Chapter Text
No matter the time of night or day, there was always some sort of commotion happening in the Ravenclaw common room.
On most days, the space was filled with rustling of pages and theatrical whispers, as everyone carried on with their studies — which usually were somewhat relevant to homework they were pretending to be doing. Occasionally, someone would be experimenting with a charm or an unnamed potion recipe they found in an old, worn out textbook and subdued explosions and imaginative profanities joined the familiar cacophony. Those were the norm. None of the Ravenclaws really batted an eye anymore; it usually took first-years two or three months before they fully adapted and stopped flinching. Also, unlike some other houses (namely one that also resided in another castle tower) they didn’t throw many parties. Older students usually preferred to sneak into other common rooms or gather in abandoned classrooms, of which in Hogwarts there were many. Why get caught in such an obvious place? Well, actually, why get caught at all? If Gryffindor got in trouble, it was their problem, wasn’t it?
When on a May afternoon the Ravenclaw Tower was filled with students not going about their day in small groups, but instead gossiping while swirling about the room like a big organism, mixing and matching the details, it was clear something unusual had happened. The sight was so unseemly that Persephone Holmes stood still for a moment, making sure she didn’t accidentally stumble into the Gryffindor’s common room (which might have happened once or twice before, when she blindly followed voice of some students, engrossed in a book she just checked out of the library). But no, the overbearing shades of blue and brown were confirmation enough.
The commotion caused anxiety and excitement to rise in her chest. Clearly something big must have happened. Something that wasn’t obvious. And where things were unclear, there was a chance to snoop and investigate, two things her brain did as an instinct.
Ravenclaw’s as a whole were compassionate in their own, peculiar way. The entire year when students were being petrified by a so-called Slytherin’s monster, the Tower accepted the news with a quiet interest that sent some students to get their Care of Magical Monsters or History textbooks. After confirming the victim wasn’t someone they personally cared for, instead of panic they went to equip themselves with potential theories. It wasn’t that they didn’t care — if someone studied them as a one big creature, they would soon find out passive waiting for inevitable was simply not in their nature.
That was one of the many reasons Persephone felt at home here, despite her older brother’s constant quips she should’ve been a Slytherin instead. It was spoken exactly as someone who would never be able to survive a day there, so she ignored it out of pity.
Since the school already had their fair share of people who jumped head-first into the murkiest pools without as much as throwing a stone to make sure it’s not just a rain puddle (Harry Potter did figure flying to school in a illegally magically modified car would be an excellent idea, after all), Claws acted as their distinctive anti-thesis. Yes, they made mistakes, but it wasn’t due to lack of preparation for most plausible circumstances. And yes, some of them were impulsive and reckless — Persephone’s best friend, Theseus Scamander was one of those, in fact — but at least they were surrounded by a community that was sure to interfere. Perhaps that was why they boasted to be the house with second least student deaths since Hogwarts was founded. Only Hufflepuff was better in that regard, however now, with Justin being petrified (which some counted — the “deaths” were more of a “serious injuries” since at least the eighteenth century), they were closer than ever to that sweet first spot.
There was a reason why competitiveness was one of their traits.
Persephone scanned the room in an attempt to find Theo among the crowd, but he was nowhere in sight. After Transfiguration, their last class of the day, they separated when she decided to follow up on her latest personal mission, which was trying to get into the Hufflepuff common room without any help or cheating; admittedly, she didn’t have a real reason for it other than to prove herself she could. He just shrugged and said he’s got something to do anyway, but now a wave of worry swept over her.
Surely he couldn’t have gotten himself in trouble in what, a bit over two hours? That was her forte anyway.
As far as she could tell, most of their year was sitting in the back of the room on the steps leading to boys’s dormitories, talking fervently. The only ones missing were Theo himself, and one of the girls she shared the dorm with. Her name was… Mary, Marie, or some other plain name starting with “m," that Percy didn’t bother remembering because they barely spoke two words to each other.
She slowly entered the flock, navigating around in hopes that he was simply talking to someone else; annoyingly, despite being only a lowly first year, he was quite skilled at befriending — or getting along with — most of the house, even despite age differences. A sixth-year sitting next to him to talk about the last Quidditch game? Nothing new. Waving over Clark, the Head Boy and most popular Claw student to ask to proofread Potions essay? Sure, why not? Persephone’s circle of friends consisted only of Theo, Rolf (who was his cousin), her brother Sherlock, and Sherlock’s only friend. And Luna Lovegood, but that was only according to Luna herself.
