noticed that her voice was wavering, and wondered why,
"Don't! Seriously, Hermione, listen: you did the right thing. I even told you to go…" Harry began saying, putting his hand on the witch's shoulder. The small gesture made Sherlock's heartbeat go mad, which was inconvenient.
"You two could fill me in first?" Sherlock said, with a slightly raised tone.
The wizard and the witch looked at each other, and then at Sherlock.
"Alright," said Hermione, "I'll tell it."
…
November, 1997
They were discussing the sword of Gryffindor when it happened. It was a cold and wet autumn, which the three teenagers had spent camping. Months and months, and they still had nothing to show for it. One day, they overheard a conversation between some runaway wizards and two goblins, that turned everything on its head, and rewrote history forever.
They found that the Sword of Gryffindor in Snape's possession was a fake.
Harry and Hermione felt the excitement that came with discovering another piece of the puzzle. If the sword that was in Snape's possession was a fake, the real sword was left somewhere by Dumbledore, and now all they had to figure out was where the old headmaster had hidden it.
*"Somewhere in Hogsmeade?" Hermione suggested.
"The Shrieking Shack?" said Harry. "Nobody ever goes in there."
"But Snape knows how to get in, wouldn't that be a bit risky?" Hermione said. She didn't think the old headmaster would hide anything in the Shrieking Shack. The old man kept his secret too close to his chest. A public place like the Shrieking Shack would be too risky.
"Dumbledore trusted Snape," Harry reminded her.
"Not enough to tell him that he had swapped the swords," said Hermione, thinking it was a good thing after all that Dumbledore did not put all his eggs in one basket.
"Yeah, you're right!" said Harry, and he looked visibly cheered. "So, would he have hidden the sword well away from Hogsmeade then? What d'you reckon, Ron? Ron?"
Hermione felt a sense of dread. Ron had said nothing, so far. He did not seem to care at all that they had discovered this precious scrap of information. He was laying in one of the bunks, and looked cold. He had a blank expression, and it scared Hermione.
"Oh, remembered me, have you?" Ron said, with a cruel lilt to his voice. Hermione shuddered. She hated when they fought. It was the three of them against the world: there was no need to fight amongst themselves when the rest of wizardkind would be happy do it for them.
"What?" Harry said in surprise. Ron gave a nasty snort.
"You two carry on. Don't let me spoil your fun."
Harry looked perplexed, and glanced at Hermione for help. She shook her head, because she did not know why Ron was acting like a troll, either.
"What's the problem?" asked Harry, with growing concern.
"Problem? There's no problem," said Ron, still refusing to look in their direction. "Not according to you, anyway."
There were several plunks on the canvas over their heads. It had started to rain.
"Well, you've obviously got a problem," said Harry. "Spit it out, will you?"
Ron swung his long legs off the bed and sat up. He looked mean, unlike himself.
"All right, I'll spit it out. Don't expect me to skip up and down the tent because there's some other damn thing we've got to find. Just add it to the list of stuff you don't know."
"I don't know?" repeated Harry. "I don't know?" Hermione could hear Harry's temper rising as his voice rose. She desperately wanted to prevent the two wizards from fighting, but had no idea what to do.
Plunk, plunk, plunk. The rain was falling harder and heavier; it pattered on the leaf-strewn bank all around them and into the river chattering through the dark.
"It's not like I'm not having the time of my life here," said Ron, "you know, with my arm mangled and nothing to eat and freezing my backside off every night. I just hoped, you know, after we'd been running round a few weeks, we'd have achieved something."
Hermione felt the cold go right through her. She had been thinking these thoughts, but she knew it was just an effect of the locket. Yes, she wished that they were farther along after all these months, but the simple fact was that they were not. It did not mean they had to give up. They couldn't give up, not while Voldemort was still wreaking havoc all over Britain.
"Ron," Hermione said, but in such a quiet voice that Ron could pretend not to have heard it over the loud tattoo the rain was now beating on the tent.
"I thought you knew what you'd signed up for," said Harry
"Yeah, I thought I did too."
