Heyyy yallllll

Thanks for the reviews. You guys don't know how much that means to me. School started back up. Bleck. Hope you guys are enjoying the story. I know there are plot holes, it's been pointed out, particularly concerning Sirius Black and Dumbledore…sorry…

I'll do my best to fill them haha. As you might know, I can't find my old files with the older chapters, so it would be hard to fix that just straight out. Anyway, I hope you guys are enjoying! I love seeing theories about where my story is going in the comments!

Love you guys, really. You all give me so much motivation and encouragement.

~James

Severus had resigned himself to his fate a while ago.

He smiled, inwardly mind you, as he watched the four little boys tumble around his yard like the heathens they were. Warm fondness sat contentedly in his chest as he nursed a cup of tea, watching from the other side of a window. Draco and Sherlock had teamed up, throwing sparking, crackling powder from Zonko's at Longbottom and Little Weasley, who were running away, giggling and shrieking, from their attackers.

Tests had been taken, the petrified revived, the school year ended.

Things were…oddly peaceful. The old, cynical part of Severus warned him not to grow to comfortable. Mocked, saying the quiet always settled in just before something worse unfolded. However, this strange, softer Severus that had once existed only with Lily Evans, had reemerged due to her son. That kinder side told him to enjoy the happy moments while they lasted. That he deserved it after the hell of a school year he'd just survived.

Sherlock seemed largely unaffected, to be honest. While he was still somewhat delicate, physically, and grew tired easily if he used too much energy or performed any magic at all, his personality and emotional state had returned to pretty much exactly how it used to be. Neville, as well, seemed to have shrugged off the events of the year. The boy had grown to be far more confident than he had been at the beginning of first year – to the point where he was comfortable spending the day at the terrifying Potion Master's house.

Draco and John, however, visibly bore the effects of all that happened. Neither child was all too willing to stray very far from Sherlock's side. They'd been over to see him every day, for as long as they were allowed the moment they were permitted to. Draco, who had never been an especially tactile boy, clung to Sherlock's hand or threw an arm around the smaller boy's shoulders, or ruffled his hair, or sat so closely next to Sherlock that they were very nearly sitting on each other.

John, for his part, was less touchy than he normally was. It was as though he were guilty for parading around with "Harry" (as Severus had taken to referring to the not-Sherlock that had been wandering around). Whereas, towards the end of last semester, John had pecked innocent little kisses onto Harry's cheek, held his hand, leaned against him, he kept a good foot's distance at all times from Sherlock.

Sherlock did his best to close the gap, looking confused when John pulled away. Severus felt pity for the Little Weasley. It must be…unsettling, to learn that you had been indulging what really could be considered an imposter. Nevertheless, there was no way Little Weasley could have known what was truly going on.

Severus watched Sherlock as the boy laughed helplessly, sprawled on the ground, acting like the child he was. He sighed to himself and lumbered over towards his living room, where he plopped down onto his sofa with a huff and leaned his head back against the cushions.

There was a rapping on the window. Blearily, Severus opened on eye, loosened his wand from his arm holster, and flicked it towards the window pane. It slid open, and an owl bearing the morning edition for the Daily Prophet swooped in. Severus dug out the proper coinage from his pocket, and relieved the bird of it's burden.

Closing the window behind the owl, Severus wriggled a bit to sit up straighter.

Then he froze.

"Infamous Death Eater Escaped from Askaban!"

(ﾉಥ益ಥ）ﾉ ┻━┻

┻━┻ ︵ ヽ(°□°ヽ)

┻━┻ ︵ヽ(`Д´)ﾉ︵ ┻━┻

Aeldin was far from stupid. He had wandered from hall to hall, room to room. No door was locked to him. He absorbed memory after memory, and had come to an undeniable conclusion: Sherlock had been reincarnated, along with John and Mycroft. He suspected the Granger girl, as well, but was not as solidly certain on her as he was with the other three.

He'd always hated muggles. He hated how filthy they were. How vulgar they were. How they took and took and thought only of themselves – not for the future generations, not for the planet, not even for tomorrow. They were stupid and selfish and disgusting lesser creatures. Basically animals, which is why he'd never had any problem killing them.

Except….Sherlock was once a muggle, and aside from not having magic, Aeldin could find no discernable difference between Sherlock Potter and Sherlock Holmes. The life he had lived as a muggle was so interesting and colorful. So exciting. He'd had no idea muggles could be so…so…

Human.

Beautifully, horrifically, wonderfully human.

In the end, Aeldin admitted to himself that he must have been shoved with the worst of the lot when he was a child. The scum of the muggles. Surely, since there were some magical people who were just horrid, there must be some muggles who were alright.

Like Sherlock.

Aeldin found himself wondering if he had ever been a muggle in a past life, and he just didn't remember. It seemed to farfetched, and yet more and more the idea became amusing to him. Lord Voldemort, a muggle.

All in all, his new daily pattern was a marked improvement to spending his days in a single room. Every now and then, Sherlock would join him in watching a memory, providing commentary. Aeldin supposes that Sherlock had been wanting to share his wonderous past life with someone, someone who could appreciate the fantastical nature of it.

It was magical, in it's own mundane way.

They conspired together, smirking as they plotted to reenter the muggle world, armed with magic. To take the mundane world by storm just for shits and giggles.

But not to destroy it, like he once wanted. Just to play. To have fun.

It's odd, to indulge himself like this. He never had before. There was always a greater purpose to everything he did. A reason for doing everything. And yet, here he was, planning the prank of a century to pull on all non-magicks in England for no reason at all. Not to harm, not to enslave, not to dominate.

Just because he could.

And he could.