(Contrary to what Mycroft, her eldest brother, claimed, the limited number of friends she had wasn’t caused by the lack of social skills, as was in Sherlock’s case. Dividing time among too many people simply defeated the purpose of having best friends. Then again of course so claimed Sherlock.)
Confirming that Theseus wasn’t sitting with their year she tried to locate her brother; the third year was crowded by the fireplace, gossiping among themselves, Sherlock ominously missing. As she approached the group, their conversations seemed to have curiously fizzled out.
When asked, she was told, with a couple of interesting glances, that none of them had seen Theo since lunch. That they didn’t have a clue where Sherlock was didn’t surprise her — he was known by many, liked by a few, and possibly avoided when possible.
Percy was fine with being a Holmes not making her that many friends, yet the way nobody thought to clue her in started to get on her nerves. She hated not knowing.
“Does anyone know what has actually happened?” she asked over the noise.
Cho Chang, probably the nicest (and prettiest) girl in the lower classes, turned to her with a sheepish smile. She seemed to wrestle with herself for a second, before finally she leaned over towards Persephone. “They said someone was attacked in the library. Madam Pince sent everyone away,” she added, when Percy refused to stop looking at her.
She scanned the room once again. It would make sense that on a Thursday afternoon half of Ravenclaw house was in the library while the other in the Tower, thus inadvertently now creating a crowd. As someone who spent most of her free time in the library, Persephone acutely knew Madam Pince had never before asked everyone to leave at once, either. It didn’t take a genius to figure out someone must have gotten seriously injured — or worse , the library was gravely damaged.
After all, things blew up in the castle on a daily basis. “What do you mean attacked? And who—”
Someone chuckled grimly. “It was the Slytherin monster, man.”
“Yeah, it’s getting more frequent,” a tall boy, fifth- or sixth-year, sighed. “I don’t like to point fingers, but before Harry Potter, things weren’t—”
An array of voices followed, some agreeing, others trying to advocate for it to be a coincidence and to leave Potter alone. Personally, Persephone thought three big incidents in two school years was indeed starting to form a pattern rather than simple accidents.
“It was a different monster,” one of the older students, wide-eyed brunette whose name Persephone didn’t remember, joined the conversation. She shifted in place and looked around, as if this unspecified creature could suddenly jump out from behind a couch. “Like, not the old one, because this one created explosions .”
Her friend huffed and rolled her eyes. “I already told you, Arie, it wasn’t a monster. It was probably twins pranking some poor kid.”
“But they weren’t even there, I talked to them in front of the Charms classroom half an hour before!”
“As if they couldn’t set it up earlier,” the blonde girl said. “Or they just bolted before the class started. Like they never skipped a class. You know Fred and George, who else could it be ?”
The brunette raised an eyebrow, shooting meaningful looks that were not subtle at all. As much as Persephone wanted to know that instant what she was alluding to, it did not seem to be necessarily relevant to this case, and so she forced her brain to switch gears. If it had something to do with Theseus, her brother, or the supposed library monster, judging by her behaviour, there was no way “Arie” wouldn’t have spilled it already.
Giving up on this trope she thanked the girls for as little information as she received. She was about to turn back to Cho, hoping to get some more answers from her instead, when something caught her eye. On the blonde girl’s robe there was a residue of some kind. Instinctively she reached out to touch it lightly. Was it… ash?
The two were now in a hushed conversation between themselves, so engrossed nobody even noticed her transgression; in the crowd people bumped into others all the time anyway. Persephone cleared her throat and, not having been heard, patted the brunette’s shoulder. “Excuse me, but you two have been in the library at the time, right? Do you know who got hurt?”
The girls turned their attention back to her, suddenly falling quiet. From the glances they exchanged and a sudden difference in their facial expressions, Persephone figured something has obviously only now snapped into place in their heads. The brunette (Arie, or whatever her name actually was) was about to answer, when someone tugged on the sleeve of Percy’s shirt.
