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dolorous_ettIn which Holmes and Watson meet the staff and students currently in residence at Hogwarts, learn some more about the Ravenclaw Codex and have an encounter with the Sorting Hat.
Chapter One can be found here
Chapter Two can be found here
Chapter Three can be found here
Chapter Four can be found here
Chapter Five can be found here
Chapter 6: The Sorting Hat of Hogwarts
“Well, Watson,” said Holmes, as he shook water off his hands and dried them on the thick towel placed beside the silver basin, “what do you think of our hosts? A fine pair, are they not, Black and Weaselby? One all ice and spiteful dignity, the other all fuzzy sentiment with no bottom! A fine pair of guardians for the young!” he added, flinging the towel to the table in disgust. “I am not a marrying man, Watson, but if ever I were to take such a step, I would never entrust the fruits of that hypothetical union to such men as these!”
“To be sure,” I replied. “Still… I had a teacher rather like Weaselby at prep school – Mr Anstruther, or Waffles as we called him – dear old Waffles, with his mint humbugs and his funny, old-fashioned clothes! He was very absent-minded and rather deaf, but he was every boy’s friend and all the chaps were devoted to him. And then there was the principal of my old school, Old Lucifer we called him – Dr Lucas, he taught Latin to the upper school boys. Oh, he was a holy terror! I loathed and feared that man, and yet sometimes I wonder if I would ever have made it to medical school without his relentless persecution.”
“Charming,” replied Holmes, not without irony, “yet, I fancy, you will see far more that is unfamiliar to you over supper. And I beg of you, keep your reminiscences of your schooldays to yourself! Our kind hosts would take such comparisons very ill, and I have no wish you carry you back to Baker Street in the form of a toad! Now let us be on our way. We must not keep our most amiable hosts waiting!”
Weaselby was waiting for us outside, dressed in a marginally less shabby version of the afternoon’s costume. He started in dismay at Holmes’s immaculate evening dress and my neat tweed suit.
“Don’t you have anything… longer?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?” I enquired.
“More concealing,” said Weaselby, blushing. “That is to say… longer in the hem…”
“Pay no attention,” said Holmes, “his type go to formal dinner dressed in robes. Where we come from, Weaselby, skirts are women’s wear. But I dare say I have a dressing gown or something of that sort in my luggage…”
“Not at all,” said Weaselby resignedly. “Though what the Headmaster will say I don’t know… Come with me, if you please – sherry – the staffroom…”
We followed Weaselby to a small room off the entrance hall, where a liveried servant handed us glasses of sherry. Phineas Nigellus Black, after glaring in silent fury for several seconds at the knees of our trousers, led us over and introduced us to three out of the four house-masters and mistresses: Professor Drummond of Gryffindor House, a brawny, barrel-chested gentleman in prime of life, with a mane of glossy chestnut hair, a full beard and a deep, booming voice; Professor Blenkinsop of Hufflepuff, a tall, slender lady of mature years with a benevolent expression; and Professor O’Connell of Slytherin House, a slight, neat man, a little younger than his fellows, clean-shaven, with a pointed face and a pair of marvellously penetrating light grey eyes. Also present were the school matron, the librarian and a junior history master, Binns by name, a gangling young fellow already stopped and dusty beyond his years, who was acting head of Ravenclaw House in place of Professor Llewellyn, who was absent following a death in the family. His introductions completed, Black imperiously ordered my friend over to a quiet corner. Holmes caught my eye and gestured that I should accompany them.
“No doubt, Mr Holmes,” began Black in his usual clipped and frosty tones, “you are anxious to hear the task for which I have hired you.” He laid a stress that I found offensive on the word “hired”, but at a sign from Holmes I held my peace. “I have chosen you for this singular honour because, as a Muggle yourself, you are the best fitted to apprehend your own kind. Your task can be simply stated. The Ravenclaw Codex was taken from its resting place in Ravenclaw tower three nights ago under cover of darkness. The lock of the room was forced, as was the lock of the chest in which the Codex lay – proof, you must agree, of Muggle involvement – for no true wizard would ever resort to such physical means. If any further confirmation were needed, a Muggle-born student of Ravenclaw House, Godfrey Easingwold, disappeared under mysterious circumstances on the night that the Codex was taken. Your duties are simple enough. I wish you to recover the Ravenclaw Codex by any means possible, and, if your powers stretch so far, to lay your hands on the villain who took it. Now, if you please, we must make haste. Dinner is at seven-thirty sharp, and I detest inpunctuality above all things.”
