: I'm sorry, my update schedule is like, uber random. But I'm glad you like my story! You could always favorite it, you know, then you'd get an alert when I update it ;)
Guest: OMG YOU ARE SO CLOSE! No, Collin is not a reincarnation of Mary, because Mary is not dead. There's another hint for you!
Thank you so much for your reviews and support. And, for those of you in America, Happy Thanksgiving. I'm so thankful for all of you lovely reviewers! I hope you all have a wonderful week!
***1047****
Mr. Malfoy eyed his son curiously as they walked towards the apparition point in Kings Cross. "I hope you realize that you've befriended a blood traitor, Draco. I confess myself, disappointed. I'd thought you more rational than that." Draco was silent for a moment before answering as Narcissa glared at her husband above their son's head. They'd never agreed on raising Draco to be a "blood purist". Narcissa thought it a much more Slytherin technique to befriend all, then exploit them. Much more profitable as well.
"I know how you feel about Arthur Weasley, Father, however Ronald Weasley I find to be a fine wizard. He holds to old wizarding customs like none of the rest of his family does. Furthermore, he's nearly on par with me in class. He's very powerful, and is already showing a great hold of influence over the rest of our year. Aside from that, he's a connection to Harry Potter, who would clearly be a great asset to our family. And on top of it all, I find the both of them to be great company. Potter holds the same attitude towards muggles that I do. And Ronald doesn't think much better of them. Potter calls them 'goldfish'. Apparently, the muggles Dumbledore is forcing him to live with don't treat him very well. I was shocked when I found out, but Ronald told me in private that you can see his ribs through his skin. They've been starving him, father. The filthy muggles have been starving him!" Draco didn't have to fake the anger he felt. Normally, he held all stupid people—be they muggle or wizard—with the same distain. But the muggles that harmed his beloved baby brother held a special place in Mycroft's ire.
Narcissa seemed to be nearly as appalled. "The poor dear. No wonder he was so looking forward to the Longbottom Yule Ball. He's probably never been to anything like it."
"They don't even celebrate his birthday," Draco said looking forlorn. "They hate him, just because he's a wizard. I never doubted that muggles were beneath us, but I had no idea they still hated us so much until I met Potter." Narcissa patted her son on the shoulder.
"I hate to say it," said Narcissa after they'd apparated into their home and their house elves had collected their traveling robes and Draco's things. "But I'm glad that poor little boy is staying with the Weasley's over break. We'll have to see if he can stay over here come the summer holidays. I can't in good conscience allow a wizarding child to stay with muggles. Especially ones who treat him so poorly."
"Neville said that his Gran wanted the same," said Draco. Lucius frowned at his son.
"Why have you gone about befriending all the Gryffindor children. Surely there are proper wizarding children in Slytherin."
"Crabbe and Goyle are useless," Draco sniffed. "But Blaise is my best friend. And Theo isn't too bad either. But he's always got his nose buried in his books. I suppose Daphne is okay, but she's so prissy she never does anything because she's afraid it'll muss up her hair. There's a half-blood in Gryffindor, Granger—you know, like the potion master—she's rather good at Quidditch. For a girl. Ronald's amazing though, you should see him fly!"
"I'm just glad you're making friends," said Narcissa, giving her husband a warning glare. Lucius rolled his eyes at her. "Now, run along. We'll have dinner in a moment, better go wash up." Obediently, Draco left the room, leaving the two elder Malfoy's alone.
"I don't like how he's fraternizing with the enemy!" Lucius said under his breath. "It's out of concern for him, Cissa! Not out of malice on my part, no matter how much I despise the Weasleys! The mark has been reacting every time I visit Hogwarts. And just the other day it darkened for the barest moment. The Dark Lord is returning! What happens to Draco then? When his friends are all on the Light side?"
"From the sound of it, Lucius," replied his wife, as calmly as ever. "I'd say our son has a good chance of recruiting them. They obviously don't think highly of muggles, because of their treatment of Harry Potter. And from Draco's letters, I'd say they don't think very highly of Dumbledore either. After all, they somehow know it was the old fool who left Potter there. Besides, they're only children. Let them be children while they are, and let them be soldiers once they are done."
