YAY! Yes, most of you found Mrs. H. Right now, the fact that she is Mrs. H doesn't have much to do with the plot, as she doesn't actually actively remember. However, somewhere…deep inside…Neville is really confused as to why he wants to mother the two boys. But no one is even coming close as to who Collin is!

Oh, I'm just squealing inside. I can't wait until the chapter that reveals it. XD

Also, Moriarty WILL be in this story…just remember that I am going with a specific timeline, and Jim was still alive at the time of John and Sherlock's death, so he couldn't actually be Voldemort, as fun as that would be…maybe in another fic ;)

Cartlin: Hi! I just wanted to clarify that John and Sherlock did not die at the pool. They died during a different case (that I totally made up). I'm sorry that that wasn't clear. It was similar to the other case, but not quite. Btw, I'm actually really glad you brought up that point. I'm sorry you're dissatisfied with it, but that very detail will play a very major role later on in shaping Sherlock's character. The fact that Sherlock was so hung up on losing John that he didn't form any attachment to anyone from his new life was me painting a flaw on Sherlock's character. I hope you continue to read my story anyway. I appreciated your review!

Thank you all so much for your continued support, and I'm sorry about the infrequent updates, it's reaching the end of the semester, so my professors are really piling on the homework :/

May the gods be ever in your favor!

Severus Snape had no idea how it happened, but somehow he ended up coming to Longbottom Manor to help Minerva and Augusta "entertain" the brats that had stayed over, and a few select children who had returned to the luxurious manor that morning. His godson was sitting by the fire place playing a strange combination of Gobstones and a Muggle card came called "Pokeyman" with Granger, Weasley and Potter. Weasley and Potter were, as ever, practically sitting on top of each other while simultaneously trying to play the game and Granger was thoroughly sweeping the floor with her competition.

Longbottom kept playing House Elf, despite his weak protests that he was nothing of the sort, fetching things for people or ordering snacks. Currently he was trying to get Sherlock to eat something more than just the half piece of toast he'd had for breakfast. The two Gryffindors, Thomas and Finnigan, where working on their "explosive transifuguration", practicing on Christmas ornaments, which they'd then toss into the air and watch explode in a way reminiscent of fireworks. Zabini and Nott were were in an argument with Boot and the Ravenclaw Patil over certain species of sprite and whether they could or could not kill a wizard. A small group of Hufflepuffs including Bones (and several other children whose names he couldn't be arsed to remember) were gossiping with Brown and Gryffindor Patil in the corner. Creevy, meanwhile, was bouncing around the room taking numerous pictures. Every now and then he'd pause and beam over at Potter and Weasley. Potter would give a smile back, though it seemed almost patronizing, and Weasley would sort of grimace in a mock smile. But Creevy didn't seemed to mind, or maybe he didn't notice.

Overall, all four houses were represented. Not only that, but nearly every First year (except for the few Pureblood Slytherins and Muggle born children whose parents wouldn't allow them to come) was present, and not a single one had a single trace of malice anywhere to be seen, and Severus was adept at spotting such things. All in all, it was a merry gathering. And it left Severus baffled.

As far as Severus knew, even before Lord Voldemort sullied the name of Slytherin, there had been contempt and dislike between the Houses. The Slytherins were untrustworthy and manipulative, the Gryffindors were bullies and/or loud and crass, the Hufflepuffs were weak and much like the forgotten Middle-child of Hogwarts, and the Ravenclaws were Know-it-Alls who fancied themselves more capable than the others. The Houses were divided from each other, and even within themselves. All the Houses stayed to themselves, and the years with in the Houses stayed just as isolated. Only in Slytherin House did the years interact on a large scale, and even then, that was just for political gain.

