I'd like to clear something up. When I say "Sherlock needs a proxy to stand in for him while he's in school" I don't mean literally at school, I mean while he's school-aged. So therefore Severus would still be a viable choice. Furthermore, I think that even if he had to leave during a lesson, they'd be able to find a sub pretty easily. After all, that position isn't cursed like the DADA's. I apologize for any confusion I might have caused.

Thank you all so much for your input, particularly to those of you who were very thorough in explaining why you thought what you did. That, more than anything, really helped to get my creative juices flowing. And while I hate just stealing an idea point for point (even one handed to me), I will still use element from them. And even if I don't, your ideas often get me thinking in different ways than I would have otherwise. I think I've got a solid idea for the proxy issue. Also, I'd like to apologize to those of you who have a deep love and understanding for politics. I have no experience in it and a lot of it is probs going to be b*** sh**. So, I welcome any and all insight into how YOU think the wizarding government should work. Also, while I'm at it, thank you for pointing out that it was the "Wizengamot" not Wizemgot. I'm really bad at remembering terms like that. A special thanks for Eliana34, who suggested Grandmother Longbottom.

However, I would also like to point out that my understanding of the Spanish language is very limited, though I can get by. And my French language skills are limited to very simple words. I am far better at English. Or Latin if you're feeling adventurous.

In other words, je suis désolé si je comprends mal vos commentaires, et si vous souhaitez empêcher que cela se produise, votre meilleur pari est de publier en anglais. Merci.

Mycroft walked down the length of the hallway towards the door of his father's office, wondering why he was summoned. He and Sherlock had been "playing with rocks" in the back gardens, which of course meant he and Sherlock were trying to test the limits of the Philosopher's Stone. So far, they had been successful in turning water into elixir (by accident, Sherlock had thrown it across the room in irritation, and it landed landed in a vase. The water had turned silver and the lilies that had been sitting in it were yet to begin wilting. Apparently, you have to strike it with great force in a vessel of water.) They were able to turn lead, copper, silver, pyrite, quartz and table salt into gold, as well as various non-minerals such as small plants, pants and Mycroft's (previously) wooden writing desk.

His father had found them throwing dirt clods at each other—Sherlock started it—and while he had looked oddly amused, perhaps he had called Mycroft here to reprimand him for inappropriate behavior? Mycroft was uncertain of his father's stance on such activities, as Mycroft had never indulged in them previous to being reunited with his baby brother.

In any event, Mycroft had left his brother in their shared sitting room staring into that mirror he'd brought with him (Mycroft saw himself as the puppeteer of a future world dictator, though in the background Sherlock was talking with John and Greg, all of them looking safe and healthy. He knocked quietly on his father's study, and upon hearing his father's soft "Come in, son", he opened the door.

His mother was sitting on the edge of his father's wide, intimidating desk. Lucius was sitting in his high backed chair. Neither of them looked particuarily upset, in fact Mother was smiling. And so when asked to, he sat down readily. "Draco, I feel that it's time to share something with you. I must admit that I disprove of telling you so early, but your mother insisted." Mycroft ran through the possibilities in his head, obviously this was a change, a big one. Was he changing schools? Was mother pregnant? Did this have something to do with Voldemort?

"You're not sending me to Durmstrang?" Draco asked hesitantly. "Or Beauxbatons?"

Lucius chuckled a bit. "No, Draco. Don't worry. As much as I detest Dumbledore, I'm not pulling you out of Hogwarts."

"Then what is it?"

"We've secured a marriage contract for you!" his mother smiled grandly, as though she expected her son to start leaping for joy.

"What?" he asked "Who?" Please not Pansy, please not Pansy, please not Pansy, please not Pansy, please not Pansy…

"Why Mr. Potter, of course," Lucius smiled genially. "We noticed how fond you are of him. I think you'll be pleased to know that Dumbledore approves as well, being Sherlock's magical guardian. If Sherlock is returned to Hogwarts next semester happy and safe, Dumbledore agreed to sign the contract."

