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Prior Incantato

Chapter Text

A figure paused at the top of the street, shoulders hunched into its jacket.  Its head slowly shifted from one side to the other, considering options, before setting off straight ahead.  As it passed a single narrow alleyway, its shadow darted high and threatening over it, leading it toward a destination before shifting to follow behind.  Before long, the figure paused, hooded face lifting toward the building opposite.

The sandwich shop on the ground floor sat dark with its awning tucked away for the evening and its entrance shut to the night.  Though the outdoor light that sat between it and the flat next door was off, the glossy 221 lettering shone lightly from a street lamp a few feet down the pavement.  Upstairs, a soft glow the shade of a tempered fire lit the pair of windows that looked down on the street.  Movement shifted across one of them, a long arm reaching out to something unseen, and broke the light for the briefest moment.  A second arm joined it to pull it from view, and within minutes the light tapered down until the flat was dark.  The figure watching across the way remained.

It tucked hands into invisible pockets, head transfixed upwards to study the silent building.  Eventually, a soft rain began to fall.  The figure’s jacket grew limp, but still it stood.  A cab drove past, sending up a spray of water from the road and across the figure’s feet, seemingly pulling it from its trance.  It shook, once, before shooting 221 a final glance.  Setting off back down the street, it turned the corner and immediately vanished. 

Chapter Text

~Six Years Later~

John Watson groaned, one hand in his own hair and the other grasping around in the blankets around him.  He soon discovered the bump underneath them that was moving in steady up and down motions and clutched at it desperately through the fabric.  Sliding his other hand down the side of his face and neck to tuck it below the blanket, he guided it to the figure between his legs.  Fingers found a mass of curls and he dug into them, causing a muffled moan to sneak out from the opening in the blanket his arm had made.

A light tapping briefly distracted John, forcing him to crack a single eye open in search of the noise.  Unable to find a source, his attention returned to the ministrations below.  His next moan came alongside a trio of sharper taps, this time louder than before.  Both of his eyes shot open and his brows furrowed in confusion.  Before he could return his focus to the situation below, the tapping began again, now a continuous stream of noise.  John huffed out a sigh of frustration as he patted at the hidden head halfway down the bed.

“Sherlock…” he muttered, the end of the word shifting up half an octave as the body creating the lump shot up and out from under the blankets.  Sherlock Holmes glared around the bedroom, his hair a terror of frizzy curls and his lips wet and red.  He licked them as he narrowed his eyes at the window, where an owl shaped shadow seemed to be glaring right back.  Before either of them could move, a dull pounding of tiny footsteps echoed from the ceiling and grew louder the closer they got.  Sherlock’s head snapped to the door and his eyes grew wide as he quickly ducked back under the covers just as it burst open to reveal a tawny haired child.

“DA!  Are you awa- IS THAT AN OWL?!”  Cecelia Watson darted to the window with a squeal, pulling at the latch to let the bird in.  The owl ruffled its feathers with a low hoot and swooped into the room, immediately heading towards the bed.  Cecelia clapped and chased after it, waiting for it to drop its letter.  As soon as it had, directly on John’s head, she asked, “Can I, Da?”

“Yes, but be very careful, darling,” John replied, shooting the owl a scowl over Cecelia’s head.  “I don’t recognize this owl so I don’t know if it’ll bite.”

With a solemn nod, Cecelia rushed into the kitchen and returned with their bag of owl treats.  The bird watched on, intrigued, from where it had landed on top of the dresser and eventually glided down to the floor, tentatively hopping along towards Cecelia.  She held out a treat with a flat and steady palm, ready to be taken once the owl decided she wasn’t a threat, and waited breathlessly for its approach.  It reached out its beak slowly and snatched up the treat to nibble on as it and Cecelia eyed each other.  Within seconds it hopped closer, allowing Cecelia to stroke its back.

John kept one eye on them as he broke the seal on the parchment, noting the Hogwarts crest stamped into the wax.  He absentmindedly patted the bump that was Sherlock still below the blankets as he read.  A low purring of approval made its way out from under the covers and John grinned, shifting to reach his hand under to properly grab at him.  Just as he did, Cecelia appeared at their bedside.

“Da, where’s Papa?” she asked, searching the bed.  John panicked for a moment, clutching the blankets closer, but before he could respond, Sherlock popped back out, his hair somewhat tamed and face composed.

“Here’s your sock, John,” he said as he handed the item over.  “Honestly, why do you even bother wearing them to bed if you always kick them off and lose them…good morning, Cecelia.”

“Morning, Papa!” she responded with a large smile, her bright blue eyes that matched Mary’s exactly shining brightly.  She waved behind her at the owl that was slowly making its way over to the discarded bag of treats that sat by the door.  “Do you know what kind of owl this is?”

As Sherlock untangled himself from the bed, John turned his full attention to the letter.  His eyebrows rose the further along he read, his focus enough that he didn’t notice Sherlock letting the owl back out the window and guiding Cecelia into the kitchen.  Once he’d reached the letter’s end, he glanced up to say something to Sherlock and found himself alone.  Letting out a disappointed sigh at the blowjob that wasn’t meant to be, he pulled his sleep trousers back up around his waist and got out of bed to follow the noises in the kitchen.

Sherlock had already started the coffee pot and settled Cecelia with a bowl of cereal by the time he arrived.  He came to stand at Sherlock’s side, who instantly pulled him in closer with an arm wrapped around John’s waist, and John offered him the letter.  While Sherlock read, John grabbed the mugs and sugar from his spot in Sherlock’s grip, pulling him along if he couldn’t quite reach.  By the time John was pouring them each a cup, Sherlock had lowered the letter to study John’s face.

“Hogwarts?” he simply asked, keeping his voice low.  John shrugged and took a large sip. 

“We can talk about it properly once Cecelia’s off to Jeannette’s; she and her mum should be coming by to get her soon.  We can sit down and discuss it together then.”

Sherlock nodded and spun around to face Cecelia.  “Have you got your project ready to bring along?”

Cecelia shoveled the last bite of her cereal into her mouth and shot up.  “Nearly, I’ve just got to get the pictures sorted.  I numbered them, just like you showed me, but they’re kinda…”

“Kinda all over your bedroom floor?” Sherlock asked with a raised brow.  Cecelia stuck her tongue out at him and ran away, giggling her way up the stairs.  John watched with a grin and pulled Sherlock into him, his back flush with John’s front.

“It’s always amusing watching you scold her about tidiness.  As though you have any right.”

“She ought to keep her experiment notes organized.”

“Pot, kettle,” John replied, squeezing Sherlock’s middle and setting a soft kiss on his neck before breaking away.  “What do you say to bacon?  We’re gonna need something more than coffee if we’re gonna get through that letter.”

Sherlock hummed and said, “There’s broccoli and a fresh bag of cheddar in the fridge – omelets?”

“Never thought I’d hear you willingly ask for vegetables,” John muttered as he dug around in the fridge.  Before Sherlock could reply, Cecelia was back, dressed with her backpack slung over her shoulder.

“Did you remember everything?” Sherlock asked, his hands on his hips as he attempted to make his voice stern.  Cecelia bounced up on her toes and nodded.  “Pictures?”




“Mould culture?”


Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes.  “Very well.  I suppose Jeannette wouldn’t appreciate a slide of decomposing plant life as much as we do.”

From the stove, John added, “Her mother certainly wouldn’t.”  Downstairs, the doorbell buzzed and they heard Mrs. Hudson talking to whoever was outside.  Cecelia ran to the main door to look before rushing back to the kitchen.

“They’re here!  Bye Papa!”  Sherlock bent down obediently so she could kiss his cheek.  “Bye Da!”  John stepped away from the stove just long enough for her to do the same with him.  As she rushed down the stairs, Sherlock followed as far as their door to watch.

"Be good, bee, and have Jeannette’s mum message me if you spot anything suspicious!”  Cecelia’s giggle followed him as he shut the door, a broad smile on his face.

“You do that just to annoy her mum, don’t you?” John asked, dishing their food out onto plates.

“Of course.  Horrible woman.  Blatantly homophobic.  The only reason she lets Jeannette be friends with Cecelia is because she thinks we’re well off, between the cases we’ve solved and you being a doctor.”

John snorted and nodded Sherlock to his chair.  “I knew there was a reason I didn’t like her.  At least her daughter’s the complete opposite.”

“That’s because her father’s having an affair with his male business partner and she knows about it.  She’s a clever girl; she’s aware that her father is the better of her two parents, despite the infidelity.”