"So what part of it isn't living up to expectations?" asked Harry. Hermione's heart was getting ready to jump out of her throat. No, no, no, she thought. Stop fighting! But the words never made it out of her mouth.
"Did you think we'd be staying in five-star hotels? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you'd be back to mummy by Christmas?" Harry said, his voice dripping with bitterness. Hermione felt like she could have hit both of the wizards over the head.
"We thought you knew what you were doing!" shouted Ron, standing up. Shut up, Ron, you prat, shut up!
"We thought Dumbledore had told you what to do, we thought you had a real plan!"
"Ron!" said Hermione, this time clearly audible over the rain thundering on the tent roof, but again, he ignored her.
"Well, sorry to let you down," said Harry, his voice strangely calm. Maybe, maybe they could stop fighting now, thought Hermione...
"I've been straight with you from the start, I told you everything Dumbledore told me. And in case you haven't noticed, we've found one Horcrux—" Harry said, and Hermione thought this was a solid point.
"Yeah, and we're about as near getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them—nowhere effing near in other words?"
"Take off the locket, Ron," Hermione said, her voice unusually high. "Please take it off. You wouldn't be talking like this if you hadn't been wearing it all day." Maybe if they could just put the locket somewhere for awhile, if they could all take a break from it, the three of them would return to their senses.
"Yeah, he would," said Harry, with cold finality. "D'you think I haven't noticed the two of you whispering behind my back? D'you think I didn't guess you were thinking this stuff?" He said, turning on Hermione.
"Harry we weren't—" But they were; Harry was right. The locket had wormed its way inside all of their heads, magnifying their doubts and fears.
"Don't lie!" Ron hurled at her. "you said it too, you said you were disappointed, you said you'd thought he had a bit more to go on than—" Ron was pointing an accusing finger at her. Hermione felt on the verge of tears. Why were they doing this to her? She felt like she was splitting apart.
"I didn't say it like that—Harry, I didn't!" she cried.
The rain was pounding the tent, tears were pouring down Hermione's face, and the excitement of a few minutes before had vanished as if it had never been, a short-lived firework that had flared and died, leaving everything dark, wet, and cold.
The sword of Gryffindor was hidden they knew not where, and they were three teenagers in a tent whose only achievement was not, yet, to be dead.
"So why are you still here?" Harry asked Ron, with that cold voice. This can't be happening, Hermione thought. They had promised; her and Ron both.
"Search me," said Ron.
"Go home then," said Harry.
"Yeah, maybe I will!" shouted Ron, and he took several steps toward Harry, who did not back away.
"Didn't you hear what they said about my sister? But you don't give a rat's fart, do you, it's only the Forbidden Forest, Harry I've-Faced-Worse Potter doesn't care what happens to her in there—well, I do, alright, giant spider and mental stuff—"
"I was only saying—she was with the others, they were with Hagrid—"
"Yeah, I get it, you don't care! And what about the rest of my family, the Weasleys don't need another kid injured, did you hear that?"
"Yeah, I—"
"Not bothered by what it meant, though?"
"Ron!" said Hermione, finally finding her lost voice and forcing her way between them. "I don't think it means anything new has happened, anything we don't know about: think, Ron, Bill's already scarred; plenty of people must have seen that George has lost an ear by now, and you're supposed to be on your deathbed with spattergroit, I'm sure that's all he meant—"
"Oh, you're sure, are you? Right then, well, I won't bother myself about them. It's alright for you two, isn't it, with your parents safely out of the way—" Ron said, and Hermione twinged. That was a low blow.
"My parents are dead!" Harry bellowed.
"And mine could be going the same way!" yelled Ron.
"Then GO!" roared Harry. "Go back to them, pretend you've got over your spattergroit and mummy'll be able to feed you up and—" Ron made a sudden movement: Harry reacted, but before either wand was clear of its owner's pocket, Hermione had raised her own.
"Protego!" she cried, and an invisible shield expanded between Harry and Ron; all of them were forced backward a few steps by the strength of the spell, and Harry and Ron glared from either side of the transparent barrier..