Mycroft could say nothing, but his brain was going a thousand miles an hour. "We won't be able to produce any heirs." He said quickly, feeling ill at the thought of it.

"Nonsense," Lucius brushed away concerns. "Potter tested positive as a bearer."

Mycroft's first thought was that he felt sorry for John when Sherlock got pregnant. Then he remembered that his father expected him to marry…oh Great Merlin he was going to be sick. Safe and happy? What if he broke Sherlock's arm? No, no drastic enough. Better crush both his legs, but make it look like his father could have done it while it could still have been an accident. So…falling stone gargoyle? No, too unpredictable, he may seriously injure his brother's head, which would be unforgivable.

"A-and Dumbledore agreed?" Draco said, not even caring how shaky his voice was.

"Draco, darling," Narcissa was frowning now. "We thought you'd be pleased. You're obviously very fond of him."

He's my baby brother! Mycroft wanted to scream. But he decided to go the immature route "I don't want to get married!"

Lucius chuckled. "You'll change your mind soon enough. For now, just think about it. A contract can always be nullified down the line if you meet someone else who you find preferable. But I think, in the long run, you'll quite warm up to the idea."

"Yes, Father," Mycroft said, feeling a tad relieved that it wasn't set in stone, as he had originally feared.

"Good, now, run along," Lucius told him fondly. "I'm sure your bride-to-be is waiting for you." Mycroft nodded once, forcing himself not to react to the gentle tease. He stood stiffly and exited the room. As soon as the door was closed, he broke into a run down the hall and up the stairs to Sherlock's room. He threw open the door, then slammed it shut.

"Sherlock!"

"I'm right here, moron," Mycroft turned slightly to see Sherlock reading a book on the window seat. "What is it?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him. "Your father did something."

"He engaged me to you," he chocked out. "He's delusioned himself into thinking I fancy you. It's to be official at the end of the summer. Dumbledore has apparently already given his approval."

"Approval? Dumbledore? Wait…engaged? No." Disbelief was written all over Sherlock's face. "Engaged? Us? You? Marry?" Now disgust and barely restrained need to vomit was written all over Sherlock's face. "Mycroft…" Sherlock's voice sounded weak. "How…why…Dumbledore shouldn't have that sort of power over me? Where does he get this authority, he's just our headmaster."

"He's your magical guardian, Sherlock. Old laws prevent Muggles from having power over any wizard. All Muggleborns and otherwise muggle-raised children are automatically given over as wards to the headmaster of their chosen school. It's one of the main reason Durmstrang won't accept mudbloods."

"Did…did your father say anything else about our…" Sherlock gagged and ran out of them room, pale faced. Mycroft slowly followed him, not feeling too great himself.

"Apparently, he somehow had it verified that you're a bearer."

"A what?" Sherlock gasped.

"You're expected to one day bear my children, Sherlock."

Sherlock lost the fight and emptied his stomach all over the floor of Draco's bathroom. "No, gods above…"

"It's only if Dumbledore think's you're happy and healthy—"

"Mycroft!" Sherlock suddenly cried "hurry. Break my arm!"

"It's not set in stone," Mycroft said, but started reaching for his wand anyway. "We can go along with it, then break it off when we're older."

"No," Sherlock said, stumbling to the sink to rinse out his mouth. "John. I need to talk to my John."

"Or think of a way to cause you bodily harm, while making it look like an accident that my father could be a possible, but not necessarily probable, cause of."

"Why bother?! It wouldn't be the first time you've broken my arm!"

"That wasn't my fault Sherlock! If you hadn't stolen that chicken—"

"They were going to cut off its head!"

"You tried to do the same!"

"It was all your fault that it—"

"I had nothing to do with how it—" Mycroft stopped mid rant and sighed. "The issue remains, brother mine. I'd much rather see you wed to the good doctor. Nearly as much as you yourself. We'll see the others Saturday. It would be a good time to stage an accident, or we could consult your John and come to a logical arrangement."