****1047****
John admired his reflection in the mirror. Sherlock had bought him new robes while they were out Christmas shopping, just for the Yule Ball. They were a soft cream color, that made him look (according to his mother) angelic. Only John and Sherlock knew that it was the same color as his favorite jumper he'd left behind in his old life. It was very soft to touch and felt very light but warm. The embroidery was fancy and formed stylistic runes in golden thread. Percy had smiled when he'd seen them, and told John he was fairly certain they meant warmth and protection.
Sherlock came out of the bathroom, and John couldn't repress a smile of his own. Sherlock wore a black cloak that flared out dramatically whenever he took a step. His outer robes were black and well fitted, and his shirt was a fetching plum color. John walked up to him and straightened the silver chain that fastened his cloak.
"Ready?" asked a voice from the door. Arthur Weasley stood watching them fondly. John smiled at him and said that they were. "Good! Your friend just Floo Called. Wanted to make sure you were still coming! It's a pity that your mum doesn't want to go. Between you and me, I think she's embarrassed at the state of her dress robes," Arthur rolled his eyes. "Honestly, that woman. But, still. You boys have a fun time tonight, you hear! And just had Percy take you home if you get tired, alright Ronnie?"
Before John could answer, Sherlock spoke up. "Don't worry Mr. Weasley. I'll take care of him." Arthur chuckled a bit as he walked away. John just sighed as he took his friend's hand, the picked up both of their overnight bags. "Let's get going. We don't want to be late." The twins were already walking passed their room, engaged in lively conversation as John and Sherlock followed them down. The twin's dress robes were slightly worn, though of previously good quality.
"I'm telling you, if you don't ask him you'll never know! Honestly George, where's that old Gryffindor Courage?"
"I left it in the Gryffindor showers with my innocence."
"Just ask him to dance!"
"I don't know if he's gay!"
"Have you seen his collection of porn? Of COURSE HE'S GAY!"
"But is he gay for me is the question!"
"How could he not be? You're the spitting image of me."
"Who?" asked John.
"Lee Jordan, obviously," answered Sherlock.
Both twins froze. Fred looked amused while George looked mortified. "One day," said the blushing twin. "I will prove you are using illegal Legilimency. And when I do, you'll be very sorry."
"If it helps any," offered Sherlock. "He's taken to staring at your arse lately."
"Really?" George visibly perked up before twisting his neck trying to look at his own arse, as if trying to figure out what Lee found so enchanting. Fred was doing the same.
"Are you boys ready to—what are you two doing?" asked Percy as he stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up. "You know what? I don't want to know. Just hurry up, I want to get there early. Penelope wanted to talk beforehand."
"Talk with words or" Fred made a lewd gesture with his hands which had Percy gasping, his cheeks turning just as red as George's. "Why you!" Percy cried, throwing the nearest item (a knitting needle) at the more talkative twin. Fred only laughed as he led the way to the fireplace.
****1047*****
John wasn't pouting, certainly not. Sherlock could dance with whoever he wanted to, John thought as he watched his best friend waltz with Greg as the the girl laughed about something Sherlock was saying. Before Greg it had been some Ravenclaw girl named Cho. And before that the hot Hufflepuff prefect Diggory. And before that…well, you get the picture. On the bright side, George was snogging Lee in the corner, apparently haven found the guts to ask him to dance ten minutes into the party. Percy and his girlfriend were nowhere to be seen. Neville was the life of the party, chatting with various people, going from group to group playing host.
Even the adults who had come were, apparently, having a good time. The purebloods had congregated near the food, and were talking or dancing with each other. The rest of the adults were mingling with the kids, or trying to figure out the wizarding waltz, which was slightly different from the muggle one.
"Enjoying yourself?" drawled a voice. John turned to see Mycroft. "It's a pity you don't like to dance, it's a passion of Sherlock's. Always has been." John's eyebrows raised. He honestly hadn't known that. John was about to ask Mycroft why he thought he didn't like to dance, when he realized that Mycroft was looking at Greg and Sherlock just as sourly as John had been. Mycroft read the question off of John's face.
"At your wedding, you danced only with great reluctance. If I noticed, so did Sherlock."
"You weren't even there."
"Exactly" John rolled his eyes.
"It's not that I don't like dancing, it's just that Mary was horrible at it. She always trod on my feet. Though, thankfully, she didn't at the actually wedding reception."
Mycroft smirked. "Well, in that case," before John could stop him, he quickly made his way over to his brother and interrupted their dance. Mycrofts' "John wants a dance" was clearly heard across the ballroom. John's face flushed red. Sherlock dropped Greg's hands and after a few whispered words, he slowly came up to John.