“Headmaster!” called Holmes to his retreating back, loud enough that the other occupants of the room stared at us. “It is vital that we understand each other fully. Am I to understand that I am to spare no pains to apprehend the culprit, whatever the cost?”
Black turned briefly to glare at Holmes.
“You have your instructions, Mr Holmes,” he said. “I await the results of your investigation at your earliest convenience.”
Holmes bowed, and fell into line behind the teachers as they filed into the Great Hall.
As I passed through the doorway and looked up, I was unable to suppress a gasp of delight. Nothing in this grim barn of a building had prepared me for the glories of Hogwarts Great Hall: a noble, pillared chamber, its ceiling supported by mighty granite columns carved with strange devices; its walls hung with brightly coloured tapestries worked with designs of fabulous beasts. But most wondrous of all was the ceiling, which had been painted with the most painstaking detail, into an exact facsimile of a starry night sky, so lifelike that I would have been prepared to swear that I saw one star twinkle at me. No doubt when full this magnificent hall was full of life and bustle, but now it felt strangely empty, with all the tables pushed back against the walls save two, one for students, of whom there were a score or so, all robed in various colours, and one for staff.
I found myself seated at the end of the staff table, at some distance from Holmes, with Professor O’Connell and Professor Binns as my only neighbours. Although the food was delicious, if slightly old-fashioned for my taste, the conversation of my dinner companions was something of a trial. Binns, being appallingly shy, had nothing to contribute to a discussion on any subject save his own, and he sat spooning soup into his mouth in gloomy silence. O’Connell, on the other hand, was a charming and lively conversationalist who took a great interest in Holmes, myself and all our doings. Unfortunately, this all too often took the form of questions which, while never straying over the bounds of acceptability, nonetheless were plainly aiming to uncover more about Holmes, his past life and his methods than my friend would have wished him to know, and I found myself giving increasingly short and evasive answers, until I hit upon the happy expedient of asking Professor Binns if he could tell me anything about the Ravenclaw Codex. Binns proved only too happy to oblige, and I found myself subjected to a veritable deluge of information. O’Connell raised his glass to me with a wry shrug, and turned to his companion on his other side, while I listened.
Binns’s diatribe continued throughout the rest of the meal. I will abridge it here, for I found his slow, hesitant manner of speech, digressions and obsession with detail wearisome in the extreme, even knowing as I did that the matter under discussion was of the utmost importance to our quest.
The Ravenclaw Codex, it appeared, was a relic of one of the four founders of Hogwarts, a lady of uncommon wisdom and learning named Rowena Ravenclaw. In the last years of her life, this good lady, fearing that her knowledge would be lost to the world, decided to commit the greater part of her learning to parchment. The Codex was a great volume of the finest vellum and dragon-hide, cunningly illuminated and inscribed with magical inks in the tongues of men, giants and other creatures too strange to name. Rowena Ravenclaw stinted nothing in its creation, for the Codex was to be her great inheritance, passed down to her heirs from generation to generation as long as her line might last. However, for all her great scholarship, Rowena Ravenclaw had been somewhat chaotic in her private life (I will not weary the reader with the interminable genealogical details with which Binns regaled me over the sweet course). Bitter disputes broke out among her descendents over who was the rightful heir to the Codex, and over the next few generations, the wealth and power of the Ravenclaw clan was dissipated in a series of acrimonious lawsuits. In the end it was decreed that Hogwarts School would take custody of the Codex until such time as the rightful heir could be found, and it had remained at Hogwarts ever since, reverently enshrined in an inner room of Ravenclaw house. From time to time visitors would come to gaze upon it, or scholars to copy a page or two, but in the main it was left undisturbed, waiting for the lost heir to come and reclaim it.
