Adjustments and Apprenticeships

The letter was delivered by a Hogwarts owl. It was addressed in a boyish hand, and there were smudges on both the envelope and the letter, suggesting a baptism with schoolboy tears. Mycroft's mouth tightened and his eyes were sad as he read the letter. He could only sympathize with his brother's anger and grief, even as he also noted his hyperbolic reactions, unappealing social assumptions, and his dubious spelling skills.

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Mycroft-

I didn't make it. The stupid, stupid Sorting Hat put me in the wrong house. Dumbledoor won't do anything about it...that I'm stuck in Griffindoor.

I'm sorry. I tried. Stupid hat. I hate hats.

Please, get me out of here. Can you and Mummy put me in Bow Batons or Drumstrong? I don't want to be in Hogwarts if I can't be a Slytherin.

Sherlock.

Oh—the other kids are stupid. Except for one know it all, but she's only a girl, and she's a Mud Blood. And I was making friends with a boy named Draco on the train. But he got into Slytherin—won't be talking to me, now. And Harry Potter got sorted into Griffindoor, too. He's a bit of a dweeb.

I would really like Drumstrong, I think. But Bow Batons is OK, even if its headmaster is a girl and a filthy giantess.

SH

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Mycroft sighed and ran his hands over his face. It was hard knowing what to do about Sherlock. Mycroft was only eighteen, after all, and even he thought it was a bit unfair of life to ask him to figure out how to be a father all of a sudden, much less a father to someone as challenging as Sherlock. Still, at least he had help. He trusted the teachers of Hogwarts, and admired them for the work they did educating and socializing some of the most dangerous little hellions on the planet.

The least he could do was not let them down. He picked up a pen...

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Dear Sherlock,

Look, you silly prat, getting sorted into Gryffindor is hardly a shame—and do please note the spelling of your new house? It's y before i and only one o. Gryffindor. An honourable name and an honourable house. No doubt you will thrive there, if you let yourself.

I don't know where you picked up the vulgar insults. I thought Mummy was avoiding all the old Death Eater circle. I strongly suggest you remove terms like "Mud Blood" and "filthy giantess" from your vocabulary immediately. It is beneath you as a Holmes, as a Gryffndor, and as the beloved brother of a Slytherin. And, for whatever particular things our lineage is worth, it is beneath you as a Pure Blood. With great power and prestige comes great obligation, Sherlock, and the understanding that power is not the same thing as worth. Even the untalented—those who live in the human world, those who live powerless in the wizarding word—are of value. Only the ill-bred and poorly raised think otherwise.

Yes, I am aware that quite a number of people, including Pure Bloods and Slytherins, are ill-bred and poorly raised. Do not be among them. I'm in no way ashamed to be brother to a Gryffindor. I'm quite appalled to be related to anyone who uses the sorts of insults you used in your last letter.

Look, short-stuff, it's not going to kill you to be in Gryffindor. They're a good enough lot, on the whole, and there's no reason not to pursue your ties with Slytherins, too. Indeed, I suspect your House Heads and Dumbledore (please note, only one o and an e at the end) would cheer and dance and sing happy little songs if you could do anything to improve ties between houses—particularly between Gryffindor and Slytherin. So by all means, see if you can continue your friendship with this Draco.

Is that young Malfoy? If so—they're a good family, and idiotically loyal. The good side is that if you can make friends with him, you'll have a friend for life. The bad side is that they're still all wrapped up in that ugly Death Eater stuff, and are likely to remain so. Faithful to the bitter end, even when their loyalty is given to the undeserving. If you can, try to make it easy for Draco to step out of that. It will only make his time in Hogwarts more difficult and painful, and isolate him. You certainly know what that's like.

Yes. I can hear you now, screaming that I'm asking you for too much, and you don't understand a word of it, and you don't do people-stuff. I don't believe it for an instant, brat. Count ten, review the basic elements of a potion, and get a grip. You can do it if you'd just exert yourself.

Further suggestions: Do not insult girls, even if they are girls—especially if they are smart girls. Smart is good, regardless of the package it comes in. If you must be a bigot, be bigoted against morons. As prejudices go, that one at least offers some value.

Do not be ashamed of your Slytherin connections—not privately, among your house mates, and not publically, where members of the other houses can see you. There are many in each house with mixed loyalties, either by personal inclination or by kinship or friendship. Those mixed loyalties are useful. Encourage them. Take pride in them. Do not fail me in this.

Learn to recognize the strengths and weaknesses of your own house. Gryffindors tend to be bold, daring, courageous, loyal, and high spirited. They are also far too often right stupid blockheads. Do try to choose your mates from the least blockish? Loud, bullying, bragging types are worth avoiding. Look for the Gryffindors who are hidden treasure.