"Leave the Horcrux," Harry said. Ron wrenched the chain from over his head and cast the locket into a nearby chair. He turned to Hermione. "What are you doing?"
"What do you mean?" Hermione said, still lost in the events unfolding before her. Ron couldn't possibly think of actually leaving, he just couldn't. They had promised, and Harry needed their help.
"Are you staying or what?"
"I. . . " She looked anguished.*
"Go." Came Harry's voice. It was calm, almost uncaring. "Go with him." He said. It was not a request, she thought. It was a command.
Why did Harry want her to go with Ron? Maybe, just maybe, he could see that after the Weasley had a little time to calm down, he would want to come back. She could go with Ron, calm him down, and bring him back.
Before she had anymore time to think about the situation, Ron was striding out of the tent. She quickly dismantled her shield charm, and ran after him, into the downpour outside. She just managed to grab a hold of his arm, intending on screaming some sense into him. But Ron chose that instant to disapparate, taking Hermione with him. The last thing she saw was the tent, being drenched by the rain.
The clearing that Ron apparated them to was in the middle of another forest, and they were not alone. A gang of snatchers surrounded them quickly, and Hermione found herself disarmed.
Hermione had been right: Ron wanted to come back as soon as he left. But, it wasn't until the next evening, when Ron managed to tackle one of the snatchers, and Hermione stole her wand back from another, that the two of them were able to get back to where they left Harry.
Harry was not there anymore.
...
Present Day
"It sounds much worse when you tell it, Hermione." Harry said.
Sherlock was listening attentively to the story, and making his own conclusions. He decided to let the wizard and the witch talk among themselves for now, while he tried to fit this piece of the puzzle into the whole.
"Harry, I've been thinking about how to properly apologize for leaving you for years, but I'm not sure how to even begin, I…" Hermione said.
"Don't. It was as much my fault…"
"It wasn't! We said we would be with you until the end, and then we left…"
"No, you don't understand. A month later I got captured by the Lestranges." Harry said, and Sherlock perked up. "They only kept me alive to give me over to Voldemort. If you had been there, they would have killed you and Ron. Really, I'm glad you two got of the way before that happened."
"You were captured by Bellatrix?" Hermione asked in a high-pitched voice.
"And her husband." Harry replied, glancing at Sherlock. The detective understood. Harry was talking about his uncle's doppleganger. A piece of the puzzle suddenly fell into place, remembering Harry's extreme reaction to seeing his uncle. He knew what it meant when Harry said he was captured. Prisoners of war were seldom treated with dignity. He quickly got up from the table. He kept the volume called Essences and Vessels in a drawer in his room. He decided to retrieve it immediately.
When he sat back down, both Harry and Hermione were looking at him with perplexed expressions.
He found the page he had been thinking of quickly, and began to read.
"...The soul of any living being leaves its body when death occurs, and this is well known. However, the soul is capable of vacating its vessel under other circumstances. The Dementor's kiss is thought to take the soul of a living being out of its proper vessel, but there are other instances of souls leaving bodies before death occurs. In extreme duress, the soul will leave the body, as a means of protection. It is a self-defense mechanism inherent in all beings which possess souls. A common cause of this phenomenon is the Cruciatus curse. There are many victims which are no longer aware after suffering under this curse for a prolonged time. The body survives, but the soul is no longer present and does not animate the body…" Sherlock finished reading, and looked up. Harry looked intensely uncomfortable, and Hermione looked concerned. Sherlock was oddly impressed with the detached and clinical way Harry had written about this 'phenomenon.'
"How did you find that?" Harry asked, in his hollow voice.
"Hermione's bookshelf. I don't think she realized the true author." Sherlock said, and passed the book to Harry. Hermione's eyes grew wide as she looked between the book and Harry. Sherlock could see that the witch understood that the slim book was Harry's work.
The wizard took it gingerly, and looked it over. Predictably he skipped to the back, to read the author's bio, which was written by the editors.
"I didn't think they'd actually publish it." Harry said, with a tired expression. He put the book down on the table, away from him.
Hermione gasped.
