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

Chapter 23: The Lying Detective, Part I

Death had been part of Hermione's life for as long as she could remember. One of her first memories was of her Nana's funeral when she was six years old, holding her mother's hand as the priest prayed over the casket. Her mother had not let her see Nana then. When Grandpa Louis had had a fatal stroke the year after, Hermione had seen a dead person for the first time, and she thought he looked rather peaceful. Then she had gone off to Hogwarts and had learnt the many forms death can take. Now, every day she had the nagging feeling she was living on borrowed time.

Hermione descended the last flight of stairs at St Bart's morgue, her trainers squeaking against the clean linoleum. The corridors were dimly lit, and for not the first time, she praised Molly's bright disposition and fierce character in her head. Hermione could not imagine a worse job than being surrounded by death. But today, Molly had been sent away. Someone else had taken over examining the body that had arrived from an incident in the London aquarium, had established the cause of death, done the autopsy, harvested the organs that the woman on the slab had consented for donation. And now the body awaited, the last hours on the surface of the earth, inside Molly's immaculate morgue.

In the distance, Hermione saw a stout figure in a dark suit. When Hermione had asked Mycroft to let her stand vigil for Mary, he had not fought back. He had merely looked at her with a mix between pity and worry and had called Mike Stamford. The pathologist had agreed, after a while, and had promised her he'd made sure she was not disturbed.

Mike turned around when he heard the soft noise of steps. His eyes were rimmed in red, and he was scrunching a paper tissue in his hand. Hermione walked straight to him and let him hug her. They parted, both sniffling, and Mike glanced at the double doors to his right.

'Are you sure you want to do this?'

Hermione nodded, and Mike led her into the morgue. The pungent smell of formaldehyde reached her first, and the cold nipped at her skin. A single body covered with a white hospital sheet on top of a slab occupied the room. Mike pushed his glasses over his forehead and dabbed his eyes again.

'I couldn't put her in a bag,' Mike muttered, and Hermione looked at him, surprised.

'Did you--?'

'She deserved it, and I couldn't possibly ask Molly to do it.' Mike cleared his throat. 'The guys for the home should be here in three hours, but no one is to come in here until then.'

Hermione nodded again. Her eyes were fixed on the feet at the end of the table, the tag hanging from the big toe, and the almost imperceptible swinging off it. A hand landed on her shoulder and disappeared almost as fast.

'Mike,' spoke Hermione without turning. 'Go to John. He needs a friend now.'

Mike muttered something under his breath, and then the door closed behind him with a soft thud, leaving Hermione alone. She quickly realised the radio Molly always kept on was missing, and now there was nothing to quench the oppressive, deafening silence. Silence was everything death left behind, and that and the stench of putrefaction barely disguised by the chemicals.

Hermione stood by the door for some time. Her legs seemed to be unable to carry her towards Mary. She approached the feet first and took the tag in her hands. Her fingers brushed against the metal table. It was cold, and a bubble of anger raised in her. Mary hated the cold. She could not feel it now, but for Hermione, it was an insult. She rubbed her hands to warm them, followed the body's outline beneath the sheet, and grasped the edge where the hip was. Hermione lifted it enough to find what she was looking for. The small black and grey daisy with blurred lines that Mary had gotten when she was 16 and a runaway. It was a miracle she had walked out of the tattoo parlour with just the tattoo and not hepatitis; Mary always had laughed it off. She had meant to cover it up for ages, but she never did, and Hermione joked she just liked her misshaped flower.