I'd like to say that, yes, I know that the common belief about how Harry survived, is either that Lily performed a blood ritual, which came into effect when she gave her life to save him, made possible because Voldemort promised Severus he's spare her. However, Lily was the good girl at Hogwarts. James, however, was known to be a bit of a bully. He was a prankster, and on top of all that he was a pureblood who had a huge family library at his disposal.

Which one would be more likely to suggest using a blood ritual—a dark ritual—to protect their son? So, I think that both James AND Lily took part in that ritual, and even though it only took effect when LILY died for Harry, because Voldemort gave her three chances to move, that only sealed the magic. James' magic and sacrifice were still what powered half of it. With this reasoning, I think it's logical to assume that Potter relatives would have worked just as well as Lily's relatives when it came to the blood wards. If you have any ideas or suggestions about this, feel free to contact me in the comments! Or PM me.

I'd also like to thank my lovely reviewers; you all have been so kind to me! Yeah, I know on a mental level that what Sherlock did to Mary was a bit "not good", but I REALLY never liked her character. So I'm sorry to all you Mary fans out there…but I only started to like Mary right before she was killed, and that's only because she obviously cared about him enough to die for him. So…yeah, sorry, not sorry. Besides, Sherlock could have done WAY worse to her. And now, Mary can live a happy and fulfilling life as a doting wife and mother! Maybe even start up a career that doesn't involve shooting people!

A few people have asked about Sherlock and Mycroft's runes, and what they're for. So, the actual meanings I included in chapter 19, but Sherlock and Mycroft chose them specifically. The runes could have been anything. It is basically the "wedding ring" equivalent of a blood bond, except in the bonding ritual that played out in my head (I tried to write it out, but it just kept ending up so weird…) they're actually connected on a magical level, and the runes act as an anchor. Sort of like how a twin-bond is sometimes portrayed in fanfics. It won't really play a HUGE role in the story over all…but I'm a total rune-geek. And I think that tattoo would look seriously cool….

Sorry this AN was kinda long, onto the show!

It was late when they finally activated the port key. There, John and Sherlock said their (rather reluctant) good-byes before Flooing to Longbottom Manor, where Augusta was waiting for them. Neville embraced both Sherlock and Mycroft, before the brothers stumbled back into the Floo with a weary "Malfoy Manor" called out. Narcissa was there sitting by the fireplace when they came through, she smiled and stood up.

"How was the visit?" she asked kindly as she bent to kiss her son on the forehead. "I trust you had a good day?" Sherlock and Mycroft both smiled at her and began spinning a story about Neville and a colony of bow truckles they had to chase out of one of the Longbottom greenhouses, managing to blend their two sides of the story the way only brothers with a great deal of practice can. Narcissa was nodding and smiling, obviously humoring them and their only slightly interesting story, when Lucius walked in looking rather grave. But the most surprising thing was probably the fact that he did not walk in alone.

"Professor Snape!" Sherlock said in surprise while Mycroft smiled with a pleased cry of "Uncle!" Severus nodded to his godson and Lady Malfoy before focusing on Sherlock with a grim air. Sherlock frowned, trying to figure out what he could possibly be in trouble for. There's no way they could have figured out it was he who killed Quirrell and stole the stone…perhaps Snape had realized who stolen from his potion ingredient stores. But Sherlock didn't think he'd be in trouble for that: he'd left money and besides he'd needed them for his animagi experiments.

"Sherlock," Lucius addressed him, his voice unusually gentle. Sherlock only grew more alarmed when Lucius knelt before him. Sherlock recalled Lucius asking for a blood sample to send into the healers in place of Sherlock himself actually having to go. Had the healers found he had some sort of incurable disease? Merlin, what would John say?

"Did I…do something?" Sherlock asked warily, carefully gauging the man's face. He was unreasonably relieved when he saw nothing but amusement there.

"No, Sherlock" Lucius laughed a bit. "But…there is something I must discuss with you." Sherlock waited for Lucius to continue. "Dumbledore came, and has informed us that he wants to cut your stay with us short in favor of returning you to your muggle relatives." Sherlock felt all the blood leave his face, leaving him lightheaded. No. No he couldn't. He'd run away to the Burrow. Yes, he could do that. The Weasley's loved him. "Sherlock, breathe!" Sherlock came back to himself and realized he had, in deed, been holding his breath. He took in a gasping lungfull, and belatedly realized that Mycroft looked as ill as Sherlock felt.

