Hello guys! I love you all, so much! I can't believe how many people liked this idea! I wasn't expecting this many people to enjoy this topic of crossover, but I've very glad that you do! Yes, Mrs. Hudson is going to be in this story, however I am never going to out and out say who she is. I will, however, say that she does not have her memories. Cookies to the first one who figures it out! Secondly…Oops, yeah, forgot that Draco was older…messed up my HP facts. *sigh*, oh well, it's a fanfiction. xD Sorry for those of you who don't like John looking like a Weasley…I just couldn't wrap my mind around a redheaded John. LOL xD Basically, he and Sherlock just look like de-aged versions of themselves, while Mycroft looks like Draco Malfoy from the movies, and Greg looks like an athletic tom-boyish Hermione. A lovely reviewer has already given me many, many amazing ideas via PM, so if anyone has any ideas or suggestions as to where the story should go, I'm very open to that!

~James

He and Greg—Hermione….Gremione—had fallen into a routine. Every night at precisely 11:45, Hermione would send him the predictable "How was your day?" message, to which Sherlock would reply "Dull." Or "I hate everything" or "Any suggestions on how to skin a walrus?" and from there the conversation would run in random directions as they entertained themselves until two or three in the morning, at which point Hermione would always fall asleep at the computer.

Sherlock hated to admit it, but talking to Greg was the highlight of his very dull existence, aside from how his wandless magic was progressing. He remembered his 'Uncle Paddy' (who he knew was innocent, by the way) saying that it was very difficult, but necessary to become an animagus (Which he had planned to help Sherlock become when he was older). Sherlock was yet to unlock his animagus form, but he had high hopes for when somebody came for him to take him to that School his parents had spoken so much about.

He flicked his wrist, deftly unlocking his cupboard and slipped out. It was 11:38, so he went to the kitchen first and ate some cold fried chicken that was leftover from the Dursely's supper, before washing it down with milk. John would be so proud of him, Sherlock thought fondly, almost wistfully, feeding himself all on his own with no one to nag him.

He slowly crept up the stairs, wary of the creaking spots, and slid into Dudley's second room, where he kept a laptop under a floorboard. Dudley had discarded it a month ago after cracking the screen. He'd tossed it, after Vernon had bought him a new one, but Sherlock had retrieved it and squirreled it away. It was his now. He opened it up and turned it on, before magically locking the door. As always, a message was already waiting for him. Only, today it was different.

"I'm a witch." It said.

Sherlock felt glee rising up inside of him, though he only typed. "Good for you."

"I'm serious."

"I thought your name was Hannah."

"It's Hermione, which you well and fully know, Harry."

"Don't call me Harry, it's so dull. And you've only now figured out that you're a witch? I assume you've gotten your Hogwarts letter?"

It was a total guess, but perhaps Muggleborns were given top priority when it came to acceptance letters, which would make sense. It gave them ample time to adjust to their new reality. His thoughts were confirmed with Greg responded with "How did you know?"

"It was obvious" Sherlock decided to say, just to annoy him…her.

"Of course it was, you git," but Sherlock knew Greg wasn't offended.

"Are you going to Diagon Alley soon?"

"Already been! Not even going to ask how you already know about that place though. A professor from the school, McGongle I think her name was. She escorted us there after my parents agreed to let me attend!"

"I take it from the excess use of exclamation points that you are pleased with this?"

"Why wouldn't I? It's Magic, Sherlock!"

"So I gathered. Find any good books?"

"Tons! I'm going to start reading them tomorrow, didn't get a chance today. I also got a wand, by the way. A real actual magic wand! :)"

"What's it made out of?"

"It's 10 and three quarter inches long, made out of vine wood and dragon heartstring core."

"Interesting. Both have very Dark affiliations. I would have bet that you were a light wielder. Nevermind that, though. Do you think John will be at Hogwarts?" Gremione's reply took longer to come than usual.

"Try not to get your hopes up, mate."

Sherlock sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. He knew Gremione had all but given up on ever finding any one else from his past life again. He had made new friends, and settled into his new life nicely. He didn't seem to understand why Sherlock couldn't let go. Doesn't understand that Sherlock's life had been perfect. He had John to pester, take care of and stand by him. Mrs. Hudson to mother him. Mycroft to clean up after him. Greg and his officers to provide him with entertainment…and now he literally had nothing. Even the clothes he wore were passed on from his horrible cousin.

