A Study in Magic

Chapter 1

The candle on the desk was flickering down on its last nub of wick as he leaned over the desk, writing vehemently in the little black leather-bound book, quill scratching loudly across the parchment in his excitement.

…It can therefore be deduced that it was the jealous ex-wife who placed the silencing spell on the muggle woman, because her husband had had sexual relations with her during their since-divorced relationship.

He quickly scanned the letter, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything, and signed it with a flourish: "Anyone with a brain could see that. Sincerely, SH" he grinned, blowing on the paper to dry it before ripping it out of the book and placing it in an envelope, addressing it to the ministry. He would have to borrow Mycroft's owl before they left in the coming morning. Sloppily throwing his materials into his trunk (save the journal, which he slipped into his coat pocket), he turned in a circle around the dark room, making sure nothing was forgotten. Deciding his packing had been adequate, he fell onto the bed, making his little cat Hudson screech softly and run for cover. He had just closed his gray eyes to sleep for the night when the door flew open.

"SHERLOCK WE CANNOT BE LATE!" Mycroft strode into the room and Sherlock groaned without looking up at his brother, pulling his pillow over his face. "Excuse me," Mycroft hissed, pulling aside the pillow, wand pointed at Sherlock's nose, "But prefects and head boys have to be on the platform an hour early, so can you for once hurry it along?"

"Yes, wouldn't want to cost you any time to show off in front of the first years, would we?" Sherlock snapped, eyes narrowed. He made no move to back away from his brother's wand, infuriating Mycroft any more.

"Now, Sherlock!" he yelled before storming out of the room. Sherlock smirked and sat up, pulling aside the curtain behind his bed. It was raining, but definitely daytime; he'd stayed up all night solving ministry mysteries. Again. It was really no wonder why he even bothered going to school at all anymore. Should he reveal himself to the ministry, he would certainly be hired on the spot. Deciding that this would be his plan of action should the school year be dreadfully boring, he scooped Hudson out of her hiding spot in the closet and set her on top of his trunk, where she sat watching him wearily. Changing into a pair of dark trousers and a button down shirt, he grabbed his coat and green and silver scarf, setting them on the trunk, bounding down the three-story home to the kitchen where his mother was taking pictures of Mycroft in his head boy badge. Resisting the urge to vomit, he took the large barn owl from his cage, ignored the questions his brother yelled about what he was doing with his bird, and went back up to his room.

"Another case successfully solved by the mysterious S.H." he said with a smug smile, watching the owl fly off with his letter. Pulling on his coat and scarf and cradling Hudson in one arm while dragging his trunk behind him, he made his way outside to the car, where he was once again yelled at for being late, and Mycroft was once again ignored.

They were halfway to London, Sherlock taking up the entire back seat with Mycroft's empty cage and Hudson in his lap, tapping his fingers against her spine as he mimicked chords, composing in his head. His violin was in the back of the care with his things, but he had wished kept it with him. It would have drowned out his brothers incessant droning about the ministry, anyway. He looked out onto the nearly-empty speedway and was surprised the see a little gray owl struggling to keep pace with the car. He opened the window and the little bird flew in, dropping a small slip of paper on his lap. Hudson eyed the bird but made no attempt to attack it; this owl was very familiar. Grinning, Sherlock unrolled the slip of paper and read it. It was simple letter written in a sharp, small script:

"In the car behind you. How is it that I can hear Mycroft bragging from here? –SS"

Sherlock turned around to look out the rear window and sure enough, the little silver sedan was trudging behind them, the driver a tall, stern looking man. The passenger made a face as if to say "kill me" and Sherlock had to smile. Pulling a quill out of the rucksack at his feet he wrote on the back of the note:

"Cannot form coherent answer. Too enthralled by the amazing new muggle safety division at the Ministry and the Queen who aspires to rule over it. –SH"

He rolled up the little note and handed it to the owl, who slipped out the window again. Sherlock glanced behind him to see his friend read the note and laugh, only to be silenced by a stern look from his stepfather. Severus shrugged and grinned, and Sherlock smirked back, turning his attention back to the music notes.

When they pulled up to Kings Cross station, the Holmes boys got out of the car while their mother coddled Mycroft, telling him how proud she was to have a head boy in the family. Sherlock skulked behind them, rolling his gray eyes. Severus came up behind them, his trunk already on a luggage cart. "Goodmorning, Mrs. Holmes…" he said quietly. She nodded curtly without actually looking him in the eye, and Sherlock gave him a meaningful look. Mycroft was ignored, and he ignored Severus – Their relationship was easier that way, as they infuriated each other.

Sherlock gave a small goodbye to his mother, who told him sternly that he was not to get into trouble, threw his trunk on top of Severus's, and the two abandoned Mycroft and their parents. "I don't know what I would like better, being trapped in a vehicle with your prat of a brother of saying absolutely nothing the entire ride with my stepfather." Severus groaned, his nasally voice whining. Sherlock glanced at him, knowing he would take the silence over Mycroft any day, but didn't press it. He knew Severus just wanted to complain.

As they walked, Severus blathering on about something he saw on the telly the night before, Sherlock was glancing at the mix of people around Kings Cross, pointing them out in his mind: businessman, first year, divorcee, prefect, field trip, student. He felt a hand slap the back of his head, "Sherlock are you listening to me?" Severus said, looking at him sternly.

"No." He answered plainly, "What?"

Severus pointed to platform nine and three-quarters and Sherlock saw, standing just outside the barrier, a young woman with dark red hair and vibrant green eyes, talking to a boy of the same age with messy dark hair and glasses. Lilly Evens and that prat James Potter. Sherlock looked to Severus, "We can wait until they are gone…" he said finally, knowing it bothered Snape how much she fancied the Potter kid. He shook his head and Sherlock sighed, not looking forward to the coming interaction.

