Sherlock Holmes and the Ravenclaw Codex

Chapter Thirteen: Farewell Gifts

Professor O'Connell led us down a narrow, winding corridor and out into the main entrance hall, where we came to a halt.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I apologise for our abrupt departure. You will forgive me, I hope, when I explain that our good Headmaster is a man of deeply vengeful temperament, and moreover sadly prone to the use of Memory Charms on those who know that which, in his opinion, they should not. You have seen the Headmaster at a most profound moral disadvantage, and, had you waited until his temper cooled, you would have left that room with no memory of what had passed. You might never have recovered from the shock. I confess that this would grieve me: I have far too much respect of intellectual and literary talent to take any pleasure in seeing it squandered in such a wasteful fashion."

"Indeed," said Holmes blandly, "you need say no more, for I am no stranger to the depredations of friend Black. I am sure Watson would agree with me when I say that we would both very much prefer to leave this place with our faculties intact. And now, how do you propose to get us back to London undetected? I am a match for any wizard on my own home ground, but we can hardly hope to survive the Hogwarts Express unmolested."

"You need have no fear on that score," replied O'Connell, "I have taken the liberty of ordering a small conveyance to be made ready and your bags to be packed, together with provisions for your journey. As you say, Hogsmeade station is unsafe, and (as you know very well, I suspect) the last train of the day has already left. I suggest that you make your way instead to the railhead at Inverhogg on the far side of the lake, where you should be in time for the Muggle night mail to Aberdeen. By the time my respected colleagues pause to take stock you should be well on your way to London. Weaselby will drive you - he is a good fellow, but dreadfully hot-headed, and if he continues in Black's company for much longer I fear that he will find he has made his position here quite untenable."

"But surely," I interrupted, "he has nothing to fear from Professor Black now? He can scarcely remain in charge at Hogwarts after his infamy has been laid bare in so public fashion!"

Holmes shot a me pitying glance. O'Connell merely smiled and shook his head.

"My dear Doctor," he said with a smile that did not quite reach his curious pale eyes, "your faith in human nature does you credit, it warms my heart to see it! However, in this case it is sadly misplaced. You forget that Professor Black is a senior member of one of the oldest and most powerful wizarding families in the land, a family that will stop at nothing to uphold the family name. We at this school may deplore what he has done with every fibre of our being, but the power to remove the Headmaster lies with the Board of Governors, and they are a set for whom blood holds all the importance that Black himself places on it. No, they will argue back and forth, and some few will stand with us, but blood will out, my dear Doctor, blood will out! Black's dignity will be sorely ruffled, and he will receive a severe reprimand, but he will remain Headmaster of Hogwarts, and the rest of the staff will find themselves forced to reconsider their positions. Drummond will rant and roar and pound the table, but the Black family holds the mortgages to his family's lands. Richenda Llewellyn has finally seen 'dear cousin Phineas' for what he is, but she has now very little immediate family left, and I do not believe that she will be able to cast him off altogether. Binns is a Black himself by marriage, Weaselby has an elderly mother to support... No, Doctor Watson, there can be no doubt - Black will remain to plague us at Hogwarts for some years yet."

"Great heavens!" I cried, thunderstruck. "Surely this is some kind of joke!"

"No joke," replied O'Connell, "I speak as a student of the noble art of Divination, and as Head of the House that places manipulation and survival within the established order above all other considerations. Believe me, Doctor, there can be no possible doubt: Black will remain Headmaster at Hogwarts."

"But this is monstrous!" I gasped. "A man little better than a murderer, left unwatched in charge of a school of these delightful children? Shameful, sir, shameful!"

"Alone, but never unwatched!" exclaimed O'Connell, "for at last Black has been exposed for what he truly is! As long as he remains at Hogwarts every eye will be on him: the very portraits on the walls and the ghosts who haunt the castle will be watching him, day and night! You may set your mind at rest, Doctor: Easingwold and all the others who will follow after him will be quite safe."

"In short," said Holmes, "it seems that you have skewered friend Black very neatly. One thing still puzzles me, however. Why now? Why watch in silence as your colleague plots to dispose of your most worthy student, only to leap to that same student's defence when the plot is discovered by an outside agency?"

"The sorting hat chose wisely, Mr Holmes, when it placed you in Ravenclaw house!" said O'Connell. "In true Ravenclaw fashion, you have struck to the very heart of the issue, yet you take no account of the society in which we must work to achieve our ends! We in Slytherin, however, are creatures of the real world, and keen students of realpolitik. We live within the established order, and we honour its codes, for we know that these were the paths that led our ancestors to greatness, and by following them, we may achieve greatness in our turn. However, it sometimes happens that this order is threatened not without, but from within - and then we are ruthless in cutting out the dead wood, so the tree may flourish unchecked.