As for sending you to Beaux Batons (It's French, Sherlock. It means "beautiful wands." And do memorize the spelling...the eaux will trick you every time if you don't...) or Durmstrang (German, means nothing but sounds like 'sturm und drang' which means storm and stress...)? No. Don't waste my time asking. Mummy and I will not place you in either school. Our family has attended Hogwarts since its founding, and we're not going to change loyalties just because my runty little brother got sorted into Gryffindor. It may be the second-best house in the school, but even I must admit it's a very close second... and you'll enjoy one thing about it: it's full of show-offs. You'll feel right at home.

I'll write Mummy and ask her to check the family records. As I recall we've had outstanding ancestors in every house. She can probably have the archivist send you a list of our more memorable Gryffindors.

Brother? Truly, do not despair. This is not a mistake, nor need you give up your pride and interest in the House of the Serpent. It is on such shared loyalties that the future of the wizarding world depends. Be a good little Gryffindor, brat. Wear the red and gold well...and know that your serpentine brother loves you, and knows your soul wears silver and green as well.

Now, I must be off. I'm to start training today at the basic level of apprenticeship. I and another beginner are going to be working under a promising member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. A basic patrol cop, but quite capable, I am told, and great things are expected of him in future. Mr. Shacklebolt assures me all Aurors start at the beginning, on ordinary details under a seasoned officer. Nymphadora Tonks and I are going to be working under Officer Lestrade together. (That's Lestrade, not Lestrange. No relation to the Azkaban lot...) I'd say "wish me luck," but I think I've already been lucky: Tonks was always a right sort in Hogwarts, and I'm happy to be assigned with her in Auror training. She's under Alastor Moody the same way I'm under Shacklebolt, but we're doubled up for our practical assignments. It could be so much worse!

Again, my best wishes.

Love,

Mycroft.

PS, if they serve those big, thick brownies with peanut butter icing at lunch sometime, grab two for me and send them by owl? I haven't found any bake shop here in London that sells them, and I'm half dead thinking of them.

Thanks,

MH

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Mycroft had just sent the owl on its way back to Hogwarts with a few knuts in its purse and the return letter in its claws when Tonks came ambling into the drab day room assigned the Auror trainees. Her hair was peacock-green, and she'd put together an ensemble combining human punk fashion and what was commonly known as Wizarding Wild by the magical fashionistas.

"Oi, Mickey! Howsa?" she said, grinning, as she rushed in. "The DMLE guy here yet?"

"Officer Lestrade's not yet arrived," Mycroft said, "and if you continue to call me 'Mickey' I will tell him you prefer being called 'Nymphy' when he does get here."

She shuddered and held up her hands in mock defense. "Aieeee! Come on, Holmes, you can't be that mean."

"Not mean—sneaky," he replied, with an amused grin. "Slytherin, you know?"

She laughed, but said, "You can't want to be called 'Mycroft,' though."

"It's better than most of the other options," he pointed out. "And it is my name. It doesn't even really stand out, here in the wizarding world. If you didn't have strong ties to the human world, I doubt you'd even notice."

She looked at him, curiously. "Y'mean I'm Muggle-blood, yeah?"

Mycroft allowed himself a little moue of distate. "I said human. I mean human."

She frowned. "Look, mate, even I say Muggle. You don't have to watch your language to humor me."

"I'm not. I simply prefer to extend basic politeness to all parties."

She gave him a look, taking in his neat clothes—the stuffiest of wizard business attire, combining an elegant black frock coat and trousers, a deep grey weskit, and a high-collared shirt with silvery-grey cravat peppered with bright green snakes. "Whoa. You sound like someone's grandfather...and... Look. I get it. You're new in town, trying to make a good impression. But I can take you around to some of the shops, you know. It's not all Diagon Alley business district. You're allowed to look your age."

He flicked a brow, and smirked...a friendly smirk, but still a smirk. "As opposed to looking under my age?" He studied her leather skirt, multi-zippered boots, and modified "Sedorceress" styled top. "You look like a Hogwarts girl on summer break trying to shock her parents."

She flipped him a two-fingered salute, along with a cheerful grin. "That's because up until five minutes ago, when I reported for duty, that's all I was."

"The time for reviewing your respective attire can come later." Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep voice and imposing presence should have filled the room, and probably would have had he not been accompanied by Mad Eye Moody, who had his own dramatic aura.

Together they should have overwhelmed anyone else in their company. They did overwhelm Mycroft and Tonks.

