Sherlock Holmes and the Ravenclaw Codex

Chapter Twelve: A Conspiracy Unmasked

The staff room was a sombre, panelled chamber, dominated by a round table and heavy carved chairs of bog-oak. One chair, facing the door, was heavier and more elaborate in design than the others, and it was in this that Phineas Nigellus Black took up his station, staring down the room at his staff with a look of haughty disdain. More hesitantly, the rest of the company took their places around the table, though I noticed that all of them avoided the chairs nearest to Black.

"Well, Headmaster?" said Drummond when they were all seated. "It seems to me that you have been caught red-handed. What is your explanation for this diabolical behaviour?"

"When has a headmaster of Hogwarts, oldest and most glorious school in the land, submitted to questioning by underlings?" retorted Black imperiously. "I have nothing to say to you, sir, when you address me in that tone."

"Then I shall supply an explanation," replied Holmes. "Or rather, I shall supply the facts of the case, for I consider your behaviour to be inexcusable - though of course, not having had the advantages of a wizarding education, it is possible that I have failed to appreciate some of the moral niceties of the case."

"Well, I for one am far from convinced," said Professor Llewellyn. "Why would a member of the richest and most powerful wizarding family in the land, and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry besides, resort to black magic to dupe a student into theft? The Headmaster has access to every room in the castle - if he wished to consult the Codex he could have done so quite openly any at hour of the day or night. And if money was an object, both his family home and the Headmaster's study contain many items of far greater monetary value. No, Mr Holmes, I will require more proof than this."

"Reasoned like a true Ravenclaw, madam!" exclaimed Holmes. "Your logic is impeccable - but it is based on a faulty assumption. Black never wanted the Codex for himself, and he had no need of money. His true motives were far darker and more deadly.

"The truly wealthy care nothing for money, no more than you or I care for the air we breathe or the ground we walk upon. Their kind finds other preoccupations to bring meaning to their days, and the traditional Black family obsession has always been purity of blood. The powers that magical folk possess ensure that they need never want for life's basic necessities, but pure blood is beyond price, belonging only to a special, favoured few. Of course, people with no magical blood whatsoever frequently come to magic, and many of these newcomers have proved most competent and worthy wizards, but in the eyes of Black and his like they were a different order of humanity: excellent sergeants but never to be trusted with a commission - at best negligible quantities and at worst dangerous upstarts.

"When Black first came to Hogwarts, teaching positions were reserved, as of right, for the oldest families, a situation that suited him very well. However, when change is in the air, not even a school as isolated as Hogwarts can hope to avoid it altogether, and as the years passed, a more progressive element began to emerge. Though all of the best wizarding stock themselves, some of the teachers began to cultivate protégés among the newcomers, opening new doors for people who could previously have hoped to rise no higher than tradesmen, clerks, private tutors or upper servants. There was talk of posts at Hogwarts - and in some cases, this talk even became reality, though for some mysterious reason," (this with a very piercing look at Black, who returned his gaze expressionlessly) "none of these upstarts ever lasted very long. Eventually, rumours of a curse began to circulate, and those you call by the whimsical name of 'mudbloods' learned to channel their talents in other, less risky directions.

"Then Godfrey Easingwold came to Hogwarts. This excellent young man was unusually gifted, intelligent and popular, and he seemed set to sweep all before him. By the time Headmaster Black (who is not over fond of children, and often takes considerable pains to avoid them) became aware of his existence, young Easingwold was already a rising star at Hogwarts. In the course of the next few years, due to a chain of circumstances that reflect as much on the utter unsuitability of all that year's pure-blooded candidates as on his own merits, it quickly became clear that, short of a miracle, the one remaining honour that had previously been the sole prerogative of purebloods was within his grasp: Godfrey Easingwold was to be made Head Boy. To Black, this was intolerable. Easingwold must be disposed of - and he must leave in disgrace, lest any who followed after should wish to make a martyr of him.

"While it pains me to admit that my own society has yet to completely fling off the shackles of class and blood, it is hard for those of us outside the Wizarding world to understand the depths to which Black was driven by his blood pride and affection for the status quo. Nonetheless, he was so driven. The evidence speaks for itself. While Godfrey Easingwold was triumphing in every aspect of his magical education, the man in whose care he had been placed was plotting his downfall - and a very neat little plot it was, if I may say so, showing surprising sophistication for a wizard.

"At some point, Black must have learned that Easingwold's father was an antiquarian bookseller, and the seed of a clever (if elementary) scheme began to germinate in his mind. What better way to blacken the name of a bookseller's son than to arrange for him to be caught stealing Hogwarts' most treasured book? Easingwold would be induced to take the Codex, and a Muggle specialist would be called in to confirm his guilt in this most Muggle of crimes, so that if any questioned his that young Easingwold had done the deed, the evidence would be so black against him that not even his most fervent partisan could have anything to say in his defence.

"The fact that Godfrey Easingwold is a dutiful young man of regular habits only made Black's task easier. The night the Codex was taken, Black entered Ravenclaw Tower by way of the fireplace outside the Codex Chamber, where he lay in wait for Easingwold to pass on his rounds. There was a slight delay, and the signs of impatience were still plainly to be read the day we came here, from the purple scuff-marks which those extraordinary boots Black chooses to affect had left on the skirting board. Eventually the unfortunate youth appeared on his nightly rounds, and walked straight into the trap. Black cast the Imperius curse on him from behind, and, with considerable difficulty, prevailed upon him to take the Codex from its chest and run off into the night, to live or die as he would. Since the only possible hiding place was the Forbidden Forest, death would, in fact, have been the likelier outcome, but for the good offices of the caretaker Goyle.

