From Amelia Bones's own mouth, Sherlock and Harry heard yet another version of the story.
An entirely new version, one they hadn't heard before.
By rights, Remus, Tonks, and Sirius and Amelia who had come to their rescue should have been the ones fleeing.
And yet Sirius had put his Gryffindor flair on full display: he'd broken through the enemy line, and not by some clever flanking manoeuvre either—he'd charged straight through the front.
"Well, I wasn't about to let them see it coming!"
Listening to Amelia's thoroughly unvarnished account, Sirius said, somewhat sheepishly: "Those Death Eaters saw how outnumbered we were and figured we'd turn tail and run. Instead, we drove straight out through the front of them. They never knew what hit them."
"My dear Mr. Black, I'll grant you—your approach did, initially, have the benefit of surprise."
Rather unexpectedly, Amelia nodded in agreement.
"They truly didn't expect us to charge straight out the front.
"What I don't understand is why, after breaking through, you felt the need to keep tangling with Bellatrix.
"Was that fight really necessary?"
Sirius: "All right, that's enough, let's not—"
Sherlock and Harry exchanged a glance. Knowing Sirius's temperament as well as they did, they'd already worked out what must have happened.
It had been right here, at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, that Sirius had once stood before the tapestry of the "most ancient and noble House of Black" and told Sherlock and Harry all about the family's tangled history of grudges and grievances.
Especially the more recent generations.
Among them, his misunderstanding with his younger brother Regulus, and his exasperation with his sister Bellatrix.
The misunderstanding with his brother had, of course, since been fully resolved.
But where his sister was concerned, his hatred could only run deeper. Because Bellatrix had always been, and remained, one of Voldemort's most devoted followers.
Never mind that after Voldemort's return, she'd remained unrepentantly loyal to him, riding at his side, running in his service. Consider just her record during the wizarding war alone—the endless slaughter of wizards on the side of justice, of innocent bystanders, and her leading role in torturing Neville's parents, the Longbottoms, until a once loving, devoted couple was reduced to shattered minds.
There was no possibility that Sirius would ever let this woman go.
Harry took a deep breath.
"Miss Bones—what happened with the Killing Curse at one inch's range?"
"Put simply: when brother and sister met on that battlefield, they went at each other like the bitterest of enemies."
"We are bitter enemies!"
Amelia ignored him and continued.
"Sirius shouted taunts at Bellatrix at the top of his voice, claiming that display of hers hadn't been anywhere near her true skill.
"Bellatrix, humiliated and enraged, cast a second curse.
"And then—"
"That's quite enough, Amelia."
Sirius, unable to bear it any longer, cut her off before she could go on.
"Please. No more."
Amelia gave him a long, searching look, but in the end she let it go, sparing him the rest.
Sirius knew perfectly well, though, that his godson would not be satisfied with silence alone, so he volunteered an explanation of his own.
"I'll admit it—I underestimated my opponent.
"Thankfully, Amelia reacted quickly, and struck the moment she sensed something was wrong.
"Otherwise, I might have been left there permanently."
Before Harry could get a word in, he hastened to add.
"Don't worry—I'll never be so reckless again!"
Sherlock said nothing, only smiled. Harry simply glared at Sirius in silence.
At Sirius's words, Amelia shook her head, then turned to Sherlock to raise another matter entirely: "Holmes—I spoke with Remus a moment ago, and we're in agreement that—"
"There's a mole among us," Sherlock said softly.
"Precisely!"
For the first time since entering the room, Amelia looked genuinely startled. "How did you know?"
Sirius and Harry were even more taken aback. Both of them stared at Sherlock as though he'd performed some impossible feat—truthfully, neither had seen this coming at all.
"It isn't difficult to see, actually, once you look at how the two of you described the whole affair."
Sherlock pressed his fingertips together beneath his chin and resumed his usual rapid-fire delivery.
"Remus lied low among Greyback's pack for a considerable stretch of time without ever being discovered. Based on what I know of Greyback, and on what Remus has relayed to the two of you about the man, his cunning is relative, and rather narrow in scope. It's concentrated mostly on revenge against humans, and on premeditating attacks—rather than cunning as a general trait.