They pressed on toward the platform, and James's brown eyes found them first. He grinned, "Oh look, the creepy brothers." He said.

Lilly gave him a scolding look and walked toward them, "Hello Sherlock. Hello Sev." She smiled kindly and Severus gave a small greeting, his face blotched from the insult. Sherlock sighed and looked away from the awkward interaction, studying James instead, who leaned against a trash bin fiddling his wand out in plain sight. The idiot. He vaguely heard Lilly give him a goodbye, and he nodded in acknowledgment, following Severus as he nearly sprinted through the barrier and onto the train platform.

"That. Conceded. Twat." Severus fumed, "Did you see the way he was twirling his want like that, showing off for the whole world to see?" He continued to insult Potter for a good ten minutes as they found a compartment on the train and sat down, Sherlock pulling out his violin and plucking the strings lightly, staring out the window. Hudson walked over to Severus and mewed, rubbing against his legs. He picked her up gently and stroked her back, "Hello Miss Hudson." He said to the cat fondly. Sherlock glanced at him, remembering the day they had bought her, five years ago from Diagon Alley. Severus had named her Hudson, and as revenge he deemed the little owl, the only owl Severus could afford, Bach. Lilly had been with them that day, as her parents were muggles and hopeless. The three had lived on the same street for their entire lives, but he hadn't spent much as much time with her as Severus had. He didn't understand the infatuation he had with her, nor did he really fight to educate himself on the subject of love. She had also gotten a cat that day, but Sherlock didn't remember the name.

The train ride to Hogwarts flew by, Sherlock testing out his composition and re-writing notes most of the way, while Severus had his nose stuck in one of his textbooks. Occasionally he would as where they were, and Sherlock could look glance out the window and know exactly the city and the number of hours until they arrived. It was an easy relationship, theirs, Sherlock let Severus talk and Severus never pushed Sherlock to. Sherlock supposed Severus was the closest he would ever get to having a friend.

It was dark when they decided to change into their robes, silver Slytherin insignias gleaming in the pale lamplight. Mycroft strode by on his head boy rounds, his Ravenclaw uniform perfectly pressed. He glanced into the compartment and strode past as if it was empty, which was exactly the way Sherlock preferred. He had been so relieved, in his first year, that he hadn't ended up in the same house as his pompous brother. Thankfully he would be finished with Hogwarts this year, and he could be left in peace.

They arrived outside Hogsmeade, the rain falling so heavily that you could not see the outline of the castle in the distance. Sherlock gingerly placed Hudson in his rucksack and they rushed with the others to the carriages, completely soaked in moments. With their dark hair and tall, thin frames, the two fifth-years really could have been brothers. The only difference was Sherlock's bright gray eyes and Severus's deep-set black ones. They ended up in a carriage with three Gryffindors, whom Sherlock vaguely recognized from the Quiddich team. Two of them, the dark-skinned girl and the tall, stocky-built boy, were sixth-years and, from their lithe, smooth movements, were chasers. The other, a fifth-year, was shorter with close-cut golden hair and kind blue eyes that shined like a puppy's might. He was a beater, though, which seemed to conflict with his seemingly gentle nature. They all laughed at the state of them, dripping wet as they were, and Sherlock and Severus looked in opposite directions, not making conversation, but Sherlock was fixated on them, listening to them joke easily with each other. He glanced at Severus and frowned.

As they stepping into the castle, a some sort of spell drying them completely as they entered, Severus scoffed, "Why do Gryffindors think they are so perfect?" he asked.

Sherlock blinked at him, "I didn't find a fault with those kids…" he replied, frowning. Severus gaped at him, and Sherlock could read the very slight disappointment on him. This, he thought, wasn't exactly fair—to him or Gryffindor as a house, but he didn't comment on it. Severus complained; that's what he did.

As they sat at the Slytherin table, others joined in around them, greeting Sherlock with sly smirks. They ignored Severus as equally as he ignored them. The sorting began, and a fourth-year with an Irish accent, leaned across the table. "I've got five sickles on tonight's supper." He whispered. Sherlock smirked and glanced around as the others surrounding them leaned forward.

"Three on Malarky." The boy on his right whispered, sliding his coins onto the center of the table.

"Holmes." Said another, setting the coins down.

"Sherlock." Severus said, nodding.

Two more put in on the fourth-year. Sherlock gestured for him to start, failing to hide his amusement. This was tradition, had been since their first year. "Duck. Boiled potatoes. And sourdough rolls." He whispered, looking stupidly confident.

Sherlock grinned, "Turkey. Sweet potatoes. Rye." He said smoothly, his deep voice resonating enough to be heard over the cheering over at Hufflepuff as they gained another first-year. Sherlock shook Malarky's hand and waited patiently as the headmaster Dippet came and welcomed them all to another school year. The speech droned on; don't enter the forest without supervision, quidditch tryouts to begin in three weeks, et cetera. Finally he clapped his hands and the food appeared on the table. Turkey. Sweet potatoes. Rye bread.

Malarky cursed and Severus and the blond girl who had also bet on him grinned, collecting their money. Severus slapped a sickle into Sherlock's hand, "I don't know why they bother." He said, grabbing a roll with a long-fingered hand.

"How do you do that?" Malarky asked, dumbfounded.

"Deduction." Sherlock replied simply. He stared at him confusedly, so Sherlock sighed. "It has been raining in the countryside where they raise the ducks for roasting, it would have been very hard to gather and slaughter them in a downpour. It, however, has been dry in Ireland. Not good for the potatoes, but the weather is quite nice in America where the sweet potatoes are grown." He shrugged again, pouring himself a goblet of water.

"And the rye?" the boy pressed.

"Lucky guess." He grinned and sipped his drink.