But it had only been a few months and Potter had flipped the whole system on its head and Hogwarts was better for it. He was a natural leader, though he pretended that he wasn't. The children flocked to him and followed his lead, and yet he never led them to do anything more questionable than staying up late to practice different theories about their schoolwork. He'd made friends with several people in varying years and Houses, and prompted others to follow his example. For the first time in Hogwarts History, Houses weren't sticking exclusively to their own tables or sides of the classrooms. It was less so in the older years, but third year and down had classrooms mottled with patterns of colors, rather than an obvious divide straight through the middle of the room.

Dumbledore was worried about Potter's strange influence over the entire school. Best Severus could guess from the bits and pieces he's been told; Dumbledore was comparing Potter to another child prodigy he once knew. One who had held sway over the entire school with his charm. One who had the professors wrapped around his little finger. One who murdered his own father, then went on to become the most powerful Dark Lord in a century.

But Severus had no such fears. Sherlock was a good boy(…Man?), who's entire world revolved around Weasley and blowing things up. They would only have to worry about Potter becoming a Dark Lord if "John" was either killed or suddenly converted to the "dark side". Furthermore, Severus had done his research on "Sherlock Holmes" and "John Watson". He was impressed. The man was obviously a genius, and while he could have used it for his own game, he instead became something akin to an Auror…who wasn't paid at all. And while part of Severus wondered if he shouldn't tell Dumbledore about the two lions, but then again, his Oath bound his loyalty to Potter, not Albus. Also, there was his promise to the Little Weasley he had to take into consideration.

Severus watched the two boys with conflicting feelings in his chest, the two most prominent being exasperated fondness, and a twinge of envy, as he watched Sherlock glare at his "brother" (how that started, Severus wasn't even sure he wanted to know), snarl something out then wrap both arms around "John" and pull the tiny Weasley boy into his lap. John was only pretending to mind.

Severus would keep an eye on them, and his door would always be open to them…but…no, he wouldn't betray them to Albus.

****1047****

"…shows that you're less competent then my John, if you truly believe that Gnomes are harmless. I watched them swarm a deer and devour it like a bunch of Piranhas…" Mr. Weasley was listening to "Sherlock" scold the twins for teasing John for his slight fear of Gnomes. The two boys were truly adorable, especially with how they both carried themselves around like they fancied themselves already all grown up. But then most little boys their age thought themselves "big people" now that they were already in Hogwarts. Arthur sighed, content with how things had turned out.

Arthur Weasley had always been of the mind that everything will turn out how it's meant to be, and that there's no point worrying or being stressed over what is out of your control. However, that belief was put to the test with the birth of his smallest son, Ronald. He loves Ronald, he honestly does, with all of his everything so much that it aches. Same as with all his children. When the little boy was born, Arthur knew immediately that the sweet little bundle would have him wrapped around that tiny, wrinkled finger. Molly, exhausted as she was, comment in weary surprise about his hair, but Arthur thought his youngest son was the most gorgeous thing in the world (same as with the rest of his newborns). His eyes were the clearest shade of blue, and his hair was bright gold. He was smaller than his brothers, and his cheeks were strangely clear of when trademark Weasley freckles. Some of Arthur's buddies at work had offered to test Ronald, to make sure he was actually Arthur's. But Arthur had always refused them. He knew Ronald was his (though Molly actually had done after one of her friends had managed to somehow get it into her head that someone had raped and then Obliviated her. So Arthur was double sure that the little blonde tyke was truly his own).

At first, Ron was just like any other baby. But then, one night he started to cry. Arthur was woken up moments after his wife who was already on her way out of the room. It wasn't the normal crying that baby's used when they were hungry, or wet, or lonely. It was a strange cry Arthur had never heard before, and it shook him. For a terrifying moment, he'd thought someone had broken in and was in his baby's room. He grabbed his wand, his Gryffindor spirit making him practically fly down the stairs, bursting into Ron's room.