"You may not believe it, but not all wizards are as ignorant of the Muggle world as our blinkered Black. For many years now, I have myself taken a keen interest in your world and its politics, for they hold up a mirror to our own. A wind of change is blowing through Europe! In the last half century, reform and revolution have swept the continent: we have seen the old order falter and come crashing down. A far-sighted, well-run government may weather the blast, but the weak, blinkered and stubborn will be swept away. Black and his kind will never accept one fundamental truth, which is that the same wind that blows through Muggle London blows also on the Wizarding world. Reform is in the air, and those same people who submitted meekly to the injustices of Black and his kind a generation ago will be roused to righteous anger against them today. Can our Wizarding society survive a revolution? I do not know, but why take the risk? Better by far to reform from within, giving measured concessions to the deserving so that the old order may continue. We do not wish to overthrow our leaders, but if Black stands in the path of progress then he will be crushed beneath its wheels.

"But here is Goyle with the carriage. Pray make yourselves comfortable inside: our stalwart caretaker will see that no harm comes to you while I fetch Weaselby."

With that, O'Connell handed us into the carriage, and sprang up the steps leading back towards the school.

My friend Sherlock Holmes has no mean share of personal vanity, but the complete transformation of Goyle's manner since Godfrey Easingwold's departure left even Holmes decidedly nonplussed: Goyle's previous belligerence was now transformed into abject gratitude that bordered on worship. When he was not expressing his thanks in a manner that would have made the most empty-headed society beauty blush, he was brandishing an outsize blunderbuss in a most alarming manner, as if daring some imagined aggressor to approach.

Soon, however, O'Connell returned, followed by Weaselby in a shabby travelling cloak and top hat. As Weaselby climbed up to the driver's seat and prepared to take up the reins, O'Connell leaned in through the windows of the carriage and addressed my friend in a confidential tone.

"I trust you will not think me rude, Mr Holmes," he said, as he passed a small packet and a wash-leather bag that clinked as it moved through the open window, "if I take this opportunity to settle the bill for your services, for I do not know when we will next meet again."

"And the papers?" enquired my friend.

"Oh, the merest trifle," replied the other. "Just a few old school magazines and similar records which I put together, knowing that you had a brother at Hogwarts, and thinking that they might be of some... interest to you."

Holmes became very still. When he raised his head, his deep-set eyes burned with an almost maniacal fervour.

"So you know!" he said quietly.

"Know?" said O'Connell, with a wave of his hand. "I know nothing, Mr Holmes: as a wise man once said, it is a capital mistake to theorise ahead of one's data, and data are sadly lacking in this case. I merely suspect - and what are the suspicions of one lone Irishman worth? Yet we at Hogwarts owe you a great debt - and I for one would consider it an honour to repay that debt in the currency that will suit you best: information. Read my collection of mementoes, speak to Weaselby (for Marchmont Holmes was good to Weaselby when he first came to Hogwarts, and I know that he is afire to share all his childhood reminiscences with you). If I can assist in any way, a letter addressed to Morris Gerald O'Connell at the Leaky Cauldron inn off the Charing Cross Road will always find me."

"I am most sensible of this honour," said Holmes slowly, fixing his interlocutor with a penetrating gaze. "But I confess that I do not see the motives behind it. Your people are almost offensively shy of mine: are you not afraid that I will track you down in your hiding places and trouble your peace with my investigations?"

"No, Mr Holmes," said O'Connell with a smile. "You have proved yourself too much a man of honour for that - besides, even if you wished to betray our secrets, who in your world would believe a word of your story? But there is more.

"You have little reason to think well of wizards, Mr Holmes, I know - but be assured that not all of us are blinkered philistines like Phineas Nigellus Black. Some of us rejoice in our connection with the Muggle world, believing fervently that our best and ultimate destiny is to live in harmony with them. I am one such: I believe that our future lies together, not apart, and I live for the day when we wizards live side by side with our Muggle brothers and sisters, and all concealment and deceit between us is at an end.

"But enough of that! Time waits for no man, and you have a train to catch. Gentlemen, I wish you a pleasant journey. Drive on, Weaselby!"

Weaselby shook the reins of the strangely muffled beasts harnessed to our conveyance, and the carriage began to move.

Holmes watched O'Connell's diminishing form until he was lost to sight round a bend in the road, and then he fell into an introspective silence. For my part, I was happy to take in the delightful scenery on both sides of the road until the gathering dusk and the mist that rose from the lake obscured it altogether, at which point I fell into a gentle doze. Then my friend suddenly rose from his seat and pushed down the carriage window.

"Stop a minute, Weaselby!" he cried in his imperious fashion. "The atmosphere in this carriage is abominably close, and Watson here snores fit to wake the dead. I require fresh air, for a stagnant atmosphere is death to the brain. If you have no objection, I believe I will join you on the driver's seat for a spell."

And with that, he opened the door and clambered up beside Weaselby.

I fell asleep to the sound of their earnest conversation.