Chapter 1

"'Scuse me missy, but where do you have your tomatoes?" A tiny elderly woman spoke with an underlying annoyance to the fifteen-year-old cashier.

"Aisle five, right by the canned food, Ma'am," The girl pushed her long black hair behind her ear and directed the woman—who failed to even thank her for her assistance –to the aisle five meters from where they stood.

Evalane despised this job, but "money is money, and money means booze" as Todd ever so eloquently put it. Only three more years of living under his rule until she could legally escape his claws, and she needed to have a financially stable ground to hold her weight. While most of her paycheck went to feed Todd and occasionally herself, she was able to secretly store away some of it for down the road.

"Hello Eva," Evalane turned to find a rather disheveled boy standing before her. His dark brown curls were going every which way, and he panted like an animal running from its predator. The shininess of his forehead suggested he had been running for so long that he broke a sweat, but Evalane tried her best not to point it out to her childhood friend.

"Hey Sherlock," her smile made him draw his shoulders back and lift his head to make eye contact with her, and his breath slowly regained its usual steadiness. "How's it going?"

"Like you don't know," Sherlock scoffed at her question, but he was unable to mask the fear in his sky blue eyes.

"Well judging by the fact that you came into a grocery store panting with a thin layer of sweat on your face, your hair looks like you had three people blow dry it at once, and you have looked over your shoulder at least three times since you've been in here, I would say those twats are bothering you again, and you were trying to make a run for it."

"Yes well, bet you can't tell me where I was!" Sherlock challenged his best friend's intellect, knowing full well that she could pass his test with ease.

"Oh please, your shoes are covered in mud and grass—not to mention the bottom part of your left plant leg –and you reek of river water. It's obvious that you were at that stupid creek again, the Henderson brothers saw you, and you got up so fast that you had a little trouble gaining your balance." Evalane ran the cash register for a small couple while making her assumptions, and though she was completely mentally indulged in Sherlock's past whereabouts, her physical capability of ringing of a one hundred and fifty pounds worth of groceries did not waver. The couple, naturally, were completely oblivious to the conversation, and they held their focus to the screen that was running up their list.

"Amazing," Sherlock began bagging some of the groceries and laughed at the accuracy of his friend's assertions.

"Simple deductions, my friend. Your total today is one hundred fifty three pounds." Evalane collected the money and turned to bag the produce, only to find Sherlock had finished. "Mate, you don't even work here." The couple continued on with their own private conversation, as though the two friends were nothing more than background music to their movie.

"I might as well, honestly," he handed the last bag to the husband, who barely made eye contact before quickly leaving the store with his wife. "I mean, I'm here almost as much as you are, and I have the entire store saved in my mind palace. I would probably be better at it than you anyway."

"Oh shut it," she playfully hit his shoulder, and Sherlock laughed at his friend's cheekiness. It truly was hard for him to believe that he had a friend at all, let alone someone as amazing as Evalane. After he lost Redbeard, he had become closed off and tried to distance himself from any and all forms of affection to avoid getting hurt again. He was only eight years old then. He met Evalane, however, and the two of them had been inseparable for almost seven years now. It was Evalane who helped him create his mind palace to begin with, just because he was fascinated with her photographic memory.

"Have you given the letter anymore thought?" Sherlock walked with Evalane on their way home after Evalane's shift had come to an end, and night had begun approaching as the sun dipped into the horizon.

"Somewhat," Evalane responded quietly.

"And?"

"I honestly can't get it out of my head, Sherlock. I mean, it's rather strange that Todd would keep anything flammable and not smoke it, let alone something that is directly addressed to me. At least, an Evalane Potter rather than Knaggs. The name Potter was so far back in my mind palace I almost passed out trying to find it! Plus, judging by the yellowing of the envelope and the overwhelming amount of dust on the drawer handle, he's kept it hidden for at least three to four years. It's just all too strange."

The Holmes' home had come into sight, and a small black car was sitting in the driveway. It was shiny and clean, and it looked out of place next the run down and cluttered cottage it was parked in front of.

"Oh what's Mycroft doing here?" Sherlock groaned miserably.

"Would you like me to come inside with you?" Evalane offered her friend. She knew how much Mycroft irritated the brilliant teenager, and she also knew how much SHE irritated Mycroft. Going inside would be a win-win: Mrs. Holmes made the best pies, and it was the perfect opportunity to humiliate the older Holmes brother.

"I won't bore you with my family's presence," Sherlock stepped inside the gate and began heading into the home. "Besides, I'm sure Todd is getting antsy that you're not there to pour an entire bottle of whiskey down his throat."

"Very true," Evalane laughed, trying to hide from her observant friend just how terrified she really was. "I'll let you know if I do more with the letter."

"Please do."

It was doomed to be another long night at the Knaggs household, if one could even call it a house. With most of Evalane's paycheck contributing to Todd's alcoholism, the rotting furniture and the faint stench of old bodily odors clogged the slowly crumbling house. Most evenings were spent in either a foggy daze or fists of uncontrollable anger, and most of the time, Evalane could barely dodge the blows. Tonight, of course, was no different.

"Hey. Hey. Hey bitch!" A half empty bottle of whiskey was swinging through the air as the sloppy drunk stumbled through the halls trying to find his ransom money gone wrong.

"What is it Todd?" Evalane stepped in front of her captor. She learned rather quickly to never approach a drunk man from behind because all it's get you is smacked in the face by either a hand or a bottle.

"Ineedmoney," His words slurred together, and his eyes rolled lazily without any destination. He stuck out his grimy hand, expecting his "paycheck" to fall into his palm without questioning.

"I don't get paid until tomorrow. I'll give it to you tomorrow, I…" Her cheek burned from his touch, and she had tears brimming in her eyes.