John chuckled and kissed the top of Sherlock’s curls before taking his own seat.  “You’re the real clever one, you git.  Now eat.”

They both began eating in companionable silence.  Once Sherlock saw John take his final bite of omelet, he set aside his fork and steepled his hands.  “So.  Poppy Pomfrey?”

John sighed and picked up his mug, cradling it without taking a drink.  “She’s the nurse at Hogwarts, has been for years.  I’m surprised she hasn’t retired yet, honestly, although usually anyone working at Hogwarts either does it for life or only stops when they physically can’t keep up with it.  She’s amazingly good, definitely could have become a proper Healer if she’d wanted.  Looks like she might be getting ready to possibly rest for once.  Maybe she wants to give it a try to see if she enjoys it?”

“So…let me see if I understand this correctly.”  Resting his hands flat on the table, Sherlock stared down at them intently.  “Hogwarts’ nurse wishes to take a sabbatical of sorts, needs a replacement on a temporary basis, and has contacted you to become that replacement.  Should you take the job, you would be relocating to Hogwarts for the entirety of the school year, leaving Cecelia and I here to wait for your return, as long as you aren’t offered the full position should she decide to officially retire.”

“No!  God, no.”  John quickly set down his mug to reach out and clasp Sherlock’s hands in his own, stroking his thumbs along his knuckles.  “Love, you and Cecelia would come with me, of course you would.  Plenty of other Hogwarts employees have family close by, and I could never even consider taking any sort of position that would take me away from the two of you.”

Sherlock frowned, staring down at their joined hands, and nodded.  “Very well.  Then it would simply be a matter of deciding to leave Mrs. Hudson, Baker Street, and the work.”

“Which is why this needs to be a choice we make together.”  John studied him for a moment before standing, pulling Sherlock along with him.  “Come on, let’s move to the sofa.  I want to hold you.”

Following without comment, Sherlock let John lead him into the sitting room.  John positioned himself with his back against the sofa’s arm and settled Sherlock between his legs, his head and back resting against John’s shoulder and chest.  He gave Sherlock a squeeze and cleared his throat.

“Right.  Unfortunately, leaving Mrs. H and Baker Street would be a guarantee, at least for me.  Some of the professors Apparate home once classes finish each day, but as the Healer for the school, I would be required to remain on hand almost constantly in case of an emergency.  We certainly could visit, and obviously once the year is up we would come back, but for the actual school year, we’d be living at Hogwarts.  That bit we wouldn’t be able to compromise.  But the work…at least for you, I think we could figure it out.”

“The work’s not the work without you, John.”

John smiled into Sherlock’s neck.  “I’d still help, just…in a less active way.  You’ll always be able to use me as a sounding board, you’d just have to bring me photos and video of crime scenes rather than dragging me along to see it live.  But if we work it out with Lestrade – “  John froze, causing Sherlock to shift around and stare up at him.

“John?  What’s wrong?”

“We’d have to tell them,” John muttered, staring vacantly at the wall.  “All of them.  Mrs. Hudson, Greg, Molly…they’d never let us just leave without knowing why, or even just without an idea of where we’re going.  God, that would break so many of the laws under the Statute of Secrecy…”

“Don’t worry about that, Mycroft can take care of whatever might be involved.”

John groaned and ran a hand down his face.  “It’s not just that.  We’d have to tell them we’re wizards, Sherlock.  How are they going to take that?”

Sherlock turned back around and settled himself deeper against John’s chest.  “I suppose we should simply tell them the truth.  The three of them are really the only ones who ought to know – surely after years of what we’ve all gone through, they would be accepting of this.”

Sighing, John buried his face into Sherlock’s shoulder.  “They might.  If they react the way you did, I don’t think we’d be too badly off.  I’d rather not have to be in any small skirmishes to reveal I’ve got magic, though.”

Gently pushing him up and around, John shifted Sherlock until they were facing each other.  “Tell me honestly that you don’t want to go and we won’t, Sherlock.  The opportunity is a great one, but it won’t be worth shit if you or Cecelia are miserable.”

“As long as we’re with you, we could never be miserable.”

John smiled and cradled Sherlock’s face in his hands.  “Romantic sap.  But really, you would be okay at Hogwarts?  Away from London and Baker Street for so long?”

Sherlock remained silent for a long moment, watching John’s expression carefully as he thought.  Finally, he gave John a faint nod.  “I would be, yes.  I could finally see and learn about Hogwarts first hand, experience the library and discover its corridors and classrooms.  Cecelia would need to be taught while we’re gone – I could continue what we’ve already begun and along with it she could experience magic far more easily in her everyday life.  She deserves a chance to see and live in this other world and decide if she’d like to make it hers eventually.”

John broke out in a smile, pulling Sherlock in for a kiss.  He lingered for a moment, barely pulling away far enough to speak his words against Sherlock’s mouth.  “Thank you, love.  This means a lot.  It’s been years since I’ve been able to use my magic to heal.”

“Just about six years, isn’t it?” Sherlock remarked with a grin.  John laughed and kissed him again. 

“I’m sure there will be plenty of spell grazes much like yours, not to mention much more complicated injuries.  I heard that Harry lost all the bones in his arm once.”

Sherlock pulled back to gape at him.  “You can’t be serious.  How the hell did that happen?”

“An idiot professor tried to fix a break and made it worse, apparently.  I can definitely guarantee I won’t be as rubbish as that.”

Sherlock’s face softened as he smiled.  “You’ll be brilliant, John.”

Nuzzling into Sherlock’s neck, John pulled him back down to fully lie on the sofa.  “Thanks, baby.  We’ll see.”  For several minutes they simply remained entwined together, the dishes in the kitchen forgotten in favour of warm bodies and softly stroking hands.  As John toyed with the end of one of Sherlock’s curls, his eyes settled on various spots in their home, a fond smile ticking up one side of his mouth.  He tightened his grip to scratch at Sherlock’s scalp.  “Will you take your skull?”

Sherlock humphed and rubbed his face into John’s chest.  “Of course, I could never leave Billy behind.  Or my violin.”

“That’ll be a sight, you silhouetted in a Hogwarts tower window, the notes of the violin echoing in the stone corridors.  I doubt it’s something they get to experience often up there.”

“We’d be staying right at Hogwarts, then?” Sherlock asked excitedly, lifting his head just enough to meet John’s eyes.

“Well, I’ll have to for sure…I know Poppy’s got an office and living quarters right off the hospital wing so that she’s available any time there might be a problem.  I think most of the professors’ families live down in Hogsmeade – “

“No,” Sherlock interrupted, pushing himself up onto his elbows.  “We’ll stay with you.  I can’t imagine being that far away, not now after how much work went into becoming this.  I couldn’t…I can’t, John.  We have to stay with you.”

“Shh, love, you will, of course darling.”  His hand shifted from Sherlock’s scalp to the back of his neck, bringing his head down to rub their cheeks together reassuringly.  “God, I remember living without you and it was awful; I plan on making sure that never happens again.”  He waited until Sherlock had calmed down again before guiding him back to make eye contact once more.  “Let’s clean up and get dressed, yeah?  I can write Poppy a response and we’ll figure out a way to tell everyone while we make a stop down to Diagon Alley to send it.”

With a nod, Sherlock pushed himself to his feet and headed for the bedroom, John following close behind.


A few hours later, the pair walked arm in arm down Charing Cross Road, halfheartedly searching for a free cab but mostly enjoying one another’s company and the bright August day.  After sending the letter accepting Poppy’s proposal, they had meandered around Diagon Alley, darting between students and their families taking care of school shopping as they went.  While Sherlock restocked his supplies at the apothecary, John stood outside observing the teenagers, wondering how many of them he would be meeting soon and daydreaming of shopping for those same supplies with Cecelia in a few years.  It had become clear very early on that she shared her birth parents’ magical ability, reaching the point now where she was nearly as good at simple wandless magic as Sherlock was.  It had taken quite a bit of work to get her to understand that she could only use her magic at home, but now at nearly seven years old she could both control and hide it well.

“I think you should tell Mrs. Hudson first,” Sherlock said suddenly as he squinted across the street at Foyle’s.  John knew he wanted to go in and investigate what sorts of older books they might have on display that day, but the time in the afternoon in the summer meant the shop was filled with tourists.  He sniffed and went back to watching their path forward instead, clearly deciding it wouldn’t be worth the effort.  John guided them towards Denmark Street, hoping to avoid the madness of Oxford Street.

“I agree.  Why just me, though?”