"Father you can't send him back!" Mycroft pleaded. "They're muggles! They're horrible! Why—" Mycroft was cut off by a fond look thrown at him from his father. Mycroft almost crumpled in relief. "We're not sending him back." It wasn't a question.

"No," Lucius answered anyway. "But we must have you two in the know, just incase you are confronted by Dumbledore."

"But I'm not staying here?" Sherlock asked. There was no reason for Lucius to look so grave if that were the case. "Where are you putting me? I'm I going to go live with my John?" Sherlock was feeling hopeful by the end of this.

It was Severus who answered. "No, brat." He said, though there was no heat in it. Sherlock took in the tightness of his lips and left cheek, and the focus of his eyes, as well as the angle of his eyebrows. Was Severus still annoyed that Sherlock had listed him as his proxy? Possibly. Probably…yeah, he definitely was. "But never fear, I'll ensure you get to visit your henchman."

"I'm staying with you?" Sherlock said in surprise. "You have a house? I thought you lived at Hogwarts!" Narcissa giggled into her sleeve, but tried to cover it up with a sniffle. Severus looked exasperated.

"Yes," Severus said, rolling his eyes to heaven. "I do have a house, and it's relatively near where Dumbledore expects you to be. However you'll be having numerous vists back to Malfoy Manor—"

"For the blood wards," Sherlock finished for him. "Have you already moved the ward stone, then?" Lucius looked confused, probably wondering how Sherlock had known about the wards. Severus just looked irritated at being interrupted. He shook his head.

"We have hired a young man to do it tomorrow while I take you to your aunt's house," Severus informed him. Sherlock frowned at this, but Severus held up a hand to hold off his questions. "We will not stay there long, just long enough to trick the wards, then we will immediately leave for my house after obliviating Petunia and her family into believing that you are still there." Sherlock nodded.

"Won't that alert the ministry?" Mycroft asked suspiciously. "That property is only listed to muggles and an underaged wizard, so any magic performed there would notify the bureau of underaged magic." Lucius smiled proudly at him.

"Ordinarily, yes," Lucius replied. "But I had a…friend, ah hem, refile some paperwork. It won't be a problem now." Sherlock felt his shoulders slump in relief.

"When do we leave?" Sherlock asked.

"First thing, tomorrow."

***1047***

Bill Weasley stepped through the fireplace and into his childhood home, breathing in the familiar smells and taking in the warmth that always filled the living room. He let his bags slip from where he'd been holding them on his shoulders and fall to the carpet with a muted thud. Ginny looked up at the noise and gasped girlishly as she leaped up from where she'd been doodling on a notepad to throw her arms around her older brother. Ronnie was sitting in the living room as well, his nose buried in a book. He glanced up when Ginny ran across the room, and smiled. He, too, got up to go greet his brother. Bill could only smile helplessly as he watched as his littlest brother strode across the room without the slightest hint of a limp. Even though he'd seen proof of his brother's miraculous healing over Christmas, it was still amazing to Bill to see little Ronnie look so…whole.

Bill squeezed Ginny with his left arm, opening up his other one to invite Ron to share the hug. "Bill's back!" Ginny called out at the top of her lungs, making both of her nearest brothers wince a bit. There was a clattering coming from upstairs as Bill's remaining brothers scrambled to come meet him. Molly came bustling out of the kitchen to throw her arms around her oldest.

Soon the Burrow was filled with a chaotic symphony of voices all speaking/shouting at once, asking questions about his work and just claiming how happy they were to see him again. Bill glanced at the clock, his father was still at work, according to it. Oh, well. He'd see him soon enough.

"I'm so happy you're here!" Molly said cheerfully. "You should have given me some warning, though! Oh, it'll be fine. I'm sure there's enough dinner! Come, come!" Bill paused and put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from walking away.

"Mum," he said uncertainly. "Warning? Dad was the one who asked me to come." Molly looked confused.

"Really?" she asked. "Why on earth would he do that?"