She spun around to berate whoever did that. It was a bulky, short Claw from one of the older classes. He stared at her with a mix of tension and concern.
“You’re the lass looking for Theo Scamander?” he asked. She nodded, straightening up the sleeve he pulled. “Well, he’s gotta be in the Hospital Wing with Rolf. Poor sod got hit right in the face, kinda grous–”
“In the face? Theseus?”
“Huh?” He blinked, pausing his short-lived monologue. “What? No, I mean Rolf.” Just as Percy turned towards the exit, the boy grabbed her sleeve again. Her patience was getting dangerously thin. “You are the other Holmes, right?”
She sighed heavily, not entirely sure if she wanted to hear whatever was to follow. Wording made it clear it had something to do with Sherlock, and that was never a good thing. Being a Holmes was difficult in many ways, and the reputation her brothers left in their wake was just the most common one. A sudden thought appeared. Dear Merlin, could it have been Sherlock that blew up the library?
“Indeed, one and only. Is Sherlock in trouble as well?” she asked with dread.
“No, no.” He furrowed his brows. “I don’t think so anyway, who bloody knows. Just got a message for you, is all.” Persephone sized up the boy judgmentally. He didn’t look like a type her brother would either ask nor persuade to be his lackey. Apparently looks deceived. “He’s waiting for you outside, he said he–”
She hasn’t heard what he had to add, already at the door out of the Ravenclaw Tower.
* * *
The corridor leading to the Tower was empty. Instead, Persephone caught up with Sherlock right at the base of the staircase, where he stood, seemingly deep in thought. As she approached, he held out a hand, motioning for her to halt. What he did not predict, however, was the velocity of an eleven-year-old rushing down the stairs, and how long would be her stopping distance.
“Merlin’s–” he groaned, barely managing to stay upright after an impact of the, rather tall, girl almost knocked him to the ground. “Watch out, would you!”
“Well, excuse me for being in a bit of a hurry!” she hissed.
Sherlock put a hand over her mouth and motioned towards the main corridor. “We’re not supposed to be here so shut up,” he whispered. Persephone considered biting him but decided to wait. “We’re on the stupid lockdown until tomorrow morning. Didn’t Steven tell you?”
She had to let out a mumbling sound before he remembered she can’t respond. Percy took out an exaggerated inhale, glowering at him. “Steven?” she asked quietly. “Oh, the bloke that was… No, he hasn’t. I mean, yes, I heard about the lockdown, but he hasn’t. He just said you’re going to be outside, which, by the way, you weren’t.”
“Last I checked, downstairs was also outside the Tower,” he noted smugly. His expression softened, however, after noticing Persephone’s theatrical eye-roll. “Listen, Theseus’s fine, so don’t worry about him. And I’ve kept tabs on professors and prefects as best as I could, so we can go to the Hospital Wing and check up on the Scamanders. I am the real hero here. But we need to be quiet and quick.”
She rolled her eyes at the hero comment, and nodded. Frankly, a big part of her was surprised at this unusual outburst of brotherly feelings (he actually thought about sending someone to fetch her instead of just going himself and later telling her she could’ve thought of going? He thought about anyone but himself? He remembered he has a sister? The bar was not very high), but it was quickly squashed by two much bigger instincts: worry and curiosity. And especially the latter was growing with each passing moment.
Quickly, it completely took over. If she were to believe Sherlock, Theo was fine, therefore it wasn’t smart to waste the time thinking about his well being. And besides, it wasn’t as if she could’ve helped his physical form in any case; but figuring out why what happened happened , that was a possibility. Or at least that was what she kept telling herself.
After a minute or two of arguing quietly — mostly through nothing but expressive grimaces — they devised a rather cobbled plan. Instead of risking running into someone on the main staircase, which was definitely patrolled often, they took the longer but less traveled route. It meant they had to nearly circle the castle to get to the western staircase, but getting caught there was much less likely. And as soon as they got to the Hospital Wing, one of them could feign illness if it was necessary; but Madam Pomfrey would probably wave a hand and just ask them to be quiet. Or so they hoped, at least.
As they were making their way down, Persephone’s brain began to spin, attempting to organise the few information she had so far, as well as sort out through the questions that naturally arose. In chronological order, these were:
- Where did Theseus go after Transmutation?
