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

Chapter 18: A dance with the devil (Interlude)

Hermione woke up without being aware that she had fallen asleep. Her head was pounding, her mouth was pasty, and it was difficult to open her eyes. Next to her, Siger was snoring lightly. Confused, she got up and went to the kitchen where she saw Mycroft with his head on the table and Margaret in a deep sleep on the couch. She looked around and left the kitchen in search of the others. When Hermione reached the little sitting-room at the back of the house, she saw Mary lying on the sofa, her feet up and Billy beside her, flipping through a heavy red book. But there was no sign of Sherlock or John.

'Billy, what's happened to us?'

'Nuffin', just a lil' summit in yer punch ter relax ya,' said Billy without lifting her head. Hermione approached Mary and shook her lightly. Once she saw that she didn't wake up, she turned to Billy.

'Where are John and Sherlock?'

'They ain't 'ere,' said Billy. Hermione felt her heart skip a beat and an invisible hand squeezed her chest. Still, with muscles stiff from whatever Billy had administered to them, she returned to Mycroft's side. Behind her came Billy. Hermione reached under the cold tap water and splashed water onto Mycroft's face.

'Where did they go?'

'Shezza didn't say. Summit abaht a devil.' Billy disappeared into the other room, leaving Hermione trying to wake Mycroft, who slowly became conscious.

'Hermione?' Mycroft looked into her eyes.

'Mycroft, Sherlock and John are gone. I think it has something to do with 'Magnussen.'

'What?' Mycroft shook his head, trying to get the last traces of the drug out of his system. He scanned the table and picked up one of the nearby napkins. 'My laptop. Sherlock must have taken it with him. To bargain.'

'But your laptop has GPS,' observed Hermione.

'Yes, and he knows it.' Next to them, Margaret had started stirring, and Mycroft was already reaching into his pockets for his phone. 'I think he wants to frame Magnussen.'

Hermione looked at the eldest Holmes. 'Do you think it can work?'

'If there's something I've learned about Charles Magnussen,' Mycroft said, while pressing the call button and putting the phone to his ear. 'Is that you never know what aces he has up his sleeve.'

At an MI6 undisclosed location, inside a small and dingy room several stories underground, Hermione waited. The air smelled of dampness and stale water, and the barely illuminated walls seemed to weep with humidity. She had been forced to hand in her phone and her watch when she arrived, and she did not know how long he had been there. Her gun and wand had also been taken away, maybe worried of what could happen between those four walls if she kept them. Her nails, which hours before had been perfectly manicured, now had rigged edges and were barely making a sound when Hermione taped them impatiently against the metal table. She caught a glance of herself on the one-way mirror in front of her. She didn't make a pretty sight. Heavy bags under her eyes and splotchy face, hair tied in a messy bun. She felt a thousand years old.

Behind her, the hinges screeched as the door opened, and she leapt to her feet. Sherlock was at the threshold, followed by two guards, each of them with a hand on the detective's shoulders, pushing him inside. Sherlock seemed to be as tired as she was. Hermione had been told very little about what had happened after Mycroft had left the Holmes' cottage in a helicopter, but she could hazard a guess. And looking at Sherlock's suit, with speckles of dried blood adhered to the expensive fabric, she knew she was right.

One of the guards led Sherlock to the other chair and tied the handcuffs around Sherlock's wrist to the small bar on the table before leaving them alone. Only then, when no one else was in the room, Sherlock raised his head and looked at Hermione.