A sharp rap on the table finally brought an end to Binns’s interminable maunderings, and I looked up to see Headmaster Black on his feet, gesturing for silence, as the sound of singing drifted from the direction of the staffroom.
“As all of you assembled should know,” he proclaimed, “at night, all guests at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry must sleep in the guest rooms of their House. Custom immemorial dictates that any guests who did not have the good fortune to attend this school in their youth must be Sorted before they are permitted to stay within these walls. These are desperate times, and require desperate measures. One can only hope that our guests are sensible of the honour, even if their background precludes…” Professor Blenkinsop jabbed him sharply in the ribs at this point, causing him to break off abruptly. However, he quickly recovered, and, gesturing behind him, proclaimed: “Behold! The Sorting Hat!”
The singing had ceased I turned to see Professor Drummond coming towards us, in his hands as battered and disreputable an old hat as I had ever laid eyes on. I could see that Holmes, on the other side of the table, was itching to get his hands on it, but before he had a chance, Drummond walked up to where I was sitting, and, without a word of explanation, dumped the hat on my head, enveloping me in fusty darkness.
To my astonishment, from within the folds of the Hat came a low voice.
Hmmm… it said. A more mature specimen… well, I do like a challenge, and this one is a real snorter, no mistake! Let’s see now… not much in the way of guile, to be sure… but an educated man, a good brain…loyal as the day is long, proved many times over… and the heart of a lion… been in action as well, I see… Interesting, now… so hard to choose… what’s it to be?
“What need is there to choose?” I exclaimed impatiently. “I came to help Holmes see that justice is done, and when that’s done I’ll go back to my life in London. I’m here to see fair play and Holmes safely out of this place – that’s all I want!”
Then there’s nothing more to be said, came the voice. Only one place for you, that’s certain: HUFFLEPUFF!
This last came in a shout that left my ears ringing, and at the same moment cheers and clapping broke out from the students’ table. Drummond whipped the Hat from my head and, before Holmes had a chance to protest, dropped it in turn over his head. This time the Hat had barely touched Holmes’s hair before it cried out again, in a voice that shook the Great Hall: RAVENCLAW!
Holmes lifted the Hat cautiously from his head. It lay inert in his hands as he turned it over carefully in his long fingers.
“I should very much like to examine this hat when I am more at leisure,” he said. “I fancy I might learn a great deal from it. With your leave, of course, Mr Drummond.”
I saw a sneer of pure disgust pass over the Headmaster’s face at these words, quickly suppressed as he snatched the hat out of Holmes’s hands. “If you please, Mr Holmes,” he began, “you have been hired to perform a task, and the quicker you can complete it, the quicker you can leave, and the happier both of us will be. Now, it is getting late, nothing else can be accomplished this evening, and if you would be so good…”
I felt a hand pulling at my sleeve, and turned to find a group of half a dozen boys and girls in yellow robes clustered around me.
“I say,” said the boy who had tugged my sleeve, a ruddy-cheeked young fellow of perhaps twelve years with frank blue eyes and curly hair, “you must be Doctor Watson! My pater has read all your stories in the Strand magazine! And the Hat chose you to stay in our house too! Ain’t it prime? Would you like to stay in my dormitory?”
“Stow it, Stebbins!” called out one of the older boys, a personable youth with dark eyes and a great beak of a nose, who strode up to me and shook me heartily by the hand. “You mustn’t mind him, sir, he’s a good fellow at heart, just a little excitable. He just means to welcome you to our House – and I’m sure he speaks for all of us there!”
The others nodded eagerly in agreement. These, I discovered, were some of the Muggle students of Hufflepuff house, who had elected to remain at school over the summer holidays. They were a cheerful, engaging lot, eager to welcome me to their cellar, and would, if I had allowed it, have organised enough picnics and treats for me to keep me busy for a week. Still, however charming my new acquaintances might be, I had a duty to perform, and I looked over to see how Holmes was getting on.