"Harry...is that what happened to you?" She asked, talking about the excerpt Sherlock had read.
"More or less. It was a bit more complicated in my case." Harry looked like he wanted this conversation to end as soon as possible. He was looking between Sherlock and Hermione as though the two had cornered him. Sherlock suddenly had misgivings about questioning Harry about, no doubt, the hardest part of his life. He brushed them aside. He needed to get to the bottom of this.
"This is why you can speak to spirits of the newly dead, and why you do not react to some emotional stimuli?" Sherlock asked.
"I thought you might have guessed already…" Harry said, "yes, that's why."
"So, your soul...left your body?" Sherlock wanted to confirm.
"No, not fully. Otherwise, I would have still been…" Harry said, and twirled his finger next to his temple, indicating madness. Sherlock thought he understood. When the soul truly leaves the body, it does not come back.
Hermione was looking at Harry with wide, horrified eyes. She seemed at a loss for anything to say. Sherlock was not.
"But your soul was torn. Because of, what was it, 'extreme duress?'" Sherlock asked, quoting the slim volume.
"Yes, that's the gist of it." Harry said wincing.
"Harry, how did you escape the Lestranges?" Hermione asked in a small voice. Sherlock thought this was not the most important question to ask, but allowed it since he also wanted to know.
"Snape," Harry said, visibly relaxing. Sherlock guessed he was more comfortable talking about this. "Snape found out somehow, and got me out of there. I spent the rest of the war hidden at Hogwarts."
Hermione sucked in breath.
"But Snape was a death eater! He killed Dumbledore- why would he help?" She asked.
"Dumbledore was dying already. The murder was planned. It was staged to convince Voldemort that Snape was truly his man. Snape was working for us the entire time. I was supposed to clear his name after the war, but I… well I'm sure you remember Hermione. I wasn't exactly up to defending anyone." Harry finished sadly. Hermione nodded.
Sherlock had gotten up from the table and began to pace. He was constructing a timeline of the war in his head. He was about to ask Harry more questions, but Hermione beat him to it.
"When I saw you at the Battle of Hogwarts, you weren't...well, you seemed like yourself." Hermione began saying.
"Yes. By then, I got better. With Snape's help." Harry answered.
"How did you get better?" Sherlock asked with genuine curiosity. "Phoenix tears?" There was a passage in the little book on the table that had mentioned Phoenix tears as a healing agent for people suffering from 'soul-sickness.' The description was something soppy, likening Phoenix tears to the liquid equivalent of the purest of human emotions.
"I'd rather not talk about that." Harry said, and then shut his mouth. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. So, not phoenix tears, Sherlock thought. Or at least, not that time.
"What if it's important to the case…"
"It's not." Harry was being stubborn on this issue. Sherlock consoled himself, thinking he would eventually find out.
"You were captured, tortured, then rescued, by a double agent. He ...cured you? And then you defeated Voldemort. Correct so far?" Sherlock asked.
Harry nodded.
"Harry...you died. Or, we all thought you did? But then you came back?" Hermione said in a quiet voice.
"What?!" From what Sherlock gathered, death, even in the magical world, was a permanent condition.
Harry looked from Sherlock to Hermione. Sherlock knew that the wizard was inclined to keep things secret, that it was very difficult for him to share this information with the other two.
"I...well...yes, I suppose I did." Harry said, his shoulders twitching. Sherlock thought this was a very odd way to talk about one's death. One was either dead, or not.
He looked at Hermione for a more coherent explanation. She did not disappoint.
"It was during the Battle of Hogwarts. Voldemort said he only needed Harry to come forward, and he would leave us all unharmed. It was hogwash, obviously. He was just trying to draw Harry out." She said, and Sherlock knew immediately that his wizard would have gone willingly to spare the rest. "We didn't think you'd actually go, Harry."
"I had to." Was the wizard's reply.
"We would have defended the castle. Everyone knew that Voldemort was just saying that so he could get you alone into the Forbidden Forest…" She began saying. Sherlock thought he could imagine the battle. A tall castle, and a single dark-haired figure breaking the lines, to enter a dark forest.
