LONDON – October 2013

“All gone,” Albus Potter declared obstinately, shoving away the plate which still held the second half of a large ham-and-cheese sandwich. When his father made a move toward his place setting, Albus glared at him. “Nope,” he said with finality, pushing out his lower lip. Unlike his voluble five-year-old sister, Lily, Albus was still a child of few words, even at age seven.

Harry Potter chuckled. “Don’t worry, scamp. I was just going to help you finish it off. He wrapped agile fingers around the remaining portion of his son’s sandwich and bit carefully into it, trying not to let tomato juice drip down the front of his white shirt.

“You still need to drink another inch of milk, Albus,” Ginny reminded her son, sliding the partially-drunk tall glass to the boy. “Just down to here,” she added, indicating the level with her fingertip.

Albus obediently raised the glass and began to sip. “Say when,” he commanded, his upper lip frothed with white bubbles.

“Keep going,” Ginny advised.

Harry’s emerald eyes danced as he observed his son taking the tiniest sips he could. “The faster you drink, the sooner it will be over,” he whispered loudly across the sturdy café table.

Albus snorted, causing a messy overflow, which Ginny quickly blotted up with a paper napkin. “You two…” she murmured, shaking her head ruefully. But she blushed when she caught her husband smiling fondly at her. Even after nearly ten years of marriage, Harry could still make her blush with just a smile…

For a moment, the Muggle café around them seemed to fade away, leaving the island of their table as the sole reality. Ginny lost herself in her husband’s emerald gaze until an impatient tugging of her sleeve jerked her back to the real world. Suddenly, the Muggles at the other tables reappeared, their low conversations punctuated by the clink of flatware against crockery, the gentle thuds of coffee cups upon the plain tabletops, and the hum of London traffic beyond the bright windows facing the street.

“Mummy! Am I done?”

“Hmm?” Ginny glanced down at her rumple-haired tyke. The level of milk had actually dipped below the goal she had set for him. “Yes, Albus, you’re done. Good job!”

Having downed the rest of the sandwich, Harry now reached across the table for the milk glass and drained it dry.

“Good job, Daddy!” piped Albus, grinning brightly at his father.

Harry grinned back. “You’re getting to be such a big boy, Al,” he stated with pride. “It won’t be long until you can eat a whole sandwich and drink an entire glass of milk. Just like your Uncle Ron.”

“Don’t encourage him to take after my brother,” Ginny admonished. “Have you seen how he’s growing a ‘pot’?”

Harry rolled his eyes, briefly noting the menu boards posted on the café wall. He wouldn’t mind dessert, but after Ginny’s comment concerning Ron’s rapidly-expanding anatomy, he’d be wise to skip it, lest she began lecturing him about the evils of too many sweets. Recently, Ginny had begun to pat her hips every time she peered, frowning, into the bedroom mirror. Not that Harry could actually see anything wrong with her hips, but given the patting … he’d probably be better off not mentioning dessert.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“Home?” Albus’ eyes lit up. “Can I play with my red train?”

“Home it is,” Harry agreed, pushing back his chair with a metallic scrape across the tiled floor. But just as Ginny ushered Albus into the aisle between the rows of tables, Harry’s mobile went off. He glanced at the incoming caller I.D. “It’s Hermione,” he said in response to Ginny’s unasked question. “I’d better take it here, since I won’t get a signal at home. You two go ahead – I’ll catch you up.”

Ginny nodded and steered Albus toward the front door, while Harry wandlessly de-stasised his mobile and punched the key to take Hermione’s call.

“Look, Mummy! My fingers are all tied up, like the giant squid!” Albus held up his hand, showing how he’d twisted his fingers around each other to form a fleshy knot.

“That’s nice, Al, but make sure they don’t get stuck that way.”

She turned his head to face forward and kept gently propelling him toward the bright windows, catching snippets of conversations from the tables they passed.

“ – convinced she stole his bank card – “

“ – missed that sale on duvets – “

“ – sorry, did I splash you – “

“ – but with Scotland Yard and Interpol at his fingertips, what does Lestrade expect you to do about it?”

“Obviously, John, he expects me to deduce how the same man could possibly be in two places simultaneously.”

“Mummy, they’re STUCK!” Albus’ face was screwed up, ready to burst into panicked tears, as he waved his small, tangle-fingered hand.