Though Molly was the only one there, holding Ron tightly, hushing him, whispering into his little ear. Arthur quickly strode over and kissed his son's tiny head. "What's the matter, sport? Daddy's here." But his son didn't stop crying like he usually did when Arthur spoke to him. Ron didn't smile at his parents, he just kept sobbing that heart breaking sound, fisting his little hands over his chest. Arthur, irrationally afraid that Ron would hurt his little hands like that, he taken the baby's hands in his own, kissing the tiny fingers while Molly was cooing and crooning to him. "I don't know what's wrong, Arthur," Molly said fretfully. "He's not wet, and I fed him right before bed…"

"Maybe he had a bad dream?" asked a little voice from behind them. Ten-year-old Billy was rubbing his eyes. "Percy cried like that when he had a bad dream. 'Member?" Arthur smiled at their oldest.

"Billy, you should be in bed," Arthur gently chided the boy.

"Ronnie woke up Charlie, and Charlie woke up me." Molly sighed and passed a still crying Ron to Arthur, saying she'd tuck them back in. Billy followed his mum, despite his weak protests that he was too old for good-night kisses. Arthur was left alone with Ron, who was yet to stop crying.

Arthur sat down cross legged on the floor next to the old crib that had once held all of Ron's brothers, Arthur himself, Arthur's father, and all the Weasleys back many generations. He leaned his back against the sturdy wood and rocked side to side, holding his precious burden. "Hey, hey" Arthur whispered. "What's wrong, Ron? I'm right here. It'll be okay. I've got you."

It took many hours for Ron to fall back asleep. And the next morning his was oddly quiet. Though he was prone to fits of the same sort of crying. Ron never tried to look around like other babies. He never tried to pull himself across the floor, or reach up and grab things. In fact, it took a very long time for him to take his first steps. He was already speaking somewhat by that point. Arthur remembered his littlest son's first steps. Little Ron had stood up almost like he wasn't even thinking about it, and slowly walked unsteadily to his father. Arthur, of course, noticed the limp right away, but had dismissed it at first as the typical unsteady gait of a child walking for the first time. He was simply relived Ron was finally walking. He scooped his baby boy up and twirled him around the garden, laughing like a maniac.

It was the first time Arthur can remember Ron laughing at all. He kissed the tiny face over and over again, telling Ron how proud he was of him. Then he ran, calling for his wife, cradling the blonde Weasley to his chest.

But then the limp never went away. Healers had speculated that an enemy of the family had broken in, meaning to kill Arthur and Molly, but ended up in the wrong room. When the baby started crying, the intruder might have been scared off, but had cursed the baby just before fleeing. Arthur was miserable. It made sense, in a way. Why Ron was so odd, so quiet, so still. Why he never had any magic. Molly was beside herself. Arthur blamed himself, he hadn't updated the wards on the house that year. There just wasn't the money.

When he got home, he'd thought Molly had taken all the children out to the park. Arthur went out to the back yard and started flinging spells and hexes, screaming in anger. Someone had hurt his baby, and Arthur hadn't been able to protect him.

"Daddy?" Arthur froze mid Bombarda. He turned in horror to see his precious boy sitting on the steps of the porch, clutching a stuffed owl that Billy had brought home from Hogsmeade for him. Arthur just stood there, panting, looking at his fragile little one. His precious Ronnie. He could have hit Ron…Arthur shuddered and hung his head, pulling at his already receding hair-line with trembling hands. Ron might be cursed to be a squib and it was Arthur's fault. "Was I bad?" asked the little voice of his four-year-old, cautiously.

"Oh, Ronnie," Arthur sobbed. "No…no never. My good boy…" He scooped up Ron and held him as tightly as he dared. The little boy held on as well, though undoubtedly confused. Ron was just a baby, Arthur suddenly realized with a breaking heart, he probably had no idea there was anything wrong with him. Then Arthur mentally recoiled in disgust at his own thought as he held Ron more loosely and looked down at him with love in his eyes. No, there wasn't anything wrong with Ronnie. Nothing. Who cares if he's a squib. Arthur would never disown Ron. Ron was his boy, and Arthur had little enough as it was; he wasn't about to let go of one of his very few treasures. He combed through Ron's strangely blond hair with tender fingers.