They did not, however, overwhelm their companion. Or they didn't in Mycroft's eyes.

Oh, dear, he thought—at least as far as he could think anything. Mostly his mind was making little agonized hissing noises and dropping words and ideas and images all over the floor. He grabbed for a word, and managed something that seemed to say, prettyprettyprettypretty. Another said simply Him. A brief mental image slithered along involving approaching lips...

"Allow me to introduce your mentor for your first weeks of orientation work. Mr. Holmes, Miss Tonks—Officer Lestrade. Officer Lestrade, these are your students, Mycroft Holmes and Nymphadora Tonks, both outstanding recent graduates of Hogwarts."

"They're sharp 'uns, Greg," Moody chimed in. "Run 'em through the basics. Test 'em. They're the first we've accepted in years, and I expect 'em to be the last for a while, too. Don't waste 'em."

Lestrade smiled, and Mycroft wondered in muddled awe how it was that Moody didn't fall down in helpless adoration. Good lord, Lestrade was gorgeous, and that smile?

"I'll try to live up to your training, Mr. Moody. Not that I think you'll allow me to let you down." Lestrade turned back and studied his two new students. Humor flashed in his eyes. "Okay—we've got the variety pack here, don't we? Or are we playing 'opposites' this week?"

Tonks, miraculously calm, laughed. "Mod and Medieval, that's us. "

"Sounds like a new rock group," Lestrade said. "You play?"

Tonks shrugged. "Mostly just sing along and throw myself in the mosh pit."

Lestrade turned to Mycroft. "And you? Musician or mosh-pit?"

Mycroft, still stunned, said, "What's a mosh pit?"

Tonks sniggered, covering her mouth. "Be nice, sir. I know he's a bit stuffy—but he was one of the nicer Slytherins at Hogwarts. He's really, really smart and he wasn't mean, okay? He just seems a bit shaky today."

Lestrade was merciful, and turned to look back toward Tonks. "Yeah. And you're what? Hufflepuff, right?"

"Smart Hufflepuff, sir," Mycroft forced himself to say. Tonks had been good enough to stand up for him—he wasn't going to fail to return the favour. "I know everyone thinks Hufflepuffs are just slow and easy, but she could beat the best Ravenclaw of our year to a standstill. Very smart Hufflepuff. Very smart indeed."

"So—a nice, smart Slytherin, and a smart, nice Hufflepuff." Lestrade considered. "Okay, then. I'm only middling smart—and Mr. Moody's regularly seen fit to doubt that. And after the last six years doing DMLE work, I'm not nice, either. But I'm a good Gryffindor war horse, and a good cop, so with luck I'll be just nice enough and just smart enough to see us through."

Kingsley and Moody exchanged glances and nods, then Kingsley said, "We'll leave you all to it, then. Mr. Lestrade, always a pleasure. Mr. Holmes, Miss Tonks—we accept few of you, and Mr. Lestrade's one of the best we've had in recent years. Give him your respect and your attention and I'm sure you'll do well."

And then they left, and Mycroft found himself alone a dingy little duty room with Nyphadora Tonks and someone who made him want to faint in coils...and he wasn't going to mention reeling and writhing, as the thought of reeling and writhing anywhere near Officer Lestrade made him feel dizzy and in need of a little lie-down.

He didn't know how he got through the morning. By lunch he was at his wits' end, and considering resigning and retiring to the country for life. He bought a sausage in a bun, and retreated to the fountain in the heart of the Ministry of Magic to eat, and try to plan. His intentions didn't get far.

"Wotcher!"

He gave her a reproving look, and bit the sausage. "Mmmmph."

She grinned. "Don't mumble with your mouth full."

"Hello, Tonks. I'm brooding. I'll see you after lunch. Goodbye, Tonks."

"Such a welcome! I bet you say that to all the girls." She chuckled, a bit too knowingly. "And, yes...I guessed. And you're right: Lestrade's to die for. I felt the same way about Ephraim Bannersaltz my sixth year. My brains just turned to goo." She sighed. "Oh, those blue, blue eyes."

"Brown," Mycroft corrected her, then blushed.

"Ephraim's were blue. Lestrade's? Yeah. Brown. Dark chocolate, too—the good stuff." She elbowed him, gently. "Yeah, you got it bad."

"You're drowning me in Hufflepuff nice," Mycroft grumbled. "I'm a Slytherin."

"Yeah, but you're a nice Slytherin," she assured him.

He sighed. "Please, spare me. I'm nothing of the sort."