- Was he with Rolf at the library? Who was Rolf with?
- Did Sherlock have something to do with it? (As much as she’d liked to presume her brother’s innocence, not finding an obvious link between him clearly not being in the Tower, and his skill in producing potions that resulted in explosions of various sizes, would’ve been foolish.)
- Why was this being made into such a big deal? (Being basically banished into common rooms hasn’t ever happened, therefore the situation must’ve at least seemed serious.)
- Why was Theseus still in the Hospital Wing? (Here she speculated that it might’ve been to avoid the rest of Ravenclaws harassing him for details.)
The last explanation left a bit of a sour taste in her mouth. Her , the first version of it said, before Percy changed it in her head. To avoid her harassing him for details. Was he possibly trying to hide out from her, instead of being there because he was hurt? To chase the thought away she switched her attention to a different problem. Theseus had to wait a few more minutes, whereas at least one of those doubts could’ve been clarified immediately.
Percy eyed her brother suspiciously and hurried down the stairs after him.
“Where were you?” She asked him coldly, falling into step with Sherlock.
He peered at her with a hint of confusion. “You’re— It wasn’t me, Ef,” he said, as if reading her mind.
“Where were you, then?”
Sherlock looked at her, surprised at the sudden questions. “I came into the library moments before it happened. Walked in, heard a bang, couldn’t even look around before we were all given the boot. I followed Flitwick and Scamanders to the Hospital Wing. And then went to fetch you ,” he added when she continued to stare, dissatisfied.
A simple statement, with no obvious details that would give a timeline, besides the ill-defined “moments”. Perfect for establishing innocence. Not specific enough to give anyone a chance to question anything or raise suspicions… which of course she knew, hence she was suspicious. Percy realised she might be cornering herself, and yet she couldn’t stop now.
“So just happened to mysteriously appear at the same time as the explosion,” she pondered. “Where were you before that?”
Sherlock stopped suddenly. She didn’t like that he was standing a stair above her now, their height difference bigger. It took a lot for her not to pout, but she couldn’t afford looking like a child, could she.
“I was by the lake, with John,” he said coldly. “You’re free to ask him.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Good. Am I accused of something here?”
Persephone stared at her brother’s face intently, trying to catch some unspoken details, somehow call his bluff, find any sort of inconsistency between Sherlock’s body language and words. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure why she was so determined; maybe because it would’ve been an easy explanation, or maybe so she didn’t have to write his name on the suspect list that was starting to manifest itself.
He stood tall and straight — they were both beanpoles — with a barely visible scowl on his face, the same he had whenever she wouldn’t take his side in an argument against Mycroft. She was about to say something else, why the lake, or what were they doing there, when something caught her eye. The edge of his sleeve, stained with fresh grass. It wasn’t exactly an ironclad defence, however it gave her at least an excuse to stop for now.
Percy met Sherlock’s eyes again. “No, I was just checking.”
“Where were you , then?”
That took her slightly aback. Oh. So that was how it felt to be accused by one’s own sibling. Given the circumstances, however, it seemed to be quite fair.
“By the Puff’s entrance.”
“Alone?”
“You know Theo,” she grimaced. “He’s, as he put it, not supporting that .”
Sherlock snickered, rolling his eyes. “I told you I can help you with that.”
“Yes, but figuring it out is a prize in itself.”
“You want to know a secret?” He stepped down, so that she was stair higher. Sherlock was now only a few inches taller. “First-year, right after the school started, I simply pretended I’m a poor lost Puffie,” he rolled his eyes at that, “and one of the prefects escorted me themselves.”
Percy pretended to be shocked by the confession. It was sort of ingenious, even if in her case it wouldn’t work — too many people heard of her brother by now, and it extended to her quite naturally. “Sher, that’s cheating!”
Still smiling, he shrugged and began walking again.
* * *
As it soon turned out, Persephone needlessly worried about having to come up with a reason the two of them turned up at the Hospital Wing. When they hesitantly opened the door, madam Pomfrey spared them a single glance, before muttering under her breath something about being glad for “help with the bloody-minded boy” (Percy could’ve sworn she sounded relieved, too). Completely disregarding the fact the students weren’t supposed to wander around the castle, she motioned for them to go towards the far end of the room, and disappeared inside her office.