Bill hesitated, unsure of what to tell her. Surely his Dad had a good reason for not telling her. "Erm, well. Dad got a warding job for me. Here. It's uh…a big opportunity and it'll pay well…and I think it'll be easy?" Bill winced. He was a Gryffindor for god's sakes not a Slytherin! He wasn't a great lier by any stretch of the imagination. Luckily, his Mum was a Gryffindor, too. So even though the twins and Ronnie eyed him with suspicious, the rest of his family bought the lie and let it go.

That night, Bill bunked with Percy, dropping some miniature ward stones and casting a few spells to magically expand the room, giving him space to enlarge the bed he'd packed. When he was finished with his task he sat down on the soft mattress with a groan, then he noticed Percy looking at him expectantly. "What?" he asked, feeling defensive for some reason.

"Why are you really here?" Percy prodded him, plopping down on the mattress next to him. "What'd Dad want?"

Bill chewed his lip. He was going to say something, probably a partial truth, but then the door opened and in walked the twins and Ronnie. "Yes, William" said George

"Brother dear," that was Fred

"Pray tell,"

"Why'd you come?"

"Not that we're not happy to have you," interjected Ronnie as he sat next to Bill. "Is something wrong in Egypt?" Bill shook his head, sighing. Growing up, they'd done this a lot. There was an unspoken rule that you never lied to your brothers, even if you hid truths from Mum and Dad, or even Ginny, brothers were different. It was safe to tell your brothers anything, because they never told on each other.

"He got me a job from Malfoy," Bill confessed. "He wants to end the feud." Bill got several opinions for that revelation.

"It's a good idea—politically" Percy said, looking impressed.

"Bloody hell, has Dad gone bonkers!?" that was George.

"Are you sure it was Dad and not a Death Eater under Polyjuice?" Fred inquired, looking concerned.

"That's nice," Ron said simply, smiling. "Mycroft's my friend."

Bill knuckled his eyes, then ruffled Ronnie's hair. "The thing is, the warding job is the wards around Harry Potter's house."

"Sherlock" Fred and Ron corrected him at once.

"Sherlock?" Percy asked, now looking alarmed.

"Sherlock!" George spluttered. "Don't do it mate! It's probably a trick to leave poor Sherly all alone and vulnerable!"

"Dad told me they want to move him in with Severus Snape," Bill slapped a hand over George's mouth when it looked like he was about to start ranting about their 'slimey old git of a Potion's Professor' "because Sherlock's been abused by his muggle relatives, and Dumbledore still wants to put him back there for the rest of the summer."

Ronnie's eyes widened, and Bill felt a little guilty for having to be the one to tell him. It was obvious how Ronnie felt about Harry—Sherlock Potter. "But, but I thought the Malfoy's were taking care of him!"

"Apparently Dumbledore interfered," Bill sighed. "But don't worry, I trust Snape. He might be strict, but you have to be with Potions. And I don't think I ever told you guys, but it was him to recommended me to Gringotts. I wasn't even supposed to know, but I found out last year, talking to one of the Goblins."

"Blimey," muttered the twins in unison.

"He's being abused," Percy asked quietly, cletching his fists on his bed covering. "Really?" Bill patted his brother's shoulder, nodding wordlessly. Ron grit his teeth.

"And Dumbledore still wants to put him back there," Bill pulled his baby brother into a hug.

"We're taking care of him, I promise."

*****1047*****

The Holmes Brothers embraced for the second time ever as they said their good-byes standing at the Malfoy Floo. Severus was holding out the jar of powder impatiently, but neither brother felt the need to hurry. "You'll be seeing each other again soon enough," Snape snapped at them. "Let's get a move on!" Mycroft reluctantly let go of Sherlock, feeling uneasy at letting his little brother go anywhere near those vile muggles.

"I—be careful"

"Of course, brother mine" Sherlock said in a low voice, eyes twinkling at mention of their secret. Mycroft managed a smile even as he watched Sherlock take up a handful of Floo Powder and call out "Arabella's House!"

Sherlock had been livid when he'd learned that his old babysitter had known of the wizarding world. Both because she still treated him like garbage, and because he himself hadn't figured it out. He'd just thought she was crazy. He always hated going to Figg's house. Everything was covered in hair, and every room reeked of cat urine. Upon leaving the fireplace, Sherlock tripped over a black cat and idly wondered if it was a bad omen for what was to come.