“Oh, Albus,” Ginny sighed, grasping her son’s wrist. “Hold still!”

“See for yourself,” said the tall, dark-haired man in her side vision as she gently tried to undo Albus’ stuck fingers. The man slid two photographs across the café table to his shorter companion. “Taken seconds apart. One in Norwich, the other in Blackpool. Tell me – is that the same man?”

“OW! Mummy!”

“Or identical twins,” offered the second man, studying the photos. “Do they have identification on him?”

“Nothing official. Even facial recognition came up negative.”

Ginny gently rubbed circulation back into the small, cramped fingers. “Why don’t you quit playing squid, honey. We’ll go home and you can play with your train, okay?”

“Okay, Mummy.” Albus beamed up at her, and as Ginny smiled fondly down at her son, her eyes strayed to the photos on the table beside them. Her breath caught sharply, and she felt the café whirl…

“Do you know him?”

The abrupt query brought Ginny to her senses, her shocked eyes meeting the intense narrow stare of the dark man. His pale blue eyes seemed to burn a trail across her psyche.

“Are you quite all right?” asked the second man, his brow furrowed with concern as he half turned in his chair to peer up at Ginny.

“Mummy?”

“I – “ Against her will, Ginny’s eyes were drawn once again to the photos – those pureblood features may have aged, and the shoulder-length hair had grayed, but unmistakably… “I’m so sorry,” she blurted. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” And grabbing Albus by both shoulders, she shoved him ahead of her to the café door.

The dark man twisted around to face the front windows. “She recognized him, John. She knows exactly who he is.”

A man passed by their table, and the Child-Who-Had-Played-Squid waved delightedly back at him. “Mummy! Daddy’s coming!”

The red-haired woman turned to look back, but her obvious relief got cut short when she realized that the two men at the table with the photographs were both observing her intently. The lean man with black hair and glasses who joined her began to speak, but the woman grabbed his arm and whispered frantically to him for several seconds.

Her husband’s head whipped around, and the two men at the table noted that this other man instantly placed himself between the child and their scrutiny. Even backlit as he was by the outside sunlight, the seated men could tell that this man presented a force to be reckoned with. Well under six feet tall, his wiry build bespoke an alert confidence as he poised on the balls of his feet, as if ready for battle. From behind innocuous spectacles, the man’s eyes stared sharply at them, as if memorizing their every feature.

Harry kept his wand arm free, ready to drop the holly wand from its holster into his grip at a second’s notice. He didn’t know quite what to make of the men staring back at him. The shorter man with light brown hair appeared to be an ordinary Muggle, but the black-haired man with the turned-up coat collar and piercing blue eyes – could he possibly be a wizard? Given the fact that he apparently possessed photos of Lucius Malfoy … a former Death Eater, even? Who WERE they?

“Ginny – did the pictures move?” he muttered just loudly enough for his wife to hear him.

“What? Why – “

“Were they Muggle pictures – or ours?”

“Er – Muggle. I’m pretty sure,” she affirmed. “Lucius was shown in mid-stride, but he never moved.”

Okay. So … Muggle photos. But if these men were Muggles, what were they doing with pictures of a wizard? One of the Darkest wizards that Harry had ever known…

“We need to get out of here,” he said decisively. “Back to the alley. Open the door and get Albus outside. I’m right behind you.”

Behind him, he could hear the café door opening, and his peripheral vision caught Ginny’s hair, coppered brilliantly by the sunlight, as she quickly herded Albus along the sidewalk past the windows. Harry continued to stand at the doorway, staring down the two mysterious strangers. He wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating the smaller man; the tension in his seated posture revealed that the Muggle was ready to spring into action. Ginny had mentioned Scotland Yard and Interpol – was he a cop?

But the other one … unruly black hair framing rather Fey features … and those piercing blue eyes… Automatically, Harry had Occluded the very first moment that those eyes had stared into his own. He couldn’t feel any obvious attempts at Legilimency, but neither had he in the old days, when Snape had subjected him to his finessed probing. This unknown dark man posed the greater danger of the duo; of that, Harry had no doubts. And both men would follow his family … he had to get them safely away…

Two more customers exited the café, both glancing curiously at his immobile figure in passing. Other customers had begun to take notice of this psychological standoff, some nodding toward him, while their companions turned to see what they were nodding at.