"You don't like dancing," Sherlock said suspiciously.
"I don't like dancing with people who can't dance," John corrected him.
*****1047*****
The Hogwarts Professors had come, out of obligation obviously, to observe the party. Severus had disappeared early on, Minerva assumed he'd just gone back to the school. Pomona was dancing with Amos Diggory, and Sinestra was engaged in a 'friendly debate" with Sybil over stars and prophetic symbols. The occasional "ABSOLUTE RUBBISH" was heard screeched more than once from both parties.
Minerva only smiled and sipped egg nog as she watched her two favorite lion cubs dance together. The professors had a betting pool set up, on how long it would take for the two of them to "make it official". As of right now, they only called each other their best friend. Minerva had bet that they'd start 'going steady' in third year. Severus had bet fifth. Quirenus had bet that it'd be second year. Hagrid, bless his soul, had thought they already were boyfriends. Dumbledore had bet fourth.
"I'm so proud of Neville" Augusta interrupted Minerva's thoughts. Minerva smiled at her old friend. "He planned this whole thing you know." She nodded over at her grandson, who was talking to Harry and Ron, who had paused in dancing for the moment. Neville could be heard telling them "I'm not your House Elf" before going and getting drinks for all of them. "I was so afraid, sending him to Hogwarts, but he's really doing very well, I think."
"Oh, he's doing splendid," said Minerva, not mentioning that Neville hadn't been using his father's wand that Augusta had given Neville, but rather a new maidenhair wood wand with a phoenix feather core. "Not as well as Harry Potter, but close in some subjects."
Augusta puffed up with pride. "Just like his father. Frank mightn't have been the best, but he always tried his hardest." Minerva smiled, remembering. "Neville does him proud."
"That he does"
****1047****
Near the end of the party found the Gryffindor first years gathered in Neville's room, having procured permission from their various guardians (minus the Dursley's but who cares about them?) to stay the night. Blankets were rolled out on the floor and pillows were tossed around. Sherlock was using his, now famous, illusion magic to introduce his friends(?) to muggle fairytales. Unfortunately, or perhaps not, Sherlock had deleted most of the details of the various stories.
"...And then Cinderella's stepmother turned the pumpkin carriage into an oven, planning to devour the unsuspecting scullery maid. But, because of a deal Cinderella had made previously with a sea witch, she threw down a handful of beans which spontaneously sprouted into giant beanstalks, effectively breaking the oven. But her very long hair got tangled up in the branches, and so as the stalk grew, Cinderella went up into the sky with it. It grew so tall that it surpassed the clouds, and there up on the clouds was a very ugly duckling who wanted to play the trumpet, and so he and and Cinderella left together to find the Little Mermaid so that she would turn the ugly duckling into a real boy, and send Cinderella back to Kansas."
The pureblood children were listening and watching with wide eyes, while the children familiar with the tales were laughing too hard to correct him. Nearing midnight, a House Elf appeared before them with a tray of milk and cookies. "Lady Longbottom bes saying that the children must be eating their snack then go to sleep" squeaked the little thing, setting down the tray.
"Alright," said Neville amidst the disappointed sighs of his friends. "Thanks Twinky," the elf bowed the vanished with a crack. "And Sherlock was just getting to the good part, too. Does Cinderella ever find her Prince?"
"Eventually," replied Sherlock certainly. "After the prince is turned into a frog and gets his eyes clawed out by a beaver."
"A beaver?" asked John, confused.
"A beaver," nodded Sherlock. "But don't worry, Cinderella discovers she has magical tears, like a phoenix. So his eyes eventually grow back." Greg gave a little snort. "Neville," Sherlock called to the other boy, who was standing near the tray "I don't like cookies, get me an apple."
Neville sighed. "I'm not your House Elf," but he soon summoned an actual House Elf to get his friend a piece of fruit.
Seamus pulled a bottle of Butterbeer out of his pack. "I brought this, we could have it with our snack." Dean cheered as he lunged for it. "You know, Sherlock, I was wondering something. And I figured you could help me figure it out."
"What is it?"
"Why's it that Wizards can't do magic without their wands when they're thinking about it, but they can just do it when they're not. You know, like accidental magic."