"It wasn't about that. I had to let him kill me. It had to do with the Horcruxes." Harry told her, patiently.
Sherlock knew next to nothing about Horcruxes. Harry had let slip once, that they were what kept Voldemort alive, and that they held pieces of his soul in otherwise inanimate objects, but that was not very much information. He sat down, and let Hermione continue their conversation. She was clearly more knowledgeable on the subject
"The Horcruxes? I don't see how that tied into it. I, well, I assumed when Voldemort fell that you were successful in eliminating the rest of them?" Hermione said.
"Yes, I did. One of them was in Bellatrix's vault in Gringotts. She let that slip when she was...when she was… Well, the other one was in Hogwarts, so that wasn't hard to find." Harry said, and Sherlock did not miss the way that Harry's hands shook when he talked about 'Bellatrix,' who he guessed was the female Lestrange. Sherlock felt something hot surge in his chest, which he didn't like, since emotions were not supposed to have a temperature.
"I remember the break in at Gringotts. The Prophet blamed it on you, but I never thought that could be true... That left the snake, which Neville dealt with." Hermione finished for him.
"Yes. That was pretty spectacular." Harry said. "But, those weren't the only ones."
"There were more?" Hermione said the shock evident on her face.
"Just one more." Harry said, uneasily.
"What was it?" Hermione asked.
Instead of answering, Harry pointed at his forehead. The gesture confused Sherlock. But Hermione must have understood, since she slowly covered her mouth with her hand.
"Oh, no, Harry that's…" She said with horror, "Harry, where's your scar?" She asked, suddenly.
"Glamour. It's supposed to be everlasting, but I've been told that sometimes it's rather faulty." Harry said, looking at Sherlock. He took out his wand, and twirled it around his face. A scar appeared. It was faded, but still visible. And very identifiable. Sherlock thought it was a good idea to keep that covered. The orthogonal lines that vaguely resembled a lightning bolt would be a dead giveaway, if any wizard caught Harry.
"You had…" Hermione began slowly.
"A piece of Voldemort's soul living in my head, yeah. Not a comfortable thought, I grant you." Harry finished for her. "He didn't mean to make it. From what Dumbledore guessed, a piece of Voldemort's soul had torn loose when he tried to off me the first time, in Godric's Hollow."
"And latched onto the only living thing in the room." Hermione said, understanding. "That's why you could sometimes see what Voldemort was doing, and speak parseltongue!"
Sherlock's head was swimming. But damn, wizards were interesting! Or maybe, just his wizard?
"That's also why I had to die." Harry nodded.
"But you didn't die." Sherlock stated. The evidence of his not-death was right in front of him: Harry was sitting there, very much alive.
"Hard to say, whether I did or didn't. The point is, I could come back. It had to do with my mother's protection." Harry said looking at Hermione. The witch quickly picked up the thread.
"He took your blood, didn't he? When he resurrected himself?" She asked.
"Right. Binding me to life, while he lived. Not his best move, really." Harry finished easily. Sherlock would not say that he was lost, but the story did become much more convoluted than he previously imagined.
"So, when he tried to kill you, he destroyed the scar-Horcrux." Hermione said, with dawning realization.
"Yes." Harry nodded. "The horcrux, morbid as it is, was actually pretty helpful, up until that moment." Harry said, almost cheerfully. Hermione was not sharing the wizard's mood.
"Oh?"
"Besides giving us clues as to what Voldemort was thinking and doing, it also… er, it kept me together. When I got captured, and all that happened..." Harry was confident when he began talking, but mentioning his time with the Lestranges completely deflated him.
"Harry, Neville's parents… they suffered the same thing, didn't they? Their souls left their bodies as a result of the Cruciatus curse. But they couldn't bring them back. Neville told me… after Essences and Vessels was published (and Harry I can't believe that was you!) the healers tried to use Phoenix tears, but it didn't help." Hermione said.
"Yeah, like I said, my case was a little different." Harry said. "I guess the piece of Voldemort's soul wasn't ready to move on," unlike me, Sherlock heard the underlying meaning in Harry's words, "so it kept me from truly leaving."