"I don't want to wait. I want to murder your father. And Dumbledore."

"Please leave my father alone. He's an idiot, but he meant well."

"Fine. But you have to help me exact vengeance on the Headmaster."

****1047*****

Ever since Father died, Cadmus had been obsessed with the idea of crossing over to the world of death. Not to say he was suicidal. He loved his life. He had a lot of friends, he loved his mother, he adored his big brother and he was horrible protective of his little brother. But the idea of being able to cross over temporarily was never far from him mind.

When his older brother had returned from where he trained to be a necromancer, Cadmus jumped on the opportunity. After Antioch, Cadmus—though a powerful mage in his own right—was simply overlooked because he wasn't quite as amazing as Antioch. But Cadmus didn't mind. He's explored his magic on his own, and it suited him fine. Especially since he could help raise his baby brother when his mother fell sick. Which was often.

Cadmus often ventured to the nearby witches' coven, who were well known for their massive library. He studied on his own, or with his brother. He learned to animate dead bodies, and have them do his bidding. Though they were mindless. Soulless. Cadmus ventured deeper, and stumbled upon the ancient writings of one Hupo de Fole. A famous necromancer who had allegedly achieved immortality through an anchor. An anchor which kept his soul tethered to earth, no matter what happened to his body.

Day and night, Cadmus studied runes, and created his own. He became obsessed with his project, often returning to the elder witch to ask questions. Then Antioch came back, bearing gifts and relics. Among them was a small rock, originally a drop of the Earth's own blood, cooled in the pure water of a winter's first snow. Claiming it for himself, Cadmus' looked upon his work with a new found vigor and excitement. Where he had been obsessed before, he was now nearly crazed with desire and curiosity.

Then his mother died. Both of his brothers wept bitterly, and eventually Antioch left, unable to stand the quiet house, forever robbed of Mother's kind voice. Ignotius was just a young thing, not even into his twentieth year. He found comfort in his childhood friend, Accalia. They were wed a mere month later. But Cadmus had no such comfort. His family was his everything, and now his brother Antioch was wandering and his baby brother Ignotius was wed.

And then Antioch died. Murdered for his power. Cadmus was numb as they traveled home, bearing Antioch's remains between himself and the sobbing Ignotius. When they got home, Ignotius howled and screamed, throwing things with his hands and with his magic. Cadmus on the other hand, simply sat in the bedroom in the old house that he used to share with his brothers. He turned the small rock, which had been a gift from his older brother, around and around in his hands.

He had never gotten to work, despite be sure that it should be completed and successful. But as he sat there, he wished sorely for his father and his wisdom; for his mother and her softness; for his brother and his love.

And then they were there. His father stood before him, smiling proudly. His mother sat beside him, intangible arms around him. His brother behind him, a hand on his shoulder. Cadmus leaped up and moved to embrace Antioch. But his arms passed through his brother's body, as though there was nothing there.

It was a small comfort though to see them and hear their voices. He shared his creation with Ignotius, who spent a long time talking to their three dead family members. But never asked again after that to see them. Ignotius walked about with an air of peace and contentment about him. But Cadmus's soul grew heavier and wearier every day.

With every passing day, his souls of his family seemed thinner, less their souls and more a flickering reflection of what he had lost. By the time Ignotius' fourth child was born, Cadmus barely left his room anymore.

He had a new task.

For threescore and fifteen days, Cadmus barely ate or slept. But, in the end, he had created what no other man had accomplished.

He opened a pathway to Hades. The distortion in reality rippled like a veil and shimmered like smoke. Cadmus laughed in glee as he contained the pathway in an arch made of elder wood and marble. Then he ran for his brother. Ignotius had looked in alarm at his brother's haggard appearance, but willingly followed his remaining brother to gaze upon his newest creation.

But upon seeing the Veil, Ignotius drew back in fear.

