Hey guys, sorry it's been so long. I've been feeling a bit under the weather. Thank you so much for all of your reviews! Most of them were very kind. A few people mentioned that they have an issue with my portrayal of John and Sherlock's relationship. I can respect that my interpretation of Sherlock isn't the same as somebody else's, but please refrain from insulting my work. That's all that this story is: my interpretation of the art that is Sherlock.

Also, not sure why some people were finding the last chapter done in all bold. It didn't look like that when I saw it, maybe the site was glitching, idk, but I'll keep an eye on it. Thanks for letting me know, guys.

Anyway, thank you to everyone who is still reading and supporting my story. It means a lot! Hope you all enjoy this chapter.

Sherlock kept giving John weird looks all week, almost expectantly. When John would venture to ask him what was wrong, Sherlock wouldn't answer, only looking oddly disappointed. John hoped he wasn't acting strangely, causing Sherlock to look at him that way. John was trying hard not to let what he saw in that mirror affect him. He didn't start pushing Sherlock away, or maintaining a normal (for other people) amount of space between them, no matter how much he'd wanted to at first. Even now, Sherlock was sitting on the edge of John's (their) bed, brows furrowed and hands clasped under his chin, as though he were praying.

John paused from where he was packing up Sherlock's trunk, making sure that his friend had all of his clothing and various knick-knacks packed for the holiday. "Sherlock" he asked hesitantly. When his friend didn't make any move to show that he had heard, John stood and walked over to him. He edged himself up onto the bed, so that his and Sherlock's legs were touching, pressed together. He nudged Sherlock's shoulder with his own, but the smaller boy only frowned deeper. John took hold of his best friend's hand, stroking the pale skin with his thumb.

Sherlock had said that it was possible the mirror showed the future. John had tried his hardest not to think about it. So of course it was all he could think about. Merlin's soggy pants, he was eleven! He shouldn't have to worry about things like this yet! He turned to look at Sherlock and wondered what was going on in his head. He'd always wondered if Sherlock's "mind palace" was an actual imaginary structure that Sherlock wandered around in whenever the real world got too boring.

John smiled at him, releasing his hand and sliding off the bed, going back to folding Sherlock's laundry and placing them neatly inside his friend's trunk. A moment later, Dean and Neville walk in, apparently deep in conversation about whether or not "those idiots" would get "together" before or after the end of holiday break.

"I'll bet it'll happen at your party," Dean declared.

"It's not a party, it's a ball," Neville sniffed haughtily, but with a grin. Then they both saw John and Sherlock and froze. Neville's face flushed pink, but Dean just smirked and strolled over to where Sherlock was staring into space blankly. Dean waved a hand in front of Sherlock's nose, giggling when Sherlock didn't so much as blink. "Earth to Sherlock? Come in Mr. Potter" Dean sighed and looked over at where John was packing. The taller boy frowned and tilted his head, looking at the name etched on the side of the trunk.

John's face grew red as Dean's smirk got wider, though he refused to stop packing for Sherlock just because his dorm mate was a prat. "He's lucky he's got you, or he'd probably have to deal with reusing the same three pairs of underwear all break, huh Mrs. Potter?" John responded with the utmost maturity…that is to say, by throwing one of said pairs of underwear at Dean's head.

****1047****

Sherlock was slightly nervous about meeting John's family. He'd only met Harry Watson once in his previous life, and it was very briefly. She'd been mostly indifferent towards him, just smirking at her brother, saying she'd always known he played for the "right" team. John had then grown angry, protested that he wasn't gay, then had promptly ignored Sherlock for the rest of the day, never to suggest Harry and Sherlock ever be in the same area at the same time again.

Now, he was frantically searching through the horribly small amount of data he had on polite and socially acceptable behavior. Most of which consisted of things John had offhandedly told him like "You know, normal people don't rub the faces of corpses with acid" or "A normal bloke wouldn't need to be told that decapitated fingers don't belong in the ice tray". Information like this would hardly help him at all, it's not like John would allow him to bring any experiments to his new family's house anyway.