"Up, Mr. Potter," Severus drawled as he stepped through, gracefully missing the tails of the eight cats currently sitting around them. Sherlock grimaced and sat up, trying to make minimal contact with the carpet. Figg was just sitting there in a fur covered chair like the crazy old bat she was with a kneazle perched on her knees. They didn't acknowledge her at all as they left the rank house and strode across the street towards Sherlock's old prison.

Despite the fact that Sherlock was a grown man who had seen horrors in his life time, who had once murdered criminals all for the sake of protecting his John, who had died once for real and once in acting, who had warred against criminal masterminds and come out on top, and who had survived not one evil genius trying to kill him, but two…he found himself filling with dread as they approached the front door. He was plagued with memories of being locked in a cupboard for days on end with only a small, half empty water bottle he had to make last and a handful of almost rotting scraps he'd been thrown like a dog. He remembered all the times he refrained from soiling himself by sheer force of will because of being denied bathroom privileges. He remembered the long years he was forced to toil like a slave for people who despised him, and how, if he refused to cooperate, he'd be thrown back in that horrible cupboard. He remembered being thrown about like a rag doll and falling down stairs or getting his skin torn off by cement or carpet burns. He remembered the pain of the hot utensils used to smack his arms and legs, leaving burn marks. He'd tried numerous times to delete the memories of the actual abuse, and half the time he was successful. But then something would happen and… He remembered the nights where he was so cold, not even his mind palace could keep him from feeling the chill. The lonely years, the painful isolation, the knowledge that these people hated him and, for once, he'd done nothing to deserve their ire.

Delete…Delete…Delete…Please…

Sherlock hadn't realized he'd stopped walking until Severus Snape picked him up. Sherlock's first reaction was shock. He couldn't remember…actually he could, but it had been years since he'd been picked up in this life, and he'd pretty much never been picked up at all in his last life. His second reaction was embarrassment, especially since Severus most likely knew that Sherlock wasn't as young as he looked.

When he tried to squirm out of the Potion's Master's grip, he was stopped by a gentle slap to the leg. "Enough," Snape said. Sherlock stopped wiggling, and let himself be carried to the front door, unable to stop himself from tensing.

"It's alright, Sherlock," Severus said gently as he set the tiny almost twelve-year-old down on the cement steps of Number 4 Privet Drive. "If they so much as spit on you, they'll find themselves without a tongue." Sherlock nodded stiffly. Severus didn't bother knocking, he'd seen out of the corner of his eyes that Bill Weasley had arrived and was already striding towards the where the warding stone was buried with purpose. He just alohamorad the door and pushed it open, leading the way when it was obvious that Sherlock was too traumatized to make the first move. With a sinking feeling, Severus wondered just what have these creatures done to make what once had been a grown man freeze in terror at the mere sight of their front door. A Gryffindor grown man nonetheless!

Petunia was dusting a shelf when they burst in. She'd grown uglier with bitterness and age, gaunter and more horse-like. Her hair was thinning, and she tried to hide it by pinning it up in an elaborate bun. Her thin lips were pasted with pastel pink lipstick, and her eyes were owlishly decorated. She dropped her duster when she saw them, knocking down a glass picture frame depicting what appeared to be a beached while in a three-piece. "You!" she snarled.

"Hello to you as well, Tuna" Severus said blandly, flicking his wand at her. Her eyes went glassy and she slumped down on the floor. "That's one," he muttered.

"MUMMY!" cried a younger voice. Severus saw the boy, Dudley, and waved his wand once more. Sherlock found himself relaxing and watching in amusement as Dudley flopped down onto the floor.

"Muggles are so ridiculously easy to obliviated it's literally a crime," Severus told Sherlock with a smirk as he stepped over the unmoving form of Petunia. He sat down on the couch and Sherlock hopped up onto one of the chairs. "I only placed a little charm on the both of them to see you randomly walk about, though I also put a compulsion spell to leave you alone. That should be sufficient. Now, all we have to do is wait for your uncle, and for Mr. Weasley to finish up with the ward stone."