After that day, Arthur started taking more shifts. He worked odd jobs in the ministry on top of it, fixing things here and there. He sometimes bought muggle things and sold them to his friends (after playing with them a bit) to make a little extra money. Molly began to babysit the Lovegood girl more often, as well as the Diggory boy. Billy—Bill—loved his brothers more than anything. And so, when he graduated, he tried sending half his paycheck to his parents every month. When his parents refused, he compromised by buying his siblings "presents" of clothing and their favorite food.

Ron grew, but he stayed much the same; quiet, distant, sad. Arthur loved him all the more. He was busy a lot, because of trying to make ends meet (Though he never blamed his Ronnie for it), so he didn't get a lot of time to spend with his sons and daughter. But when he did, he always made sure he got a chance to just hold onto his youngest son for even just a few moments, before being dragged into a game by one of the twins, or asked to help with homework by Percy. Arthur was ashamed to say, but he often enjoyed the times when Molly had taken Ginny to one of her friend's houses, and the older boys were at Hogwarts, when it was just him and Ron. Arthur never really knew how to talk to his baby boy, but it wasn't for lack of trying. The typical "look at that pretty bug" never caught Ron's interest like Charlie. And "Wow, would you look at that flower" didn't interest him like it did Percy. "Don't eat that, it's poisonous" didn't apply to Ron like it did the twins, because Ron never ventured to try anything like that. Ron mostly just sat and looked at the world. Whenever his father pointed something out, Ron would look and nod solemnly, maybe ask a question. But there seemed to be always something on his mind.

Arthur never forgot the day that Ron was diagnosed with severe chronic depression. His precious boy had looked up at him, shoulders slumping and had forced out "I'm sorry", as if it wasn't all Arthur's fault. Arthur threw himself into (ontop of his many jobs) finding out if there was a curse that caused extreme, permanent, depression. It would explain so much (not everything but a lot of it). Arthur soon grew depressed himself, as most of the rituals he found caused death within five to ten years.

His son was seven.

Hoping that he was wrong, Ron was taken to many different healers. But they always said the same thing. Arthur and Molly were even investigated at one point for abusing their children (though Albus, thank Merlin, had stepped in and helped them out of that corner).

For a while, Ron seemed to be getting better. He started wearing a smile more, and began to run about. But then Arthur realized that he was running about (still with a limp) almost desperately. And then he realized that his smiles seemed panicked. Like he was afraid. Ron began to get even sicklier. He grew pale and stopped being able to eat properly. Everything just came back up. It wasn't until summer came, and Percy came back from his second year and broke down into sobs when he learned what Ron was going through.

It seems that in an attempt to help his favorite brother, Percy had cast a (slightly overpowered and off center) Cheering Charm while Ron was asleep, thinking that it would cure his brother's depression. Ron had forgiven him right away, and Percy had spent the rest of the summer spoiling him rotten (more so than usual, anyway) but it made Arthur wary. The depression that Ron was going through was obvious incredibly abnormal if being exposed to a Cheering Charm for that extended a period of time did nothing to improve his state, and made it worse.

It also made him incredibly angry at the St. Mungo Healers, as they hadn't picked up the fact that he was under the influence of the charm. The twins probably helped the most, much to Percy's disappointment. Their's was a happy-go-lucky nature, and a great talent for pranking. And, when they weren't being purposefully cruel, their pranks were often very funny.

Percy was often the target of these pranks, as the twins were yet to forgive him for that long school year that they watched their brother waste away, thoroughly convinced that Ron was dying (which he, in fact, had been). Percy felt so guilty he never complained. Little Ginny soon learned that her bigger brothers were helping her "little brother" (Ginny still called him that) get better, and so convinced the twins to prank her as well, to make Ron smile.