Sherlock shrugged and stopped them in front of one of the many music shops on the road to study the instruments displayed in the window.  “It seems more appropriate.  We wouldn’t have found out about my magic without me learning about yours first.  Of course, if you’d like me to come with you I will, but you would be more suited to actually explaining the situation to her.”

“You just don’t want to deal with her crying all over you when she finds out we’re leaving,” John said with a smirk that grew wider when Sherlock glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.  John laughed and pulled him along by Sherlock’s hand resting in his bent elbow.  “Yeah, all right, it’s my fault we’re going so I might as well be the one to deal with the emotional reaction.  What about Greg and Molly?”

“I suspect that a crime scene is out of the question…”

“Yeah, let’s not give Greg a bloody heart attack while he’s on the job.”  Spotting a small, unoccupied churchyard, John led Sherlock along to sit side by side on one of the benches.  “I suppose we could ask them over for dinner sometime, maybe even make a going away party out of it.  We could have Mycroft and James over as well, have Mycroft as a sort of additional support…”

Sherlock’s nose scrunched into a wrinkle of distaste.  “I suppose we ought to, as much as I’d rather not.  You know how revolting it is to see the pair of them together, draping over each other like a pair of overeager teenagers.”

“Oi, that’s your brother-in-law and one of my best mates you’re talking about.  Besides, you know we’d need to see them at some point before we leave, not to mention that we’re hardly any better than them.  We’re better off just taking care of everything in one go rather than having to drag out the explanations over multiple discussions.”

“True.  Very well, I’ll let my brother and his much more delightful husband know to expect an invitation soon.  James ought to be told as well anyway, if Mycroft hasn’t spilled the entirety of our private lives to him already.”

“Right, well, if I’m going to tell Mrs. H, we should head back home.  We’ve only got a few hours left before Cecelia will be back and we’ve still got to tell her as well.”

With a nod, Sherlock rose to his feet and led them back to the road, where he instantly brought a cab forward to wait for their approach.  As they situated themselves and Sherlock told the cabbie their destination, John stared unseeing out the window, planning out what he would say to both Mrs. Hudson and Cecelia when they returned.


Once home, Sherlock immediately headed up to their flat and picked up his violin, the sounds of an unknown piece gliding down to John at the front door.  Taking a steeling breath, John straightened his back and headed for 221a, giving the door a sharp knock.

Mrs. Hudson answered almost instantly, wearing an apron and wiping her hands on a tea towel.  “John!  Come in, dear, I’ve just finished up with a batch of chocolate scones.  I know how your two loves adore anything sweet.”

“They’ll be thrilled,” John replied as he closed the door behind him and sat at the kitchen table.  “Ah, actually, the reason I stopped by was to tell you something that’s come up for the three of us.”

“Of course, what is it?” she asked over her shoulder as she continued to wash dishes from her baking.

“I’ve been offered a job,” he began, deciding to be straight to the point.  She set the bowl she had been cleaning aside to clap her hands and turn to face John with an enormous smile.

“Oh John, how wonderful!  I’m sure it will be such a good opportunity for you all.”

“Yeah, I think it will…the only thing is, it’s in Scotland.”  John watched her face fall as she walked over to sit down opposite him.

“You’d be leaving Baker Street, then?”  Her hands shook slightly where they sat folded on the table.  John reached out to grab them and squeeze them reassuringly.

“Yes, but only for a year.  Not even that, really, more like ten months, just for the length of a school year.  It’s at a school, you see…the one I went to when I was young, actually.”

Her face brightened once more.  “That’s perfectly fine then, dear!  It sounds like the ideal opportunity for you.  Does that mean you’ll be teaching?”

“Not quite – I’ll be the Healer, er, doctor on duty.  But there’s something else, that I’ve kept from you and even Sherlock for a while, too.”  He took a deep breath, firming his resolve, before meeting her eyes.  “I’m a wizard.”

She stared at him blankly for a moment, long enough that John worried he’d shocked her too much with his bluntness.  He was about to get to his feet to check on her properly when suddenly she burst into giggles.  It was John’s turn to gape as tears rolled down her face in her attempt to calm her laughter.  Eventually they subsided into the occasional chuckle as she looked at him with fond, if somewhat watery, eyes.

“Oh my dear, didn’t you realize I already knew?” she said, shocking John even more.  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but none of you are very subtle about it.  Cecelia I could understand, I can’t imagine she knows how to control it properly when she’s so young, but surely wherever you learned it taught you to check downstairs that your landlady wasn’t in before crashing things about and making a ruckus.  The number of times I’ve caught one or both of you waving one of those sticks – a wand, I suppose?  Yes, I thought as much, knew it had to be – around as I left the flat or came up for something or other is frankly ridiculous.”

John blinked a few times before managing to find his voice.  “I…don’t know what to say.  Sorry?”

“It’s no trouble at all, John, really.  It isn’t as though you were disturbing anyone or anything more than usual once magic was involved.  And regardless of how careful you might have been, I’ve looked after Cecelia on my own.  The day she floated her glass of milk over to her without a second thought I realized she must have gotten it from you.”

“Both me and Mary, actually – wait, hold on.”  John tugged at his hair, a trait he’d picked up from Sherlock over time, and successfully ruined the swooped back look he had been favouring recently.  “If you’ve known for God only knows how long, why haven’t you said anything about it?!”

“You never mentioned it, so I assumed it was meant to be a secret.  If you wished to discuss it, I knew you would in your own time.”

John sighed and rose to his feet.  “Right, yeah, okay.  Anyway, I’ve been offered a temp job at my old wizarding school and I’m going to take it.  We’ll make arrangements for Mycroft to make sure the rent’s taken care of while we’re gone.  I’m due there in a little less than a month, but we’re planning on having a small do before we leave as a farewell and to explain to the others.  Sherlock and I both thought you ought to be told first.”

Mrs. Hudson followed him to standing and hugged him briefly.  “That’s so thoughtful of you, dear, but you needn’t have worried yourself.  I’m sure the others will take it splendidly as well.  And don’t you worry about the flat, I’ll keep it in perfect condition for when you return.”

“Yeah, thanks.  We’ll let you know about the party, okay?”

“Please do – I’ll be sure to make a cake for everyone!  You get upstairs and celebrate with your man, now, while you’ve both a few moments alone.”  She waved him off out the door and returned to her dishes, humming as she busied herself with finishing.  John shook his head again before heading upstairs to where the violin music was gradually coming to its conclusion.

“How did it go?” Sherlock asked as John came in and slouched down into his chair.  John huffed out a laugh and patted his thigh, silently requesting that Sherlock join him.  Sherlock placed his violin back in its case and draped himself across John’s lap, tucking his face into his neck and wrapping his arms around his neck.

“Well.  Really well, actually.  She already knew, in fact.”

“Wait, really?”  Sherlock pulled away from John’s neck in his surprise.  “How?”

“Caught us and Cecelia at it, apparently.”  John laughed again and ran his hand up and down Sherlock’s back.  “I suppose we really are rubbish at the whole secrecy thing, particularly when we’re here at home.”

Sherlock hummed and leaned back into John’s touch.  “At least that meant she wasn’t surprised when you told her.  I did say you had nothing to worry about.”

“Yes, I suppose you did.”  Downstairs, another ring at the front door followed by Mrs. Hudson’s voice told them that Cecelia was home early.  “So much for that alone time Mrs. H suggested.  You ready to tell our daughter the news?”

Without answering, Sherlock’s eyes lit up and he jumped up from his comfortable position to launch himself toward the door.

Chapter Text

Roughly a week later, John paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, desperately fighting the urge to run his hand through his hair and ruin it.  Greg and Molly were due any moment and Mycroft had just texted to say they too were on their way.  One bottle of wine sat open and resting beside the waiting food on the kitchen table, another chilling in the fridge.  John itched to go pour himself a glass, but he knew Sherlock would scold him for worrying too much if he saw.  As soon as he heard Sherlock and Cecelia’s footsteps coming down from her room, he froze and threw himself into his chair in an attempt at casual indifference.

From Sherlock’s frown, John knew he hadn’t succeeded.  As Cecelia skipped over to the coffee table to continue her colouring from earlier, twirling her dark violet dress as she went, Sherlock walked over to stand behind John’s chair.  He leaned down to wrap his arms around John’s chest, stroking along the smooth cashmere of his jumper.

“It will be fine,” he muttered into John’s ear, rubbing his nose against it.  John slowly blew out the breath he’d been holding and shifted to rest his temple against Sherlock’s cheek.  “They are our friends, by some mad chance, and they have experienced far worse from us than this.  At least no one has died this time.”