The siblings exchanged glances.
Persephone stood in place for a moment, watching three petrified bodies — people , she corrected her thoughts, even if it was hard to think of them as such when they looked like stone statues. “Slytherin’s victims," the school called them. Justin, a third-year Hufflepuff, Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor’s ghost, and Colin, an annoying first-year Gryff that Sherlock often employed to do his most tedious leg work (this questionable honour was mostly John’s in the meantime). Now, they were nothing more than effigies carved out of smooth rocks. Somewhere underneath, a gut feeling tugged on her, trying to remind her of matters like feelings or compassion, yet the only thing her brain could focus on was the theory behind petrification.
Were they sleeping or awake and conscious of what went around them? Or were they comatose, in a state that was neither alive nor dead? And their internal organs, how were they sustained if their bodies weren’t able to move or provide sustenance? Before starting Hogwarts, she received quite extensive education, and what her private tutors haven’t taught her, she read up on her own using Foxhole’s library and the muggle bookshops. It was there that she found some old thriller book about medical doctors, and a big part of the plot revolved around the coma patients. Of course, petrification wasn’t the same… or was it? The only actual knowledge she had, came from a fictional book and biology lessons. They covered some bits of Muggle material, yet of course they did not touch much on the medicine aspect of it. But how could blood continue to be pumped into their brains? Surely it was only an outer shell that hardened under the spell—
The basic answer to everything was “it’s magic,” of course, but Percy despised it for its simplicity. It was an explanation worth a silly child, not someone open-minded and with an inquisitive brain that demanded more. She liked to call herself a “scientist,” a term mostly Muggles used, as the wizarding community thought science to be the opposite of magic. In her opinion, however, it was simply a term that meant searching for answers in a more logical and organised way than most, and broad in its meaning enough so that it couldn’t bind one to a single matter. Yes, she was a magical scientist, as was a number of her forefathers (and foremothers), whether they knew it or not. If she were to be the only one in the world, it didn’t bother her the slightest…
If anything, it dangerously boosted her ego.
At the end of the room stood two white screens pushed together, presumably to create a bigger space, isolated from the rest of the Hospital Wing. On their canvases a silhouette of a boy, walking in circles, was visible. Percy fought an instinct to roll her eyes. It was typical Theseus, emotional and tempestuous. The loud sound of his footsteps filled the otherwise still room.
With a dramatic swish Sherlock pushed the fabric back. “There you are! How dare you upset my sister, disappearing without a word like that!”
Persephone stared at him blankly, deciding to ignore the fact she most definitely never disclosed such feelings to him. Instead, she turned her attention towards the Scamander cousins.
In the bed that Theseus so passionately walked around laid Rolf, most definitely unconscious. His usually olive complexion now was pale and strangely ashen. Starkly contrasting, the right side of his face was covered in red blisters, but besides those, he seemed relatively unharmed. Percy slightly squinted her eyes in thought; she saw worse things happen during Potion classes and nobody batted an eye or sent the entire school into their common rooms.
Theo, on the other hand, seemed to be so full of energy she wouldn’t be surprised to see steam escape through his ears. She studied his face (uncharacteristically surly), posture (straight back and hands in pockets — it was rare for him to look so closed off), and clothing (Theo’s tie laid forgotten on the chair and his shirt was painfully crumpled — Percy had to fight an urge to at least make an attempt to straighten it — but besides this, there didn’t seem to be any obvious signs he was in a close vicinity of the discharge). All of this took maybe all of five-seconds, yet the silence seemed to stretch uncomfortably.
“I wondered where you were,” she finally said idiotically.
“She was worried sick,” said Sherlock from behind the bed, where he was kneeling, closely investigating Rolf’s sleeves. Theseus very briefly looked in his direction but ignored the comment and shrugged.
Persephone’s head never emptied. At all times of day and night it was filled to the brim with ideas, thoughts, or comments, some of which she even kept to herself in a shallow attempt to not become as antisocial as her brother. Right then, however, it was as if her brain was a punctured ballon and she was trying to pointlessly keep the air in. And it wasn’t even Theo’s attitude that caused it, it was the fact that with nobody around (and Sherlock mostly ignored), it surely must’ve been aimed directly at her .