"In fact, he isn't, strictly speaking, a man of much cunning at all.
"Which is exactly why—had he ever discovered Remus's true identity, he'd have exposed him on the spot, rather than waiting until after Remus and Tonks had already left to make his move.
"And from a purely tactical standpoint: dealing with Remus directly, inside the werewolves' own stronghold, would have been far, far easier than pursuing and ambushing him after he'd left.
"Both of you mentioned that Remus got word out not long after he departed.
"For his own safety, he never made contact with us directly—but Tonks is a different matter.
"Tonks is well aware that since the new Minister for Magic took office, the general atmosphere within the Ministry has shifted considerably, and the Ministry is now operating in a state of deep cooperation and exchange with Hogwarts and the Order of the Phoenix, under Dumbledore's leadership.
"Given that, Tonks could quite reasonably have used the Ministry's own intelligence channels to relay information—a far more convenient route than going through the Order's.
"Not long after that, Death Eaters lay in wait along your unavoidable route and ambushed you.
"So, Remus naturally reached the obvious conclusion: there's a mole, either within the Ministry or within the Order.
"The odds favour the Ministry by a wide margin, of course—after all, someone like Umbridge is still permitted to remain at the Ministry, and this year she was even appointed a Senior Undersecretary alongside Mad-Eye Moody himself.
"So it's hardly surprising that he'd draw this particular conclusion."
When Sherlock finished, the three of them exchanged glances.
Surely it couldn't be that simple?
"To be fair, your reasoning isn't especially rigorous—I can think of several other possibilities myself.
"That said, it is, admittedly, the most probable explanation of the lot."
Sherlock said this unhurriedly, then went on.
"I'd say we need considerably more evidence before we can confirm this possibility one way or the other.
"But what interests me more, right now, is exactly what information Remus managed to obtain from that pack of werewolves."
"That, actually—"
Sirius and Amelia exchanged a glance, and in the end it was Sirius who spoke:
"Remus didn't share that with us. I imagine he intends to report it directly to Dumbledore."
"To keep the leak contained—a single, isolated channel of communication. That's understandable enough."
Sherlock nodded, then said, "In that case, I'll simply go and ask them myself directly."
With that, he rose to his feet.
"Sherlock—are you leaving already?"
Seeing this, Harry couldn't help but ask with anxiety.
He wasn't entirely sure why, but ever since the whole business with Remus's attack, he'd found that he simply felt safer whenever Sherlock was around. So, the moment he saw Sherlock preparing to go, a flicker of unease came over him.
Even he himself found it a little odd. After all, his own godfather, Sirius, was standing right beside him.
And there was Amelia Bones too, a woman Sirius himself had rated so highly—between the two of them, surely they ought to offer him more security than Sherlock, an underage wizard, possibly could.
And yet, without his quite meaning it to, his instincts still leaned toward Sherlock.
Sherlock glanced at Harry and said, smiling:
"I've learned everything there is to learn for now. There's no point in my staying any longer."
"But—the business with the mole—"
"My dear Harry, even Sherlock Holmes cannot draw sound conclusions from insufficient evidence." Sherlock looked long and hard at Sirius and Amelia in turn. "I need more to go on—and until I have it, rushing to prove anything would be a dangerous thing to do."
"All right, then."
Seeing Harry's evident disappointment, a faint pang went through Sirius's chest, though he was careful not to let it show.
Because of the incident with Remus's attack, a shadow had fallen over that Christmas.
By the time 1997 rolled around, the clashes between the two sides had escalated once more.
In corners the wider world never saw, Aurors and Death Eaters fought several battles.
Both sides won some, lost some.
But on the whole, the side of justice still held the upper hand.
The Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix joined forces on several occasions and won some genuinely impressive victories.
A number of Death Eaters were killed outright in these engagements.
The one striking them down was none other than Mad-Eye Moody, who had once single-handedly filled half of Azkaban.
During this same period, Sherlock also met with his own brother, Mycroft.
With Voldemort's return now official, the ties between the wizarding world and the Muggle world had grown noticeably closer.
Of course, that closeness applied strictly to the upper echelons.
The Muggle Prime Minister, and by extension the government of Her Majesty that he represented, had come to rely on Mycroft more and more.