Ron seemed to be getting a little better every year, and he even managed a bit of accidental magic at one point. The Weasley's threw a party. And when Ron's Hogwart's letter came, Arthur had excused himself and hidden in the garage while he sobbed out gasping tears of relief.

Overall, Ron had a rather dramatic childhood.

But then, the day that Ron left for Hogwarts, Molly and Arthur were bombarded with Hogwarts owls, and dread began to creep back in. There was one from the twins and one from Percy. Nothing unusual there. But then there was one from Madam Pomfrey, which made Arthur's insides cold. One from Minerva which had Molly fretting. And one from Dumbledore, which they opened first.

It had said an infuriatingly little amount, just congratulating them on another lion in the family, and asking them if they could maybe consider having young Harry Potter over for the winter hols, as the boy had become friends with Ronald.

Minerva's had been substantially longer, along with giving the results of Ron's sorting, had said that the boy had managed to make a rather strange friendship with Harry Potter, and that the two were already as inseparable as the twins and that Lee Jordan (The three had met on their first train ride, as well). But not only that, but that Ron seemed to be good friends already with Neville Longbottom, and a Muggleborn named Hermione Granger.

And Draco Malfoy and a few other Slytherins.

Arthur had no idea what to make of it, but his confusion only tripled when he read Percy's.

Ron's limp was gone.

Over the course of the first semester, owls were traded by the Weasley's pretty much every day. Molly wrote a long letter every night to each of the boy that would arrive in the morning, always sending little snacks. The twins wrote about twice a week, and Percy was almost as dedicated in the communication as Molly. Arthur himself wrote about every other week, and usually only to either Percy or the twins. He was too worried he'd say something wrong to Ron, and maybe make it sound like he didn't approve of Ron making friends (which he did, wholeheartedly…it's just….Malfoy?!)

But every letter that came in there was always, always, something about "Sherlock" Potter.

"Sherlock and Ronnie are sharing a bed…is that weird?"

"Ronnie feeds Sherlock by hand…it's pretty cute…"

"Sherlock's a bloody genius!"

"Sherlock's a prodigy with illusion magic"

"Sherlock's good at explaining things, he's really helping Ron a lot."

"Sherlock asked Ron to Neville's Yule ball!"

"They're always holding hands"

"It's like they're married"

Arthur even got one from Pomona Sprout at one point, which he was confused about at first, but then he read it and the entire thing was Sprout going on about how talented Harry Potter was at Herbology, like he was one of Arthur's sons and not just the friend of one of his sons.

And soon the other teachers followed suite, including one very strange letter from Binns which was addressed to "Andy Weasel". Severus even wrote, saying that Arthur should be proud: Ron and Sherlock were very adept at the craft.

It baffled Arthur. Even Dumbledore acted like Sherlock was one of his! He was honored, certainly, to supposedly be thought to have some claim to the Boy-Who-Lived, but he'd never met the child!

Then Arthur met Sherlock, and he was no longer confused. Percy was right, the two boys act more like they're married than he and Molly do! Arthur had thought Sherlock refusing to eat anything but what was on Ron's plate was adorable. And then he's melted inside when he learned that Sherlock had "changed" his name so that he could "share it" with "John".

Though Arthur still wasn't sure why Sherlock called Ron "John". Perhaps it was some kind of joke. But, apparently, Sherlock did it all the time, as did most of their classmates. Occasionally in letters, a professor would slip and call Ron "John". Even the older Weasley boys would sometimes slip.

Arthur had peeked in on the boys that first night, and had to hold in a giggle when he saw Ron and Sherlock curled around each other like puppies, completely ignoring the spare bed. Molly had said that night that she gave them until the end of the year to become "official". Silently, Arthur disagreed, wondering why his wife didn't think they were "official" already.

