Harry sighed and drummed his fingers on the armrest of the chair that was usually reserved for Sherlock when he dealt with clients. He stared across the room at a smiley face crudely spray-painted on the wall. Harry was bored out of his mind and alone at Baker Street. Of course, he could go out and do something but he didn't really feel like trying to make friends that day. John and Sherlock were in bloody Baskerville about some hound that in all reality, Harry bet was just a hoax or something that'd be explained away rather easily.
As someone who was taught mostly by Sherlock Holmes, Harry would sometimes subconsciously mimic him. This included his unfortunate habit of boredom that would spring upon him like a tiger on its prey. Fortunately, that boredom was about to be alleviated by a knock at the door. Harry raised an eyebrow. It was a client going by the knocks. Lestrade and Mycroft always entered without knocking and Mrs. Hudson knocked twice with a little 'ooh hoo!' as her signature.
"Come in," Harry said, his voice teeming with apathy. A portly individual stepped into the room and looked around. He finally settled on Harry and looked quite abashed.
"Terribly sorry, young man! I was looking for a Mr. Sherlock Holmes," the man said, taking a step back. Harry suddenly sat up.
"He's away right now but he's put me in charge of cases until he returns."
"You?"
"Yes, me. Is there a problem, sir?" Harry asked. He would do almost anything to exorcise the terrible fit of boredom from his mind.
"You seem a bit young, are you sure?" the man said nervously. Harry looked him up and down and after a minute of observing, he smirked.
"Your pale face and shaking hands indicate that you've recently gone through a mildly traumatic event, possibly to do with this case? You're obviously right handed and I recognize that you work mostly indoors going by your clothes and shoes. Due to wrinkles on your face, you usually sleep on your right side but, last night you slept on your left. You still have a strong perfume smell so I can only guess affair. How much did I get correct?" Harry asked innocently. The men went a little red and started to stutter. Sherlock would be proud.
"I-I well… see here young man-"
"Oh don't worry sir, your secrets are safe with me. It's not my concern. However I am very curious as to what has startled you past my own abilities. Take a seat and lets here out your problem," Harry said, gesturing to the couch across from him. The man sat fairly quickly, still shaken.
"It all began a day ago…"
Two Weeks Later
Harry sat down in the chair Sherlock was using and counted a thick wad of pounds. He smiled at the few cases that had come around since Sherlock and John had been gone. They wouldn't believe it! Sherlock would obviously scoff at the fact that he charged for his services but John probably would be proud. He'd even written down the accounts as best as he could for John so he could publish them on his blog. Some kids wanted their art on the fridge; Harry wanted his written accounts of solving crimes on his father's blog.
He heard the door open downstairs but heard no footsteps. Perhaps he just didn't hear them? No, he wasn't that ignorant. Harry crept to the stairwell and glanced down. All he saw was a letter. It had emerald writing and after a quick read, apparently addressed to him. Not only was it addressed to him, but to his very room in the apartment. Harry's mind raced.
He scanned the contents of the letter and scowled. Initially, he had thought it might be a prank. But who would bother? He didn't have any close friends that came to mind and Sherlock and John were otherwise preoccupied in another city. So, who was trying to contact him?
It was a few hours later when the sun had gone down and Mrs. Hudson had brought up Harry's dinner. She found him lying at the foot of the couch with his legs kicked up straight. His eyes were closed and his fingers drummed absentmindedly.
"Got your dinner here, luv," Mrs. Hudson called to him, setting down the food. Harry's eyes snapped open and he quickly turned to look at Mrs. Hudson.
"Thank you, dear Mrs. Hudson! Tell me, do you know anything about a place called Hogwarts?"
"Hog what?"
"Oh nothing. Just peculiar things happening at Baker Street," Harry murmured to himself. Mrs. Hudson smiled and patted his shoulder.
"Oh don't you worry, dear. I'm sure you'll figure out whatever you're so up about! Sherlock's the same way on a case," Mrs. Hudson reassured him. Harry sighed and began his dinner. He wouldn't get anywhere on an empty stomach.
A week later, Sherlock and John had returned. They hadn't asked much into what Harry did although they did talk to him about his cases. John was proud of him making his own money and Sherlock was impressed with the speed and skill in which Harry handled the cases. They seemed to not notice the letter Harry had, though.
Harry was studying his letter when he heard a familiar creak of the downstairs door. Harry immediately went to the stairwell but once again, no one was there. This time, two letters lay on the mat in front of the door. Harry snatched the two letters up and frowned. Harry decided it was time to be a bit proactive. He deduced that if the mysterious Hogwarts administration was delivering mail to him once a week, he could write a note himself to give to them. The next week, Harry taped the note he had written to the front door
If magical, come inside. If nonmagical, go away.
Just like the previous two times, the door creaked and closed. Harry approached the stairwell, mouth open to begin speaking when suddenly, he growled. There was no one there. It was just the same letter, however this time; there were ten copies of it. Harry briefly thought about a much more productive use of the letters: kindling.
Another week passed and Harry decided he would try a different method of determining who was delivering these mysterious letters. So, Harry woke up early on the day the letters were expected and sat on the steps up to 221 B Bakerstreet. Harry anxiously checked his watch and looked up and down the street for any sort of oddity. Nothing. By noon, Harry was more frustrated than ever. He was so angry that in his hurry to get back inside, he nearly tripped over the small mountain of letters piled up on his door.