He found a long buried memory of Mycroft teaching a much younger version of himself "proper" table manners. It was blurred a bit at the edges, but it would do. Sherlock watched it carefully, almost wistfully, remembering the first bit of his previous life he was rather close with his older brother. He waited for the expected feeling of disgust to rise up in him, that usually happened whenever he thought fondly of his older brother. But it never came, and it left Sherlock feeling slightly off balance. Instead, he called up memories of Mrs. Hudson and John tending to clients whenever they came to their old flat, and observed how they acted.

A strange feeling of loss took over him as he watched his old ex-not-your-house-keeper putter around making tea. She was old (Sherlock wasn't sure how old, he probably deleted it at some point), and had lived a full life when she had died. Perhaps that it why she, unlike the rest of the people who were present, was nowhere to be found.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by slightly chilled hands gently tapping his cheek. (John, recently been in the corridor, he sounds amused, been trying to get my attention for a while, then?) Sherlock opened his eyes, exiting his mind palace. (Just stuck his head out the window from the looks of his hair. Trunk is packed, John did Sherlock's but neglected to remember to pack his own pajama bottoms, which were still tucked under his pillow where he always put them.)

"I take it the carriages are being prepared already?" Sherlock said, not missing the fond look that appeared on John's face at his deductions. "By the way, you forgot your pajamas" Sherlock nodded over at the head of their bed. John sighed and reached under the pillow.

"Always something," John said with a grin. Sherlock returned it, sliding off the bed. He looked around. Neville had already taken all of his things and left. His Grandmother probably picked him up by Floo. Dean hadn't packed yet. Colin and Seamus were ready to go, but hadn't come by to grab their trunks.

Sherlock flicked his wand from his holster and wordlessly tapped both of their trunks after John had reclosed his. As soon as they shrunk, they were already being tucked away into John's pockets. Then they stood looking at each other. Sherlock suddenly payed a bit more attention. Maybe now the mirror's prediction would come true? Then he realized that John looked nervous. Was he nervous about…oh, wait.

"I'll behave John, honestly" Sherlock scoffed. After all these years, John still expected Sherlock to go around blowing things up and trampling on people's nerves. Well, he did, but that was beside the point. And he didn't do that everywhere, Sherlock liked to think he'd been a model goldfish the last few months here at Hogwarts.

John smiled tenderly at him, and Sherlock found himself feeling oddly proud that he was the only one John smiled at like that, and had been ever since You-Know-Who….

The blonde You-Know-Who, not the wizard.

Sherlock wondered if it was a bit not good that he preferred to meet with the wizard over the blonde. John stepped forward and Sherlock's eyes widened. But then John was just hugging him. Which was nice but still. Sherlock rolled his eyes and patted John's back, wondering what on earth could be going through John's head.

"I'm not worried about you," John told him. "It's just, I was so horrible to my family. They were poor, and made poorer in their attempts to heal me of my limp and depression. I was so bitter all the time and-and…they just put up with it." Sherlock stopped patting John's back and hugged him fiercely.

"And now you're afraid they'll see you perfectly healed and resent all the money they spent on you?"

"Or that they'll resent you"

Sherlock thought about this for a moment. "What if I'd been caught in an explosion and lost most of my memories and my ability to deduce? I'd be pretty much useless, wouldn't I?"

"No!" John protested but Sherlock ignored him.

"I would be, though. I mean, I'd still have my personality. I'd be horrible to you, forcing you to always clean up after me, might still experiment, definitely would still be bored. I'd still yell at you and make people angry. But I'm confident you wouldn't leave me. In fact, I'd bet you'd stick even closer." John was looking confused at Sherlock's analogy.

"Now, I also know you would be trying to heal me. You'd probably even employ Mycroft's help. But nothing would work. Then, out of nowhere I meet someone I hadn't seen since Uni. All of a sudden, my memory comes back and I'm the same as always. Tell me, John, would you resent that person? Or would you be angry with me? Or would you blame yourself for 'not being enough' or some such rot, to trigger my memory yourself?"

John said nothing, but as this was Sherlock he didn't need to. He felt the uneasiness fading like the tension in the shoulders. Sherlock gently pushed John away, though still holding on to one of his friend's sleeves. "Let's go," he said just as the door opened to reveal the twins prancing around with wreaths of holly and snowy leaves about their necks.