“Thank God,” John chuckled.  Raising his voice, he called over to Cecelia, “You look lovely, Síleas.”

“Thanks Da!” she called back without looking up from her colouring.  “Papa helped me with the zip up the back and we made sure my shoes were nice and shiny.  He showed me the wand movements and let me try it and everything!”

John glanced up at Sherlock over his head, who had the decency to blush as he avoided John’s eyes.  “He did, did he?  I thought we agreed no more spell practice in the flat.”

“It was just a little one, John,” Sherlock muttered under his breath.  “I thought, with it being up in her room…”

“It’s fine, love, I don’t mind.”  John leaned up to kiss him on the cheek and nearly jumped from his chair when the door opened downstairs.  Sherlock squeezed his shoulder reassuringly one more time before straightening and turning just as Molly and Greg entered, Mrs. Hudson and her cake close behind.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Greg said as he took Molly’s coat and hung it on the stand.  “I’m assuming that whatever news you’ll be sharing tonight will explain why you’ve both been so anxious the last few days.”

“Yeah, it should, we hope,” John said as he stood with a glance at Sherlock.  “Can I get you both anything?  Wine?  Water?  Juice?  I made sure to get something that both you can Cecelia could have too, Molly.  I wasn’t sure what would be best…Greg mentioned that you were having trouble keeping some things down.”

Molly placed a hand over her slightly protruding belly.  “Thanks, John.  Luckily the morning sickness has passed; it really was awful a few weeks ago.”

“The first months can be hell for sure,” John agreed.  “And then the last few as well, for different reasons.  The good news is, you should be fairly well off until the third trimester hits; enjoy the second one, it’ll be the best.”

Greg and Molly smiled at each other and John left them to their happy glow as he went to pour drinks for everyone.  By the time he got back, they were situated on the sofa, and Mycroft and James were just walking in.  Instantly Cecelia rushed to the door and stood before Thor, who waited patiently at James’ feet for the appropriate command.  The second James unhooked the leash, the two were playing together on the floor.  Within minutes, everyone was settled comfortably throughout the room, chatting amicably together.

Sherlock strolled over to where John was sipping his wine and leaning against the mantle.  “Shall we?  It won’t get any easier the longer we wait.”

John took his hand and gave it a squeeze before stepping in front of everyone.  The room quickly fell silent except for Cecelia humming to herself as she lay on her stomach on the floor, kicking her feet and colouring with Thor at her side.  Everyone else watched John expectantly and Sherlock placed himself close to John’s side for reassurance.

“There’s actually a reason we wanted to ask all of you here tonight,” John began nervously.  Before he could get very far, however, Greg interrupted him.

“Are you two finally getting married, then?” he asked with an enormous grin.  James leaned forward in his chair to study Sherlock’s hands.

“Nope, not yet, not unless they forwent the rings,” James commented.  “If he’s anything like his brother, Sherlock would only take it off on pain of death.”

“As you are all aware,” Sherlock cut in, his expression blank, “we’ve decided that given John’s past in regard to marriage, we would like to avoid it for the time being.  Just because all of you have said your I do’s doesn’t mean we must.”

John swallowed and clenched his left hand into a fist, glancing down at the floor.  “Ah, no, not that, not yet, sorry.  It’s actually…well, there’s something…Sherlock and I…are…”

“Da’s got a new job and we’re going to Hogwarts,” Cecelia interrupted matter-of-factly.  She didn’t even look up from the pages in front of her as she spoke.  Everyone glanced from her back to John, who shrugged.

“She’s not wrong.  But that’s not all.  Sherlock and I – and Cecelia, technically – we’re wizards.”

Mycroft, as expected, remained stoically unresponsive.  James blinked and glanced at him from the corner of his eye, but his expression remained open and interested.  Greg and Molly, meanwhile, shot each other guilty looks before distracting themselves with their drinks.  John looked from one person to another before breathing out a laugh that was half disbelief and half frustration.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” John muttered, just loud enough to be heard.  Cecelia sat up quickly to gape at him while Sherlock crossed his arms with a glare.

“Da!” Cecelia said, her voice scandalized.  “Language!”

“Yes, Da, language,” Sherlock agreed with narrowed eyes.  “Obviously we should have expected that if Mrs. Hudson was aware of our magic, others close to us might be as well.”

“But seriously, you all knew?” John asked the room.  Nearly everyone shifted uncomfortably in their seats.  “Why didn’t anyone say anything?”

“To be fair, this is the first time I’ve ever heard anything about it,” James cut in, turning to Mycroft.  “Why didn’t you tell me, darling?”

Mycroft placed his hand on James’ knee, a genuinely regretful expression on his face.  “I am sorry, James.  I should have, I know, but it simply never came up after I revealed I work for the Ministry.”

James nodded with a soft smile and kissed Mycroft’s cheek in reply.  Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned fully to John, a look of utmost disgust on his face.  Greg, meanwhile, drained the last of his wine and shot Mycroft a look.  “Should have guessed he was part of the wizarding government as well as the Muggle one.  Are you a wizard too?”

As Mycroft shook his head no, John’s head shot up from where he’d been hanging it to stare at Greg.  “Wait…Muggle?  How the hell do you know the word Muggle?”  The room fell quiet as Greg’s mouth gaped open, his face paling.  He looked to Molly, who grabbed his hand reassuringly, before visibly gulping and wincing at John.

“I, um…may know about the wizarding world.  A bit.  More than a lot of people, actually.”

Without looking, John felt around for his chair until he found the arm and sat down on it heavily.  “Right.  So you’re a wizard too?”

“No, no, I would have told you two if I was,” Greg hurriedly explained.  “I’m…well, I’m a Squib.  A dishonoured one, if we’re being completely honest.”

“A Squib, of course,” John huffed, losing the battle with himself to run his hand through his hair.  “So which family are you from?  If you’re dishonoured, it’s got to be one of the ones that think they’re better than everyone else.  I swear to God if you end up being a direct relative of Mary’s…”

“You’re not going to like it, John,” Greg said, his voice steadier than it was when he began.  “I can tell you that much for sure.  Do you really want to know?”  When John simply stared back at him, Greg sighed.  “When I changed my name to Lestrade, it wasn’t that much of a stretch from my original last name.”

“Lestr…no.”  John shot to his feet, acting as though he was about to start pacing.  Instead, he shook his head, muttered, “No,” again, and walked from the room.  They heard his footsteps hurry across the kitchen floor before fading behind the firm snap of the closed bedroom door.  Greg held his head in his hands, Molly worriedly rubbing his back, and Sherlock approached him.

“Are you a from a death eater family?” he asked bluntly.  Greg’s shoulders stiffened at the mention of Voldemort’s henchmen, but he nodded in response.  Sherlock sighed and sat on the arm of the sofa beside him.  “You’ll have to go talk to him.  You’re a Squib; you’re not at fault for who your family is and what they have done.  John will understand.”

“How can he?” Greg asked, pushing himself to his feet to loom over Sherlock.  “You don’t understand, Sherlock, my family is actual shit, the horrible things they’ve done – “  He stopped to swallow, clenching his eyes shut in an attempt to control himself.  “My family has killed his friends and done worse to others.  He has every right to hate me for it.”

Sherlock slowly stood once more and placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder.  “Go talk to him.”

With a sigh, Greg nodded and slowly made his way to the bedroom.  Sherlock stood watching him silently as he went.  Cecelia pushed herself to her feet and came to stand at his side, glancing between Sherlock and Greg with enormous eyes.  Without breaking his gaze, Sherlock knelt to pick her up and hold her close, stroking her back reassuringly.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tightly, her own small sign of reassurance to him.

In the darkened hallway, Greg hesitated before the closed bedroom door.  Straightening his back, he gave it a single sharp rap with his knuckle and waited for a response.  He could hear John pacing on the other side, but as soon as he knocked John’s footsteps came to a halt.  When he heard no other response, Greg knocked again.  “John, please, give me a chance to explain.  You deserve to know the truth, even if you hate me for it.”

Eventually John pulled the door open, not meeting Greg’s eyes as he immediately went to sit on the edge of the bed.  Greg hovered in the doorway, not sure whether he should join him before steeling himself and entering.  He left a large enough space between them so that he had time to duck should John take a swing at him, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“What’s your real name?” John asked, steady and straight to the point.  Greg toyed with the cuff of his shirt sleeve and stared straight ahead of him, studying the periodic table on the wall sightlessly.