He was standing silently next to three students in blue, two girls and a boy, all displaying attitudes of the profoundest unease. I remembered belatedly that Holmes had had little experience of children of any kind, let alone those of a magical bent. Still, the evening bell was ringing and it was now quite dark – plainly nothing more could be done that day, and it remained only to find our guest quarters and refresh ourselves for the morrow. For all that, the glance Holmes shot me as my new friends led me away to my quarters in Hufflepuff House was as near to helpless as I had ever seen him, and I wondered to myself how he would fare in these new surroundings.
END OF PART ONE.
TO BE CONTINUED.
“Well, Watson,” said Holmes, as he shook water off his hands and dried them on the thick towel placed beside the silver basin, “what do you think of our hosts? A fine pair, are they not, Black and Weaselby? One all ice and spiteful dignity, the other all fuzzy sentiment with no bottom! A fine pair of guardians for the young!” he added, flinging the towel to the table in disgust. “I am not a marrying man, Watson, but if ever I were to take such a step, I would never entrust the fruits of that hypothetical union to such men as these!”
“To be sure,” I replied. “Still… I had a teacher rather like Weaselby at prep school – Mr Anstruther, or Waffles as we called him – dear old Waffles, with his mint humbugs and his funny, old-fashioned clothes! He was very absent-minded and rather deaf, but he was every boy’s friend and all the chaps were devoted to him. And then there was the principal of my old school, Old Lucifer we called him – Dr Lucas, he taught Latin to the upper school boys. Oh, he was a holy terror! I loathed and feared that man, and yet sometimes I wonder if I would ever have made it to medical school without his relentless persecution.”
“Charming,” replied Holmes, not without irony, “yet, I fancy, you will see far more that is unfamiliar to you over supper. And I beg of you, keep your reminiscences of your schooldays to yourself! Our kind hosts would take such comparisons very ill, and I have no wish you carry you back to Baker Street in the form of a toad! Now let us be on our way. We must not keep our most amiable hosts waiting!”
Weaselby was waiting for us outside, dressed in a marginally less shabby version of the afternoon’s costume. He started in dismay at Holmes’s immaculate evening dress and my neat tweed suit.
“Don’t you have anything… longer?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?” I enquired.
“More concealing,” said Weaselby, blushing. “That is to say… longer in the hem…”
“Pay no attention,” said Holmes, “his type go to formal dinner dressed in robes. Where we come from, Weaselby, skirts are women’s wear. But I dare say I have a dressing gown or something of that sort in my luggage…”
“Not at all,” said Weaselby resignedly. “Though what the Headmaster will say I don’t know… Come with me, if you please – sherry – the staffroom…”
We followed Weaselby to a small room off the entrance hall, where a liveried servant handed us glasses of sherry. Phineas Nigellus Black, after glaring in silent fury for several seconds at the knees of our trousers, led us over and introduced us to three out of the four house-masters and mistresses: Professor Drummond of Gryffindor House, a brawny, barrel-chested gentleman in prime of life, with a mane of glossy chestnut hair, a full beard and a deep, booming voice; Professor Blenkinsop of Hufflepuff, a tall, slender lady of mature years with a benevolent expression; and Professor O’Connell of Slytherin House, a slight, neat man, a little younger than his fellows, clean-shaven, with a pointed face and a pair of marvellously penetrating light grey eyes. Also present were the school matron, the librarian and a junior history master, Binns by name, a gangling young fellow already stopped and dusty beyond his years, who was acting head of Ravenclaw House in place of Professor Llewellyn, who was absent following a death in the family. His introductions completed, Black imperiously ordered my friend over to a quiet corner. Holmes caught my eye and gestured that I should accompany them.