Ginny and Albus were probably about two-thirds of the way down the block toward the little alley by now. Although he continued to stare down the dark man, Harry’s peripheral vision picked up a group of university students approaching along the sidewalk. Come in here, he mentally urged them, come in here… And as the first student reached for the door, Harry whirled and squeezed past her in a flash.

“Oi!” shouted the startled bleached blonde, before she shrugged and entered the café, followed by her crowd of chattering companions.

As Harry dashed past the windows, he could see the two men inside lurching into pursuit.

“Quickly!” urged the dark man, sweeping up the photos from the table. “Don’t lose him!”

But the students milling around the door delayed them by several precious seconds, and by the time they’d shoved their way past, with the shorter man calling, “Sorry! Sorry!”, they glimpsed the wiry man already far ahead, his feet pounding the sidewalk as he dodged through the pedestrian crowd.

“Hurry!” shouted the dark man, his long coat flapping roughly behind him as he gave chase.

A bit of empty sidewalk opened up, and they began to gain on the wiry man, who didn’t waste time throwing constant glances over his shoulder – he simply ran as if his very life depended on it. And ahead of him, they caught sight of the woman’s coppery hair…

The wiry man caught up to his wife and child, scooping the boy up in passing, and now the red-haired woman was running apace of her husband, while the boy’s high giggles added an incongruous note to their frantic flight.

“We’ll have them!” shouted the dark man, as the trio darted around the corner of a building mere steps ahead. “It’s a dead end!”

The man and his shorter companion rounded the same corner and found themselves facing –

“They’re gone!” gasped the shorter man, breathing heavily after their dash. “It’s empty! How could they possibly get out of here? There’s no exit…”

But the dark-haired man was already striding to the nearest door.

“No disturbance in the dust on the latch.” On to the second door. “Cobwebs across the doorjamb.” A tall pile of opened boxes and other junk completely blocked the final door. “Obviously did not go through there.” He moved to the first of two fire escapes coming down from the adjacent buildings. Leaping up, he grabbed the steps by the sides and allowed his weight to pull the flight down to street level. “No evidence of recent use,” the dark man declared, running his finger across the surface to show the depth of the undisturbed dust. “So it must be the other one…” But to his disappointment, the second fire escape proved to be as fruitless an answer as the first. “Where the devil DID they go? There’s not even an entrance to the sewers…”

The shorter man had caught his breath, and after carefully considering the trio of tall brick walls topped by a brilliant blue October sky, he called out, “Sherlock?”

“Yes?” The dark man had begun to pace the length of the short alley cul-de-sac, his open navy coat flapping agitatedly against his calves.

“Remember what Lestrade told you? That same man in those photos apparently vanished without an explanation? Just went around a corner and disappeared?”

“Quite. And now a woman recognizes the pictures of that man, and then she and her husband and son go around a corner and vanish.” The dark man whirled, his eyes burning with a pale blue fire of desire – the desire – the NEED – to KNOW. To comprehend. “There’s a connection here, John. But what…” He steepled his fingers together against his chin and resumed pacing, but more slowly now. Thoughtfully. “How…”

After several more lengths of the alley, the dark man stopped abruptly. “Let’s return to the flat.”

The shorter man looked taken aback. “But – we haven’t eaten. We didn’t even order – “

“Later.” And striding beyond the alley’s entrance, the dark man flung his impatient demand over his shoulder. “Coming?”

Sighing in resignation, the other man followed. He had expected his hyper friend to shout for a taxi, but to his surprise, the dark man suddenly returned to the alley and stood for a moment, staring intently down the grimy cul-de-sac before calling out, “I know you’re still there. I KNOW IT!”

The shorter man’s jaw dropped momentarily, before he gabbled, “Wha – Sherlock!”

“TAXI!”

And from beneath his father’s Invisibility Cloak, Harry Potter watched the black London cab swallow the two mysterious men.

Once the taxi had moved out of sight, Harry didn’t hesitate before using his wand to Disillusion himself and his broom, a three-year-old Solar Flare, which he’d had shrunk in his pocket. After casting a Notice-Me-Not Charm and stuffing his invisibility cloak into his pocket, he lightly kicked off and went in pursuit of the black cab. Only two others had passed the end of the alley, so he located his quarry without difficulty and flew slowly above and behind it as the vehicle negotiated the London streets.

He’d ordered Ginny to Apparate Albus home the second they reached the alley, so Harry now had the freedom to learn more about these strange men.

