Case of the Cintimani Stone: A Hammer Mystery

Chapter 5

Thanks to Harry's planning, carrying all of his school supplies back in a single enchanted trunk aroused no suspicion on the way back home. Hagrid handed him the latest copy of the Daily Prophet and told him an owl would show up on the regular with a morning, evening, and Sunday edition. Harry held it up in front of him and looked like he was reading, but the words were lost. Instead he was thinking about what it meant when everyone was lauding him with accolades for an action he couldn't even remember. At best he was some kind of folk hero. At worst they all suspected him of having powers he didn't think he had and now they were sucking up to him. Bunch of sycophantic pricks.

"Hagrid, do they all think I'm some kind of hero?"

"Course they do, Harry."

"My problem is that I don't know any real magic. I'm already behind on all the expectations they've got for me. I'm not a hero - just some fall guy they put on a pedestal."

"Yeh'll be fine. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts. You'll learn fast enough. Sides yer already leagues ahead of all yer peers if yer going out of yer way to learn all this over summer. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard, but if yeh keep it up, yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts - I did. Still do 'smatter of fact."

Hagrid fumbled around in his coat and produced a small envelope containing an embossed train ticket, the design itself looking old fashioned. "Here yeh are, Hogwarts express ticket. First o' September at King's Cross. All of it's on there. If there's anything yeh need, anything 'tall just send word to me or Professor McGonagall." They walked back to his home and Hagrid dropped him off at the door, wishing him well. Harry turned to pull his house key from his pouch and looked back to see Hagrid had disappeared.

As soon as the door was open, Petunia and Grant rushed to greet him like he had just gotten home from the Falklands.

"Mum, Dad, I just popped out to the shops! I didn't get kidnapped by wizards or anything."

"Was it easy? Did they give you any trouble?" Grant asked.

Harry took his hat off and set it on the trunk, "Like I said, just popped out to the shops. I got everything I need but I think I'm meant to keep all of it secret from you for now."

"Well if that's the case, do you need help taking your trunk up to your room?'

"I think I'll be fine - sides I need to be able to do it by myself once I get to school." Harry lifted up the trunk and rolled it to the foot of the stairs and began making his way to his room. They really did grow up too fast. Harry stowed the trunk in the corner of his room and hung up his hat and coat - he'd be taking them with him to Hogwarts. Where was a good private eye without his fedora? He certainly wasn't going to wear that ridiculous looking uniform hat for any longer than necessary, it looked absolutely absurd.

Coming back downstairs, Harry froze at the foot of the steps, seeing that all the lights in the house had been dimmed, an inconsistent glow flickering from the kitchen. If Hagrid hadn't brought it up earlier in the day, he was liable to have forgotten it in this whole mixup with magic and sorcery and the like. It took all of his self-control to not sprint into the kitchen after the flickering glow like they were fairly lights.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!" his parents both exclaimed when he strode into the room, their faces lit by the glow of the candles from below. "Thank you." He said, letting himself be hugged in turn. "Now go blow out those candles." Grant tousled his hair before letting go.

As soon as the candles were out, the lights came back on and the Hammer noticed a small case in the chair opposite his own. Petunia began to cut the cake, letting Grant lift it up and put it on the table.

"What's that, Dad?" Harry asked through a mouthful of chocolate cake.

"This, son, is an Imperial Typewriter. I used one of these when I was your age when my parents sent me away to secondary school. After talking it over with your mum we agreed that this would make a great thing for you to take to that magic school of yours. If that great lot can make something like this stop working then I'll eat my hat." Grant explained, opening up the case and revealing a glossy black typewriter bearing the Imperial brand.

"Found it in that store down the street - receipt says it's from '41." Harry was already all over the machine, spinning dials and moving the platen, testing out the keys.

"We still use the electric ones to file paperwork at the Yard."

"You'll never believe it dad, but the wizards are still using quills and parchment. It's like they don't even believe in standard sized papers." "What?"

The conversation went on like that for a while - Harry explaining the magical anachronisms of a society just under the surface of life in general, and Grant getting his turn to be incredulous about how strange it all seemed.

"You know Harry, once you're a little older I might have you visit the office and see if any of those Black Files are unsolvable because a wizard did it." Grant felt a little ridiculous saying it. The Hammer beamed at the chance. He may have been a year older and he may even have been magical, but he was still Harry.

***

The Hammer spent the rest of his summer buried in his books and delving into how his dedication in being a detective could take him. By the time his week to ride the express to school had come, his books had been dog-eared and tabbed with marks and measures of indices from all of his review. The thought board on his wall had also grown - he had a better grasp on his fame now, and why the people buzzing around him had been so eager to meet him. Voldemort was like someone had wrapped up Ted Bundy, Dennis Nilsen, and Stalin in a magical bow. Whatever it was the Potters had done to save him - he was convinced that it wasn't by his own innate power that the spell had rebounded - it was a miracle event that decapitated Voldemort's leadership. The bureaucrats that had risen to power afterward were credited with stability and peace, but it all read like the party line. From his meagre research he wanted to know who had sold his family out.

He traced the line with his eyes up to the piece of paper with the word BETRAYER written on it. He had also looked into it from McGonagall's angle - the old Dark Lord was shrouded in a level of mystery as to his powers and even the best wizard historians were unsure if he had survived a 'killing curse'. The rest of his research had proven inconclusive about wizard artifacts that were both smaller than a hardback book and were still around. They were like regular artifacts - lost to history or perhaps in unnamed private collections. Harry put a toothpick in his mouth and chewed on it, still tossing around what it all meant. Come the end of the week, it would be his turn to hit the ground running, and maybe do some actual magic. Waving his dad's old drumstick in his room saying pseudo Latin words had gotten old, but when it came to accidentally casting a spell for real, he wasn't willing to take the chance.

The Hammer took out the pins in his thought board - this was coming with him. He needed to build it up again and with more context and magical explanation he might be able to put the narrative together. There might even still be others who survived the war that would be willing to answer his questions. Harry scoffed at the idea - the whole of Wizard Britain had started and ended a war without anyone finding out - like the Troubles had managed to get swept under the carpet. It was such an adult thing to do.