Sherlock let out a deep exhale. "That's all?" he asked just to make sure.

"That's all"

"…I love magic."

****1047****

Albus Dumbledore felt strangely distracted today, his mind flitting from idea to idea, never really stopping for long. People might think him a dotty old man, but normally he was more focused than this. Albus sighed and rubbed his temples, wondering if he was merely getting old. Once again, he glanced over at the silver statuette that served as a sort of alarm, which monitored the wards over Privet Drive. The pulse coming from it was steady, but slow and feint. For a moment not too long ago, it seemed to falter slightly, but some shifting was normal, Dumbledore supposed. After all, poor Harry had to return there today after having spent a long several weeks as a pampered guest at the Malfoy's house.

Albus regretted agreeing to the Malfoy Lord. Not because he didn't enjoy the thought of stealing that old and respected House from out of Tom's grasp, but because it was cruel to Harry to give him a taste of that life style, that life style that he rightfully should have had, had James survived. Albus allowed a soft, somewhat sad chuckle. Had the Potter parent's survived, Harry would have been pampered and spoiled out of his mind. Possibly even more than young Draco, because he would have had Remus and Si—Albus stopped thinking abruptly.

So many things about Harry worried him, not least of all his strange comradery with Draco. It very much reminded Albus of Sirius and James Potter. Though, in the end, Sirius had betrayed the people who'd given him a home in the Light. Dumbledore could only hope that Draco would turn out to be made of purer stuff than the incarcerated would-have-been Lord.

A strange pulse was emitted from the statuette, and it caught Albus' attention immediately. He gazed at it for several seconds, watching as it seemed to grow weaker and weaker. Albus felt his worry grow, had this been a mistake? Surely Petunia wouldn't be so horrible to her nephew after having not seen him for so long, particularly not with Severus there. Or had the dour man already left? Had Severus said something to Petunia to anger her, and was she taking out that anger on the poor boy? Albus was getting ready to rise and check on the child when the pulse of magic suddenly steadied and seemed to sigh in relief.

It was stronger than before. Albus smiled to himself and settled back down.

His plans were still in place.

****1047****

Sherlock watched the large lump of a man that was his uncle fall to the floor within moments of crossing the threshold of his home. He couldn't hold back a giggle, and was rewarded by an amused look from his Potion's Master. They weren't there for much longer after that, Severus woke up Petunia, so that she could rouse her family, then they walked out the door. Sherlock felt freed, he felt light. Also he really wanted to talk to John, but he sensed that would have to wait a little while.

"I don't live far from here," Severus said, taking hold of Sherlock's hand. "Hold tight" then all of a sudden the world was bending and squeezing and Sherlock felt like a used tube of toothpaste. Then it expanded again and Sherlock was left gasping and groaning, barely managing to stay standing. Severus' hand steadied him.

"I've set up a room for you," Severus said without preamble, "I expect you to be quiet and tidy, and not to break my things. If you require something, tell me and I shall provide it. This summer, I shall act as your guardian, and this shall quite possibly be the case for your entire Hogwart's career. While we are here, you may either refer to me as Mister Snape or simply Severus, as the neighbor's may raise questions if they here you calling me 'professor' and I'd rather avoid them at all costs. Meals will be served promptly at nine, half-past noon and six o'clock. If you have any allergies, or dislike a certain food item, tell me now. There shall be no need for curfew, but until you have finished all of your homework, I expect after dinner to be dedicated to it. You shall help with clean up from meals and keeping your room clean. If you make a mess, I expect you to clean up after yourself. You are allowed to send only three owls a week, as it's ridiculous to do anymore; you will be seeing your little minions often. You are not allowed to be outside after dark, nor any earlier than after breakfast. You will not answer the phone, nor will you give out the number to Miss Granger or any other children you know. If you break one of the rules, it will result in being served a meal entirely comprised of broiled spinach and bread, and I shall force you to eat every bite. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Mummy"

Sherlock was rather expecting the whack he received to the back of the head.