"After the battle at Hogwarts, and Voldemort's death you were damaged once again." Sherlock stated. He was still trying to understand the sequence of events that led to Harry's sentencing imprisonment. He looked at Harry for confirmation.
"Er, yes." Harry said. Sherlock could tell in the way that the wizard suddenly folded his arms over himself, that it would be useless asking how. Instead, he tried to guess.
"A traumatic event?" Sherlock asked, thinking the wizard's life had been a long series of traumatic events, really. But this one must have stood out. Harry nodded tightly, and did not elaborate.
"Then a year later, the first string of murders occurred." Sherlock said. "What did you do in that year?"
Harry chuckled darkly. "Nothing. Like you said, I was damaged again. I stayed in Grimmauld place. I was barely aware of this world."
"You were aware of another world?" Sherlock asked.
"Erm, I'm not sure I can explain this properly…" Harry began saying. Both Sherlock and Hermione held their silence, waiting for the wizard to continue speaking.
"I could sort of see the other world, too. You know, the next world? I was there more, than I was here..." Harry said, blushing. "I know that sounds crazy, but I don't know how else to describe it."
Sherlock did not know what Harry was talking about. Thankfully, Hermione did.
"Do you mean you could see beyond death?" Hermione asked, very seriously.
Harry nodded, and looked away from both of them. The idea seemed to trouble Hermione greatly, but she did not elaborate further.
Sherlock did not see what the big deal was. Harry's ability to see Eliza's and Baskey's ghost had been nothing but helpful. Sherlock would have counted it a very fortunate turn of events if the world of the dead suddenly revealed itself to him. He would be able to solve any crime, by simply speaking with the victim.
"Can you...do you still see it?" Hermione asked in a hushed voice.
"No, not so much." Harry answered. The wizard suddenly looked up at Sherlock. He was trying to silently plead with the detective. Sherlock thought he might know what the wizard was trying to silently communicate to him. He glanced at the little clock on the mantle of his fireplaces.
"My, what an interesting conversation this is. It's nearly midnight, and there's still so much to talk about." Sherlock said, looking at the witch. Hermione jumped when she heard that. She took out her cell to double check the time.
"Oh, no! I have to run!" She cried, in a panic. "I still have so much to tell you both! Snape, and Ron, I just know it's connected somehow! But I have to run! My daughter will have been home by now, I can't believe it's so late already!" She said, quickly getting up.
"You have a daughter?" Harry asked, smiling.
"Yes, with Krum. We're divorced now." She said hurriedly. "I'll be back tomorrow. I won't be free till the evening. You'll be here still, won't you?" She asked looking at Harry. Sherlock decided to answer for the wizard.
"We'll wait. Bring all the data you've dug up from the Ministry of Magic next time, will you?" He said. It was not like him to delay, but Sherlock also thought the wizard had quite enough for one night.
In a flash, the witch was gone, but not before enveloping Harry in a tight hug, which the wizard returned. She promised to return as soon as she could manage.
Harry sat back in his chair, and looked drained. Sherlock was only thinking of how long he had to be acquainted with Harry for it to be socially acceptable to hug him. Perhaps they were there already? Better not test it, thought Sherlock. He didn't want Harry to have any wrong ideas about him. Or rather, the right ideas, which were wrong.
"And here I thought it would be a quiet night in." Harry said.
"We were inside the whole time," Sherlock said with confusion, "and after the duel, we weren't exactly loud were we? Mrs. Hudson didn't even bother checking in on us."
Harry laughed, "Yeah, I suppose we were inside. So, you're really going ahead with this?"
"With what?" Sherlock asked.
"My case?" Harry clarified.
"I said I would solve it, didn't I? When we first met." Sherlock said, though he knew what the wizard meant. He had been reluctant at first. It was only Mycroft's lingering threat that had spurred him into action, initially. It would have been more convenient, for him at least, to have the wizard still wanted. He would be unable to leave Baker street, and Sherlock could have him all to himself.