"It now wanted only a Muggle detective to complete the case against the unfortunate young man, and it was at this point that Black made his first serious miscalculation. A man who wished for a shoddy job left half-done and no awkward questions would have done far better to enlist the help of Scotland Yard, but Black's family pride would never have allowed him to set foot in a Muggle police station - and so Weaselby was dispatched to Baker Street. At the time he was eager enough to avail himself of my services, for like many of his kind, Black has been accustomed to equate lack of magical ability (of which I am proud to say I have none) with stupidity, but it did not take him long to learn his mistake. Once we arrived at Hogwarts and he had a chance to see me in action, he proved a most distant and unhelpful client - suspiciously so, in fact, for he set his cleaning staff to remove all traces of anything save what he wished me to see from the Codex chamber, and other areas of Ravenclaw tower had been tampered with as well.

"As my faithful chronicler Watson will tell you, I have substantial experience of criminal investigation, and little that the criminal mind can produce is capable of surprising me now. It happens from time to time that a client (usually one with an elevated estimation of his powers and pretensions to social superiority) requests my services to clear him of a crime that he in fact committed himself, believing himself to have built up an impregnable case against some innocent victim. How many is it now, Watson?"

"Twenty-three, I believe," I replied, observing with delight the look of pure chagrin that crossed Black's features, "twenty-four if you count the Case of the Absent Stag Beetle - but that, of course, is hardly fit for the world at large..."

"Indeed, no," said Holmes hurriedly, "let us hear no more of that sordid little affair, I beg! Be that as it may, I had seen enough of criminals of Black's type to be prepared for such an eventuality in this case, and when I discovered that Easingwold had made no preparations for his abrupt departure from Hogwarts my suspicions were strengthened. Shortly after that I learned from another source, which there is no need to name here, that Godfrey Easingwold was still in hiding in the grounds of Hogwarts. My companions and I tracked him down, and I had the whole sorry story from his own lips. At this point I must express my thanks the estimable Professor Binns for his most complete account of the illegal curses of the wizarding world - a very nasty little set indeed, I might add - for in the light of this knowledge it was plain that poor Easingwold had fallen victim to the Imperius curse. It remained only to bring the proof before the public, which I did by relieving the Headmaster of his wand as I brushed past him on my way into the staffroom, and then employing a little mild subterfuge to persuade Binns to cast the Priori Incantatem charm upon it. The rest you know. One question only remains. You have the facts: now can the staff of Hogwarts be trusted to see to it that justice is done?

Deadly silence reigned all around the table. Finally Professor O'Connell cleared his throat.

"Well, Headmaster," he said at last, "the case against you seems tolerably complete. What have you to say in your defence?"

"In my defence?" said Black in a voice that chilled me to the marrow. "I absolutely decline, sir, to defend myself any accusations levelled at me by such a one as this. What - must Phineas Nigellus Black, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, scion of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, answer to this creature? Must I, descendent of the greatest sorcerers to walk this earth, give an account of my actions to this ape that speaks with a man's voice, this ignorant Muggle who knows nothing of our traditions and ways, of our ancient pride - one not only born blind and deaf to the gift of magic but who, by his own admission, takes a perverse pride in the fact? No, sir, we have fallen low indeed at Hogwarts, shamefully so, if I must make excuses for ridding its sacred precincts of the threat that was hanging over it, but Phineas Nigellus Black will never stoop so low as that!"

At this Professor Weaselby rose to his feet, his face livid with anger.

"You should answer, sir, to your own conscience!" he exclaimed. "You speak of a threat - I speak of a child - an innocent placed in your care whose trust you foully abused. You have brought shame on Hogwarts, and upon us all!"

Professor Llewellyn was staring at Black as though she had never seen him before. Her eyes were swimming with tears, and for the first time that evening I saw her as she truly was: an aging woman in deep mourning, staggering under a blow that had left her reeling.

"Oh, Cousin Phineas!" she moaned, "how could you! That poor boy! How can we ever hope to make amends for this? And whatever possessed you to do this wicked thing? I have known your pride since we played together as children, but I would never have believed you capable of such wanton cruelty."

Black recoiled as if she had struck him, and for a second his face softened, but before he could speak Professor Drummond brought his fist crashing down on the table.

"Enough of this!" he cried. "What more do we need? This fellow's place is in the dock, and I, for one, will take great pleasure in seeing him there!"

"What?" cried Black, outraged. "The nerve of the fellow! You speak to me of the dock - after Guyana?"

Although the significance of this remark was lost on me, it provoked a violent reaction among all present, and what dignity the staff of Hogwarts had managed to retain was quickly lost as the meeting descended into uproar. Holmes and I watched in growing dismay as strong words were exchanged, fists shaken and wands drawn. It was at this point that I felt a gentle tug at my sleeve.

"Doctor Watson," said Professor O'Connell quietly, "I believe now might be a good time for you and Mr Holmes to leave, while you are unobserved. If you would be good enough to follow me?"