"It isn't natural, brother," he pleaded. "Let the dead rest that you may find your own!" But Cadmus wouldn't listen, as his little brother watched on in horror, he held his Stone tight in his hand as he entered the Veil, shaking off Ignotius' grip on his tunic. In the Veil, it was warm. Warm like a fireplace on a winter's eve. Comforting, though a bit overwhelming.

As before, he was able to summon his three familial spirits with his Stone. But now, he could touch them. He wrapped his arms around his father for the first time in decades. He kissed his mother's cheek, then he wept on his brother's shoulder. Antioch held him gently, and Cadmus thought "How perfect this would be if Ignotius came through."

So thinking, he tossed his anchor back through the Veil. But whatever he called to the remaining Peverell brother was lost as his soul flickered, and disappeared beyond the Veil.

*****1047*****

Sherlock stared at the mirror that he's set by his bed. He'd kept it well hidden, only letting even Mycroft see it for a few moments. But at night, when he couldn't sleep but was wary of wandering because of the many portraits in the halls, he gazed at it. He found that it changed frequently, and he wondered if it was that way for everybody.

Tonight, it showed he and John in 221b Baker Street. They were older, but not quite the age they were when they died. Perhaps early twenties. John was sitting on the couch, watching telly, laughing and talking to Sherlock's mirror image, who was beside mirror John toying with some rune stones.

Mentally, Sherlock knew that he needn't worry about his pending engagement, here Sherlock inwardly retched, with his older brother. There were laws set up today that prevented parents and guardians from forcing a marriage bond. Nowadays, it was more like a suggestion stating the parents' wishes. However, Lord Malfoy would obviously be very displeased if it didn't "work out", which would be unfortunate for Mycroft.

And while Sherlock may like vexing his brother for time to time, he didn't really want to cause a rift between the Malfoy heir and his father. Sherlock sighed, placing his hand on the mirror, he wished John were here to talk to. While most of his ideas were mainly simple and wrong, they still usually prompted the right idea to formulate in Sherlock's mind.

With a heavy sigh, Sherlock gave a push on the magic mirror he'd stolen, and the glass rippled before shimmering a transparent silver. Sherlock stepped through, and into the tidy little library/ storage room. There were bookshelves piled high with tomes dusty from disuse and yellowy-brown with age. There was even a good deal of ancient looking scrolls. In the middle of the space was a decorative wooden table, piled with boxes that Sherlock was yet to go through. Sentiment made him want to wait for John.

But all the sentiment in the world wasn't enough for Sherlock to stop rifling through the books. Aeldin had seen them through Sherlock's mind's eye, and had promptly ordered him to read several certain ones, saying they were of necromancy. However, Sherlock soon realized that approximately 87% of the books here were about the "art" of necromancy.

The majority of what was left after that, Sherlock found he liked the most. They were journals, familiar-feeling worn old journals and notebooks of someone once named "I.L.P". In the notebooks were written out processes of experiments and descriptions of rituals. There were diagrams of magical creatures Sherlock had never heard of like Cerastes, Thestrals, Amphisbaenas, and Nargles. But mostly, there were short passages telling about I.L.P.'s wife, Accalia and their many, many children. I.L.P. obviously doted on all of them, and adored his wife. He seemed to be a Lord of some sort, and a very wealthy man. There were also tales about his two brothers, older brothers, who he mourned as they died before him. The eldest was murdered, the second, suicide.

He enjoyed pouring over the small glimpses into this life, though Aeldin tried to tell him it was a waste of time. Sherlock felt otherwise, like the understanding of I.L.P was crucial for some reason.

He felt justified in this when he found a passage on the patronus charm. He felt a thrill of discovery: I.L.P. was the inventor of the spell. Granted it had changed over years, the common spoken incantation was expecto patronum. But the original was much longer. Was the incantation perfected over time? Or just shortened?