She looked at Rolf again, motionless in bed. Get it together, Holmes, she told herself. It’s unbecoming of a young logical woman to act like this. In an attempt to get the conversation going, she said, “Well, in any case, what happened?”
Theo smiled dryly, sitting down in a chair. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“Yes, I can see that , ” she retorted. After another dose of silence, she felt her cheeks flush with anger. “First off, if you were hurt you’d obviously have been in bed, not pouting next to one. And second, it seems to have been some type of a chemical explosion, judging by the residue I saw on the people back in the common room. Given I haven’t observed any of the same stuff on you,” she motioned impatiently towards his shirt, “it’s highly unlikely you were in the immediate zone of the blast. Of course, it could be speculated there were two explosions, or what I saw earlier was simply a sublimation from Potions class, but I would say that isn’t very likely. So yes, I did not ask because I can see you are fine, Theseus. What I am more interested in right now is what actually had happened.”
Sherlock stood up from the floor and gave a few slow claps. “Very good!” he announced with a smile. “I see Mike’s been training you as well.”
Once again nobody paid attention to him.
Theo’s gaze was stuck somewhere on the floor, and Persephone felt a real urge to force him to look up. Why on Earth was he being so weird ? He was the last person she’d ever expect to do that.
“That, and people in the Tower told me you are fine,” she concluded.
“Well, point taken.” He stood up and started pacing once more. “I haven’t exactly seen what happened, because I was busy trying to figure out the bloody Transmutation homework. Rolf was a few tables away having his tutoring session, like usual. One moment I’m trying to focus on the magical theory, and then… boom!” He mimicked a blast with his hands, then shrugged. “Flitwick appeared like, five minutes later and said I can just come here.”
The siblings exchanged quick glances.
“Merlin’s beard, Theo, I told you I’ll tutor you in Transmu-“ Percy stopped herself before going on a tangent. “Never mind. Why’d you not come fetch me, and why was everyone in such a chaos?”
“Who was he tutoring?” Sherlock added, now moving on to investigating Rolf’s face. “Does he have a fixed schedule?”
“Uhh, I don’t know? It’s not like you know where Effie’s at all times,” Theo pointed out. Sherlock’s expression clearly indicated he didn’t exactly agree, but he stayed quiet. “And I… I don’t know.” He motioned towards Rolf, blissfully oblivious in his current state. “But not every day your cousin almost gets bloody obliterated, you know.”
That point took Percy back to her silly personal feelings for a second; if the situation was reversed, wouldn’t she have done the same, regarding ignoring Theseus? Of course, having her best friend by her side would have greatly improved an overall stressful experience, yet somehow she doubted she would’ve had the brains to come get him at once. Well, maybe she’d have the brains , but instead of fetching him, she’d rather waited until Theseus decided to come to her instead. By any means it was a moot point now, especially given all other circumstances. On her mental list of questions, however, she pushed it back to the very end, and obliterated herself of the partial guilt she felt. Perhaps Theseus did not try to avoid her, after all.
It wouldn’t be the first time she ignored the most obvious answer to a question, anyway.
“Did you notice anything abnormal, someone sneaking around? Maybe watching Rolf?” she asked instead.
“Or, maybe you heard Madam Pince tell someone off? If someone was behaving weirdly, it could’ve been our culprit.”
Persephone turned to her brother in thought. “I’m sure if it was that easy, Flitwick or Dumbledore wouldn’t have ordered a lockdown and they’d know who did it by now.”
“How do you know they d—” Theseus started, but quickly stopped, realising he might be the only awake person in the room that is not understanding what these two were talking about. “Well, I can’t help much,” he said sheepishly. He ruffled his messy, light brown hair. “Um, I don’t know who he was tutoring, some first year Slytherin, I think. I’d probably recognise him if I saw him, but I didn’t pay too much attention. Mostly I was waiting for when they’re done.”
Sherlock came up to the boy and put a hand, in a seemingly reassuring gesture, on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, young Scamander,” he said confidently. “My dear sister and I will find whoever is responsible for this heinous crime.”
Persephone let out a deep sigh. “Yeah,” she nodded. “Whatever the weird one said.”