Under these circumstances, the two brothers actually managed, for once, a candid exchange.
The conversation itself, however, was anything but pleasant.
It ended, in the end, with Mycroft's parting shot: "My foolish brother."
To anyone else, of course, the exchange between the two brothers would have looked utterly baffling—but each of them had, in his own way, gotten precisely what he'd come for.
A few evenings after the New Year, Sherlock and Harry stood in the queue before the fireplace at the Holmes residence on King's Road, waiting to return to Hogwarts—a new Ministry initiative, this: a one-time Floo Network connection arranged to get students back to school quickly and safely.
Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, Sirius, and Amelia had all gathered to see them off.
"Do take care of yourself at school."
Mrs. Holmes embraced Harry, then turned to Sherlock.
"You too, darling."
Sherlock stepped into the emerald flames, called out "Hogwarts!", and was swallowed by the fire.
Spinning at tremendous speed, he caught blurred, fleeting glimpses of various wizards' rooms flashing past before he could make any of them out.
Then his spin began to slow, and he came to a neat, upright stop inside Professor McGonagall's own fireplace.
"Good evening, Holmes."
As he stepped out of the fireplace, the professor, hard at work, barely lifted her head.
"Do mind not to track too much soot onto the carpet."
Sherlock's gaze swept over the carpet, and he allowed himself a faint smile.
First-years really were rather more trouble than they were worth.
Once Harry had arrived as well, the two of them left Professor McGonagall's office together.
The sun was setting, and the snow lying across the grounds was deep.
Neither of them had any inclination to stop and admire the view, so they made straight for the Gryffindor tower.
Except they found themselves stopped short at the Fat Lady's portrait.
The password for entering Gryffindor Tower had been changed.
A fair number of other students found themselves blocked as well, in the same predicament.
"Well, isn't this just typical!"
Someone complained loudly:
"We've been away from school—how are we supposed to know the password's changed—"
"That's your problem, not mine," said the Fat Lady, looking rather paler than usual, though her tone was anything but gentle. "And please, stop shouting."
"Oi—outrageous, absolutely outrageous, I've got half a mind to—"
At that critical moment, the Gryffindor prefect, Neville Longbottom, materialized before the crowd as though sent from the heavens.
"Abstinence!"
"Correct."
The Fat Lady said, sounding rather drained, and swung open to reveal the entrance hole behind her.
"Wait, how on earth did Neville actually remember the password?"
An exaggerated voice rang out—Ron's, of course.
"It's a fairly simple one, this time," Neville said, a touch embarrassed. "And besides, I think my memory's gotten a good deal better than it used to be."
By now the group had made its way into the crowded common room.
"Hey, Harry, how was the rest of your holiday?"
Ginny greeted Harry warmly.
"Not bad, all things considered," Harry said, glancing around before lowering his voice. "Did you hear about what happened with Professor Lupin?"
"Bill told me about it."
Ginny's voice dropped as well, and she was just about to say something more when a piercing shriek cut through the room: "Ron—oh, Ron!"
The next instant, a figure came hurtling out of seemingly nowhere with the force of a battering ram, and flung itself straight into Ron's arms. Fortunately, Ron was tall enough and solidly built enough not to be knocked clean off his feet.
There was no mistaking it—this was Lavender Brown, in the flesh.
Everyone who witnessed the scene couldn't help but burst out laughing.
"My darling Won-Won, I missed you so much!"
Lavender, saying this, planted a loud, wet kiss on Ron's cheek.
"Won-Won, did you miss me?"
Obtuse as Ron generally was, even he found himself struggling under this particular onslaught.
"All right, that's enough, enough—"
Harry gave a dry cough at the sight. "There's a table over there... shall we, Ginny?"
Ginny, naturally, agreed at once.
Sherlock's gaze drifted across the assembled students in the common room, and, almost without thinking, he ran a quick assessment of their recent circumstances, arriving at a single conclusion.
Everything remained exactly as it had been.
As for his own working theory regarding the attack on Remus—that, clearly, still required further confirmation.
With the new term at Hogwarts now officially underway, the very next morning, every sixth-year student found a surprise waiting for them.
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