"You ready Ronnikins?" asked Fred.

"All packed?" asked George.

"Dad wrote Perce"

"We're going Christmas shopping tomorrow"

"We've decided to get Perce an exploding inkwell"

"And a Tickling Quill to match"

"You know how he loves to get school supplies"

"I'm sure he'll appreciate our thoughtfulness-"

Then the twins stopped when they saw John's flushed face, and shared a look. "You alright?" Fred asked.

"Course he's not, look at him!" said George. "Who was it, Ronron?" he asked "That Malfoy kid? Goyle? Dean? Whoever it was, I'll kill him!"

"What're you going on about?" demanded his twin as Ron was about to say something.

"Obviously someone hurt him!"

"How can you tell?"

"He was crying! Look at his little face! He hasn't cried since he met his boyfriend."

"I'm okay," John told his brothers with a weak smile. Sherlock felt a thrill of triumph when John didn't deny what his brother said. "I'm just…" John struggled to find something to say.

"You know," Fred started, after a look of understanding had flitted across his face. "Mum's going to be overjoyed when she sees you."

"Yeah, and Bill and Charlie are coming home, too! Just wait till they see how much you're grown up!"

Sherlock felt appreciative towards the twins as John's smile became a little less forced.

****1047*****

The train ride back was uneventful. Sherlock and John had a cabin to themselves, but they didn't really do much. John sat reading for the majority of it, while Sherlock lay thinking about a million and one things with his head leaning against John's thigh. They silently listened to the rumble of the train as it clattered along the tracks. When the trolley lady came by, Sherlock had shoved several galleons at John and insisted he was hungry and that John should by a bit of everything.

Of course, Sherlock only nibbled on a few things, leaving most of the candy to John and Scabbers. By the time the train pulled up at the station, John had passed out, his head lolling to the side while Sherlock absently flicked through a book he'd snitched from Mycroft a week ago. At the squeal of the breaks, and the sound of steam being released Sherlock blinked slowly, then sat up looking out the window. The platform was lined with people waving at the train with wide smiles. Among them, easily to spot, were the Weasleys: A rather dumpy looking woman with a kind smile and threadbare dress, a man with a thinning spot at the very top of his head and a careworn but caring face, a handsome young man with medium length hair falling nearly to his shoulders and a single tiny braid going around one ear, a shorter stalky young man with hair buzzed short and the little girl Sherlock had seen earlier that year.

Sherlock quickly bustled around the cabin, putting Scabbers in his small cage and his (Mycroft's) book back in his trunk. He grabbed hold of Ian and Hedwig's cage in one hand, then turned to John, shaking him by the shoulder.

"We're here, John," he said. John sighed, coming into consciousness slowly. It was night already, and John had only fallen asleep about an hour ago, so his movements were slightly sluggish as he stood up and stretched. "I see your family," Sherlock looked out the window. John followed his gaze to where the twins had already bounded out to meet their parents, only to look back to the train with faces filled with alarm, probably realizing that John hadn't come off the train yet.

"Let's go, before Mum starts to worry," Ron said, slightly grumpy from having been woken up. He took hold of Sherlock without a thought and led the way off the train. They caught sight of Neville and Dean as they left, and they shouted out a "see you later" to each other as they passed.

"There you are!" came a relieved voice. Percy was at their shoulder's, a hand on Sherlock and a hand on his little brother. "Let's get going, Mum's got supper ready back at the Burrow. Don't know about you, but I'm starved."

"I fed him," Sherlock said, almost petulantly. Percy snorted in laughter, though he tried to cover it up quickly at the odd look Ron shot him. "I did" Sherlock insisted. Percy only nodded, taking Scabbers' cage from John and stepping out of the train, trying to help the younger boys hop out as well.

"RONNIE!" came a rather thunderous wail. Sherlock had only just enough time to get out of the way when Mrs. Weasley came barreling towards them, scooping Ron up into her arms. "Oh, my baby! Mwah mwah mwah! How was school?" She asked whilst showering his face with kisses. Sherlock and Percy both hid a grin, as did the rest of the Weasley men. "Your brothers' have been writing me all year, telling me how well you've been doing! My Ronnie, top of his class! I'm so proud of you! You look so well! Oh, I know going to Hogwarts would do you good!" Molly finally released John, who nearly stumbled, but Sherlock steadied him with a ready hand. He realized this was a mistake as soon as it happened. Molly zeroed in on him with an expression half like starved hunger and half like awe. And if Sherlock wanted to be mathematically incorrect, half like glee.