"I had heard from the old wise man who lived alone amongst the graves that pure innocence was all that could drive away the dark forms that haunted the forest at the edge of our kingdom. Criminals fell prey to them like bowtruckles before a goblin. But children, they found hard to consume. They delight in the dark parts of the soul, but if given the opportunity they will take it all.

Nearly a dozen men have fallen to these creatures. Their bodies are whole, tis true, but their mind's our gone. They have not the ravings of mad men, nor do they act as simpletons do, drooling on their chins. Rather, they are empty. And it frightens me. Lord Prince has asked me accompany him through the woods: he wishes to find a certain herb for a potion. I have told him he is a fool, but he persists and I cannot allow my good friend fall victim to the deamons that haunt the forbidding forest.

Innocence is what drives them away, and yet we are grown men. What innocence is there left in us? Where purity can be found in our souls. It is quite by chance that I found my answer, to my question and my problem. It was when my young daughter, Charis, ran into the room holding a doll she made wrapped in a rough cloth.

My children are my innocence, my love for them and my wife. I need much conjure a manifestation of the purest form of this, if it is possible is could act as a guard…"

Pages and pages were filled with record of I.L.P. trials and errors. Until a messily scrawled paragraph excitedly reported success accompanied by the words: "Clamabo fortisaspiciam. Expectabo patronus. Exmundabit (extoadsto)"

Sherlock wondered about the passage. Innocence, rather than love? Or is it implying that love is the most innocent thing we can feel? Put aside the journal, and, with one last look around, he exited the mirror.

Sitting down on his bed, he drew out his holly wand. "Clamabo fortisaspiciam" he muttered, thinking of the moment he saw John/Ron Weasley for the first time. "Clamabo fortisaspiciam" walking in with Mike Stamford at St. Bard's. Standing with his family at platform 9 ¾. "Expectable patronus." Of the moment John forgave him for faking his death. His wand tip glowed white, mist pouring from it. "Extoadsto" Of the first train ride Sherlock spend getting reacquainted with John Watson while learning everything there was about Ron Weasley.

Something white and four legged jumped out of his wand. Sherlock gave a shout of exhilaration, leaping from his bed. Then he paused, taking in the form of what was supposedly the "manifestation" of his "innocence".

"…..a hedgehog?"

****1047****

Saturday couldn't come fast enough for any of the first years involved, but none more so than John. Saturday morning he all but leaped out of bed with a manic energy he hadn't felt since he and Sherlock had gone down to retrieve the stone. He threw on a jumper and pants before running down the stairs, heading for the fireplace. A hand on the back of his collar stopped him when he was halfway across the living room.

"No you don't!" scolded Molly with a twinkle of mirth in her eyes. "You need to eat some breakfast first. Besides, Lady Longbottom isn't expecting you children until ten o'clock."

"Neville said he'd see us first thing."

"Neville isn't Lord of the Manor."

"yet"

"Sit."

Grudgingly, John trudged to sit down at the breakfast table, where Arthur was already eating a plate of runny eggs. "Cheer up, sport," his father said happily. "Once you're there, you'll have all day. Lady Longbottom owled us last night, saying that her house was open for visitors until bedtime. And I'm sure Sherlock will be just as reluctant to leave as you are."

John smiled a but ruefully, but then thanked his mother as she set a plate down before him. What seemed like ages later, John was finally allowed to take a pinch of Floo Powder and shout into the green flames "Longbottom Manor!" John stumbled a bit as he stepped out of the fire. Longbottom manor was just as beautiful as he remembered. The receiving room was wide open with gleaming windows and soft flowing curtains.

"John!" John flinched a little in surprise when a small body threw itself at him, knocking them both to the floor. But he wasn't irritated. He only did his best to squeeze the life out of Sherlock. "Finally, I've been waiting for hours."

"One hour, brother dear. Barely."

"Piss off, Mycroft."

"Geez, guys. It's been a week, stop acting like it's been a decade."

"Shut up, Greg."