Staying high enough to avoid hitting any electrical lines or other hazards, Harry followed the cab until it disgorged its passengers in Westminster, and they entered a door partway along Baker Street, which bore the designation 221B.

“No, wait until we get upstairs,” the tall man was saying between the taxi and the door.

Harry hovered indecisively for several moments. Should he follow them in? All he knew of them were the names John and Sherlock. How would he explain his presence if he knocked? And if he were to Apparate in…

But movement at a tall, second floor window caught his attention – the dark man had flung open the long draperies. Harry maneuvered the Solar Flare near the window and cast a Sound Amplification Charm to allow him to hear the conversation taking place behind the glass.

“Fairy tales?” came the shorter man’s voice.

“Yes, John. That’s what I asked. Do you believe in fairy tales?”

“Well … they’re all make-believe, aren’t they?”

“ARE they?”

An uneasy chuckle. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

“Mm.”

“Perhaps if you had some supper – “

“What sort of people vanish?”

“Guilty people?”

“Think!”

“Hungry people?”

“What?”

“They waste away, don’t they?”

A snort.

“YOU’RE ready to vanish, Sherlock. You’ve practically gone transparent from not eating.”

A silence. Then…

“I remember eating.”

“Right. Two days ago.”

“No. When I was a child.”

“A child?”

“Before IT happened.”

Another silence.

“Would you like to tell me about … ‘it’?”

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“But you’re dying to tell me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you wouldn’t mention it otherwise.”

A much longer silence.

“But you will listen.”

“Of course.”

“You’d better sit. This may take a while.”

Harry could not see beyond the glint of reflected outside light on the windowpanes, but he could discern the unmistakable sounds of two men settling into place farther back in the room. Sherlock’s voice dropped in volume, but its intensity increased as he launched into his tale.

“We were outside, Mycroft and I, when the letter arrived. I’d only just turned eleven when the letter came. And that night, the strange man came. And after that, things were very different for me.”

“You wouldn’t care to add a bit of detail, would you? Just for clarification?”

“Mycroft and I were outside. He was home from university for the summer – had just finished his first year – and was indulging me in playing at pirates, I believe. For once, we were getting along rather well. Until the letter came. It was addressed to me, but I wasn’t allowed to have it. Mycroft grabbed it and ran to show Mother. She turned white as a sheet when she saw the seal on the back of the envelope. She ripped it open and I thought she’d faint as she read the letter.”

“A seal?”

“Yes. Very impressive, but like I said, after reading the letter, she locked the envelope away and made an urgent phone call. She sat by the phone for hours that day, and finally someone returned her call. I’d been told to run away and play, but I hid where I could watch her from the next room. She was furious over the phone – absolutely furious – kept saying, ‘But this has to be fixed! I’ll never allow it! It has to be fixed TODAY!’”

A long silence.

“When my father came home from work, she told him, ‘The man is coming tonight. He’ll take care of it then.’ And I knew that whatever ‘it’ was, ‘it’ had to do with me, since the letter had been addressed to me.”

“So, the postman delivers a mysterious letter, your mother freaks – as if she had received really bad news, and she made arrangements for someone – a man – to fix ‘it’ that same night?”

An exceedingly dark chuckle.

“She freaked because, in her opinion, her SON had received really bad news.” A pause. “And you are mistaken. The postman did not deliver the letter.”

“Who did?”

“An owl.”

Silence.

Astride his Solar Flare, Harry suddenly felt his heart began to pound…

“You did say, ‘an owl’?”

“I did. It just swooped out of a clear blue sky and dropped the envelope at my feet.”

“How was it addressed?”

“Mr. S. Holmes. The Southeast Bedroom – “

“WHAT! You’re having me on, Sherlock! You really do need to eat.”

“Don’t you want to hear about the man who came? The one who fixed ‘it’? You’d better say yes, or you’ll be missing the best part.”

“Oh, you mean it gets better than an owl delivering an envelope out of the clear blue sky?”

“Yes.”

“The blue sky is suspect, you do realize.”

“Because owls only fly at night? Well, I assure you, John, this owl arrived midday. But I digress.”

A long-suffering sigh.

“Do you promise that I can eat, if I let you finish?”

“Of course. I’ll even keep you company.”

A scoff.