He attempted a look of reserved dignity. She only giggled at him, then asked, "Ok. Let's compare notes: I'm a metamorphmagus, strong patronus, good duelist, top grades. I know you've got a strong patronus, too—raven, right?"

"Right—but some trouble summoning it reliably."

"Weird. Trouble concentrating? That doesn't seem like you."

"Shortage of happy memories, I suspect," he said, dryly. "I'm not exactly a chipper person."

"Color me 'not surprised.' Any additional talents?"

"Slight talent for Parseltongue, strong Arithmancy, strong Occulmens. Um... I'm told I could be a strong Legilimancer if I could get over the reaction."

"Reaction?"

"I don't do well with all the..." he stopped, trying to refrain from shuddering. "Most people have very messy minds. Loud and messy. I get a bit overwhelmed."

"Mmmm. Gotcha." She looked at him soberly. "You're a good duelist, though. I remember when you joined the Hogsmeade Dueling Club."

He nodded. With no duelling club in the school, those interested in the skills had attended local club practices. Mycroft had enjoyed it—it gave him an excuse to get out of the school, and he found working with the range of different talents interesting.

"You're not a metamorphmagus: we'd have studied together if you had been. Animagus?"

"Not that I can tell."

"Why are you training for Auror?"

He looked at Tonks, frowning slightly. "Why are you?"

Her lips tightened. "Because we need Aurors. Good Aurors. I can, I think. So—you?"

"Because I don't think the War's really over," Mycroft said. "Almost everyone else does. I don't."

"And you're on which side?" she asked. Being a very Hufflepuff sort of person, her question didn't sound like the accusation it often would have been.

"Dumbledor's."

She nodded. "Yeah. Okay. That's good. " She stood then, and offered her hand. "Lestrade's going to take us to a crime scene this afternoon. Ready for that?"

Mycroft moaned. "Only if I can wear a blindfold and ear filters—between looking at him and listening to him I'm going to be a wreck."

She smiled in sympathy. "Hang on. You trust me to do some magic on you?"

He frowned. "Maaaaybe? What?"

"Something I worked out when I went into fugue over Ephriam. Little spell. Can I try?"

He nodded.

She slipped her wand out, and frowned, thinking carefully. Then she made a complex little motion, with a spiral twist at the end. "Comportamento."

Mycroft felt as though a cool, smooth sheet were draped over him—cold linen on a hot summer day, water condensing on a glass of iced lemonade, a breeze through sheer curtains. He was enwrapped in a feeling of relaxation, calm, and relief. "Oh..."

"Yeah. Nice, eh? Makes it a lot easier to think, too."

"How long does it last?"

"About two hours, but I'll find a way to top you up later this afternoon, if you need it."

He smiled at her, tentatively. "Thanks."

"No prob. Glad to help. After all—we're partners now, aren't we? 'Aurors in Training!' That's us, ennit?"

"I... suppose we are," he replied. "Mod and Medieval."

"Medieval and Mod. We rock."

"We may even roll."

"Hell, yeah. Let's go carpe some diem," she said, grinning.

.

By owl from Hogwarts:

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Mycroft,

You're no fair. I'd really like to go to Beaux Batons (see? I memorized!) or Durmstrang (storm and stress—I remember). But Gryffindor's going to be okay. Harry Potter and his pal Ron Weasley have been rotten to that human-born girl, Hermione, so I invited her to sit with me at the table. She's a bit boring—much too full of herself, and she doesn't understand that reading books is not the same thing as being smart. But she's smart enough. Smarter than most people. And there's a boy named Neville, with a toad, which is really cool, and I did an experiment on it and now it's Gryffindor red and gold stripes, which makes it a lot easier to find. He's got a Rememberall, but he can't remember where he put it. So I'm going to nick it and see if I can get the spells apart to see how it works.

Harry Potter flies well—and they're breaking the rules and putting him on the Gryffindor quidditch team. That's not fair. Draco Malfoy's really upset. He loves quidditch, but Professor Snape won't let him on the Slytherin team. I told him quidditch is stupid, but that at least his Housemaster didn't cheat. I think he liked that. You'd know better than me, though—I still think people are harder than anything else. Still—he says I'm smarter than some of the Slytherin boys he rooms with. I told him if they're stupid they're not worth his time anyway, so he's not seeing Crabbe and Goyle as much. Instead he and I are trying to see which of us can complete the most extra credit assignments in Potions first. Professor Snape says we're menaces. But he almost smiles when he says it, so I guess that's all right.

I am sending you a box of brownies—I asked the house elves to make them for you. You're right—if you're polite to house elves, they'll do all sorts of favors for you! Oh, and they remember you. They said to tell you they hope you're doing well in Auror training... And they said that if I was as nice to them as you were, they'd take really good care of me. Which I think is a hint, but I'm not sure about what.