He missed his coat and the comfy blue scarf John had made for him once.

His and Greg's conversation drifted on towards the various magic affiliations and the connotations, but in the back of his mind, Sherlock still stubbornly told himself that John would be at Hogwarts.

He had to be.

****1047****

Sherlock sat in his cupboard that morning after Greg had fallen asleep, before the Dursley's would wake up. His legs were crossed and his hands folded as though in prayer. His eyes were closed, and his mouth set in a relaxed but flat line. He had always enjoyed the stillness of mind that came with meditating, when he could explore his mind palace. However, in this new life it was far more interesting. His mind palace was filled with colorful threads of energy that lead to various rooms, some that were locked—to his ire.

It was his magic, beautiful and wild. He would sometimes grab onto a thread and feel the energy coursing through him. It gave him a feeling of exhilaration that he likened to flying. He followed along a thick blue thread, when he noticed that it was starting to grow colder in temperature, and darker in hue. Glancing up, he noticed a door.

The door was cheap and made of wood that had once been painted white, but now the paint was chipping and peeling off. The door handle was made of rusted copper, and the whole thing sat awkwardly on its hinges. The door handle was locked, it wouldn't turn. However, the door completely fell over when he wriggled the knob too hard.

Inside the room was a small…something. About the size of an alley cat. It was black, and seemed to be made completely of wispy smoke. Sherlock approached it, kneeling down, and did what any bored consulting detective would do…

He poked it.

****1047****

Sherlock had been slightly worried at first when Vernon had simply ripped up his Hogwarts letter. The upside had been Sherlock gaining Dudley's second bedroom for his own, which he was pleased about. But, the next day another letter came…accompanied by several others and he was considerably less worried.

Nothing on earth would stop him from going to Hogwarts.

The Dursley's, dead set on sending him to Stone Wall, had tried everything from nailing up the mail slot to dragging themselves and Sherlock out of Surrey and into the middle of nowhere, on a dark, wet, cold rock some ways off shore in a rickety old lighthouse. It was at some point between getting in the car, to landing on said rock that Sherlock realized that it was July 30th, the day before his birthday. He would be eleven. As The Dursley's ate their packed meal, completely ignoring Sherlock (which he was completely fine with) he smiled as his stomach filled with anticipation. Something was going to happen, he just knew it.

He didn't sleep that night, missing his nightly chat with Gremione. Dudley's watch glowed in the dark, it passed 11:45 and Sherlock sighed, wondering if Greg was sending many repetitive messages out of worry because Sherlock wasn't responding. Sighing lightly, he stretched out on the ground, his head pillowed by his hands as he stared up at the ceiling. It was pretty cold, the chill seeping into his bones. He found himself thinking of John's warm, fuzzy, ugly jumpers that Sherlock would steal on occasion. He wondered if John still wore jumpers like that?

He was still lost in his thoughts about John when the door was blasted down.

***1047***

Ron looked down at Charlie's old wand, the unicorn hair sticking out of the end. His mother was looking down at him worriedly, a handful of hand-me-down wands in her apron pocket. All of them had rejected Ron as owner. "It doesn't like me either," Ron said softly. "I'm sorry." His parents were quick to assure him that it wasn't his fault, it was obviously the wand's fault. But he saw them exchange a worried look, and he still felt guilty. He knew they were pressed for money, and his constant check-ups weren't helping anything.

"It's alright, dear. We can pull together enough to get you a wand, don't you worry, love." Molly said kindly as she took the wand from him. Ron managed a small smile, remembering Mrs. Hudson calling him that. It had been over a decade since his past life, but he still missed it. It was like a constant ache. It was like his limp.

"I can help make dinner?" Ron asked, feeling useless. Molly smiling fondly at him.

"Sure, why don't you start getting out what I'll need for the corn bread?" Ron nodded before limping over into the kitchen. When he was upset, like he was now, his limp got worse. His clumsy limb growing stiff and achy. But he managed, pulling out bowls, a stirring spoon and the various ingredients. He was just pulling down the jar of corn meal when a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder. Ron looked up to see his big brother Percy, who had a hand behind his back.