“Every time we go to a restaurant together, we always end up suddenly rushing out the door before I’ve managed half a dozen bites.”

“The MAN, John.”

“Yes, yes. The man. Go on, then. Get it over with.”

“I was sent to bed early, but I refused to fall asleep. I wanted to be awake when the man came. I kept listening for the clock to chime – the one in the hall – and it was half past midnight when my bedroom door opened. I lay facing away from the door, but I could see by the light coming from the hallway. A stand mirror was angled across the corner of my room, so I could easily see the reflection of the man who had come. My parents stood with him as he looked at me, so small, curled on my side in the large bed. ‘Are you absolutely certain?’ he whispered. Both my parents nodded emphatically. The man’s shoulders slumped. He seemed defeated for a moment, and I could see sadness etched upon his aged features. Obviously, he regretted his actions, but my parents gave him no choice. He took a small stick and waved it about in fanciful patterns, all the while murmuring words which I could not understand – they sounded quite foreign.”

“Sherlock…”

“You should have seen him, John. Dressed in flowing robes, with a white beard to his waist and white hair cascading endlessly down his back.”

“Sherlock – “

“I’ve almost finished. Here comes the best part – after he had done, I felt something wash over me, like a gentle wind which blew hot and cold simultaneously. I could feel my very blood tingle, like a sleeping foot coming awake, but it was my entire body tingling. My blood continues to tingle, John, to this very day. It’s settled a bit over time, but I can still feel it. It’s the source of my energy – “

“Sherlock!”

“ – and why I don’t need to eat or sleep as much as other people – ORDINARY people – do – “

“SHERLOCK!”

“ – and when he left the house, I ran to my window to see him go, and he walked several steps away from the front gate before he turned on the spot and VANISHED.”

Stunned silence.

“So I ask you again, John – what sort of people vanish?”

As the silence continued, Harry shifted restlessly on his Solar Flare. Dumbledore. It had to have been. But what had he DONE – to a child?

“You see, John – I’ve always known I wasn’t ordinary. Even before the man came. When I was a child, things would … happen. Odd things for which there was no logical explanation. They seemed to be centered around me. I began to read about the paranormal, but even that didn’t seem to shed much light on the situation. I used to have a normal appetite – I could eat any time, any place – but that changed after the man came. And the odd things that used to happen… I hesitate to say, for you truly would not believe me, but would you believe Mycroft? He witnessed some of the odd happenings, but then again, he might lie to protect his personal reputation today, if you were to ask him, so no.

“But I shall say that after the man came, the odd things ceased to happen, and in their place, my intellect caught fire! I began to see things as I’d never seen them before, to perceive things that others could barely glimpse – details, patterns, objectives, motives… It felt as if my former world had switched from sepia to neon! I couldn’t turn it off! I had to THINK, John, and I couldn’t stop thinking. THINKING became my LIFE. My very existence is comprised of thought. I don’t know what that man did, but I’ve felt as if I’ve been under a spell of some sort since the night he came. What he did to me – whatever he did – IT completely transformed my mostly-normal life into something utterly extraordinary.”

Sherlock got up and strolled to the window. “I saw him vanish, John. All those years ago. With my own eyes. And now, these photos of another man who vanished, although nobody actually witnessed his disappearance – but there was nowhere for him to go, just like the people in the alley today. These pictures show what appears to be the same man in two different locations over a hundred miles apart, and the time/date stamps show that the photos were recorded mere seconds apart. How did he manage it?” Black brows drew together over intense blue eyes. “And how did that family disappear today?”

“But Sherlock, just before we left the alley – you said you knew they were still there? How?”

“SOMEONE was still there. Couldn’t you FEEL it? Someone was watching us. I don’t know from where, or how, but someone was definitely still in the alley with us the entire time we were there.”

“Invisible? Not likely.”

“And vanishing is?”

Silence.

“Either they were invisible, or else they had completely vanished. Those are your choices, John. Take your pick.”

A long sigh.

“Sherlock, I don’t mind if you come with me, but I HAVE to eat.”

“Fine. But we’ll need to find that red-haired woman.”

“We’ll talk about it AFTER we eat.”

“Chinese then?”

“Anything! Let’s just go.”

Harry continued to hover until the men had exited the building and headed on foot toward the end of the Baker Street. Then he landed, still Disillusioned, on the sidewalk, before Apparating up into the flat upon which he’d just been eavesdropping.