“Renatus Lestrange,” Greg replied without emotion.  “My brothers are – were, I have no idea if either of them is still alive – Rodolphus and Rabastan.  Fucking ridiculous, all of these antique mouthfuls of names, but it was tradition.  Anyway, they’re awful, all of them, and I’ve hated them my entire life.  I’m sure you know how shit they are to Muggles or even half-bloods – as soon as they realized I didn’t have any magic, I was no better.  They basically just kept me shut away in the house all the time, away from anyone who visited in case they could tell I didn’t have any powers.  God, it was just…horrible.”  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, clenching his fists on his knees.  “When they ignored me, which was most of the time, it was almost okay, but the other times…they were disgusted by me.  It was a bit like I was just another one of the house elves, but they couldn’t boss me around without me fighting back.

“At least they did let me go to Muggle school, so I wasn’t completely useless and I got a chance to get away from that hell house.  The second I turned seventeen, I left, grabbed as much shit of any value I could, packed up my clothes, and just walked away.  I doubt they even cared about what I stole because at least it meant that I was gone.  They probably didn’t even bother looking for me once I left.”

“Greg, I’m so sorry – “

“No, you don’t apologise to me,” Greg interrupted, anger strong in his voice.  “You aren’t the one who ought to be apologising.  You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong and I can’t accept an apology for that, not from you.”

“You deserve an apology regardless, though.  You didn’t deserve to be treated the way you were; no one does.  You got the shit end of the deal and paid for it way too much.”

“I dunno, mate…if I’d done something, tried harder to stop them – “

“No way.”  John shuffled closer to clap him on the shoulder.  “You were born a certain way and should have been valued for that.  You didn’t choose to be born a Squib any more than I chose to be born a wizard.  You should never feel badly for what you are or who you’ve become.”

“What they’ve done – “

“Is their problem, not yours.  Jesus, Greg, you’re a bloody amazing officer and a more than decent friend.  The fact that you’ve turned out so well growing up around all of that is proof of how amazing your character is.”

Greg nodded and attempted to compose himself.  Once he’d found his voice, he finally turned to fully face John.  “I know your parents were killed by a group of death eaters.  Were any of them…”

“None, I promise.  Though I may have dueled with both your brother and his wife at one point.”

 Chuckling, Greg rubbed his face to conceal the tears at the corners of his eyes.  “Did you win?”

“I think I knocked Rodolphus out, but Bellatrix…mate, she could fucking duel.”

“I would’ve loved to see his face when that happened.”  Greg stared down at his lap for a moment before shooting John a frown of indecision.  “Are…they alive?  Rodolphus or…anyone else?”

“Bellatrix isn’t, but I think Rodolphus is in Azkaban.  I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about your other brother.”

“No, that’s fine, it’s…I just needed to know.  I may hate them, but they are still my family.”  Letting out a sigh, Greg offered his hand for John to shake.  “Thank you for listening and understanding, John.  I can’t say how much I appreciate it.”

John took Greg’s hand in both of his.  “We can’t choose our families, Greg.  What they’ve done isn’t your fault and you’ve more than made up for it.”

“That was why I joined the force, actually.  I couldn’t do anything in the wizarding world, but if I became a police officer in the Muggle world, I could at least do something.”  Greg studied John carefully before continuing.  “You know why I chose Gregory as my new name?”  When John shook his head, Greg explained.  “It means watchman.  I saw it and just knew it was supposed to be mine.  I kept Renatus as a middle name because it means reborn, which is what it felt like to basically just start over.  I couldn’t stay Lestrange, it was too difficult, but I found the name Lestrade when I was in uni and thought it was close enough to remind me of where I came from without keeping its legacy.”

“You’re a strong man, Gregory Lestrade.”  Greg grinned weakly at the comment.  “I’m sorry I walked away, it just was too much.  First getting contacted by Hogwarts, then finding out Mrs. Hudson already knew about us, and everyone else…”

“Nah, mate, it’s fine.  Wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected.  At least you didn’t hex me out the door.”

A knock on the door frame brought their attention to Sherlock standing there, Cecelia still curled up in his arms.  “Cecelia was wondering if you two were finished with your talk so we could cut into Mrs. Hudson’s cake.  It’s her special chocolate raspberry crème one and she’s growing impatient.”

“Not just me, Papa,” Cecelia piped in.  “Both of us.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.  “Yes, I would like some cake as well.  Are you happy?”

She simply grinned up at him and squirmed until he set her down.  As soon as she was on the ground, she raced into the kitchen, calling behind her for them to follow.  Sherlock looked between Greg and John, concern causing his eyebrows to furrow.  John stood from the bed, pulling Greg with him, and walked over to stand in front of Sherlock.

“Don’t worry, love, it’s fine.  We’re fine.”

Sherlock nodded and looked over John’s shoulder at Greg.  “You’re a Lestrange.”

“Figured that out on your own, did you?” Greg said as way of reply.  Sherlock rolled his eyes and wrapped his arm around John’s waist.

“As long as you two have worked out your little emotional issue, that’s all I care about.  The last thing I need is my partner and my detective inspector caught up in a tiff.”

“Aw, his detective inspector.”  Greg elbowed John’s free side and grinned.  “Not to worry, John’s forgiven me for having a piece of shit family.”

“If I hated everyone who had a shit family, I probably wouldn’t even be with Sherlock.  Did you know what his brother did when he was a kid?”

“Time for cake!” Sherlock declared loudly enough to carry through the kitchen and into the sitting room.  John laughed as he was pulled along, glancing over his shoulder at Greg.  He watched as the previous tension hardening his face finally faded into his normal weathered expression.  They nodded a final time to one another before finally rejoining the rest of the group to celebrate.

Chapter Text

Nearly a month spent packing and getting everything organized didn’t feel like nearly enough, but soon September approached and the last of what would be coming with them from Baker Street had been sent on to Hogwarts.  All that remained was to grab their bag of essentials and give a final tearful goodbye to Mrs. Hudson.  Once she had finally bid them farewell, squeezing Cecelia in a nearly bone cracking hug, and returned to her flat, all they needed to do was a last check of the flat before taking a Floo to Hogwarts.

John shut the door after seeing Mrs. Hudson off and turned to watch Sherlock.  He stood beside the table surveying the room, his face thoughtful as he let his eyes dart from one object to another.  The majority of their furniture would be remaining at 221b, the necessities already provided for them in their new rooms at Hogwarts.  A few of their more treasured items, including the skull, the bison skull with headphones, and Sherlock’s violin would be joining them in order to make their new home more like the old.  Others, like their chairs and the crooked smile splashed across the Victorian wallpaper, would be forced to remain and wait for their return.

John approached Sherlock and wrapped his arms around his waist.  “All right?” he asked quietly once Sherlock met his eyes.

Sherlock nodded, but his mouth and the bridge of his nose were contorted into a frown.  “Yes.  I didn’t expect to feel so emotional over leaving, particularly since we’ll be back.”

“We’ve been through a lot here; it makes sense that you’d hate to leave it.  Particularly since the last time we both had to leave it was under less…positive circumstances.”

“Hmm, true.  Thankfully neither of us is dead or mourning this time.”  Sherlock pulled John up on his toes so he could kiss him softly.  “And we’ll be leaving it together, as it should be.”

“Definitely.”  John broke away and glanced around the room wistfully.  “Well, do you think we’ve got everything?  I mean, if we haven’t, you could always pop back through the Floo – I’ve already worked it out with Professor McGonagall to connect this fireplace to the one in our new quarters.”

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth ticked up into a small smile.  “You are aware that, now that you are both adults and you’ll be working with her, I’m certain she wouldn’t mind if you called her Minerva rather than Professor McGonagall.”

John rubbed the back of his head and grimaced.  “Ah, yeah, probably.  Force of habit.  I did it all through our time in the Order as well.  I’ll have to work on that.”

Sherlock pushed off from the table and leaned down towards John’s ear as he strolled past.  “I think it’s sweet, Master Watson.”  John shivered; ever since he’d received the paperwork from Hogwarts finalizing his temporary position as Master of the hospital wing, Sherlock had been particularly keen on the new title.  For once, John thought something finally beat captain as Sherlock’s favourite way to seduce him into bed.

Slapping Sherlock’s arse as he sauntered across the room, John leered at a chuckling Sherlock.  “We haven’t got time for a quickie, you tease.  Save the seduction for after Cecelia’s gone to bed and we can break in the new bedroom.”

Sherlock smiled over his shoulder as he made his way out to the stairs to shout up at Cecelia.  “Have you remembered everything, Cecelia?  We’re leaving soon and your father and I would rather not have to come back for something when we haven’t even been gone for a day.”

“I know!” Cecelia yelled back, her voice muffled through her shut bedroom door.  She yanked it open and bounded down to him, her Peppa Pig backpack bouncing along behind her.  Once she reached the bottom step, she launched herself forward to be caught in Sherlock’s arms with a huff.

“By the time we’re back, we won’t be able to do that any longer,” Sherlock commented as he carried her into the sitting room.  “I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

Cecelia giggled and handed him her bag.  “You’re very strong, Papa.  You wouldn’t be able to catch the bad guys if you weren’t.”

“To be fair, it’s usually me who’s doing the physical catching,” John added as he picked up their overnight bag and opened their jar of Floo powder on the mantle.  “Remember how it’s done, little bee?”

“I have to hold on very tight to Papa and make sure I keep my eyes and mouth closed until he says it’s okay,” she recited dutifully.  Sherlock secured her bag over his shoulder as John tossed a handful of powder into the dying fire.  It shot up in the enlarged grate, the green light dancing across the brick.  John kissed both of their cheeks as they walked to stand in front of it.

“Perfect, darling.  Remember, Sherlock, you’re going to the Three Broomsticks.  Once you’re gone, I’ll kill the fire and Apparate to meet you there.  Professor…Minerva should already be there waiting for you.”

Sherlock kissed him with a grin.  “I remember.  And excellent save.”  With that, he stepped into the fire and they were off.

John gave the room one last once over after he shrunk the fireplace and made sure it was out.  Smiling sadly to himself, he silently took out his wand and in seconds left Baker Street behind.

The Three Broomsticks looked fairly empty from where John Apparated outside of it.  He glanced through the window as he headed toward the entrance and spotted Sherlock speaking with McGonagall as Cecelia held his hand.  She watched the room with enormous, interested eyes and John could tell she wanted to explore the pub further.

“Da!” she shrieked as John walked inside.  Sherlock let go of her hand so she could run over to him.  “Can we go up to Hogwarts now?  Pleaseeeeee?”

“I’m ready whenever everyone else is,” John replied.  He shifted the bag from his free hand to his shoulder so he could shake McGonagall’s hand.  “How are you, Minerva?”

She nodded and shook his hand back.  “Very well, John.  I hope you understand just how much of a favour you are doing the school and Poppy by taking this position.  When she suggested you, I sincerely hoped you would agree.”

“Couldn’t say no, honestly; it’s a great opportunity for all of us.”  He offered his now free hand to Sherlock, who took it immediately.  McGonagall led them from the pub and up the path toward Hogwarts.  As they followed in her shadow, John was struck by the memory of Sherlock and him walking the same path years before when they returned after the drama of Mary’s reveal and death.  He glanced around, attempting to remember exactly where they had stood for their first tentative kiss.  When he thought he found roughly the right spot, he stopped them and looked up at a confused Sherlock.

Sherlock briefly released Cecelia’s hand as John took Sherlock’s face in a careful hold.  Sherlock’s eyebrows rose in question, but before he could voice anything John brought him closer to place a soft kiss on his lips.  When he pulled back, Sherlock blinked down at him, his expression so similar to what he wore after that first kiss that John felt his heart jump in his chest.

Once Sherlock finally focused on John’s face, his expression melted into fond warmth.  “Our first kiss?”  John nodded in reply.  “While I appreciate the sentiment, we’ve technically already passed the correct location.”

John barked out a laugh and let Sherlock go.  “You dick, of course you’d know exactly where it was.”  He took up Sherlock’s hand again and Sherlock copied him with Cecelia’s.  “Come on, before Minerva realises we’re not keeping up.”

They rejoined her just as she reached the front doors, a small smile curling her lips.  Cecelia had nearly been bouncing in her excitement, and when they actually entered, her tiny mouth fell open in shock.  Sherlock nearly dragged her to get her to follow them inside, her eyes enormous as she tried to take everything in at once.  When they passed the opened doors to the Great Hall, she let out a great gasp and pulled her hand out of Sherlock’s.  Running into the room, her footsteps echoing in the silent hall, she instantly looked up at the ceiling.

“Papa, look!  It’s just like my room!”

Sherlock followed her in and knelt at her side.  “It is.  I modeled the ceiling of your bedroom after this exact room.  But as the original, this one is even more special – watch.”

As they waited and watched, John and McGonagall stood observing them from the entrance.  Cecelia gasped and squealed as the clouds floating in the late summer sky outside were echoed in the hall, Sherlock pointing out the types and explaining how it worked.  Eventually McGonagall broke their silence.

“Did he really manage to replicate the ceiling?” she asked with open curiosity.

John nodded, hands shoved comfortably in his jeans pockets.  “It was right after we moved back in, long before Cecelia even paid it any attention.  Painted it by hand as a surprise for both of us.  Apparently he designed it specifically after the night sky above the Hufflepuff table.”

McGonagall shook her head, her smile growing.  “You have quite the sentimental man there, Master Watson.”

“Never would have expected it out of him, but I’m forever grateful for it.”  He raised his voice to call out to the other two.  “Oi, this is only the first spot!  There are still plenty of other places for us to check out – don’t you want to see our rooms?”

Cecelia whooped and ran to John, wrapping her arms around his leg.  Sherlock wiped off the knee of his trouser leg as he stood and followed at a slower pace.  They continued their journey through the castle, eventually making their way to the closed doors of the hospital wing.  Rather than leading them directly into the hospital, McGonagall produced a key and guided them to a room at their right.  Once unlocked, she passed the key over to John and waved them inside.

Overall the rooms were very similar to the ones they had the last time they stayed at Hogwarts.  The sitting room sat along the left, longer and more narrow than theirs back at 221b.  A pair of windows looking out on the grounds flanked a pair of armchairs, comfortable looking and well worn.  The corner of the room held a small fireplace, Billy the skull already sat on its mantle to survey the room.  A third, smaller armchair leaned against the wall between the other two, obviously meant for Cecelia, and a plush black sofa took up most the wall opposite, with a small coffee table before it.  A lush rug covered nearly all of the stone floor, bringing a cosiness and comfort to the room.  Its final touch came from the bison skull and headphones, which sat over the sofa to balance its opposite windows.

Cecelia instantly ran to find her room while Sherlock meandered into his and John’s.  John, meanwhile, followed McGonagall into a small kitchen, just enough room inside for tea anytime and snacks between Great Hall meals.  John peered into one of the cabinets and found a neat row of each of their favourite teas.

“How difficult was it to turn a single bedroom into a double?” he asked as he leaned back against the counter. 

“It took a bit of convincing, but eventually the stone relented,” she replied.  “It helped that the castle had to go through severe renovations after the battle.  The building has been more inclined to adapt to change ever since.  I hope everything is to everyone’s liking.  If you have any problems, please feel free to let me know.  Most of the other professors and staff are already here or arriving today as well.  We’ll be meeting for introductions at dinner tonight, at 6 o’clock as usual.  Sherlock and Cecelia are, of course, encouraged to attend.”

“Thanks, Minerva.  Everything looks amazing, we all appreciate it.”

She nodded and moved towards the front door.  “Of course.  It is the least we can do for what you’re doing for us.  Your office is right next door; simply turn the key I already gave you upside down and the door will admit you.  Would Sherlock like a normal key or one for the office as well?”

“Might as well give him both; who knows when he’ll want to burst in for some reason or other and it’ll be best to give him the means rather than waiting for him to figure out a way to open it on his own.”

“Very well, I’ll have it made and brought by as soon as it is finished.  I’ll leave you all to settle in.”  She headed back towards the door and closed it behind her with a snap, leaving John to make his way to the back of the flat in search of the rest of his family.

The two bedrooms sat side by side past the toilet, the bright purple door on the right obviously Cecelia’s.  John approached it, pushed the half open door the rest of the way open, and found Cecelia seated on the floor playing with an enormous collection of Legos.  Similar to her room at home, the ceiling was decorated in a night sky design, the stone walls dotted with astronomical charts and paintings.  Her coverlet echoed the space theme, shades of blue and black tinged with splotches of green and purple swirled with bright stars of varying sizes and shapes. The sheets below were a deep purple that was almost black, complete with matching pillows.  Her toys waited in a wooden chest below a window that should have been impossible.  John soon recognized it as a similar design to the ones in the lower levels of the Ministry that were meant to copy the weather outside.

“Da, look!  I’ve never seen so many Legos in my life!”  Cecelia interrupted his perusal of the room, jumping up from the round black rug at the foot of her bed to show him what she was creating.

“Professor McGonagall must have heard how much you like them.  We’ll have to make sure to thank her later.”

Cecelia nodded and went back to playing.  John left her to amuse herself as he went in search of Sherlock.  Their bedroom door was closed when he approached it, so he gave it a soft knock in warning before pushing it open.

He froze as soon as the door was open enough for him to see inside.  The majority of the room was taken up by an enormous four poster bed.  Sherlock lay sprawled across it, his limbs spread out decadently on the elaborate coverlet.  It was a goldenrod colour, nearly solid gold and blindingly shiny, with an elaborate floral damask pattern similar to the ancient wallpaper in 221b. The pillows and a folded blanket at the foot of the bed were a rich black that reminded John of the front door to Baker Street.  As he watched, Sherlock turned to rub his face into one of the pillows, his curls fading into the black of the fabric while emphasizing the paleness of his skin.  He arched his neck, his Adam’s apple showing prominently as he swallowed, and John groaned.

“Fucking tease,” he growled as he launched himself onto the bed.  He briefly grew distracted as the duvet brushed against his palms, sliding in his grip almost like water.  “Jesus, what is this made of, baby unicorn fur?”

“Interesting theory, but I suspect it’s merely silk,” Sherlock replied, lazily opening an eye to look up at John.  “Regardless, this bed is magnificent.”

John rolled away from where he had been hovering over Sherlock to sink into the mattress instead.  He let out a second groan, this one in contented comfort, as he settled further down into the sheets.  “Oh hell, you weren’t kidding.  I never thought I’d experience a bed better than the one you picked out back home.”

“This has to be magic, that’s the only explanation,” Sherlock said as he shifted to snuggle up against John’s side.  “No Muggle could create such perfection.”

John hummed and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.  He took the quiet moment to observe the rest of the room.  One wall was made up entirely of windows, giving them a view of one side of the hospital wing and a portion of the forest and hills surrounding the castle.  The fabric that currently hung at the corners of the bed waiting to be pulled closed for the evening were a somewhat gauzy black with a tiny design etched into it that was too small for John to make out properly.  When he reached out to pull it closer and inspect it, he let out a bark of laughter that jolted Sherlock from his position.  He lifted his head from John’s chest to glare down at him and John guided the fabric closer so he could look at it too.

“It’s got the Hufflepuff crest on it, see?” John said, rubbing his thumb along one of the tiny shapes.  “They decorated the room after my house.”

“I suppose that explains the yellow and black sheets,” Sherlock replied as he ran his hand up and down them.

“It’s brilliant.”  They lay together in silence for a few minutes more, the sounds of Cecelia talking to herself from the next room gently floating through the open doors.  John sighed in contentment and nuzzled Sherlock’s brow.  “Minerva’s invited us to meet the rest of the staff at dinner tonight.  Will you eat?”

“Perhaps a bit,” Sherlock said without enthusiasm.  John pulled him in tighter and rubbed his nape.

“It shouldn’t be too many people there, and you already know Neville and Minerva so it won’t be all strangers.  We don’t have to stay long if you’d rather not.”

“No, it’s fine.  I’ll have both you and Cecelia if it gets to be too much.”  Sherlock’s mouth ticked up into a sly grin.  “I’ll even do my best to keep my deductions to myself if I’m given the right incentive toward a future reward.”

“If that means using this bloody amazing bed, there’s no need for incentive.  I plan on thoroughly debauching it as soon as humanly possible.”

“Hmm, then why wait?”  With that, Sherlock grin widened as he pulled his wand from his sleeve to perform a silencing spell and crawled down John’s body.


At a quarter to six, John led Sherlock and Cecelia to the Great Hall, Cecelia skipping down the stones and Sherlock with his hands dug deep down into his pockets.  Cecelia was ecstatic to have a meal in ‘her bedroom hall,’ as she insisted on referring to it, but John could tell Sherlock was nervous.  Before they reached the hall, he felt around in Sherlock’s pocket to pull out his hand and clutch it in a tight grip.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so nervous about going to dinner before,” he remarked as he laced their fingers together.  Sherlock hummed as though he was indifferent, but John could feel his slightly sweaty palm.

“The only other wizards I’ve met are the extended Potter and Weasley families,” Sherlock replied quietly.”  He watched the portraits shift in their frames on the walls rather than meet John’s eyes.  “I’m concerned about their reactions when they learn I’ve only been studying magic for a few years.”

“Well, you’ll definitely meet some people who will think you’re not a proper wizard,” John agreed.  Sherlock’s head shot around and John caught an unusual glimpse of fear in his eyes before his expression became blank.  “Here, among the staff, though…I don’t think it’ll be a problem.  Minerva’s approved all of them and has worked with most of them for a long time and I trust her judgment.  She’s not the sort to hire someone who would look down on a wizard just because they haven’t been studying magic their entire life.”

By that point, they had reached the open doors to the hall where Cecelia had disappeared into and they could hear her amazed comments as she looked around at the room as a whole rather than simply the ceiling.  John stopped Sherlock before they entered too in order to pull him down into a soft kiss.

“Okay?” he asked quietly, stroking one of his cheekbones to reassure him.  Sherlock’s eyes darted into the hall before meeting John’s again.  He gave him a small nod and John grinned before sliding his hand back down to hold Sherlock’s and guide him inside.

The house tables were set up as usual, although they were empty and had been since the end of term in June.  The staff table had been shortened slightly, chairs set up along both sides like the house tables rather than all of them facing out toward the room at large as usual.  Many of the seats were already filled with professors chatting cheerfully with one another.  Cecelia stopped at the bottom of the steps leading up to the table, uncertain if she was allowed to continue.  When John and Sherlock approached, John placed his free hand on her shoulder.

At the end of the table facing them, Neville Longbottom’s head lifted as he spoke to Filius Flitwick and he instantly spotted them.  He broke out in a grin and shot to his feet to jump down and meet them.

“John!  Minerva mentioned you would be taking over for Poppy for the year.  We’re excited to have you, all of you!”

Cecelia had met Neville a few times since her first visit to Hogwarts as a baby, but she didn’t know him as well as some of their other friends.  As soon as Neville noticed her, he squatted down until he was at her level and held out his hand to her.

“Do you remember Neville, Cecelia?” John asked, hoping to jog her memory.  “He gave you that potted flower last summer when we visited Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny.”

Her face lit up as she remembered and shook his hand.  “You’re the one who had all of the colourful petals and hopping seeds in your pocket.”

Neville laughed and nodded.  “Good memory.  If you’d like, I can show you what happened to those seeds sometime.”

Her eyes were wide when she turned them on John.  “Can I, Da?”

“Of course, darling,” John replied.

She clapped excitedly as Neville straightened.  “Come on, let me introduce you to everyone,” he said as he guided them up the steps.  Their arrival had been subtly watched by those at the table, who gave them their full attention by the time they stood before everyone.  “This is John Watson, for those of you who haven’t met him before, our new Healer.  He’s just arrived with his partner, Sherlock Holmes, and their daughter, Cecelia.”

As John smiled and nodded at the table at large, Cecelia used the edge of the table to pull herself up on her tiptoes.  “This table is quite tall,” she commented matter of flatly.  Still holding the edge, she sank back on her flattened feet and turned to John.  “Will we be able to see over it, Da?”

A few chuckles scattered across the table as John lifted her up and rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, thanks for that, bee.  Only your papa is allowed to make jabs at my height, though.”

Sherlock smirked as they took their seats across from Neville and Flitwick.  Cecelia stared down the table, taking everyone in, before finally settling on Flitwick himself.  He smiled over his cup at her and winked.  “Nothing wrong with being a touch on the short side,” he commented.  “I’m part goblin myself.”  Her eyes widened impossibly more.  Flitwick turned to John before she could reply.  “John Watson, it is excellent to see you again, young man.”

“You as well, Filius, particularly if you make it a habit to call me young.”  They both laughed and would have continued their conversation if it wasn’t suddenly interrupted by an approaching pair of footsteps.  Minerva was followed up to the table by a man, who she gestured towards as they paused at the end.

“Everyone, this is Finley Doyle, our new transfiguration professor,” she announced once she had everyone’s attention.  “I hope you’ll do everything to make him feel welcome, as well as John and his family.”  Her eyes roved over the table until she found John.  She smiled at him as she sat at the end of the table, motioning for Doyle to take the seat next to Neville.  While the rest of the group resumed their conversations, Sherlock narrowed his eyes to silently study Doyle.

