Pieces of a chess game [Sherlock x Harry Potter Crossover] [COMPLETE]

Chapter 16: His Last Vow Act II. Conflict.

The Diogenes Club was a place of worship among those privileged enough to know of its existence. A place to which, unlike other gentlemen's clubs, it was power and not money that granted admission. It had endured wars, internal conflicts, economic crises. It had witnessed the rise and fall of kings and prime ministers and had adapted to new technologies, changing none of the rules that had governed the club since the eighteenth century.

Among them was the ban on women joining as members.

This outdated policy enjoyed good health amongst the most senior members—and had been fervently challenged by some in response to the changing political landscape. Power was power; after all, no matter who held it. However, like many others, the club had included loopholes within its own rules, and while women were not allowed to join, that did not mean they could not be invited. In the old days, women had been brought into the club for various reasons. It was not through the main entrance but through a door maintained throughout the years, which was now sparsely used but heavily monitored. A camera broadcast everything that was going on in the small alley to the reception. At that particular moment, the screen was flickering in time with the street lamps, and Wilder lightly knocked the monitor a couple of times. A woman appeared at the edge of the image and went straight for the door. Wilder switched cameras and focused on her face. She was wet and dirty, and he wasn't sure if the smudges under her eyes were makeup or fatigue. The woman looked down and then held her wrist up to the camera, showing a tattoo in the shape of a feather. Wilder gestured to the butler, who immediately hurried off to the side. Her aspect mattered little. The Lord knew he'd seen it all. And Wilder had not got where he was by questioning orders, least of all those of Mr Holmes. And Mycroft Holmes was expecting a visitor.

The butler walked briskly down a long corridor until he reached the back door and let the young woman in. He immediately escorted her through the complicated maze of corridors to the Stranger's Room. Neither spoke, as was customary within the walls of the club. But Hermione's military boots, filled with water, made a squelching wet sound with every step and were leaving a trail of mud on the Persian carpet. They reached an inconspicuous wooden door, and the butler opened it for her. The room was in darkness but for the reddish glow coming from the lamps and the fire. The only occupant sat in a big armchair facing the opposite wall, with his head barely visible over the backrest. On his right hand, a ring gleamed and clinked against the glass of the whiskey tumbler. The figure pointed to the table on which sat another solitary glass, a half-empty bottle of Ogden's, and a plush white towel. Hermione took the towel and ran it through her hair, trying to dry it.

'The surgeon has sent me the latest update. Little brother has been tremendously lucky.' Mycroft's unmistakable voice filled the room. Hermione dropped the towel on the table and walked over to him with the bottle and the glass. She uncapped the bottle and refilled the man's drink and then pour herself one. She plopped down in the chair across from Mycroft. He too looked tired.

'Why didn't you contact me as soon as you knew?' Hermione asked before raising her drink to her lips. Mycroft sighed and contemplated the ring on his hand.

'There was nothing you could do. Sherlock was already in the best of hands.'

'I could have done something.'

'You and I both know the Ministry could be coming after you. I have it on good authority that they are watching us as closely as we are watching them.'

The two continued to drink in silence. Mycroft's gaze was lost in the fire, and Hermione let the alcohol warm her body. The buzz calmed her racing thoughts, and weirdly, it cleared her head. But the vision of Sherlock, pale and motionless in a hospital bed, was imprinted in her memories, and she felt the anger and disappointment seep into her bones. The fire crackled, and she clasped the tumbler between her hands tightly, trying to contain herself. 'How long have you known?'