(A/N: Thanks again to my own Alpha Wolf for beta-ing, and thanks to Sparks for helpfully writing sexual songs about Sherlock Holmes.)

Chapter Three: You Can Call Up Sherlock Holmes

Severus Snape was hanging around the Potions classroom, sorting salamander skins. Had anyone been around, which was not the case, they might have noticed the strange bright gleam in his dark eyes. They might also have noticed the way his head stuck out a bit at the back. They might have noticed the way he kept glancing into the Collected Works of Spinoza; they might have noticed his face was particularly alight with intelligence today. If they had squinted, they could have already seen the phantom of a light bulb already present above his black-locked crown. “There,” they would have said, “stands a chap about to have a great idea. A whale-sized idea, one might say, or, as the Muggles say; a corker.” And they would have been right.

Snape had been, for several days, indulging in some proper brain exercise. His brain being a particularly substantial one, this exercise had been of a size that sits down with you and demands in no uncertain terms the kind of respect it wants, and what is more, you do exactly what it tells you. He had been, in other words, mulling over what Lucius had told him in the Hog’s Head, and he was on the brink of solving this conundrum. And… there it was. The lights went on- had Severus Snape been a shop, one might have said he was now ready, and opened for business. “I’ve got it!” our valiant thinker exclaimed, and nearly smiled.

It was a quiet afternoon at Malfoy Manor. Rain was pouring down steadily outside, and the family itself was gathered in the green drawing room, in front of a low fire. They were rather despondently draped in a half-moon around the fireplace, sipping their drinks in boredom. The exception was the son and heir, who, instead of doing his part to entertain the company, was gazing upon his guest with an unbroken look of such unabashed admiration, that it was making everyone else in the room, even the object of his affection, quite unbearably sick.

“Another pickled newt?” Narcissa offered Hermione for the umpteenth time.

“No, thanks.” Hermione said, taking a break from looking at Draco with disgust, to look at the pickled newts with disgust. Narcissa sighed and put the tray back down, staring out of the window blankly. Next to her, Lucius, weakened by despair and blood-loss, was barely managing to stay in his seat. His eyes were hollow and his hair lank, and all in all he was looking like David Bowie in the throes of his cocaine days, but worse. His hand trembled as he fought to bring his glass to his lips. Though it might cost him the rest of his strength, he had to have a drink, or he imagined he would go insane by the end of the next minute. With an intense effort, he swallowed his sip, closing his eyes in pain and then relief as the potent mixture of Fire-whiskey, brandy, and absinthe began to work its dark magic. Narcissa glanced at his glass in some discomfort, probably because its odour, reminiscent of that of petra oleum, was quickly taking over the atmosphere of the room.

Just then, a hollow bronze peal rang echoing through the house: the doorbell, which had heralded the Malfoy guests for centuries with its sombre call. Lucius glanced at Narcissa- they were not expecting any more visitors. “I’ll go.” He said, his voice faint and his look anxious. The other Malfoys were also looking nervous, though they did their best to hide it. Hermione, however, was looking at them from the corners of her eyes, noting the mood and finding it highly suspicious.

In the meantime, Lucius had apparated to the front door. Apparition over short distance was something he had previously held in distaste, but had taken to a lot more ever since Dobby had been ‘freed’ by The Boy Who Stole House Elves. With a sigh and a lazy swish of his wand, he unlocked the door and then opened it. On the doorstep was standing a tall, thin wizard- it had to be one, Malfoy Manor was Unplottable to Muggles- whose skin had a distinctly pallid tone. Shiny black hair was slicked back over his skull and he was wearing a huge tweed cloak. His eyes had tick lids, from under which dark and oddly glittering eyes were looking down on Lucius in a way that reminded him of looking in the mirror. Lucius blinked. He was sure he had never seen this man before- though at the same time he seemed strangely familiar. “Good evening.” The strange visitor said in a richly resonant voice, “This is Malfoy Manor?”

“Yes, it is.” Lucius said, becoming irked. “Though what that is to you I cannot imagine.” The man smirked, again in a maddeningly familiar but unrecognisable way.

“Good to see it’s working.” He said. “Now let me in so I can explain.”

“Excuse me?” Lucius said.

“Come on Lucius, it’s me.” The man said. “Snape.”

“It is?” Lucius said, raising his eyebrows. “Prove it.”

“Alright.” The man said. “My first pet was a spider called Mars. I was inconsolable when my father crushed it when I was in first year. You, as the sole person in the school, saw my grief, and said you would make it disappear if I met you in the Astronomy Tower at midnight. And you did.” Lucius frowned.

“Alright, Severus, what is this?” he said, crossing his arms.

“Didn’t I tell you I would find a solution to the Granger ordeal?” Snape said, looking smug.

“Yes, but I fail to see what disguising yourself as a completely random man is going to achieve.” Lucius said.

“Just trust me.” Snape said, and came in.