"It's like the limp that my John used to have," Sherlock said. "It's because they've handicapped themselves, thinking that they have to use a wand. But a wand is just a bit like training wheels on a muggle bike. It gives you better control, but you'll never be able to do some of the more fun things with them on. The wand helps draw the magic out of you, but it's not as strong as pure magic straight from your core."
"Can you use wandless magic?" Greg asked Sherlock.
In response, Sherlock raised his hand, and his pillow went shooting across the room. "Neville, hand me my pillow."
"I'm not your House Elf" Neville said as he got up.
"I've been practicing doing my illusions, but detail is a bit harder, because without the wand blocking the excess magic, there's just too much of it. It's like trying to replicate the Mona Lisa with a broom as your paint brush."
"Replicate the what?" Lavender asked.
****1047****
Sherlock was having trouble falling asleep. He lay on the floor, like everyone else. Despite Longbottom Manor having many, many rooms, the children had all decided they wanted to stay together, and so they were sharing Neville's. And since Neville would feel bad if he were the only one using a bed, everyone was sleeping bundled up in nests of blankets and pillows on the floor. John had rolled on top of him, laying perpendicular across Sherlock's torso. It had been funny at first, and Dean, who was the only other one still awake, had giggled sleepily. But now it was rather uncomfortable, and Sherlock had a hard time sleeping at the best of times.
Sherlock sighed through his nose, escaping into his mind palace. He walked down the familiar hallways, until he reached the peeling door. He opened it, and was surprised to see what looked like a four-year-old boy sitting in the corner, wrapped in the blanket that Sherlock had conjured the last time he was in here. The only thing that gave away the fact that it wasn't human (besides that it was living in Sherlock's head) was the fact that it was still made out of the same black smoke.
"Who are you?" despite how young the voice sounded, it was undoubtedly intelligent. "Where am I?"
"My name is Sherlock…Potter," Sherlock said. "You're in my head."
"How?"
"I was hoping you could tell me"
The thing was quite. Sherlock manipulated the flow of his magic, and let it fill the room as he scooted closer to the boy and sat down next to it. "What's your name?" The thing was quite for a while, not saying anything, just reveling in the feeling of Sherlock's magic.
"I have none that I wish to use," the boy said after a moment.
"I understand the feeling. I was born in this life under the name Harry James Potter. All three of those names are entirely unacceptable. So I go by Sherlock." The small being smiled at this.
"I understand." Said the small boy.
"Still," said Sherlock. "It will be too boring to just call you "boy". What about Chernabog?"
"The bat god? No."
"Johan"
"No"
"Luther"
"No"
"Oliver?"
"Too common"
"An uncommon name, then? Aeldin. Relating to the Alder or Elder tree."
"Perhaps." Sherlock snorted. Aeldin it was then.
"Who are you?"
"I already said."
"No, you only said you had no name you wished to use. You haven't told me who you are. Were you once a man? Did you die? Or are you a part of me?"
"What do you think?"
"I think it's unlikely that you are a part of me, otherwise you wouldn't be feeding off of my magic this way. You are a parasite, whether or not you mean me harm. You must have come from somewhere else." The being, Aeldin, laughed.
"And what do you make of that, little detective?"
"You are Voldemort, aren't you?" The being didn't answer. "I don't hate you for killing Lily and James. Mad at you, slightly. But I didn't really know them, and they were soldier in a war. They knew they would possibly die. So long as you never harm my John, nor my brother or any of our mutual friends, I will never have a reason to raise my wand to you. In fact, with my own magic as my witness, I promise that I won't so long as you never harm one of them."
"How will I know them?" asked Aeldin, eventually. Sherlock concentrated, calling forth memories of John, the various children at Hogwarts he was fond of, and Draco. "That boy looks like a Malfoy."
"He is, but as annoying as he is, he is also my brother."
"How?"
"A secret for now."
"You won't be able to keep it from me for very long," said Aeldin. "I'm in your head."
"You're unable to leave this room for now, but I have a feeling you'll soon be reunited with another portion of yourself."
"What do you mean, boy?"
"I mean, I don't know what happened, but maybe when you died your soul shattered and instead of moving on, you're stuck here in this one life until all the piece are united. And while one piece is stuck in my head, another piece is stuck in the head of my DADA teacher."
*****1047*****
I'm sorry this is a little bit shorter than normal. I don't have much time today. I promise the next chapter will be a lot longer though! REVIEW!