“No doubt, Mr Holmes,” began Black in his usual clipped and frosty tones, “you are anxious to hear the task for which I have hired you.” He laid a stress that I found offensive on the word “hired”, but at a sign from Holmes I held my peace. “I have chosen you for this singular honour because, as a Muggle yourself, you are the best fitted to apprehend your own kind. Your task can be simply stated. The Ravenclaw Codex was taken from its resting place in Ravenclaw tower three nights ago under cover of darkness. The lock of the room was forced, as was the lock of the chest in which the Codex lay – proof, you must agree, of Muggle involvement – for no true wizard would ever resort to such physical means. If any further confirmation were needed, a Muggle-born student of Ravenclaw House, Godfrey Easingwold, disappeared under mysterious circumstances on the night that the Codex was taken. Your duties are simple enough. I wish you to recover the Ravenclaw Codex by any means possible, and, if your powers stretch so far, to lay your hands on the villain who took it. Now, if you please, we must make haste. Dinner is at seven-thirty sharp, and I detest inpunctuality above all things.”
“Headmaster!” called Holmes to his retreating back, loud enough that the other occupants of the room stared at us. “It is vital that we understand each other fully. Am I to understand that I am to spare no pains to apprehend the culprit, whatever the cost?”
Black turned briefly to glare at Holmes.
“You have your instructions, Mr Holmes,” he said. “I await the results of your investigation at your earliest convenience.”
Holmes bowed, and fell into line behind the teachers as they filed into the Great Hall.
As I passed through the doorway and looked up, I was unable to suppress a gasp of delight. Nothing in this grim barn of a building had prepared me for the glories of Hogwarts Great Hall: a noble, pillared chamber, its ceiling supported by mighty granite columns carved with strange devices; its walls hung with brightly coloured tapestries worked with designs of fabulous beasts. But most wondrous of all was the ceiling, which had been painted with the most painstaking detail, into an exact facsimile of a starry night sky, so lifelike that I would have been prepared to swear that I saw one star twinkle at me. No doubt when full this magnificent hall was full of life and bustle, but now it felt strangely empty, with all the tables pushed back against the walls save two, one for students, of whom there were a score or so, all robed in various colours, and one for staff.
I found myself seated at the end of the staff table, at some distance from Holmes, with Professor O’Connell and Professor Binns as my only neighbours. Although the food was delicious, if slightly old-fashioned for my taste, the conversation of my dinner companions was something of a trial. Binns, being appallingly shy, had nothing to contribute to a discussion on any subject save his own, and he sat spooning soup into his mouth in gloomy silence. O’Connell, on the other hand, was a charming and lively conversationalist who took a great interest in Holmes, myself and all our doings. Unfortunately, this all too often took the form of questions which, while never straying over the bounds of acceptability, nonetheless were plainly aiming to uncover more about Holmes, his past life and his methods than my friend would have wished him to know, and I found myself giving increasingly short and evasive answers, until I hit upon the happy expedient of asking Professor Binns if he could tell me anything about the Ravenclaw Codex. Binns proved only too happy to oblige, and I found myself subjected to a veritable deluge of information. O’Connell raised his glass to me with a wry shrug, and turned to his companion on his other side, while I listened.
Binns’s diatribe continued throughout the rest of the meal. I will abridge it here, for I found his slow, hesitant manner of speech, digressions and obsession with detail wearisome in the extreme, even knowing as I did that the matter under discussion was of the utmost importance to our quest.
The Ravenclaw Codex, it appeared, was a relic of one of the four founders of Hogwarts, a lady of uncommon wisdom and learning named Rowena Ravenclaw. In the last years of her life, this good lady, fearing that her knowledge would be lost to the world, decided to commit the greater part of her learning to parchment. The Codex was a great volume of the finest vellum and dragon-hide, cunningly illuminated and inscribed with magical inks in the tongues of men, giants and other creatures too strange to name. Rowena Ravenclaw stinted nothing in its creation, for the Codex was to be her great inheritance, passed down to her heirs from generation to generation as long as her line might last. However, for all her great scholarship, Rowena Ravenclaw had been somewhat chaotic in her private life (I will not weary the reader with the interminable genealogical details with which Binns regaled me over the sweet course). Bitter disputes broke out among her descendents over who was the rightful heir to the Codex, and over the next few generations, the wealth and power of the Ravenclaw clan was dissipated in a series of acrimonious lawsuits. In the end it was decreed that Hogwarts School would take custody of the Codex until such time as the rightful heir could be found, and it had remained at Hogwarts ever since, reverently enshrined in an inner room of Ravenclaw house. From time to time visitors would come to gaze upon it, or scholars to copy a page or two, but in the main it was left undisturbed, waiting for the lost heir to come and reclaim it.
