Sherlock Holmes and the Ravenclaw Codex

Chapter Five: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

The journey did not seem unduly long, for no traveller could ever weary of a journey through the majestic Highland region of Scotland, jewel of her Majesty's northern dominions. Still, by the time we reached our final destination, a small, unremarkable station which went by the somewhat incongruous name of Hogsmeade, the shadows were already beginning to lengthen, and the first chill of evening could be felt in the air as we alighted.

Just as we were leaving the station, before we even had a chance to look around, a familiar voice hailed us, and we turned to see Weaselby coming towards us. He was wearing a cassock similar to that his of employer, but patched and darned, and with a well-worn tweed cloak flung over it. Either the change in attire or the benefits of his native air appeared to have made him far more at ease. He greeted us cheerfully, ignoring Holmes's surly retort, and carried our luggage to a small cart, drawn by a horse so deeply muffled against the mild chill in the air that it was practically invisible. Once he had handed us aboard he clucked at the horse and we set off up a winding track away from the village and up into the hills.

"Where are we bound?" I asked our guide. "Will we reach there before it gets dark?"

"Not far at all!" he said cheerfully. "It is just around the next corner - there!" he exclaimed as we rounded the corner and a huge grey castle rose up in front of our eyes, its tall, pointed turrets overlooking the dark waters of a long, narrow lake. "Is that not fine? Have you ever seen anything so splendid? Poor fellow! I don't suppose you ever have," he added to himself in an undertone.

In truth I had seen several equally splendid prospects over several continents - the Swiss alps, the Taj Mahal and of course Buckingham Palace, which I had been privileged to visit once with Holmes at the conclusion of the Case of the Beefeater's Nightgown, which, sadly, cannot be revealed to the world at large. However, I had no wish to antagonise a man who might well prove to be our only ally in the investigation ahead, and as Holmes was sunk deep in the most profound gloom, I agreed enthusiastically that it was indeed a magnificent spectacle.

We drove up a winding carriage-drive and drew up outside a wide stone portal in the Gothic taste, where we alighted and Weaselby consigned our luggage to the care of the caretaker, Goyle, an ugly, hulking fellow with a wall eye. He then ushered us through the main entrance into a fine, arched hallway.

"Are you quite recovered from your journey?" he enquired of Holmes in an ingratiating manner. "We have hot water and towels put aside for you, if you should wish to freshen up after your long day."

"No time for that!" snapped my companion. "We are here on a mission of analysis and deduction, not some frivolous social engagement! We will review the scene of the crime, if you please - and be quick about it! Precious hours - days for all I know - have already been lost!"

"But the Headmaster..." Weaselby protested.

"The Headmaster may go to the Devil for all I care," retorted Holmes. "I am not his servant, but a practitioner and instrument of justice - and if you wish to see this case come to a satisfactory conclusion, Weaselby, you will do as you're told!"

Chastened, Weaselby led us along a veritable labyrinth of winding corridors and unsafe-looking staircases, arriving at last at an oak-bound door. It opened as we approached, and a skinny young girl in a voluminous blue robe walked out. She stared at us in amazement, until, at a gentle reprimand from our guide, she scuttled off with many a backward look, leaving the door ajar behind her.

Weasley paused here, running his fingers through his untidy ginger locks. Abruptly he seemed to come to a decision.

"Quick, then," he hissed, "up the stair - third landing, a stained glass window, a blue door and a fireplace..." and with that he raced up the stairs and was soon out of sight.

Holmes and I followed rather more slowly, for the stairs were steep and full of odd turnings and corners. Nonetheless, after a few minutes and several wrong turnings, we had found the little landing with its blue curtain and stained glass window, and dimly illuminated by a fire that was burning merrily (if unseasonally) in an old-fashioned grate opposite. Weaselby, who was waiting for us by the curtain, started at our approach, smiled ingratiatingly at Holmes and twitched the curtain aside, revealing a set of wrought-iron bars of great complexity and beauty, save around the lock, which had plainly been forced.

"You had better work quickly!" he said in an undertone, "the Headmaster -"

"... has given strict orders that our guests should be welcomed below stairs before they were permitted into any of the Houses!" came a grim voice from behind us. "I trust, Weaselby, that you have an excellent reason for disobeying me!" I turned to see Phineas Nigellus Black, who appeared to be striding towards us out of the fireplace, his stern features set in a look of the deepest disapproval. Weaselby hung his head, blushing like an overgrown schoolboy. I waited to see what retort Holmes would think up this time, but none came, and when I attempted to catch his eye I saw that his head was held lower even than that of Weaselby, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground.

"Holmes!" I hissed at him, for Black had turned his gaze from the unfortunate Weaselby, and had fixed my companion with a look of cold fury that would have unnerved many lesser men.

My companion's urbanity returned in an instant.

"A thousand pardons, Headmaster!" he said smoothly. "I do beg your pardon - I was observing your boots and got quite carried away. Extraordinary, are they not, Watson? No headmaster in our world could boast footwear half so fine."

"Charming," I said faintly, since some comment was clearly called for, though in truth I considered the long, curling toes rather vulgar, and the violet-coloured fancy-work would never have been tolerated in any decent London club.

The beginnings of a self-satisfied smile played briefly about the Headmaster's lips before his face settled once more into its mask of fixed disapproval.

"Indeed, Mr Holmes," he said. "There are many wonders here that you and those like you have never seen. Indeed, I would be astonished if you had... however, I really must insist that you descend and cleanse yourself before the evening meal. We keep punctual hours here, and I am sure you would not wish to create the impression among the staff and students of Hogwarts school that your people are in any way slovenly. I shall expect you shortly. Show them downstairs, Weaselby!"

We trooped in silence down the narrow stairwell, Holmes deeply lost in his own thoughts and Weaselby apparently too mortified to speak. It was not until we were crossing the great entrance hall once more that the silence was broken - not by any of us, but by the caretaker, Goyle, who was standing there with his mop and bucket, seemingly in wait for us.

"So it's you," he said with a sneer. "I know who you are - poking and prying into the affairs of decent folk! Well, look all you want, Mr Busybody Holmes! You'll never find him!"

And with that he turned and strode away from us, his sinister laughter echoing from the vaulted ceiling.