A/N; Prompt and notes at the end :)
It was a rare occasion on which I managed to convince Sherlock Holmes to leave London and accompany me on a small visit to the country. But in September of 1895, I had asked Holmes to join me on a small trip north to view Hadrian's Wall, a place that had always been of interest to me. I had not expected him to agree, but to my surprise and thanks to an interest he was at that time cultivating in ancient stoneworks, he did. I was very much looking forward to being away from London, even if it was for so short a time. We had been so busy since my friend's return from what all had believed to be his death that I felt we were both in need of a rest. Holmes, of course, felt differently, but was good enough to humor me, and as we fell into planning it, I believe he was looking forward to it as well.
We arrived at Kings Cross Station on the 1 of September and were at Platform 10 fully half-an-hour before our train was to arrive. With little to do until the arrival of our train, I was soon occupied in watching all the other travellers coming and going amidst the bustle of the train station. I confess I began daydreaming, both about where our fellow travelers in the station might be going and what Holmes and I should do once we arrived, when I turned to my friend, who looked most perturbed. "What is it?" I asked, wondering if he had perhaps seen something amiss.
"I do not know, Watson," Holmes said. "But tell me if you see anything unusual about the people in this station."
I began to pay closer attention to the people bustling by, and was about to say that I saw nothing out of the ordinary when something did catch my notice. "That child," I said, noticing a boy of about twelve pushing a trolley loaded with a steamer trunk. "Is that not an owl in a cage?" I asked in some disbelief. For there was, on top of the steamer trunk, a large brown owl in an even larger cage, seemingly perfectly at its ease.
"Precisely," Holmes said. "In the last five minutes, I have seen no fewer than three such owls pass by."
"Well, that is most unusual," I said. "What possible reason is there to carry an owl about in a cage?"
"None that I can think, Watson," Holmes said. "Save perhaps for a zookeeper, yet none of those who had an owl were over the age of seventeen."
I began to pay closer attention, and as I did I noticed several other strange things. "Holmes, that boy has - why, I believe it is a broom!" The long, thin wrapped parcel on the trolley could be nothing else, yet I could not imagine why a boy nearing adulthood would be traveling with a broom, much less one wrapped so carefully.
"Your observational skills are improving, Watson," Holmes said, his eyes glinting in approval. "You are quite right; they can not be anything but brooms, and there have been at least five of them as we have stood here watching."
Perhaps I had only noticed one of the five brooms, but I could certainly observe my friend's interest increase as we stood there watching. He was on the scent of a case, and I knew he would not let it go until he had determined what was unusual at Kings Cross Station that September morning.
"Come, boys, onto the platform," a harried-looking woman called to her sons, both of whom were pushing steamer trunks on trolleys and quickened their pace in response. Yet, as I watched, they all three suddenly left my sight somewhere between Platforms 9 and 10. "Holmes did you-?" I asked.
"Of course I did," Holmes said.
"But there was nowhere else for them to go but either Platform 9 or 10," I said in disbelief.
"Evidently, there was," Holmes said. "For we are at Platform 10 and they are not here, nor are they across the way at Platform 9."
"But they could not just disappear!" I cried.
"No," Holmes said. "That, my dear Watson, is impossible."
As I stared at the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10, I was very nearly knocked over by a haughty-looking woman hurrying her daughter along. "Excuse me!" I said, rather annoyed.
The woman barely glanced my way and I distinctly heard her call me a name that I presumed must be insulting. "Well, that was very rude," I said.
"Indeed," Holmes said, though he appeared more intrigued than anything else. "Did you hear what she called you, Watson?"
"Well, she-" I began, but I had not made out exactly what she had said.
"She called you a 'Muggle,'" Holmes said.
I had to confess that I had not heard this word before, though I was sure it was insulting and rude. I barely had time to notice that the woman's daughter was also pushing a trolley laden with a trunk and an owl before they, too, disappeared from my sight. Though I was soon distracted by the rapt expression on my friend's face; which meant he was surely on the scent of a case and that we would most likely miss our train unless I insisted he leave.
"Holmes, I am sure there is nothing wrong," I said.
Holmes did not answer me except to say, "And I am equally sure there is something going on here, Watson. I cannot rest until I find out what it is. People do not simply disappear between the platforms."
"No, especially since there is a solid wall between them," I said, looking at the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10. At the very least, there could not be many places these mysterious people could go. Though now that I was paying attention to our fellow travelers, I noticed that some of them did seem dressed very oddly. I was certain that the man who had just passed next to me was wearing a cloak in the most violent shade of purple, but when I turned to look, he too was gone.
A shiver went up my back, and for the first time I began to wonder if we had stumbled across something Holmes not only could not, but should not solve. Faced with the daunting prospect of having to force the world's foremost criminal investigator to stop investigating a mystery, I turned to Holmes, only to find him striding toward the barrier between the platforms. "Holmes!" I cried, following him.
I found my friend standing over two young men, the oldest of whom looked to be fourteen years of age and the younger perhaps eleven or twelve. Both were tall and thin with auburn hair, and looked similarly enough that I took them for brothers. Both were pushing trolleys laden with trunks, and the elder had yet another caged owl perched on top. "What do you want?" the younger asked, his expression hostile.
"I am Sherlock Holmes," my friend said. "Perhaps you have heard of me."
"No," the younger boy said. The older merely looked on as if amused by the scene.
"Well, I have noticed some very unusual things happening," my friend said. "For one, the large amount of owls that appear to be traveling by train today."
The older of the two boys merely raised his eyebrows as if surprised anyone had noticed his owl, which was currently preening itself as if enjoying the attention. "Second, it seems as if everyone approaching these two platforms has the most extraordinary ability to disappear into thin air," Holmes continued. "Though of course that is impossible."
"Of course it is," the older boy said, his eyes twinkling. "You have said so yourself."
"You should obliviate him," the younger boy said to his older brother, at least, that is what I think he said. I could not be sure.
"Oh, I don't think there is any need for that," the older boy said. "Mr. Holmes is no threat."
My friend bristled at this dismissal by a fourteen-year-old boy, but I saw the younger boy's hand reach for his pocket, and I touched Holmes's arm, afraid he might be reaching for a knife. "Holmes, perhap we should go," I said. "We will miss our train."
Holmes looked at his watch and saw that I was right. "I do not like loose ends," he said to me. He turned back to the two boys. "Might I trouble you for your name? I have some questions I would like answered when I return. Where shall I find you?"
"Oh, you won't find us, Mr. Holmes," the older boy said, sounding very sure of himself. "But I have no objection to introducing myself to you. My name is Albus Dumbledore."
He said this, I recall, as if it should mean something, though to Holmes and I it was merely a preposterous-sounding name. Before Holmes could say anything else, the younger Dumbledore was striding angrily toward the platform, followed soon after by Albus, who smiled at us as he left. I glanced at Holmes, and when I had turned back, Albus Dumbledore and his brother were gone.
I had long ago heard stories of the faerie realm, of places where the veil between our world and the other were thin, and I had never had reason to believe them until now. There was something here that I believed we should never understand; indeed, that we were not meant to, and was best left alone. "Come, Holmes," I said. "There are things we will simply never understand."
My friend watched the barrier between the platforms for a moment before our train whistle blew and he suddenly turned away. "Perhaps you are right, Watson," he said. "There is enough to occupy me in this world. I have no need to enter another."
Prompt: Crossover, from zanganito
A/N: A quick word on Harry Potter canon: Albus Dumbledore was born in 1881, which means he attended Hogwarts from 1892-1899. His brother Aberforth would have been starting Hogwarts in 1895.