"Bloody useless," The drunkard stumbled over to the sofa, and he lost consciousness as soon as his head hit the pillow. Without hesitation, Evalane made her way down the concrete stairs and into the cold and dark basement. Todd was "kind" enough to give her a small space in the cellar to call her own, but it eventually became her dungeon. Her only comfort was a small straw bed in driest corner of the room and where the stench of rotting wood was the least pungent. Evalane pulled the envelope from underneath the bed and ran her fingers over the letters inscribed on the yellowed paper.

Miss E. Potter

Cellar

The Small House by the River

Outskirts of London

"Curious," Evalane whispered as she reviewed the overly accurate description of where to find her. Again with the name Potter. She had not heard that name in almost twelve years, but she remembered it as though it were yesterday. She turned over the envelope and studied the crest plastering the fold shut. With a shaking hand, Evalane tore open the envelope, pulled out the letter, and began to read the words that would forever change her life.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? Headmaster Albus Dumbledore; Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards…what the bloody hell is this?" Evalane contemplated on tossing the letter that felt more like a prank than anything legitimate, but it was what remained in the note that made her question her deduction.

"Dear Miss Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of all necessary books and equipment for first years. Term begins on September 1, 1989. We await your owl by no later than July 31, 1989. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall- Deputy Headmistress."

"This letter is almost five years old?" Evalane stared blankly at the mysterious words, and reread them three, four, five more times before she accepted that it was not forged.

"So what are you going to do then?" Sherlock asked her over the telephone later that night, when the sky was dark and her secret captor was blacked out somewhere in the house.

"I'm not sure," Evalane spoke softly into the phone. She had decided to withhold the fact that Hogwarts was a school of magic to avoid putting her friend in the line of fire for when Todd realized what she had done; she only mentioned that it was a boarding school for "gifted" students. "There's a ticket in here as well, along with the supply list."

"When was the train supposed to leave?"

"Nine o'clock in the morning on September 1 from King's Cross Station. This was also five years ago, Sherlock; I highly doubt the train would be leaving the exact same time on the exact day if I even wanted to get on it!"

"There's no harm in trying," Her friend suggested. "Look, tomorrow is the first of September, so I can go with you to King's Cross if you would like. I think any boarding school is better than staying with that drunk arse for another year."

"Thanks Sherlock," Evalane smiled at her friend's protective nature, though the "high-functioning sociopath" would never admit it of course. "But what about you? Will you be able to survive the school year without me?"

"It won't be easy, but I'll manage. Those other kids are probably too thick to comprehend anything we talk about anyway, so I'll just wait patiently for your return. You will be able to tell me all about your little school, and how much smarter we are than the lot of them."

Sherlock grinned at the sound of Evalane's muffled laughter through the phone. It broke his heart to imagine what his life will be like without her right by his side, but deep down, he knew the probability of her prospering at their pathetic high school was slim to none. Her intelligence was no match for his own or even Mycroft's, and he knew how much it would eat Mycroft alive to know that his little brother's "overly exultant perspicacious companion" had been accepted to a prestigious boarding school he had never even heard of.

The next morning, Evalane had managed to pack what few things she owned into the same gray backpack that she had used since the eighth grade. Holding the ticket in her pocket, she made an attempt to leave the dreadful home before being noticed by her captor.

"Where the fuck do you think you're goin'?" A slurred and harsh voice surrounded her as her fingertips barely grazed the doorknob. The hangover monster had awoken before she had the time to escape its clutches.

"To….school…" Her chest tightened as she looked into the swollen and bloodshot eyes. His breath reeked of liquor, and he smelled like three days had gone by without bathing. Her cheek burned when he raised his hand to her face.

"How many times do I have to tell you to not give me back talk, you selfish bitch?" Another slap to the face came, harder than the last, but she refused to allow the tears to fall. He did not deserve the satisfaction of seeing her cry at his hand. "I thought school did not start for another week."

"No, sir," Evalane said with a steadying voice. "It starts today."

"Whatever," the old drunk scoffed and took a swig from the flask in his back pocket. "Come home immediately after."

Evalane nodded her head, trying to hold back the excitement of knowing that would not be for another nine months. The taxi cab ride to the train station could not have been quicker, and she gave the driver the rest of the cash she was able to take from Todd's "secret" stash. King's Cross Station was much larger than Evalane had expected, much more crowded as well. People from every angle pushed and shoved the fifteen year old back and forth against the sea of people, shouting in every tone and language. The stench of body odor and smoke from the trains and cigarettes clogged her nostrils and burned her eyes.

"So which platform are you supposed to get on?" Sherlock asked, staring at the massive map of the station. Evalane felt the ticket in her pocket, the number 9 and ¾ illuminating her mind's eye. Sherlock would never take the number seriously, and at the same time, Evalane was beginning to worry for herself and the possible outcomes that could come from this decision.

"My ticket says Platform 9." Sherlock nodded and escorted his friend to the platform.

"The signs say the train isn't supposed to leave until 9:30, so we are a little early. Would you like me to wait with you?"

"No, it is okay," Evalane smiled, avoiding direct eye contact as subtly as possible. Sherlock's observational skills were improving at an alarming rate, so she wanted to be careful when hiding anything from him. "I'm sure Mycroft is growing impatient by now, so I won't hold you up too much longer."

The young teen averted his eyes from his only friend's face to the swelling crowd around them. "Of course. Well, I suppose I will see you next summer?"

"It will not be that long," Evalane pulled him close in a warm embrace, choking back tears she never expected to come. "I will do my best to come home for Christmas."

Sherlock said nothing but return the hug. He would never tell her how scared he was that she was not going to be with him; all he wanted to do was support her. Her adopted father had given her so much grief lately that she deserved to find her happiness, even if he was being left behind.