A sharp rap on the table finally brought an end to Binns’s interminable maunderings, and I looked up to see Headmaster Black on his feet, gesturing for silence, as the sound of singing drifted from the direction of the staffroom.
“As all of you assembled should know,” he proclaimed, “at night, all guests at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry must sleep in the guest rooms of their House. Custom immemorial dictates that any guests who did not have the good fortune to attend this school in their youth must be Sorted before they are permitted to stay within these walls. These are desperate times, and require desperate measures. One can only hope that our guests are sensible of the honour, even if their background precludes…” Professor Blenkinsop jabbed him sharply in the ribs at this point, causing him to break off abruptly. However, he quickly recovered, and, gesturing behind him, proclaimed: “Behold! The Sorting Hat!”
The singing had ceased I turned to see Professor Drummond coming towards us, in his hands as battered and disreputable an old hat as I had ever laid eyes on. I could see that Holmes, on the other side of the table, was itching to get his hands on it, but before he had a chance, Drummond walked up to where I was sitting, and, without a word of explanation, dumped the hat on my head, enveloping me in fusty darkness.
To my astonishment, from within the folds of the Hat came a low voice.
Hmmm… it said. A more mature specimen… well, I do like a challenge, and this one is a real snorter, no mistake! Let’s see now… not much in the way of guile, to be sure… but an educated man, a good brain…loyal as the day is long, proved many times over… and the heart of a lion… been in action as well, I see… Interesting, now… so hard to choose… what’s it to be?
“What need is there to choose?” I exclaimed impatiently. “I came to help Holmes see that justice is done, and when that’s done I’ll go back to my life in London. I’m here to see fair play and Holmes safely out of this place – that’s all I want!”
Then there’s nothing more to be said, came the voice. Only one place for you, that’s certain: HUFFLEPUFF!
This last came in a shout that left my ears ringing, and at the same moment cheers and clapping broke out from the students’ table. Drummond whipped the Hat from my head and, before Holmes had a chance to protest, dropped it in turn over his head. This time the Hat had barely touched Holmes’s hair before it cried out again, in a voice that shook the Great Hall: RAVENCLAW!
Holmes lifted the Hat cautiously from his head. It lay inert in his hands as he turned it over carefully in his long fingers.
“I should very much like to examine this hat when I am more at leisure,” he said. “I fancy I might learn a great deal from it. With your leave, of course, Mr Drummond.”
I saw a sneer of pure disgust pass over the Headmaster’s face at these words, quickly suppressed as he snatched the hat out of Holmes’s hands. “If you please, Mr Holmes,” he began, “you have been hired to perform a task, and the quicker you can complete it, the quicker you can leave, and the happier both of us will be. Now, it is getting late, nothing else can be accomplished this evening, and if you would be so good…”
I felt a hand pulling at my sleeve, and turned to find a group of half a dozen boys and girls in yellow robes clustered around me.
“I say,” said the boy who had tugged my sleeve, a ruddy-cheeked young fellow of perhaps twelve years with frank blue eyes and curly hair, “you must be Doctor Watson! My pater has read all your stories in the Strand magazine! And the Hat chose you to stay in our house too! Ain’t it prime? Would you like to stay in my dormitory?”
“Stow it, Stebbins!” called out one of the older boys, a personable youth with dark eyes and a great beak of a nose, who strode up to me and shook me heartily by the hand. “You mustn’t mind him, sir, he’s a good fellow at heart, just a little excitable. He just means to welcome you to our House – and I’m sure he speaks for all of us there!”
The others nodded eagerly in agreement. These, I discovered, were some of the Muggle students of Hufflepuff house, who had elected to remain at school over the summer holidays. They were a cheerful, engaging lot, eager to welcome me to their cellar, and would, if I had allowed it, have organised enough picnics and treats for me to keep me busy for a week. Still, however charming my new acquaintances might be, I had a duty to perform, and I looked over to see how Holmes was getting on.