"Harry Potter!" she cried. "The boys said that you and Ronnie were boyfriends but I hadn't believed it until now! They told me you healed Ronnie's leg!"

"There was nothing wrong with John's leg in the—" Sherlock was cut off by Molly's arms as she did her best to smother him. Sherlock caught a glimpse of the Malfoy's out of the corner of his eye. Mycroft was watching him, looking like he wanted to step in and say something but not sure he should. "Don't just stand there, Mycroft, she's killing me!" Sherlock snarled at him, making his ex-brother chuckle and John's mother let go to look at who he was talking to.

Her eyes narrowed when she saw the Malfoys. As did the rest of the Weasley's except for John. The Malfoys all looked like they were sniffing a particularly dreadful fart someone ripped, except for Mycroft. Mycroft extended a hand to John. "I'll be seeing you at the Yule Ball?" he asked with such a miniscule display of hopefulness that, if John hadn't known Mycroft as well as he did, he might have missed it.

"Certainly! Sherlock's insistent on seeing a real pureblood gala, and somebody's got to make sure he doesn't murder someone." John said with a straight face, posture and poise befitting of a pureblood heir. The Malfoy's looked surprised.

"Indeed" Mycroft turned to Sherlock. "Behave yourself, brother." Lucius looked about ready to pass out at this. Sherlock saw what Mycroft was doing and decided to play along. He stuck a haughty nose in the air and scoffed.

"As if I ever act differently, brother." After a moment of silence, Mycroft warmly clasped Sherlock on the shoulder. "I'll see you at the Ball," Sherlock told him, face expressionless. Mycroft smiled gently, the walked away, his stunned parents behind him.

John turned to his parents. "I know you don't like the Malfoy's, but Mycroft is really nice. He helps me with my homework, and he offered to let me borrow his new broom next year if he doesn't make Seeker on his own team."

"I'd be shocked if they did," Sherlock muttered. "He looks like a skewered marshmallow when he flies." At which point, Arthur decided it was probably time to take the meeting back to the Burrow where they could talk over the meal Molly had made earlier that day. The twins entertained everybody by reenacting some of the school year's highlights (like when Lee Jordan transfigured Romilda Vane's hair piece into a spider, or when Professor Snape stepped in a puddle they "accidently" spilled that turned his shoes all pink and sparkly). Bill was talking with Percy about all the Goblin etiquette he had to learn for his new job at Gringotts. And Charlie was telling Ginny and John (and Sherlock who was pretending not to listen) about the baby dragon that had just hatched at the reserve he'd just started working at.

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

The meal was delicious, even Sherlock who'd been raised (the first time around) on the finest food money could buy could admit that. The large table in the old house lovingly dubbed "The Burrow" was laden down with piles of buttered rolls and potatoes, yams smothered in syrupy brown sugar and marshmallows, green bean casserole sprinkled with fried onions, turkey stuffed with savory filling, pies dolloped with whipped cream and jugs of homemade eggnog. The smell in the kitchen/dining room was heavenly. The Weasley men barely waited until everyone sat down to take up their forks and dive into the feast face first.

Molly scolded them for their rudeness, reminding them that they had guests present, but she looked far too pleased with their reaction to her food to be taken very seriously. Sherlock grabbed a piece of turkey from John's plate with his fingers. Then he spooned a small mouthful of John's yams into his mouth, experimentally tasting the sweetness. Molly noticed out of the corner of her eyes, and paused in her conversation with Bill, John's oldest brother.

"Harry, dear, you can have your own plate." She told him, frowning.

"Yes, thank you Mrs. Weasley," Sherlock said as he stole one of John's green beans. "You're a very capable cook, by the way." John gave a little snort under his breath as he took a big bite of a roll he'd stuffed with mashed potatoes and turkey. Charlie raised an eyebrow when he saw that John was yet to let go of Sherlock's hand, from where they were clasped together under the table.