"Why are you doing this Sherlock? Why do you care so much about my case?" Harry asked tiredly.
Because I want to see you free. The answer floated into Sherlock's head so easily, but he did not say it. It wasn't just Mycroft's manipulations, he realized, as he thought more deeply about it.
"Because it's what I do." He answered simply, instead. Harry gave him a long look. Sherlock was worried for a second that the wizard would try to read his mind, and see the real reasons. But, he did not feel the push in his mind that he knew meant legilimency was being performed. The wizard could probably come to his own conclusions, without mind reading.
"I should really thank you. It was good to see Hermione again. Merlin, I didn't realize how much I've missed her." Harry said, giving Sherlock a small smile. "Though, I could have done without the interrogation."
"I realize it's difficult for you to talk about your past," Sherlock said carefully, noticing Harry's frown, "I wish it were not necessary. But you know it is."
Harry nodded his agreement. "I know. I'm sorry I'm being difficult about...some of it."
"You don't need to apologize." Sherlock assured him. "But I must ask you: you don't seem to care about your case at all. Why?"
Potter sighed. Lines appeared around his eyes, and he was looking at something over Sherlock's shoulder. The detective had the urge to look back, but he knew Harry was seeing something long in the past.
"I've lived in the shadows for a long time now, Sherlock. I'm well used to them. Even if tomorrow, they announce my innocence and welcome me back, I'm not sure I would return to their world. I'm not sure I want to."
Sherlock thought this was probably good news for him.
"Hmm, you're always welcome to stay here, instead of returning." Sherlock said. Harry smiled at him, then stood up.
He walked around the table, and placed his hand lightly on Sherlock's shoulder.
"Goodnight, then." Harry said, and left, while Sherlock remained sitting at the table, paralyzed.
Sherlock's stomach felt like it was on the verge of jumping out of any available orifice. He took a few deep breaths, and shakily departed for his own bedroom.
When he finally fell asleep, he found himself back in his labyrinth.
…
The lights were dimmer here, almost non-existent. Sherlock could not see any torches. All he could see was a stone walls on either side, and darkness ahead.
"Sherlock?" A voice called out from the darkness. Sherlock became excited. He knew that voice. Harry was somewhere here, too. Everything would be okay if he could find his wizard. Sherlock began walking through the stone tunnel.
"Sherlock, where are you?" The hoarse voice called out again, except this time it sounded farther away.
Was he walking the wrong way? Sherlock didn't know. He switched directions, but it seemed any way he went, the lights grew dimmer, and the labyrinth more foreboding.
"Sherlock, please..." He heard the wizard's plea, so far away he could barely make out the words. He turned around again, more desperate to reach Harry.
He walked forward, not knowing where he was going, just that he had to keep going. The stone tunnel twisted and turned, and he felt that he was in the wrong part of his labyrinth.
He kept walking until he spotted a figure up ahead. He quickened his pace. It was a boy, facing away from him. He had dark hair, and was rather thin. Sherlock became excited, thinking he finally found Harry. But as he approached, he grew wary. The hair was black, but all wrong. It was short, neat, and combed back.
When Sherlock got closer, the boy turned around. He thought he looked oddly familiar with his sparkling and mischievous eyes, black as coal.
"You haven't forgotten me, have you love?" The boy said in a clear, sing-song voice. Sherlock found his mouth was shut, and he could not move it, to reply.
"But what am I saying, you HAVE forgotten me. This is your palace of forgetting, isn't it, dear Sherlock?"
Sherlock began backing away from the boy, who was actually very scary, he decided.
"You'll have to remember me! Because Sherlock, I haven't forgotten you, my love!" Sherlock turned around, and began running. The stone walls rumbled, and began to close in. It was getting even darker. Sherlock was sprinting away from the high, cruel voice of the boy behind him.
"I'll follow you wherever you go, darling! What's the real use in running?"
…
AN: This chapter turned out to be rather long, AND I still haven't covered everything I meant to. Hope you guys were okay with the rehash of Deathly Hallows. If you're a true friend, please leave me some words on what you thought :)