He was standing silently next to three students in blue, two girls and a boy, all displaying attitudes of the profoundest unease. I remembered belatedly that Holmes had had little experience of children of any kind, let alone those of a magical bent. Still, the evening bell was ringing and it was now quite dark – plainly nothing more could be done that day, and it remained only to find our guest quarters and refresh ourselves for the morrow. For all that, the glance Holmes shot me as my new friends led me away to my quarters in Hufflepuff House was as near to helpless as I had ever seen him, and I wondered to myself how he would fare in these new surroundings.
END OF PART ONE.
TO BE CONTINUED.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-06-23 01:40 pm (UTC)Loved the bit with the Sorting Hat - faithful Watson definitely belongs in Hufflepuff and Holmes - a true Ravenclaw through and through. Laughed like mad at the idea of poor Holmes trying to cope with children :-).
So there's a rightful heir knocking around somewhere is there? Hmmmm ... the plot thickens alright.
Looking forward to the next bit.
MM
no subject
Date: 2007-06-23 08:20 pm (UTC)The Sorting Hat was pretty gratuitous, really - I just couldn't bring myself to pass up such a fun thing!
There are so many artefacts knocking around in Hogwarts waiting for the Heir to claim them that I didn't feel too guilty adding another to the list...
The next bit will hopefully be a bit quicker. It's been too long since the last update.
no subject
Date: 2007-06-23 02:13 pm (UTC)Having Binns there was fun, and having him explaining what the Codex was about was a nice touch, as was the Hat's recognition that he is intelligent, just not as much as Holmes! But you've split them up now -- hmm, I wonder what will happen if Watson goes exploring on his own? Never really worked out for him before. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-06-23 02:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-23 08:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-23 08:25 pm (UTC)Don't worry - I promise there will be no more suddenly aquired non-canon relatives for anybody - more than one in a story is just tacky...
I don't think there's a real plot need to Sort them, but it was fun to do, not least to strike a blow for poor Watson - I get very sick of seeing him portrayed as some kind of buffoon.
no subject
Date: 2007-06-23 04:38 pm (UTC)There was one sentence that was repeated (it stands alone as a paragraph), and at one place you write "ever never" (when Watson talks about his teachers).
I've been looking forward to this ever since I woke up from surgery. Seriously.
no subject
Date: 2007-06-23 08:30 pm (UTC)I think that's the biggest compliment I've ever had. (and I hope you're well on the way from recovery from the surgery!)
Thanks for pointing out the errors - I've corrected them all.
I hadn't thought of talking portraits - I wonder how he'd rationalise that? Wonder if I can work it in....
no subject
Date: 2007-06-23 10:53 pm (UTC)Interesting that Phineas isn't at all bothered about the fate of Godfrey Easingwold - he just wants the Codex back.
And you sorted them! Wonderful!
no subject
Date: 2007-06-24 11:23 am (UTC)Well, Victorian times were the time when polite ladies put little frills round table legs in case they shocked anybody's delicate sensibilities...
Glad you enjoyed the Sorting - I didn't really need to do it, but having come this far, I felt I just had to treat myself...
no subject
Date: 2007-06-24 04:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-24 06:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-24 07:51 pm (UTC)Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. I fear this may all be just a little bit _embarrassing_for Phineas Nigellus before the end...
no subject
Date: 2007-06-24 10:25 pm (UTC)And Holmes wouldn't want that, now, would he?
no subject
Date: 2007-06-25 08:55 am (UTC)And you sorted them, omg, that was brilliant! Watson is such a Hufflepuff, and he was so funny with the kids - kind but awkward.
I'm enjoying this so much - Holmes and Watson are perfectly characterised, and the plot is so Holmesian. (Holmesesque?)
no subject
Date: 2007-06-25 11:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 02:53 am (UTC)I love the clothes problem; Phineas is such a prude: the quintessential Victorian. He'd be horrified to hear that, but he is. And Holmes with kids :). I'm so looking forward to him try to cope with that.