"It's okay, mum" Fred piped in.

"Yeah, Sherlock—and he hate's being called Harry, just so you know—steals off of Ronnie's plate all the time." George told her around a mouthful of food.

"Well s'not really stealing is it?" Fred asked his twin. "Ron just lets him."

"But why?" Molly asked loading up the plate in front of Sherlock with large globs of food. "Just use your own plate! You're scarcely eating anything!"

Sherlock frowned deeply, his hand twitching under the table. Something about Molly made him want to back away, out of the house, and take John with him. He examined her and her old, worn clothing. There was something strangely determined about her gaze. Sherlock looked about her house and then at her clothes. Molly's outfit seemed to be a bit better patched than that of her husband's and daughter. She had on a (tarnished) necklace and bracelet set and (cheap) earrings she'd polished recently. She wore (low quality) make-up smudging her lips and powdering her face, clumping her eyelashes together. Her hair was neatly done and pinned up with (plastic) pins. She was dressed to impress, but trying to be subtle. Monther-henning and practically shoving food down his throat, treating him like an esteemed visiting dignitary rather than an eleven-year-old school mate of her son's. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, as did John's as he realized Sherlock was deducing his mother.

Molly was gold-digging. She was trying to garner the favor of the Boy-Who-Lived to raise her family out of her social pit they were in. She'd grown up the standard pureblood life, though perhaps a level below the Malfoy's and Longbottoms, but then married badly (though she probably loved her husband and children genuinely) and now lived in poverty. She was trying to use "Harry" to regain her old social standing. Under normal circumstances, Sherlock would say all of this out loud, humiliating her, then have absolutely nothing to do with her for the rest of both of their lives.

However, this was John's mother. Sherlock gave an internal sigh. He didn't like Molly, and he wouldn't cater to her whim, but neither would he purposefully antagonize her. Sherlock mentally debated with himself over whether or not to tell John that his mother is a leech while his mouth replied "I'm not very hungry. I don't get hungry. That's why I don't make myself a plate, it just wastes the food because I assure you, I'm not going to eat that. I'm not going to eat half of that. Consider yourself lucky I ate at all."

John frowned at him, wondering what it was he saw that made him so angry (not that anyone but John could tell how angry he was). Molly frowned as well, but Sherlock only sat closer to John, holding his hand tighter. "That's all right, Sherlock," John said, ever ready to play defender. "I'll starving." And he grabbed the plate from his mother and added the food on it to his own.

"Why aren't you hungry, young man?" asked Arthur. "It was a long train ride, did you stuff yourself with goodies from the trolley then?" Sherlock shook his head, taking in Arthur's appearance. Clean, but wearing wrinkled clothing with a long-tern stain on the inside of his left elbow. The position of said stain suggests a desk job. He wore no tie, inside preferring a thick scarf, made poorly. Probably by Ginny, John's little sister. His watch is muggle, beat-up, said "World's Best Dad" alongside. Gift from one of his two older sons? Hair uncombed, but lying flat. Altogether, Arthur seemed a more genuine person than his wife.

Sherlock made himself smile, though it wasn't as forced as it could have been. "No, sir. I've just never had more of a stomach, I suppose. I don't like eating. It uses up energy digesting food that could be better utilized elsewhere. That, and it's boring."

"Eating isn't boring!" claimed Fred, looking scandalized.

"Eating is magical!" chimed in George, mimicking his brother's face. Ginny gave a giggle at her brothers' antics, then stole a peek at Sherlock, before her whole face flushing strawberry red and looking down at her lap. Oh, Joy, Sherlock thought.

"Tell us about yourself," Bill cut in, diplomatically changing the topic away from food, thinking that they were making Sherlock uncomfortable. "Heard from Dad you grew up Muggle. What's that like, then?"

"And how'd you meet Ronald?" Charlie asked.

"Growing up Muggle is much the same as growing up magic," Sherlock said, suppressing an eye roll. "Save for exchanging magic with technology. Instead of learning to ride a broom, we learn to ride bikes. Instead of potions, we learn to cook. Instead of reading Beetle the Bard, we read Brother's Grimm before bed. Otherwise there isn't much difference. And I met John on the train to Hogwarts. He tripped, I helped him up and that was that."