"Bloody Hell!" he shouted. Suddenly Sherlock appeared in the doorway, yawning.
"Language Har-" he began before seeing the letters. During the month, neither Sherlock nor John noticed the small amount of letters that appeared at the door. Harry supposed that if magic was real, then the likelihood was that these wizards and witches were trying to block nonmagical people from seeing them. However, he guessed the massive amount of letters and the obvious pile was enough for Sherlock to see them.
"And just what is this?" Sherlock asked, snatching a letter from the floor.
"Apparently, I'm magic," Harry said simply. Sherlock glanced at the letter and then back at Harry.
"I suppose this does make a bit of sense," Sherlock muttered, reading through the letter more thoroughly.
"You're just going to take this at face value? No questions or anything?" Harry said, shocked how calm Sherlock was at the possibilities of magic existing.
"Until we get more data, I suppose I am," Sherlock murmured, sticking the letter in his pocket. Harry gaped at him then sighed resignedly.
"I suppose we'll have to," Harry conceded.
Another two weeks had passed and the letters really piled up. John had taken notice as well and since they had no more information, took Harry's idea to reality and started using the letters as kindling.
On the eve of the day before Harry's birthday, Lestrade, Molly Hooper, and Mrs. Hudson all joined John, Sherlock and Harry in celebrating. Mrs. Hudson had baked a large birthday cake that was appreciated by everyone, including Sherlock. Harry received quite a few gifts from everyone.
John had given him a leatherbound journal and a nice fountain pen. From Sherlock, Harry received a basic chemistry kit and a pocket spyglass, not unlike the one he himself owned. Molly gave him a scarf that closely resembled Sherlock's. Finally, Lestrade gave him a set of detective novels that Sherlock scowled at and Harry loved.
After everyone had left, Harry, John and Sherlock settled in for the night. Harry stayed up until midnight, counting down the minutes until he was officially eleven. Suddenly, at eleven fifty nine, he heard a booming sound coming from the door. Harry immediately rushed to the door and swung it open to reveal a massive, hulking man with a large pink umbrella in his hands.
"Hello! You must be 'arry!" the man exclaimed. Harry couldn't help but try and open and close his mouth in shock. Suddenly, John and Sherlock thundered downstairs and stopped as soon as they saw the large man. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"Oh dear, it's about time," Sherlock said, unimpressed. Hagrid turned to him suspiciously.
"What do ye mean?" Hagrid asked.
"I mean," Sherlock paused, "that it's about time someone from the school came to talk to us!"
"Er… yeah. I mean, I'm here from Professor Dumbledore ter help Harry get his school things," he explained awkwardly. Sherlock smirked.
"Oh wonderful! Would you mind terribly if we accompanied you in this venture? We are his guardians after all."
"Erm, of course! Mr?"
"Sherlock Holmes, at your service. My silent companion here is John Watson," Sherlock said, gesturing to John. John stood open-mouthed at the hulking man. He shook his head and stuck out a hand.
"Yeah, hi, nice to meet you,John said, shaking the giant man's hand.
"I'm Hagrid. I'm the groundskeeper and keeper of keys at Hogwarts," Hagrid explained. Sherlock nodded.
"Do tell us more about this Hogwarts," Sherlock said.
"Blimey, did the Dursleys explain nothin'?" Hagrid asked, surprised.
"Explain? Explain what?" John asked.
"Well, Harry's parents were thumpin' good wizards when I knew 'em. After they had Harry, a dark, evil wizard came a-knockin' and James n' Lily was killed. Before that though, they learned at school of witchcraft and wizardry. That'd be Hogwarts," Hagrid explained. Sherlock nodded.
"I see. And it appears that Harry has been blessed with these abilities as well," Sherlock stated.
"It would make all those strange things that happened around him more explainable," John snickered, remembering the strangeness that surrounded Harry. Sherlock nodded in agreement. Harry yawned and John squeezed his shoulder.
"Why don't you stay the night, Mr. Hagrid. We can talk about this in the morning," John said. Hagrid nodded.
"O' course, o' course."
The next day, all four were dressed and ready for the day. Sherlock looked positively ecstatic while John and Harry were more curious than anything.
"I surpose we'll be off, then," Hagrid said, gesturing for them to follow. Many passersby gaped at the massive man walking with the detective, the soldier, and Harry. It was very strange as most of the time, people were staring at Sherlock. He had a tendency to completely fill a room by himself. Hagrid, on the other hand, quite literally filled a room.
"Here we are, The Leaky Cauldron," Hagrid said, stopping in front of a very grubby looking bar that even Sherlock had a hard time pointing out.
"How very interesting. Obviously it's some sort of mind trick to keep us nonmagical people out," Sherlock said, rubbing the wooden doorframe with a gloved hand.
"Yeah, but we call 'em muggles, mind you," Hagrid replied. He pushed open the door. Many greeted and waved to Hagrid. John and Sherlock stood on both sides of their son. They didn't want him having to deal with the many 'fans' as Hagrid had warned. Hagrid led them to a back courtyard where a few rubbish bins were and a very tall brick wall.
"Three up, two across…" Hagrid muttered to himself. He took out am umbrella large enough for a table and tapped the bricks. The wall started shifting and opening to reveal a long alley filled with wizards and witches.
"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson, Harry, welcome to Diagon Alley," Hagrid said.
John gaped and Harry smiled. Sherlock looked like a kid in a candy shop. One might think Sherlock was even more excited at the prospect of magic than Harry was.