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Date: 2007-06-26 02:08 pm (UTC)I have always thought of Phineas as a prude - though I'm sure he'd think of it as being only right and proper. He's fun to write, is Phineas - so nasty!
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Date: 2007-06-27 01:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 02:42 pm (UTC)I love Watson rambling off about Old Lucifer and dear Waffles and I got the feeling he'd have loved to keep reminiscing, but Holmes is en pointe a bit here, and his focus is elsewhere. I'd like to believe he'd let Watson ramble on other occasions, whether or not he really pays attention!
I must address the Sorting Hat, because that was completely ingenious from the whole point of how there are no real guest quarters to Holmes asking to examine it later! I bet he and the Hat would have marvelous conversations. And I bet the Headmaster would never allow that if he could help it!
I admit I was thinking, as I held my breath while scrolling down the page, that Holmes would be in Slytherin. I'm not sure why. Maybe I equate his awesome brains with some sort of latent evilness...you know if he turned to crime, he'd be fantastic (didn't he say that himself, or Lestrade of him?) But then again, maybe that's the whole point of why you made him Ravenclaw; he chooses the side of the light because he can see what would happen if he didn't. That and the large cranium, of course.
I am so glad that Watson is in Hufflepuff, and that you brought out such sterling qualities of a House that is so often sadly overlooked and ridiculed. It makes so much sense it should be canon. Crossovers should be canon if they're as good as this.
But for them to be separate - oy!! I worry!!! Though it's quite funny how helpless Holmes feels facing what he considers mere children.
I love seeing Hogwarts through Watson's eyes. It makes it all closer and yet more magical than ever.
Oh, and "Drummond" reminds me of Dumbledore, maybe just because of the Ds, but it made me feel good.
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Date: 2007-06-26 10:17 pm (UTC)to Holmes asking to examine it later! I bet he and the Hat would have marvelous conversations. And I bet the Headmaster would never allow that if he could help it!
Good to see your Observation and Deduction faculties are in good shape - you're absolutely right.
I'm glad you enjoyed the Sorting, even if you don't agree with the decision! You're not the only one who thinks that Holmes would be a Slytherin, and I can see the logic, but I think Holmes is too disinterested - he can do fine without intriguing, but leave him with no intellectual stimulation at all and he turns to the cocaine bottle... Interestingly, the person who put Holmes in Slytherin also had Watson a Gryffindor, and I think there's more of a case for this, personally.
I didn't make the Drummond connection - perhaps it's also the red hair and big beard? I got the name from the over-the-top swashbuckling man of action "Bulldog"Drummond, from the series by Sapper.
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Date: 2007-06-27 03:35 am (UTC)Bulldog Drummond!!
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Date: 2007-07-03 08:03 pm (UTC)Bloody brilliant. Rowlings meets Arthur Conan Doyle meets Rider-Haggard and . . . would that be . . . M. R. James?
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Date: 2007-07-04 10:48 am (UTC)I'm very glad you like it! I haven't read a lot of Rider Haggard, but I've been having a lot of fun trying to mimic Conan Doyle!
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Date: 2007-07-07 10:26 am (UTC)I'd imagine that Holmes wouldn't talk down to kids, at least no more than he would to adults, and so he'd get on quite well with them.
I really like your Doctor Watson: he's so wonderfully vital. I suppose Watson was something of a self insertion for ACD and perhaps that's why he's treated in such a workaday manner in canon.
There. I've finished my post and I didn't write 'write faster' at all. And I look forward to the 'Hogwarts Irregulars' if the occasion arises.
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Date: 2007-07-25 10:24 pm (UTC)Brilliant stuff, all of it!
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Date: 2007-07-26 03:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-06 12:44 am (UTC)At any rate, loved Holmes and Watson meeting the Sorting Hat. I can completely understand not being able to resist that. And I'm waiting for the missing professor to become Highly Relevant later on.
And great cameo from Binns too! Apparently no less boring when he was still alive...