Arthur might never figure out what curse had ailed Ron all those years. But, despite what Sherlock said, he'd never not believe that Sherlock had cured his precious child. Because of that (and because in approximately seven years Sherlock would probably be his son-in-law) Sherlock would always be a Weasley in Arthur's book.

****1047****

It had been many years since Sherlock had had a "Happy Christmas". His relatives always locked him up in the cupboard, or kicked him out into the snow for the day. So, for the last eleven years, he'd hated when that time of year would roll around.

But ever since John, he couldn't hate the day itself. It brought back warm memories of John making cookies. Of him annoying Mycroft by sending him cake (Mycroft would retaliate by sending him things like stuffed animals…which Sherlock would never admit to keeping). Of Mrs. Hudson making homemade eggnog (…which Sherlock would never admit—to John—of spiking). Even of Greg getting drunk and belting out 'God Rest ye Merry Gentlemen' off key.

Whenever Christmas rolled around, Sherlock would spend the day in his mind palace, reliving his past Christmases. He'd study John's ugly sweaters, or the way he'd decorate the house. He'd watch Mrs. Hudson make the eggnog more carefully, imagining he was helping her in the kitchen. Good God, he'd even watched his memories of Mycroft showing up uninvited and imagined his big brother teasing him for having become so maudlin.

But then he woke up early, Christmas morning. The house smelled like Turkey and cookies, and eggnog and cider. And John. Sherlock felt like his mind couldn't decide whether he was happy, or if he wanted to break down. So he decided to do neither, instead shoving John off the bed.

"AHH!" John cried out as he flailed, waking up suddenly. He hit the floor with a thud, and lay there for a moment. Sherlock wriggled to the edge of the bed and looked down at his best friend. "Happy Christmas, John." John was silent for a moment. But then he leapt up and started beating Sherlock with a pillow.

The laughter and banging noises soon drew the twins into the room, and an all-out war of Fred and Sherlock against George and John erupted. Within five minutes, Bill and Charlie had joined the fray, but not really on anyone's team. The door was cautiously opened to reveal Percy. "Mum says it's time for breakfast," he said quickly before running out of the room, as though afraid he'd be pulled into the fight.

It took another fifteen minutes for everyone to calm down and untangle themselves, and actually walk down the stairs to the dining room, where Molly, Arthur, Ginny and Percy were already seated and helping themselves to food.

****1047****

That night, John grinned at the sight of Sherlock passed out in a green Weasley sweater. It had originally had a large "H" on the front, but the twins had soon added an "S" in front of it with red magical paint, which they promised would never wash out. John lay next to his best friend, lazily flipping through his favorite present he'd received that year: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, by John Watson (compiled by Anthea Alfileria). Apparently, Mycroft's old secretary had retired her job soon after her boss' death, and become a children's author. One of the books she'd written was the one Sherlock had gifted him. Sherlock had sent a copy to everyone, but John's copy was special, in that it was leather bound and looked rather like a journal. John had given Greg a toy Auror's set, thinking it'd give his friend a laugh. And he'd send Mycroft various pictures of Sherlock (and other people in their group of friends so that his parents wouldn't think it was creepy) that he (and Colin—ugh) had collected throughout the year in a handmade photo album, figuring it'd be worth more to Mycroft than anything he could possibly buy. To Sherlock, he'd bought (using the money Sherlock had given him for "allowance", much to his chagrin) a set of wizarding folk songs and classical violin pieces. Mycroft had managed to buy (that is, hire a wizard to steal) Sherlock's old violin, which had miraculously survived the explosion, as he'd left it in Mrs. Hudson's flat at the time.

Sherlock had played carol after carol, despite the fact that the violin was just a bit too big for him. It sounded beautiful. Sherlock snored softly, next to him, his hands still curled around the neck of his violin and the frog of the bow. Smiling, John leaned in closely and gently pecked his friend's cheek, lingering for just a moment before sighing.

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock"

John rolled over and pulled the blankets up to his chin, not seeing the triumphant grin spreading over his best friend's face.