"Did you trip over your bad leg?" Charlie asked casually, sipping his drink. Molly scowled at him for his insensitivity over his little brother's disability. But John only nodded.

"Yeah, it was my bad leg. But then Sherlock told me there wasn't actually anything wrong with it, it was all in my head, and I just had to believe that there was nothing wrong with it and it'd fix itself. And he was right!" John gave a grin, pretending like he hadn't just lied to his entire family. Sherlock grinned to himself, proud of his goldfish.

"And to think all these years those Healers have been saying it's because your magical core settled in wrong," Arthur scoffed. "You know, I don't feel like I shouldn't tell you anymore, but they all said you'd end up being a squib."

"Arthur!" Molly shrieked.

"Your Mum wanted to spare you knowing," Arthur continued regardless, and Sherlock's opinion of him rose a notch. "But I just want you to know, that if you do lose your magic, we wouldn't love you any less." John smiled at them, and Sherlock knew that he was amused. "They all told us that your magical core was twisted the wrong way, like a rived trying to flow uphill or some such nonsense. That's how they explained you not using as much accidental magic. They didn't believe me when I told them you just weren't a passionate child."

"My magic's fine, Dad," John said, hiding his smug tone from everyone but his best friend. "Thanks to Sherlock, I'm third in my class, after him and our friend Gremione. Well, third in Gryffindor. I'm pretty sure Draco Malfoy is tied with Sherlock" here Sherlock gave a disgusted grimace at being tied with his ex-brother. "And I think there are a couple Ravenclaws who're between them and Gremione."

"That's still really good," Percy spoke up, finally looking up from the letter he'd been writing at the table. "I remember my first year, I was so nervous, I barely made the top twenty. I'm sure if you try hard enough, you'll make top ten, easy."

"I'll make sure he does," Sherlock said determinedly, swiping another piece of Turkey from John.

"You say you like being called Sherlock?" Bill asked him. "That's an odd name, where'd you hear it?"

Without pause, Sherlock replied "It's a word John made up. And I liked it. I always hated my name, so when John mentioned it on the train ride over, I decided right then that I'd change my name." Looks of understanding flitted across the faces of everyone present (Except John who was trying not to grin). "I was going by the name William until I met John. But William is awfully boring, too. But John made up the name Sherlock, so I don't share my name with anyone but him."

Percy cooed at them, them while Bill looked like he wanted to do the same. Charlie burst into laughter, telling Sherlock he had his approval (for what, Sherlock didn't really know), and the twins nudged each other with unreadable looks. Arthur and Molly looked amused, and Ginny…for some reason, John's little sister looked a tad angry.

****1047*****

Sherlock was to stay with John in his room. The twins had just stopped by to bid them good night and to not "to anything we wouldn't do!" Which prompted John to then slam the door in their faces. Now, they lay together on John's lumpy mattress, ignoring the spare one Arthur had dragged up for Sherlock laying on the floor.

"Your mother wants my money," Sherlock said by way of beginning conversation.

John winced. "I don't want to know how you know." He said sternly.

"Okay."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know that's why she agreed to let you come."

"It's fine. I wanted to come, I don't care why I was invited. Besides, what's mine is yours. If you want to buy something for your mother, it's completely in your right." John shook his head.

"I'm not going to use your—" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Our money on her. We get by fine. Better now than before since Bill and Charlie are earning their own keep, and they don't have to worry about my doctor's bills."

"From now on, I'm paying your tuition and school supplies. And robes. And I'm considering giving you an allowance."

"Gee…"

"How's ten galleons a week sound? Fair?"

"Sherlock, you're ridiculous."

"Fine, fifteen. But that's my final offer. There's no need to be so greedy, John."

John laughed aloud at his friend, who wore a pleased grin. "Fine, that's fair. I suppose I deserve it for putting up with you."

"Did you just insinuate that I'm essentially paying you to be my friend?"

"It's hazard pay."

"Fair enough" Conversation dissolved into giggles.

