Chapter 1

Sherlock is going to Hogwarts

An 11 year old Sherlock Holmes ran over to the letterbox and picked up the wax sealed document that lay on the old-and-worn welcome mat of his father's manor in the South-East. His eyes scanned the letter and in a matter of seconds-(Sherlock was a fast reader)-he ran to the kitchen table and informed his parents of the news.

Mr Holmes barely looked down from his copy of The Daily Prophet. Young Sherlock's family were pure-bloods, and his father and older brother had been sorted into Slytherin, and his mother was a Ravenclaw. Mycroft Holmes was a fifth year beater for Slytherin Quidditch team, and he was the envy of all with his Nimbus 1500, which he boasted about so much it made even Sherlock feel sick.

'Well done Sherlock!'

Mycroft had crept into the kitchen. He stole the letter from Sherlock's hands and read over it.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Professor Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class.

Dear Mr S Holmes,

We are pleased to inform that you have been granted a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please be at Platform 9 and three-quarters on the 1st of September 1981. Attached is your shopping list. We await your owl by no further than 31st July.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Head

Sherlock smiled. He wrote 'Sherlock will be attending' on a scrap piece of parchment and fixed it to the leg of the barn owl which had delivered the letter and watched it fly away into the morning sunrise. Today they were going shopping, and he would be able to purchase a wand and, as his parents had promised, a pet. He pulled on a jumper and jeans, and in his excitement, knocked over his violin, which caused a bottle of cure for boils to smash onto the oak floorboards, leaving a bright orange stain on the wood. The paintings on the walls cackled with laughter as Sherlock tried desperately to clean it up.

He scrambled downstairs and into the living room where Mycroft and his parents held a leather pouch of floo powder which, before he could speak, was near gone as Mycroft grabbed a handful and shouted 'DIAGON ALLEY!'
In a flash he was gone.
Sherlock swallowed. He took a small pinch and stood on the coals.

'Ummm…. Diagon Alley?'