How were you nice to house elves, Mycroft? Draco's really impressed at the brownies, and wants to know, because he says his family can't get half such nice things out of theirs.

Oh. Hermione says I'd look good in Slytherin green and silver, but that I look even better in Gryffindor red and gold. And she likes the picture of you and me that I keep on the dresser. And she's making me read Hogwarts: A History. It's really interesting, but not as interesting as she thinks it is. And she says that I'm better than most boys. Since I think she's better than most girls, that's all right.

I'll write later, but I wanted to tell you how it was all going. Thanks for the big letter last time. And—I'll be all right at Hogwarts. Even as a Gryffindor. It helps having a friend in Slytherin. I don't feel quite so bad.

Your brother,

Sherlock.

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Dear Sherlock,

Thank you so much for the brownies. I needed them very much this week. Chocolate is a consolation and a blessing. Chocolate brownies with peanut butter frosting almost make up for anything.

Auror training is going very well. Lestrade is a better teacher than I am a student. I keep getting a bit muddled. Tonks says I'll get over it.

I'm very pleased to be working with Tonks. She's likely to be a partner of mine on and off for years to come—it's good that I think she's a great partner. I got lucky.

It sounds like you're doing very well as a Gryffindor. I'm proud of you. You're learning. I am happy you've got three friends already. That's very impressive.

I was good to the house elves by always saying please and thank you, remembering that they're busiest right before and after meals, that they don't get paid—so a bit of a money gift can make a huge difference in how they're able to get by. Most of all, though, I listened to them—and while they think of it as a favour to them, I considered it a gift to myself. There's almost nothing the house elves don't hear or learn about, and they love to talk. They're a superb resource.

The Malfoys are notorious for their abuse of their help—but you should not say that directly to Draco. Just tell him that the Holmes family considers our house elves to be under our care and protection and leave it at that. No need to be offensive, brat. (Yes, I'm dropping a hint. Again.)

Today I got a familiar. Yes, I always said I wouldn't, but this one found me. I was walking down Diagon Alley when a grey parrot flew up and landed on my shoulder. I went everywhere on the street, but none of the stores recognized her...and even if they had, she seemed to like me, so I decided I'd keep her. She's quite unexpectedly funny. Very sweet. She can talk—she says, "Evermore, evermore!" Whoever taught her has a sense of humor. Oh, and she grabs my fringe and hangs upside down and nibbles my nose.

I'm calling her "Anthea," because even if she's grey, she's pretty as a flower. When she brings you this letter, give her the cracker I've tucked in the envelope as a reward—she likes crackers.

Make friends in all the houses, brother-mine. Each has things to offer. Right now my best friend is a Hufflepuff, and my teacher's a Gryffindor, and they're both the best I can imagine.

Thanks again for the brownies. They were a life saver.

Love, your brother,

Mycroft

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Mycroft—

Anthea's wicked! And maybe if she nibbles your nose, someday it won't be such a big old beak.

She ate the cracker right up and the house elves brought up a whole bowl. I remembered to say "thank you," and Draco and Hermione and Neville did, too.

So, see? We're paying attention! You'd be proud of us. We are going to form a pirate crew, and take over Hogwarts this week—if Hermione lets us. I'm looking in Hogwarts: A History for precedent. Hermione's big on precedent.

Yours from House Gryffindor, Ye Pirate Kinge Sherlocke Holmes!

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Dear Professor Dumbledore:

Enclosed please find a copy of my brother Sherlock's latest epistle, the burden of which might best be expressed as "prepare to be boarded."

Pirates to port, pirates to starboard.

Consider yourself warned,

Yours respectfully,

Mycroft Holmes

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Those in doubt about the degree of smitten-ness I give Mycroft should please go look up photos of the young Rupert Graves. The man was Love's Young Dream—seriously unfair. I considered giving Mycroft more reserve and restraint, but kept coming back to him being eighteen, and likely getting his first major adult crush. Reserve seemed unlikely.

The reeling and writhing and fainting in coils is a reference to Alice in Wonderland.

The brownies with peanut butter frosting are a memory from a former school I attended. To die for—simply to die for.

Going by Potter timeline, Tonks would have been in the same graduating class as Mycroft, and would have been going into Auror training at the same time, with her formal superior being Alastor Moody. For a number of reasons I'm having Kingsley Shacklebolt be the official mentor of record for Mycroft.

I hope you are all still having fun. Comments always welcome! Thanks. TT