****1047*****

"…Now, Ronnie, I want you and Ha—Sherlock to stay with Percy. Fred, George, Here's your money and stay out of Nocturn Alley. Bill, keep an eye out for Percy and the little ones, will you? No, no need to follow them, just make sure you can see them at all times. Yes, Ginny, you can stay with Charlie…" Sherlock was barely listening to Mrs. Weasley as he held onto John's hand tightly, eyes wide as he observed the people around him.

Having an affair with boss's wife…feeling guilty

Pregnant, doesn't realize it yet. Will secretly abort when she does.

In love with her best friend, doesn't realize it yet

"Sherlock…"

Lower level ministry worker, dissatisfied with station, plotting minister's assassination. Will fail. Dismally.

On a diet…failing by the looks of that ice cream cone.

Hates children, babysits for a living

Just stole a book to sell for money. Very poor, four children and a cat.

"…Time to go to Gringotts!" John was shouting in his ear. Sherlock turned to look at him. Half the Weasley's had already gone their separate ways. The ones remaining were looking at him with undisguised worry.

"Let's go then," Sherlock said impatiently, as if he'd been the one trying to get John's attention for the past five minutes. John huffed and playfully shoved Sherlock's shoulder. Percy gave a little nod and began to lead the way. "Gringotts first, then let's go to the book store."

"Just a moment, dears," Molly interrupted quickly, before they could walk away. "Would you like me to come along with you? Those goblins can be awfully scary!" she said with fake concern on her face. John's eyebrows furrowed and he frowned at her, but Molly's full attention was on Sherlock.

"I like them" Sherlock said simply before turning around and leaving Molly behind. "Come John"

****1047****

By the end of the day, the Weasley's and Sherlock alike were laden down with packages that were hurriedly squirreled away in their rooms while Molly fixed a quick dinner from yesterday's leftovers. John and Sherlock had bought a present each for pretty much every first year, all of John's family, all of the teachers (though they'd only bothered grabbing a ugly pair of socks for Dumbledore, not wanting to waste much money on him), and their older acquaintances like Oliver Wood and Cedric Diggory. Though, most of the presents for the first years they didn't really know were just little bags of assorted candy.

"Do you think they'll like them?" John asked as he used his wand to wrap up his half of the gifts. "Pulchra ligabis" he muttered the spell Sherlock had taught him moments ago (though why Sherlock knew a spell for wrapping gifts, John didn't know). He watched as the paper perfectly folded itself around the box he was aiming at, and tape and ribbon fly into their proper places.

"What does it matter?" Sherlock asked as he wrapped eight at once. "Giving presents like this is purely a political thing, and the Slytherins will even recognize it as such. I'm rich, and I'm trying to give off the feeling like I enjoy most people's company in order to rise in this world's social class so that by the time I'm an adult so many people will hold me in such great esteem that they'll look the other way whenever I preform magic in front of Muggles."

John sighed at his friend's explanation, but nevertheless glad that Sherlock was telling him at all. "Why didn't you go into Slytherin?"

"Because I wanted to go into Gryffindor with you" John let the present he was working on fall to the bed so that he could tackle his friend in a hug.

"Such sentiment," John teased.

"Shut up" mutter Sherlock as he tried to shove John away. "Anyway, it's fairly obvious that, even though it's high quality candy, we didn't put much thought into it."

"Except for the Dieting for Obese Beginners how-to book you're giving Mycroft," John laughed as that particular present caught his eye. It was actually a lockable warded box that was made to look like a book (Sherlock designed the cover himself, he had a great deal of fun with it, too). It had a rather complex expansion charm on it, so there was no limit to the amount of things he could put in it. There were also charms on it that kept it at the exact weight a book of its size should be, and to keep whatever was in it fresh and neat. Sherlock had filled it with celery sticks.

"I just wish I could see he face when he opens it," Sherlock said, looking pleased as he wrapped the platinum cauldron and potion's set he'd bought for Snape, and the cat-shaped flowering plant he'd bought McGonagall. "I wonder what he got me" he mused as he added the two rather large parcels to the growing pile in the corner.

****1047****

I was going to add in a confrontation with Molly Hooper, but I've decided to put it off for one of the later books. I just couldn't find a way to fit it in smoothly. But don't worry, we'll be seeing her eventually xD