"Listen, Ronny," Percy said, his voice kind and affectionate like it only ever was when he was talking to Ron. "Since Mum and Dad are having trouble this year, with the twins needing new robes, me needing a new cauldron and scales, and you just starting out, I thought that I'd help out a bit. For your familiar, would you like to take care of Scabbers for me?" Ron's eyes grew large, Percy loved that rat. Unable to speak, he only nodded dumbly and watched as his older brother smiled widely and revealed that Scabbers was in his hidden hand, a worn red bow tied around his fat neck. Ron smiled at that and held out his hands for Percy to place the old rat in. Ron cuddled it to his chest, before giving his brother a grateful hug.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Percy gave him a little smile before taking a deep breath. "Listen, Ronny, I know you have trouble making friends…but you're going to be living with your year mates for the next seven years. Promise me…promise me you'll give them a chance? I know kids are noisy, and annoying, and immature…but most of them have potential. Try and find that, yeah?" Ron exhaled deeply, still holding Scabbers tightly.

"'Kay," he finally said, and Percy broke into a wide smile.

****1047****

Sherlock had refused to go back to the Dursleys, instead using his old acting skills and charm to convince Hagrid into letting him stay in Diagon Alley at the Leaky Cauldron. He had gathered several thousand Galleons from his vault, and rented the largest room available there. Then he'd gone back to Madam Malkin's and custom ordered a coat exactly like his old one, along with a full set of casual slacks and button ups of the highest quality as well as new shoes, under garments, comfy pajamas and a robe, and a blue scarf that reminded him of John. She was pleased with his order, then directed him to a Trunk shop for him to buy one while she finished making his clothes. The trunk he decided on had a self-expanding library (as well as a secret room that was perfect for conducting experiments) which led him to go back to the book store and buy several hundred galleons worth of books. From there he went back to Ollivanders to buy a wand holster. Then the apothecary for ingredients that weren't on this school list, but he wanted for…reasons…and then he bought an extra cauldron and stirring rod set. By the time he'd finished up and was heading back to Madam Malkin's he was very grateful for feather light and shrinking charms (underage magic was impossible to trace in crowded magical areas, he'd learned from the clerk at the book store). As he was walking in, he noticed a pale boy with an aloof expression, over the top robes, and hair styled in a stupid but familiar way.

Sherlock came closer, not bothering to hide his curiosity. The boy was familiar somehow. John's name flashed through his mind, but the idea was quickly dismissed. The boy was nothing like John, if anything he was like…"Mycroft?" The boy spun around, eyes wide.

"Sherlock!" He said, gaping for a mere instant before regaining his composure. He held out a hand "Draco, Draco Malfoy."

"Mycroft!" Sherlock only repeated and prepared to throw his arms around the brother/rival he hadn't seen for over a decade, but then caught himself. Was he really just about to hug Mycroft? Completely surprising Sherlock, Mycroft had no such qualms. He embraced his little brother tightly, burying his face into the soft, curly, unruly hair. Sherlock might be older in this life, but he was also shorter due to malnutrition, Mycroft realized. Nobody had been making him eat. Without Mycroft or John…either Sherlock had been starving himself or somebody else was mistreating him. The thought made him tighten his grip further. He smiled as he felt Sherlock slowly, seemingly reluctantly, returning the hug.

After a moment the broke apart. "You're looking well," Sherlock said after a moment.

"You're not," Mycroft returned sternly. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Three hours ago, a large three course meal with dessert if you must know. My physical state is not my fault. The relatives Dumbledore dumped me with hate me." Sherlock was doing his best to remain emotionless, but Mycroft knew his baby brother. Sherlock blamed his own "freakishness" for this. "I'm not staying with them any longer, though. So you needn't say anything."

Mycroft let it slide for now, since Sherlock was apparently in better hands. "Make sure you eat again soon. You need to regain some body fat."

"And become obese like you?" Sherlock sneered, though it lacked all heat. Mycroft nearly smiled, though he controlled himself.

"You should know that Draco Malfoy is an active lad who is very diligent about maintaining his health." Sherlock only snorted at this. Then something seemed to occur to him and his vivid green eyes grew wide.

"Where's John? Have you seen him yet? I've looked all around my old neighborhood, he wasn't there." Sherlock's eyes were so desperate; Mycroft did his best to be gentle.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said softly "It's highly unlikely that anyone from our old life is as we are. We've always been different. But John was ordinary. Furthermore, remembering past lives is extremely rare…"

"You're wrong." Sherlock was truly angry now. Oh dear. "John wasn't ordinary" his eyes were growing wet. Mycroft silently kicked himself. "John was brilliant."