*****1047*******

Sherlock really liked his new bedroom. He liked it far more than his cupboard, and even better than his guest rooms at Malfoy and Longbottom Manors. It suited more than even John's room at the Burrow…though John's presence in the room would have made the area even more perfect. The walls had a rather homey wallpaper that was a soft, dark green. The bed covers were an earthy brown, and the thick carpet (perfect for walking barefoot on) was patterned with dull red and black diamond design. The curtains were a light brown, and somewhat lacy. There was a small couch thrown in the corner near three floor to ceiling book shelves, two of which were mostly full. The area was well lit yet comfortably dark at the same time. There was a writing desk in the corner, and a door that lead off to a tidy, private bathroom.

It reminded him of Baker Street.

The room had obviously been magically expanded, as there was no way a room of this size could logically fit in the house. Sherlock suspected that it had at one point been a broom cupboard, he loved the irony. That and the fact that it showed Severus had put a lot of thought into what Sherlock would have liked his room to contain made him love it all the more.

Sherlock took out his trunk and enlarged it, setting it at the foot of his bed. He took out his mirror and placed it in an empty corner of the room, then he threw a cloth cover Mycroft had given him over the glass. He warded it so that he alone could lift the fabric. Then he flicked his wand and watched as all of his clothes flew out of his trunk and arranged themselves neatly in his new closet and drawers. His many books (that weren't in the mirror) set themselves upon the book shelf, and his various knickknacks danced around the room, randomly placing themselves about. His potion supplies found a home in a handy glass cabinet that was similar to a smaller version of what could be found in the Hogwarts's Potion's Classroom, his cauldron in a nearby stand. There were even little hooks, nearly invisible, that he found on the walls, perfect for hanging up the various pictures he'd been given by Colin and Gremione. There was even a mount on the wall above his bed for a broom, so Sherlock stuck the broom Lucius Malfoy had gifted him up there where it could be admired by anyone who walked in.

The room was now nicely cluttered, giving it a warm lived in feeling. Sherlock was vividly reminded of the happy mess at Baker Street, and the random items that John and Mrs. Hudson were forever tripping over. But…something was missing…Sherlock looked over at his potion supplies and gave a smile.

****1047****

Severus stopped in the middle of cooking dinner for himself and his new ward, who was presumably settling into his new room. Idly, as he stirred the sauce he was heating, he wondered what was taking him so long. Perhaps the boy had forgotten he could use magic to unpack? It was then that he smelled the all-too familiar stench of a potion fire. Sighing, wondering what on earth Sherlock was up to, he put a stasis charm on the food, then quietly marched up the stairs.

He opened the door to the young man's room to see him dumping several ingredients into his cauldron including, but probably not limited to: powered turmeric, bay leaves, onion leaves, essence of marigold and dandelion petals. Then Sherlock picked up a large metal pestle and began violently mashing everything together.

Severus watched him for a moment. "What are you doing?" he asked curiously.

"Making paint" Sherlock replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Severus nodded slowly, leaning against the wall to watch the boy as he took the cauldron off the fire and carried it over to the wall. After a whispered cooling charm, Sherlock stuck one hand in and began smearing the yellow substance all over the wall. It didn't take long for Sherlock to finish, before he stood back to admire the smiley face he'd wiped onto the wall.

"Why?" Severus asked, feeling more amused than irritated at the blatant defacing of the wall.

"It'll make my John laugh. Do you know where I can get a buffalo skull and headphones?"

"I have a pair, though you might need to wait on the skull until I can take you to Diagon Alley. I need more gingko and Echinacea anyway."

****1047*****

Sherlock strode into his mind palace that night with a wide smile on his face. Aeldin looked up at him from where the soul piece had been examining Sherlock's memory of professor Quirrell. "I take it all went well?" Aeldin drawled. Sherlock grinned at him.

"Snape is going to take John and I to Romania in a couple of weeks," Sherlock said smugly. "I got him to promise during dinner."

"What did he demand in return?"

"That I not shoot his wall." Aeldin looked rather confused, but seemed to shrug it off. He'd understand his young host in no time, and it gave him something to do. He spent his rather empty days examining Sherlock's memories, trying to figure out how on earth a personality like Sherlock's developed.

"It's a good opportunity," Aeldin told him as he set aside the memory he was holding. "Many influential dragon trainers live in Romania, you'll have a chance to form connections with them. And if you do decide to become a trainer yourself, you'll be more likely to be accepted into the hire of that reserve if your name is already known there."