"You made it!" That one was Neville as he walked in with a big grin. "We're just waiting for Dean and Theodore now. Everyone else is already outside. Mycroft and Sherlock brought a bunch of spare Comet 600s, so we're going to play a Quidditch game!"

"You're going to play?" John asked Sherlock, who was only just then decided to get up off of him. "Really?" Sherlock wrinkled his nose.

"I shall be a beater." He said loftily. "And only because it means I get to hit Mycroft with a stick."

"That's not actually…" Neville tried to say, but then Colin ran in.

"HI GUYS!" he shouted, slinging his arms around the duo. "WegotherereallyearlybecauseIwasexcitedbutthenweweretiredbecauseitwasonlyfourinthemornignandIcouldn'tsleeplastnightbecauseIwassoexcitedandImissedyouguyssomuchit'sbeenprettylonelyathomejustmeandDenisbutI'msogladtoseeyouyou'remybestestfriendseverandI'msoluckyandI'mhappyyou'reherenowandIcan'twaittoplayQuiddtichI'mgoingtoplaykeeperforSherlock'steamandI'veneverplayedbeforesoI'mscaredbecauseI'llcrackmyfaceopenonthegrassisitpossibletobreakyourfaceonthegrassHeydidyouknowthatthesnitchissemisentientandthere'spieinthekitcens and I HAD COFFEE!" Colin broke into a giggling fit and ran back out of the room.

"I didn't know he'd react so strongly…" Neville seemed a bit uncomfortable. "but he said he didn't really like tea that much so…"

"He's been here since four?" John asked.

"Snitches are sentient?" asked Greg, interestedly.

"Wait, why'd he get coffee?" Sherlock pouted.

*****1047*****

John was somewhat surprised when Mycroft cornered him and Sherlock as they were getting ready for the mock Quidditch game, but when he looked at his friend, Sherlock seemed only resigned and sort of ill. "Have you spoken to him, brother?"

"Not yet," Sherlock sighed. "John," Sherlock looked him in the eyes, taking him by the elbows. "They want us to get married."

"Now?" John asked dumbly, wondering where the heck this came up and why now.

"In a way," Mycroft answered. "My father has drawn up a marriage contract."

John was even more confused. Why would Lucius Malfoy be involved in a marriage contract between him and Sherl—oh…."wait…" he said slowly. "They want you two…"

"yes"

"marriage"

"yes"

"now?"

"…the end of the summer, anyway."

John was quiet for a moment. "Is that legal? I mean, how can he make a contract for Sherlock. I mean, I can't see Lord Malfoy stooping to talking to the Dursleys about it."

"Not the Dursley's," Sherlock said wearily. "Dumbledore. He's my magical guardian acting in loco parentis. He probably things that by marrying me to Mycroft he'd gain the allegiance and wealth of the Malfoys. Which is stupid because in order for that to happen he'd have to have mine in the first place and forcing me to do things against my will is not a good way to go about gaining said allegiance!" Sherlock was close to having smoke billowing out of his ears.

John felt a strange sort of sick sitting in the bottom of his chest. "It's too bad you aren't still blood brothers," John said weakly. "then this whole thing would be illegal."

Mycroft and Sherlock were quiet for a moment. John watched as their eyes simultaneously grew larger, their eyebrows rising up into their foreheads. Under normal circumstances, it'd be funny.

"Well," said Mycroft. "It's a good thing father offered to let us stay the night."

"You're a genius!" Sherlock crowed, leaping forward to place a smacking kiss to John's cheek. "Come, the others are waiting." Sherlock said, looking happier than he had all morning as he drug John and Mycroft by the hands over to the Quidditch pitch. Mycroft was looking rather content as well, but John was just trying to figure out what the heck just happened.

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

I'd like to take this moment to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY K505. You're one of my fav readers, and you've given me a lot of food for thought with your messages and reviews. I hope you have a wonderful birthday, and that you like today's update! Sorry it's a bit shorter than normal, but I wanted to get something up today for you. XDXDXD

*hugs and kisses*