Pieces of a chess game [Sherlock x Harry Potter Crossover] [COMPLETE]

Chapter 12: The sign of three. Act I - Exposition

"What's 'mudblood'?" asked Sherlock.

Hermione spilt the boiling water all over the counter and herself. She swore out loud and took a cleaning rag, and put the hand under the cold water. Sherlock was still looking through the lens as if he had just asked about the weather. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Don't insult my intelligence, Hermione." Sherlock raised his head. "What's the word carved into your left forearm?"

Hermione tried to turn around, but Sherlock was faster. Petri dishes and beakers clung against each other as Sherlock snatched Hermione's arm over the table. His entire hand covered her wrist, and he brought the forearms to his eye level. The other hand traces the skin, and Hermione wondered if he knew what he was doing as a chill went down her spine and made her shiver, equal parts aroused, fascinated, and frightened.

"I can't explain it..." said Sherlock, moving the arm in different angles. He traced letters down her forearm, exactly mirroring the scars covered by the glamour. "But I feel there's something here." 

Hermione considered for a moment to continue lying. She had hidden the scars from John - if she was fair, Hermione had hidden plenty of things from John. He wasn't the most observant person. Even Mycroft and Mary had seen it, and only because Hermione had chosen to tell them. But Sherlock knew there was something, and if Sherlock was something, it was stubborn to a fault. That he appeared to be sensitive to magic did not change the fact. Hermione tugged her arm, and Sherlock diverted his gaze from her skin to her, letting the arm go.

"Wait here," said Hermione and went to get her wand from her drawers. When she returned to the kitchen, Sherlock was where she had left him. She pointed her wand to her forearm and glanced at Sherlock. His eyes were focused on the tip of the wand.

"Finite incatatem." The childlike scrawls that Bellatrix Lestrange had branded on her skin appeared, the deep 'M' and the barely there 'D' at the end. They looked as if blood was about to ooze from them, as it had done so many years ago. Sherlock grasped her arm again, gentler than last time. 

"The slope and the trace seem inconsistent with a self-inflicted wound. You have it covered most of the time, even at home, either with clothes or a spell, meaning you are ashamed of it. Your entire demeanour tells me you have fought, I thought it was because of MI training, but I'm starting to think it's something deeper than that. You were a soldier before working for my brother. Those two things together mean that this is probably a field wound, torture." Sherlock deduced, and Hermione tried to remain stoic. "But it's too specific to be a random act of torture. The choice of words means something to you and most likely, to the person who did this. I can't be sure, but 'mudblood' is probably a derogatory term. It looks fresh, so it can't be more than a couple of weeks old." Sherlock looked at her, puzzled. "But you haven't been to a mission yet. Does Mycroft know about this?"

Hermione withdrew her arm. "Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. Are you happy now?"

"You haven't answered me."

"Sherlock-"

"It's just a question."

"You have no idea-"

"- it will heal eventually, but if someone has hurt you-"

"It was done eleven years ago, Sherlock," interrupted Hermione. That seemed to stop Sherlock. "It will never heal."

"How?"

"It was carved with a cursed blade. It will always look like this. I'm not ashamed," liar. "But I prefer people not to ask questions about it."Hermione turned around and busied herself refilling the kettle.