Sherlock nodded. "My brother already told me as much, I Flood him after dinner." Aeldin nodded at this, though he was still somewhat confused. He had seen the memory of Sherlock and Mycroft's bonding, the young genius had made no attempt at hiding that particular memory, though he refused to answer many questions about the ordeal at all. It was a good move politically, to tie himself to Mycroft that way. Sherlock was now an official possible heir. Should anything happen to Draco Malfoy, Sherlock would be next in line for the Lordship. Though Sherlock had already been calling Draco his brother for some time before they'd even thought of doing the ritual.

"And has Severus mentioned being your delegate?"

Sherlock grinned. "He'll get over it." Soon, though, Sherlock left to enter the room that housed his magical core to meditate. The Gryffindor had read that the first step in becoming an animagi was becoming familiar with your own magical core. Aeldin watched his host for a while, eyes narrowed. Sherlock was powerful, incredibly so. And he had greater control over his magic than Tom Riddle could have ever hoped to achieve at the tender age of eleven, almost twelve.

Something wasn't right about him.

****1047***

John had been worried sick about his friend ever since Bill left for Privet Drive.. Something could go wrong, any number of things could go terribly wrong. Even the twins had acknowledged that. "Don't worry, Ronnie!" Fred had told him cheerily.

"If the muggles end up with him again"

"We'll take Dad's car"

"And fly ALL the way to Surrey"

"And then we'll curse the muggle's noses right off"

"And tear the door right off its hinges"

"before we fly away into the sunset"

"With your lovely boyfriend sitting beside you"

"And we'll live happily ever after"

"And you'll name all of your children after us!"

"Frigga and Georgina!"

"Florian and Geoff!"

"Filip and Gilbert!"

"Fabio and Gilligan!"

"Fergus and Gavin!"

"Flaminius and Gamaliel"

"Ooh, I like that combo."

"Yeah…has a nice ring to it…Flaminius and Gamaliel Potter-Weasley."

"Yes, it's decided, you name your first born—"

"Which will be twins, obviously"

"Flaminius Gilligan Potter-Weasley"

"And Gamaliel Fabio Potter-Weasley!"

"Wait, why does his name go first?"

"Because he's more important, obviously."

Despite the twins doing their best to cheer up their favorite sibling, John still sat worriedly in the living room, waiting for Bill to come back. The moment the Floo erupted into green flames, John leapt up from his seat "What happened?" he demanded of his brother the moment his feet touched the Burrow's floor. Bill laughed and ran a tender hand through Ronnie's hair.

"Everything went fine," Bill soothed. "The muggles were obliviated by Professor Snape and I saw him apparate away with Sherlock. The ward stone was actually easier to transplant than he led me to believe, so everything went off without a hitch. He's safe, Ronnie," Bill was looking incredibly amused. Molly stepped into the room just then, so they had to change topics. Luckily for them (or perhaps unluckily) the twins were experts at starting up random conversations at the drop of the hat.

"So you're saying the gopher just attacked your nose?"

"Just like that?"
"How long did it bleed for?"

"Did it have rabies?"
"Are you going to die?"

The 'revelation' that Bill had been 'attacked' by a 'rabid gopher' during his job caused Molly to start smothering him in motherliness the very next moment, successfully distracting her from asking about his job, as was the twin's intention. Though Bill still sent them dirty looks over their mother's head when she grabbed his nose and began dapping witch hazel all over it "Just in case, dear".

*****1047*****

Pink…or purple…pink? Or purple…

The wizard looked at his collection of robes, wondering which one would be more appropriate for meeting with his editor. He held up his favored lavender one, then a soft rose colored cloak. Hmm...perhaps if he did the lavender robes with a rose accent…He was startled from him thoughts by a rapping at the window. It was a common brown owl bearing a rather official looking envelope.

Letting the creature in, he received the paper and sliced it open with his mother-of-pearl letter opener, accidently cutting his thumb in the process.

"Mr. Gilderoy Lockheart,

Your application has been carefully reviewed, and upon many hours of careful consideration, you have been approved for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. I ask that you submit your chosen textbooks no later than August 1st. Good luck and good day,

Signed,

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin (first class), Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot"