"HP: Potterlock" AU
'The Case of the Stone'
Chapter Three
- The Other Side of the Mobile -

A/N: I don't own squat, save for the plot.

This chapter has been a real bother. Oh, and for the record: This Severus Snape is not the Snape you know. He's the middle (half) brother of Mycroft and Sherlock. That bit of history caused a lot of things to go differently. So, if you're looking for the typical Dungeon Bat or Greasy Git, you won't find him. The three brothers have the same mother. Only Sherlock and Mycroft share the same father though. As such, Snape isn't even his last name. He took their mother's maiden name instead, as his father was worse than Vernon.

Other things about him are different as well. I'll be describing his appearance later.

Sorry about the state of this chapter. It's been so long though, that I'm putting it out now. I may clean it up later though. As it is, I'm anxious to actually get to the next day and beyond.

Watching Harold wave at them before disappearing into the train, Sherlock was at a momentary loss, and with it came a small hint of doubt. He didn't like that. A little over seven years had passed since the lad came into his life, and now he hardly recognized himself.

Not to say that he had changed outwardly. He still didn't suffer fools or idiots, and was bored more often than not. The pot-shots and divots in the walls could attest to that. Then there was the smiley face. Still, what he was feeling at the moment was unique.

It reminded him of the feeling he had when Irene faked her death. While he was immune to her Veela allure, it was the wordplay he had missed. Her mind was sharp, and had nearly fooled him more than once.

Interestingly enough, Irene had propositioned him, and he would swear Harold had something to do with it. He didn't know how to take that at the time, because it was an actual proposal. She had asked him not long after he saved her from being beheaded.

Okay, maybe she affected me a little.

No. The only way that would ever work, is if she gave up what she did for a living. The price on her head for knowing too much is… extravagant.

"Getting sentimental in your old age, Sherlock?" John asked, none too subtly.

He eyed John from the side, frowning. "Shut up. He's my son."

John looked contrite. "Right. Sorry."

Sherlock stood there for a moment, not wanting to move as he realized that he really did think of him as his own. His pride in Harold's accomplishments only increased the more he thought about them. Of course Harold could do this. All of the planning was sound. Grinning, he abruptly turned and headed for the apparition point at the far end of the station.

When he arrived at the marked location, he realized John was lagging quite a bit behind. The look of concern on his face was troubling when he caught up with him. "What's wrong?"

"I just had the most disturbing encounter with a sea of ginger," John said while thumbing over his shoulder. "Productive family, I must say. The overly fussy one was telling the mother that 'he wasn't on this side either'." John turned and inclined his head towards the train. "One of the brood might've done a runner, you think?"

Looking over, Sherlock saw the woman through the throng of people, holding a young girl's hand. While she was being jovial towards the four boys, he could see that she was worried. What was her name, Prewett? Palming his wand, he sent an eavesdropping charm to the bench that the woman was standing next to. While he could read lips, she wasn't exactly facing him.

"… don't know where he could be. Oh, the poor boy. Fred, George, search the train. Percy… oh, don't even say goodbye. Whatever am I going to do with you? Ronald, stay close to Fred and George. Remember what I told you."

"Yeah, mum. I'll remember."

After the boys boarded the train, the girl looked up to her mother. "Mummy? Is Harry missing?"

"No Ginny, he probably got on the train already."

"Can I go in and say hello?"

"No, dear. I'm sorry."

The girl stamped her foot. "But you said I'd meet my betrothed today!"

Satisfaction filled him, and Sherlock let the charm drop. "Of course. The Weasleys. Let's go, John. I'll explain later."

"I don't like that smirk," John complained in a flat tone. "Bad things happen when you get like this. And, the exit is back that way."

"We're not taking a taxi," Sherlock said, ignoring most of what he said. "Now stand still, and take a deep breath," he said while taking hold of John's arm.

John closed his eyes in resignation. "I hate this part." He inhaled sharply, just before they vanished from the station with a small crack of noise.

Truth was, he really did hate apparition. The whole concept of being compressed through some form of magical corridor the size of a soda straw was completely appalling, and one hundred percent uncomfortable. It never got better, and always made him want to relieve his stomach of its contents. Star Trek lied!

So, when they appeared wherever the hell they were, Sherlock simply patted John's back while the poor man leaned on his knees. "All right, there?"

"Waiting for my stomach to catch up," John grunted. Standing, he back-punched Sherlock's shoulder. "I hate it when you do that, you know. Now, where the hell are we?" Looking around, he blinked. "Oh… Why?"

"I would say because he's a busybody, but that would be lying," Sherlock replied. "We have an appointment. Lunch, which will be served after you're feeling better, followed by an afternoon of dreadful family business that I could hardly care less about, then finally dinner with some of the governors as well as the Director of the DMLE."

"All day affair, then," John said with a sigh. "This have to do with a case, or is it Hogwarts related? You've been tight lipped this past month, and don't think I haven't noticed. Is it related to the will?"

Blank façade in place, Sherlock simply nodded. "All three. Patience, John. I know we haven't been forthcoming, and I apologize. I promise everything will be revealed tonight." It was a miracle he didn't start swearing. Waiting just wasn't his forte.

A simple grunting affirmative was all John did to reply, satisfied for now. Secrets were nothing new, and he didn't mind – so long as he was told later. The heads in the fridge and the eyeballs in the breadbox he could do without, though. Bloody experiments.

Walking towards Holmes Manor, John was still impressed with the size of the place. It was intimidating, yet elegant. Normally, one would assume that such a large mansion would have some form of decay involved. This place was a bit more than well kept, though. The only way one would know that it was a magical home, was if you were told about it. The parking area for cars was like any other, and there were no fancy hedges that defied the laws of physics either.

All in all, it was the epitome of the rich. He still didn't know how to feel about that, considering the flat they shared. "You once told me that mundanes were ostracised by pure-blood families. I apologize if this is too personal, but is that the reason for Baker Street?"

Caught out by that observation, Sherlock turned his head with an upturned brow as they walked. "Actually, no. It started as a disagreement with my father about the future employment he wished me to undertake. Later, I found that I rather liked the simplistic approach to living."

"I think you just like Mrs. Hudson's cooking," John said with a straight face.

Sherlock tilted his head. "Her tarts are rather brilliant, but I could do without her approach in combining random foods and calling it casserole," he said with disdain.

John's chuckle was interrupted by Sherlock's mobile going off. The man smiled, then frowned at what he read, before firing off a rapid reply.

"What is it?" John asked.

"Just a small update from Harold," Sherlock replied. Flicking through the photos, he showed him Neville's picture. "That's the Longbottom boy we talked about. Apparently, the compartment Harold went to had him and this girl in it."

"I'd say it was a coincidence, but I'd be more inclined to say that he sought him out," John said with a nod. "The girl's rather adorable. What's her name?"

"Didn't say," Sherlock said as he rang the bell and pocketed his mobile.

John looked up at him. "So, what was the job?"

The look of disgust on Sherlock's face was rather telling. "Stock broker."

"Ah," John nodded with a small shudder. "Yes, I can readily see that argument. If you had taken it, I'd lay odds on the destruction of the building in under six days."

"Hours," Sherlock nodded with a wry grin, as the door opened. "I wouldn't have lasted the day."

Lunch was delicious and pleasant, if you overlooked the constant bickering between Sherlock and Mycroft. Rather than stay underfoot, John had ensconced himself in the media room to watch the telly. Honestly though, Sherlock suspected that it was more of a bolt hole and couldn't blame him for hiding.

Harold had sent several messages over the afternoon. The girl turned out to have parents that liked Shakespeare, if her name was any indication. He'd forgotten all about having to wait for Daphne, but didn't bother himself with it too much. The fact that Augusta was forcing Neville to use his father's wand upset him though, and he intended to bring that up with her this evening.

Family business was more of the migraine inducing boredom than he thought possible. Discussing investments was not on his list of things interesting, but he sloughed through it for Harold's sake as over half of them were in his name.

He was interrupted by Mycroft's assistant. "Your guests have arrived. They're waiting in the parlour." Direct, succinct and to the point. He'd have to remember to do something nice for her… if he could ever remember her name.

Coming into the room, he could see that the two women were watching the man out of the corners of their eyes. It was almost as if they expected him to start frothing at the mouth or something. Considering how he had avoided Azkaban, he couldn't fault them really.

"Ah, Sherlock!" Lucius Malfoy said with a superior expression about him. "Wonderful to see you. How is that lad of yours?"

"Extremely satisfied to get to his schooling, Lucius," Sherlock said with a bored tone. Turning, he inclined his head. "Madame Bones, Dowager Longbottom, thank you both for attending this evening as well."

"Might I ask what this is about?" Amelia asked. "With Lord Malfoy and the Dowager Longbottom in attendance with your brother, I would assume that this would concern the Hogwarts' Governors. Or, is this an impromptu meeting of the Wizengamot leads?"

"All four of us have children attending for the first time this year, Madame," Sherlock replied. "All are scions of their respective houses. This is politics at its finest: Dreadfully dull, with excitement interspersed. As for my brother, he should be along shortly."

Lucius was momentarily confused by that statement. The Holmes Scion had graduated some time ago, and was already deep in the Ministry. Looking to either lady, he could tell that they were perplexed as well. While he would never admit it publicly, Lucius knew that had he attended Hogwarts, Sherlock would have been the epitome Ravenclaw. With Madam Bones and Dowager Longbottom in attendance as well, the four houses of Hogwarts were represented in the room.

He didn't know what Sherlock was up to, but that statement piqued his curiosity enough to restrain himself for the time being. Politics was an art form, and he considered himself a master of it.

Dinner was as scrumptious as lunch had been, but John had to wonder about the seating arrangements. The Dowager was sitting across from the blond Lord and next to the Madam. The Madam was an interesting bird with a monocle. That he was across from her and next to the Lord was a bit intimidating. Sherlock and Mycroft were at opposite ends of the table. Mycroft between the Lord and the Dowager, and Sherlock between himself and the Madam.

For not having been introduced to these people before, John found them to be rather easy to read. The Lord and the Dowager despised each other. The Madam was the most composed, next to Mycroft and Sherlock, of course. The back handed compliments that the Lord was giving throughout set him on edge, and was only now coming to realize why Sherlock told him to bring his sidearm. Everything about the man disturbed him.

Has he known of Lord Malfoy's bigotry against non-magicals, it would have been hysterical. Had Lucius known he was sitting next to a muggle… The only indication that there was a prank going on, were small smirks from Sherlock and Mycroft. Amelia and Augusta simply didn't know any better.

Sherlock's mobile chimed, earning curious looks from the Lord and the Dowager. After checking it, he looked to his brother and gave a brief nod. Mycroft pulled his own mobile and sent a text message, while Sherlock set his on the table. Pulling something from his pocket, he set a blue crystal over the ear speaker, then tapped it with his wand. Just to annoy him, he gave John a knowing smirk.

"Well, I do believe we should do with a bit of music," Mycroft announced with a smile. Pulling his wand, he hit the wireless. Seeing the two Holmes brothers have matching satisfied smiles unnerved everyone. "I do believe Severus will be sending you a howler before too long, Sherlock."

Tittering a rather unmanly giggle, Sherlock nodded. "I look forward to it."

Before Lucius could ask, the music from the wireless stopped suddenly. The announcer for the evening, one Charles Brubeck, was heard.

"Sorry to interrupt everyone, but we have a rather exclusive and historic moment to hear tonight. As you all know, this is the year that The-Boy-Who-Lived begins his attendance at Hogwarts. We are truly fortunate to have someone on the inside tonight, as we will be listening to his sorting! Now, just to let everyone know, there is a bit of a time delay as the charms involved are rather complex."

Sherlock snorted and glanced at his mobile, earning two confused looks, and a look of admiration from John.

"Here we go everyone. I will apologize in advance, because we got the feed in the middle of the sorting. As normal, the announcements are being done by Professor Minerva McGonagall. Let's listen in, shall we?"

'Longbottom, Neville.'

'Good luck and don't fret. Remember what I said.'

"That whisper is from our insider, I think," Brubeck said.


The Dowager sighed in disappointment, and Lucius gave her a sneer. The proceedings were quite entertaining, he found. "My compliments, Dowager," he said snidely.

"Hufflepuff was my house, Lucius," Amelia stated with a frown. She was satisfied with his sour look.

'Malfoy, Draco.'

Lucius' brow arched in anticipation, before smiling.


"Little surprise, there," Brubeck commented.

'Potter, Harry.' The noise from the hall intensified. After a moment, McGonnagal called out a bit louder. 'Potter, Harry!' Another bit of a wait, then she spoke again, sounding disappointed. 'Sounders, Rodney.'

"What's this?" Brubeck interrupted. "He was supposed to be there, wasn't he? Greg? Okay, so what's going on? Did he go to a different school? I thought he was in country."

'Weasley, Ronald.'

"I must apologize, everyone. I'm not sure what's happening."


"We had been promised that we would be listening to Potter's sorting tonight. I'm not sure what's going on." Greg said.

'Zabini, Blase.'

"What could have happened to him?" the Dowager said, extremely worried. "Dumbledore said he was in a safe place!"


"I will be getting to the bottom of this," Amelia said.

'And what is your name, young man?' McGonagall said, interrupting the matching glares that Longbottom and Malfoy were sporting.

'Harold Holmes, Professor,' a polite voice said. 'Or, as we notified the Headmaster, Harold Holmes-Potter. I'm confused as to why the list wasn't changed, because the owl wasn't returned. One wonders if he forgot.'

"Oh, my," Brubeck said.

"This should be good, and we scooped Skeeter!" Greg said jovially.

The three guests immediately turned to gape at Sherlock. He smiled his most insufferable knowing expression, and held up his hand. "There's more."

John started chuckling as the three turned to the wireless as one.

'Is that so, Harry?' an elderly voice said.

'If you must use the familiar, please use Harold, sir,' he said calmly. 'Since I do not prefer to be familiar, Mr. Holmes will do, Headmaster.'

'Your name is Harry Potter,' Dumbledore protested with a bit of a growl in his voice.

'No it is not,' Harold stated flatly. 'You would have known that, had you kept up with where you placed me, old man. Since you did not, I am not to blame for your ignorance or incompetence.'

Lucius brow went up as he tried to hide his smile. This was better than he expected. Augusta and Amelia looked as if they were going hit something.

'You will show the Headmaster respect, young man,' McGonagall said hotly.

'His position is what I respect,' Harold said, 'However, the man I do not.'

'Perhaps we should adjourn to my office,' Dumbledore said.

'I think not. I do not trust you enough to be alone in the same room, sir.'

'Show the Headmaster respect, or be placed in detention,' McGonagall said a bit louder.

'I WILL NEVER RESPECT HIM!' Harold roared. 'He left me with CHILD ABUSERS! Why in the Name of God Himself would I ever respect him for that?'

"He did what?" Amelia said quietly. From the expressions around the table, everyone was asking themselves the same question. Even Lucius was incensed.

'Where did the Headmaster leave you, Harold?' a droning baritone voice asked.

"I think that would be Professor Prince, asking," Greg said.

'Petunia Evans-Dursley and her fat bigoted husband, Vernon.'

There was the sound of wood scraping against stone, followed by a clatter. 'YOU LEFT HIM WITH THAT RACIST MONSTER? WHAT THE {static} WERE YOU THINKING, ALBUS? TUNEY HATES MAGIC!'

'Hated, Uncle Severus,' Harold said quietly. 'Past tense. They've been dead for seven years.'

'Why did you never say anything? You know I would've done something about that,' Severus asked.

'My father and Uncle Mycroft decided not to, because they preferred you not being sent to Azkaban for killing the senile idiot in retribution. Frankly, I agreed with their reasoning.'

"Severus can be a bit vicious," Lucius conceded with a scowl on his face. Mycroft and Sherlock simply nodded.

Harold's quiet voice spoke again. 'Due to the Potter Will being unlawfully sealed within the Ministry, under Chief Warlock Dumbledore's order, which is ironic, since he witnessed it for them, the rights of seven people (including myself) were systematically ignored.

'After my parents murder by an insane dark lord, My Godfather, Sirius Black, was thrown in prison without a trial, and has yet to have one to this day – despite all efforts to grant him one.

"What?" Amelia started.

'My Godmother, Alice Longbottom, was rendered incapable to care for anyone, including her own son.

"They could've been raised together," Augusta said, sounding pained.

'After them, Amelia Bones was to take care of me as she was their lead Auror and friend after leaving Hogwarts.'

"WHAT?" Amelia shouted.

'I would've liked to have a brother or sister. As it is, Daphne is a wonderful sister, even though we technically should not have met until today.

"She is rather bright," John commented.

'Peter Pettigrew can be overlooked, as he was named James and Lily Potter's secret keeper in the will.

Amelia was apoplectic. "Heads are going to roll over this!"

'Unfortunately, since my other named guardian is a werewolf, he was automatically declined by the Ministry as being a so-called Dark Creature once a month.

"I never liked that law," Lucius said, surprising everyone.

'Lastly, if all three of the accepted list were incapable of tending to my care, I should have gone to Minerva McGonagall.'

There was a bit of static, and Brubeck's voice was apologetic. "Sorry everyone, but Professor McGonnagal's giving Dumbledore the what for in a rather colourful fashion. Skipping ahead."

"I would hope so," Augusta said, scowling.

Harold spoke again. 'This would not have been brought to the public knowledge had you simply agreed with my name.

'As it is, Gringotts has already seized the funds stolen by you for your own coffers, as well as those sent to the Weasleys for the bride price of their only daughter, Ginevra. Needless to say, the original marriage contract you illegally scripted has been voided and burned. And yes, I am currently in contact with solicitors to have you formally charged for Attempted Line Theft.'

Amelia had a muggle notepad out, and was scribbling furiously.

'We should talk later, ma'am. However, I do believe we've held up dinner for long enough. May I be sorted now?' Harold asked politely.

"Oh, I do hope that man gets what's coming to him," Brubeck said. "Moment of truth, people."


"HA! You owe me ten galleons, Greg!" Brubeck said. "I told you he'd claim his ring!"

"Shut it, Charlie," Greg replied. "Still think he's too young for that, but the law's the law."

'I'm so sorry. Please go to your table. We'll talk later.' McGonagall said.

"You think she could've raised him?" Greg asked.

"Don't see why not. I mean, she may be the Assistant Headmaster, but that doesn't mean he couldn't have been brought up in Hogwarts while she taught during the day," Brubeck answered.


'Oh, I forgot,' Harold said. 'You're also being charged with Wilful Neglect of a Minor, seeing as how I wasn't placed in St. Mungos for medical attention following the attack. According to the Goblins, there was a Class Ten Parasite embedded in that scar I had. As you can see, I no longer have either.' There was a pause. 'Wonderful beings, the Goblins.'

"Well… That was a shock." Greg said. "Was anything said over the years about Harry Potter true?"

"What about all those books?" Brubeck asked.

"Surely you realize that those are works of fiction, right?" Greg countered.

"Uhm. Well," Brubeck said a bit softly. "My daughter loves them."

Greg laughed. "Of course she does. She's what, six now? It's just a set of stories written for children, like 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'. I wonder if Lord Potter will be asking for kickbacks now?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if he sues Crawling and Bark for the rights, to be honest," Brubeck replied. "With everything else… I can't believe Dumbledore placed him somewhere and didn't check on him. Whoops. There went the feed."

Grinning, Mycroft flicked his wand to turn off the wireless.

Everyone at the table looked to Sherlock, who now had his mobile up to his ear. "Don't worry, Amelia. I've been recording the entire thing, and still am."

"Thank you," Amelia said with a nod. "Is that capable of transferring to crystal storage?" At his nod, she returned it. "Please see to it that I receive a copy."

Seeing the look of concern on Sherlock's face, John prodded him. "What is it?"

"That girl is currently sobbing on his shoulder," Sherlock explained. His brow arched, then he smiled.

"What?" John asked.

He grinned at his friend. "I made a comment on her hair to Harold, while he was on the train. She must have read it, because she just said that she was going to 'pull it back like I suggested'."

Augusta looked at Sherlock, concerned with his nonchalance and his ability to smile at this. "Shouldn't you be more angry?" she asked rather primly and criticizingly.

John held up his hand. "Don't bother, Dowager. There are few times when I've seen him angry. Trust me when I say that he is beyond furious. This is a distraction to spare your blushes."

"Actually," Sherlock interjected, "I would not say that I am angry in the least. I am most proud with how he handled himself. That's not to say that there wasn't a white rage a month ago."

"The will," Amelia stated.

Sherlock inclined his head.

In Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, there was a shouting match between the Patriarch and Matriarch of the Weasley family, in the middle of their living room in the Burrow. "Do you realize what you've done, Molly?"

"I did what I had to do!" Molly shouted back. "Dumbledore said he was his guardian!"

"Molly," Arthur said in a dangerous tone of voice. "You do know that the title of Lord Potter is only one that he holds."

"So?" Molly countered. "What of it?"

"One of them is Baron Devon," Arthur said slowly. "Do you understand? He is our Liege Lord!"

Blood vacated Molly's face as she fell back into her chair.

Arthur glared at his wife. "Now that you know what can happen to us, I have to go to the Ministry, Immediately!"

Molly simply sat there as her husband left the room, trying to control her breathing. She didn't even notice the flash of green of the floo, nor the sound of her daughter flying up the stairs in a fit of tears.

In the small town of Little Trenethick, in Cornwall, a rather incensed werewolf left the small house he was squatting, with a rather loud crack of apparition. The sound was so loud, that one of the smaller windows shattered. Moony wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he was actually contemplating biting the Headmaster.