"You know that's not what I meant to say."

"But it's what you said."

The stood there in silence for a while, Sherlock glaring wetly and Mycroft's face impassive. Mycroft laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly, relieved when Sherlock didn't simply shrug off his touch. "I promise you, if he's here we will find him." Sherlock remained still for a moment. But then he nodded just as Madame Malkin came back up front.

"Ah, there you are, Mr. Potter." She handed him his shrunken order. "I'm afraid yours will take a little longer, Mr. Malfoy," Mycroft nodded his understanding.

As Sherlock turned to go, Mycroft called after him. "See you at Hogwarts, then?"

"Yeah, see you."

****1047*****

Greg was growing worried. It had been almost three days since she'd last heard from Sherlock. That's the longest the two of them had ever gone without messaging since they'd started. She'd taken to pulling up Sherlock's site randomly on her phone, about once every other hour. Still no message. And the latest post was still the one from last week about various cleaning solutions and how they contribute to mental deterioration.

Her parents told her not to worry, that he was probably just too busy or tired. But Hermione still fretted, messaging him frequently with things like "Let me know you're still alive."

It was around eight that night when her family was eating dinner that a beautiful Snowy Owl started rapping at the window in their dining room. Hermione ran over to let her in. She fluttered around for a second before roosting on the back of Hermione's now empty chair. "Do you think that's from the school, dear?" her mother asked her.

"I don't know," she replied taking the small scroll from the holder at the owl's right talon. "No," she said, a smile growing. "It's from my friend, Sherlock."

"Oh, he's a magic person, too then?" her dad asked. "What are the odds?"

"You have no idea," she muttered under her breath. "May I be excused?" she asked a little louder. Before her father even gave permission, she held an arm out for the owl to perch on. As soon as the Snowy was settled Hermione started off for her room. As soon as she was there she sat down at her desk, where the owl hopped off to soar around the room, exploring. Hermione unrolled the scroll.

"Greg,

No doubt you have been needlessly worrying yourself about my lack of reply to whatever boring messages you sent to my web site. Before you grow angry, I wasn't ignoring you. A staff member of Hogwarts, Rubeus Hagrid, took me to Diagon Alley. Due to circumstances I was unable to bring my computer. I am staying at the Leaky Cauldron, as I have no wish to return to my dear 'relatives'.

My owl's name is 'Hedwig' by the way. It means both 'fighter' and 'Refuge in war'. I found the name on page 34 of our required history text. It reminded me of John. I bought him one, as well. A Greater Sooty Owl named Ian.

Mycroft still has his memories. I realized belatedly that I forgot to mention you to him, so he doesn't know you remember your past life as well. He hasn't seen John yet either, but he promised to help. He said he goes by Draco Malfoy in this life, by the way. I think it suits him.

I suppose this is the part of the letter where I ask how you've been? The main reason I sent this letter at all, honestly, was to see if owl delivery was efficient. So, if you will please respond as quickly as you can when you get this, it would be appreciated. Do you have an owl?

Lastly, Hagrid was acting curious at the bank. I smell a case.

I will see you on the first. Only a month to go.

W. Sherlock. S. Holmes"

Hermione rolled the letter back up and stuck it somewhere safe before pulling out a piece of paper and a pen to start her own.

"Git

Glad to know you're not dead. Not that I'd care either way.

Hagrid? I think McGongle might have mentioned him. He's the ground's keeper, isn't he? What was he doing at the bank? Acting curious how? And, Sherlock, it wouldn't do to be expelled from Hogwarts. Be careful. This is our life now.

I'm sure John would love her and her name. Greater Sooty Owl? Just looked that up. They seem cute.

How was Mycroft then? I've seen the name 'Malfoy' in quite a few of the books I've bought. They're quite a prominent family, as far as I can tell. Dark affiliated. Though, knowing you, you already know this.

Don't you think it's weird that we now know you, I and Mycroft all remember? I wonder why? I wonder who we'll find next? Mrs. Hudson maybe?

No, I don't have an owl. But now I want one.

Have to go, mum is calling me from downstairs.

~G. L. Hermione Granger."