He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, fit but not excessively muscular, and only stood a few centimeters taller than John.  Given the various unfamiliar, blank looks he received when introduced, Sherlock decided he must have studied at one of the other European wizarding schools he had read about, most likely Beauxbatons.  His eyes were a dark blue that shone nearly black on his sharply shaped face.  His square jaw was framed by a neatly trimmed beard and moustache meant to emphasize his features and pull the eye to his well formed lips.  The image was completed by a splash of black hair, artfully styled and tossed to splay over his forehead and give him a boyish charm.  Sherlock realized that Doyle was smiling at him, watching Sherlock watch him, and he frowned back before determinedly returning his attention to the conversation around him.

“Yeah, we’ve been together for quite a few years,” John was saying, turning to grin at him.  “Been working together even longer, since it took us a ridiculous amount of time to realise how we felt.  It’s been worth it, though, the work and us both.”

“You make the work better,” Sherlock added.  He leaned in closer to John and lowered his voice.  “And me.”

John set his hand on Sherlock’s thigh and squeezed, leaving it there as he continued.  “There were a few rough patches before we figured ourselves out, but we’re better for it.”

“What exactly do you mean by ‘the work’?” an older man beside Flitwick asked.  His eyes sparked with subdued eagerness that set Sherlock on edge.

“He’s a consulting detective, only one in the world,” John parroted with pride.  As he went on to explain further, Sherlock watched as the man’s expression became increasingly more gleeful.  John leaned closer to Sherlock once he finished, placing a kiss under his ear before whispering, “Sorry, love, Slughorn’s likely to collect you now.  He has a bit of a thing for making sure important and successful people are close by.”

“Sounds like he would be better off as a politician then,” Sherlock whispered back, making John huff a breath of laughter against his neck.  He was about to respond when a new voice interrupted.

“You’re both Muggleborns, then?”  Sherlock lifted his head to stare across at Doyle, who watched him over the rim of his glass.  His voice was light and airy, a soft Irish accent instantly reminding Sherlock of a dead man’s gleeful giggle and making him shiver.  John obviously noticed it as well, his grip on Sherlock’s thigh tightening in response.

“Ah…I am, yeah,” John eventually replied, silently reassuring Sherlock with a soft thumb stroking the seam of his trousers.  “Sherlock’s a bit more…complicated.”

“My magic is much more subdued than with the typical wizard,” Sherlock interjected.  “I’ve only been practicing it for the last six or so years.”

Those sitting around them fell silent at his words, but Doyle leaned closer, interest bright on his face.  “Really?  How did you even find out you had magic?”

Sherlock attempted to stop his uncomfortable squirming, grounding himself in John’s reassuring touch on his thigh.  “Chance, mostly, through John revealing he was a wizard.  We’ve been working on developing it together.”

“It’s gone well, really well,” John added.  “He’s brilliant at everything else, so I knew once he set out to do it he’d be amazing, but he’s still surprised me.  You’d think the wand was part of his hand with how well he performs magic.”

“Fascinating,” Doyle muttered, rubbing at his beard with a grin.  “I look forward to experiencing this expertise you have with a wand firsthand, Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock did his best to keep his expression neutral, but he could tell from Doyle’s widening smirk that he wasn’t entirely successful.  Sensing his unease intuitively, John redirected the conversation to Doyle himself.

“Where did you go to school, Finley?” he asked as he brought Cecelia’s glass closer for her to reach.  Though not one of the most sophisticated of maneuvers, it effectively brought the focus away from Sherlock and his discomfort.

“Beauxbatons – my mother is French and insisted.”  Doyle shrugged as though the conclusion was obvious.  “My father was a Muggle and only minded because of how far away I would be, but he inevitably bowed to her demands.  I’ve always wanted to visit Hogwarts, however, so when I saw that there was an opening, I couldn’t help but try.  I was delighted to have succeeded.”

Sherlock clenched his fist on the table, still unable to shake the uncomfortable feeling Doyle seemed to invoke in him.  He nearly jumped from his chair when another hand touched his knee, but when he shifted to peer under the table, he let out a relieved sigh.  Cecelia’s concerned face stared back up at him until he shifted his position so she could situate herself between his legs.  He dropped his fork so that he could wrap his arm around her and pull her close.  She took the motion as a sign to continue and climbed up to perch on his leg, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Are you okay, Papa?” she asked quietly into his shirt.  He smiled against her hair and kissed her head.

“Yes, I’m fine, Cecelia,” he said equally quietly.  “Are you getting tired?  We’ve had a long day.”  When she nodded, Sherlock caught John’s attention by stroking his hand.  “I’m taking Cecelia back to our rooms,” he whispered into John’s ear.  Understanding instantly, John smiled and kissed them both.

“You remember the way back?”  He waited for Sherlock to nod before removing his hand from his thigh.  “I’ll be back soon.  Read to her and wait up for me?”  Sherlock nodded once more before rising to his feet.  As he strolled down between the rows of tables with Cecelia in his arms, he felt an odd, uncomfortable sensation on the back of his neck.  He stole a final glance behind him as he walked from the room and instantly locked eyes with Doyle.  He grinned and winked at Sherlock, who barely withheld a shudder as he hurried away.

When John returned to their rooms an hour later, he found Sherlock and Cecelia cuddled together in Cecelia’s bed, The Hobbit propped up between them.  Sherlock growled low in his throat as he read Smaug’s lines, lifting a hand and tickling her stomach in faux attack.  She broke out in giggles and batted him away, her cheeks flushed in amusement.  Sherlock beamed down at her and traded his attacks for an arm around her shoulder instead.  He mimicked John’s voice for Bilbo as always, making it higher and more ridiculous than necessary as his eyes darted over to John in the doorway.

John rolled his eyes and walked in to climb on the bed, attempting to insinuate himself between them.  Cecelia laughed and pulled him up by his collar until they were all sprawled together.

“What are we reading?” John asked with mock curiosity.  Cecelia curled up until she was settled in his lap and propped the book up for them.

“You know, Da, don’t joke.  Bilbo is trying to get the Arkenstone from Papa Smaug.”

“Ah, of course.  I should have known.”  He kissed her head and grabbed one of Sherlock’s hands to squeeze it.  “And how is Papa Smaug feeling?”

Sherlock cleared his throat and replied in his fake voice, “Well, but better should Bilbo decide to join him and his little Arkenstone for reading.”

John laughed and pulled the book closer.  “Of course he will; how else will Smaug and the Arkenstone know how Bilbo properly sounds?”

Cecelia wiggled herself more comfortably with her fathers, waiting for them to continue the story.  By the end of the chapter, her mouth hung slightly open as they carefully extracted themselves from under her and left her to sleep for the night.

As soon as they were out in the hall between their rooms, John snagged Sherlock’s hand and pulled them both towards their own bedroom.  A few candles hung along the walls, unnoticed when they were unlit earlier in the day, and lit their way enough that John could easily guide them.  He briefly considered stopping to properly get them ready for bed, but when he noticed the unguardedly tired expression on Sherlock’s face, John decided that it could wait.  He settled Sherlock on the pillows on his usual side of the bed before climbing in and snuggling up to his side.

Sherlock automatically wrapped his arms around John, but remained uncharacteristically quiet.  John began to run his hand slowly up and down Sherlock’s chest, toying with the buttons of his shirt as he went.  He felt some of the tension gradually drain from him, his torso going lax with a long sigh.  John glanced up at his face, watching his eyes fall shut.

“I’m not entirely sure what happened at dinner tonight, and it’s fine if you’d rather not discuss it right now, really, but are you okay?” John finally asked, keeping his voice low and comforting.  Sherlock kept his eyes closed, but he shifted his head until his nose nuzzled into John’s hair.

“There’s just something about Doyle…I don’t have enough information yet, but he doesn’t seem entirely right.  He acted perfectly normal and more than pleasant, but I couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable around him, as though he’s hiding something that not even I can see.”

John tucked his palm around Sherlock’s hip and threw a leg across his thighs.   “Well, if Minerva hired him, he’s probably not a felon or anything like that.  Maybe he just reminds you too much of Moriarty?  I noticed that there’s a lot of similarities and that might explain why he makes you uneasy without a specific reason.”

Sherlock sighed and nodded.  “Perhaps.  I can always just avoid him; it shouldn’t be too hard in a place this size.”  He glanced out the window, studying the dark night setting in over the forest.  “Shall we get ready for bed?”

“In a minute.  Right now I just want to hold you.”  Humming in agreement, Sherlock closed his eyes again and simply listened to the even sounds of John’s breathing.