Today, though, Sherlock wasn't here. But that was fine with Aeldin. With all the ghostly memories around him, he could hardly feel lonely. He wandered place to place, no door locked for him.

Until there was a locked door.

It looked familiar somehow. An arched shape, made of solid, polished oak. It looked new, but old fashioned. A strange version of the Hogwarts crest was carved in the center. It was easily recognizable for what it was, but the 'H' in the center was a different style than what he was used to. In stead of a shield-shaped base, it was instead somewhat elliptical, separated into four sections. Instead of an animal adorning the corners to represent the houses, there were instead a pair of crossed swords in the top left corner, a set of scales in the top right, a scroll and quill in the bottom right, and a potion vial beside a flower in the bottom left.

Intrigued, Aeldin tried to go through. The door wouldn't budge.

Annoyed, he blasted it with as much energy as he could muster.

Nothing happened.

In truth, he could have simply walked passed to another door that wasn't locked. But Aeldin had already spent so long trapped behind a locked door. Just the thought that somewhere else was barred to him sent him into a rage.

He cast spell after spell, pulling magic from Sherlock's own stores.

Nothing worked. Angered, he kicked the door, rattled the circular door handle, and pushed hard against the wood. Nothing. He leaned his whole weight backwards, still holding the handle—

The door swung open easily.

Aeldin flew backwards, head under feet, tumbling.

He scowled.

Got up.

Brushed off his robes.

"Right…" he muttered to himself as he pulled the door open wider and walked through as elegantly as you please.

¯\(°_o)/¯

Sherlock was so very relieved to be back home with Severus. The man seemed to be relieved as well. For the first few days, Severus had been attentive in nursing him back to health and keeping him company, but had remained his usual sarcastic self. There was no coddling, aside from the occasional pat on the head before bed, or a firm squeeze on his hand. There was unmistakable relief in the man's eyes, but there were no actions too far out of his established character.

As soon as Sherlock was able to move about freely, Severus had gone back to performing his own projects in the private home potion's lab, letting Sherlock's friends come and go as they pleased. However, about a month in, something changed noticeably.

Severus, with a slightly paler face than normal, had sent John, Neville and Mycroft home early, then proceeded to stay in the same room with Sherlock as much as was possible. He had Sherlock help him in his lab with potions, in the kitchen with cooking, in the garden with gardening. This, in and of itself was not too odd. However, once those activities ran out, Severus began to think up more activities to do, just the two of them.

On one hand, it was driving Sherlock mad not knowing what caused the change, and Severus wouldn't answer him no matter how much he pestered the man. Sherlock couldn't even succeed in annoying the man into snapping at him. Severus would just tenderly smile down at him (something which continued to freak Sherlock out, the man wasn't dying was he? Was he?) and ruffle his hair.

On the other hand…it was really nice.

Severus took him to the zoo, once, and they spent the entire time watching the other humans there, rather than the animals, Sherlock deducing them for Severus and Severus pretending to do the same, sending Sherlock into hysterics.

("That woman is obviously a cannibal"

"What?"

"Just look at her, Sherlock. She weighs at least as much as a full-grown elephant. And look at all the spawn she's birthed. She's obviously raising them for the meat. No one in their right mind would have that many children otherwise."

"What about that man, over there?"

"Those aren't actually his children, those are his minions under Polyjuice. You can tell by the way they're eyeing those birds."

"What?"

"Don't be thick, Sherlock. Obviously, they're involved in a penguin smuggling ring.")

Other times they've gone hiking up mountains, or in marshes, or along beaches, looking for special potion ingredients. Severus took him to see pixies in their native habitat, a unicorn reserve, a forest of talking trees, even a few muggle theme parks.

It was….really nice, but not the oddest part of the changes. On the days when they didn't go anywhere, and had no work to do in the house, Severus still insisted they did things together. The most noteworthy of which being books. Severus had a selection of children's book he ordered from Flourish and Blott's. At first, Sherlock was insulted, but Severus would hear none of his protests, sitting beside the boy on their couch.

Severus didn't make Sherlock read the books. Severus read the books to Sherlock out loud. It was something only Mycroft had ever done, a long long time ago in Sherlock's past life, and even then it only happened once or twice.

Even odder, every night Severus would see Sherlock up to his room and physically tuck the covers up around him, snugly. Then, he'd sit by Sherlock's side until he fell asleep, sometimes with a trembling hand resting on the boy's back, or on his head, or clutching Sherlock's own hand. Sherlock was certain that the man feared Sherlock would try to leave some time during the night. Something had happened, he was sure of it. Severus was careful to not let him see or hear any news from the wizarding world. Any letters that Sherlock got, Severus insisted on reading first before deeming it safe for Sherlock to read.

Sherlock would have been livid at his behavior were it not so obvious that Severus' actions came from a place of true fear.

But what was it that he was afraid of?

In any event, out of respect and concern for the man, Sherlock did his best to fall asleep quickly, and stay in his mind palace until morning.

He had much to sort through, anyway.

Ever since he broke free of whatever had been in his mind, he'd noticed a few changes in his own mind and body.

For one, his magic—though still weak from the circumstance—had started to respond to his wishes more instinctively and precisely. He also found that he suddenly had a strange, deeper understanding of something than he knew he should rightfully have—things like alchemy, wizarding politics, and runes.

Every now and then he'd recall something random—a name or a place or a date, that he would have sworn previously held no meaning for him. It felt as though he'd forgotten something, something that was on the cusp of his consciousness, that he was inches away from grasping. Every now and then he'd get a glimpse at it, but the glimpses never made any sense.

The only thing to do, was to comb through his mind palace and try to find out what the heck had happened. It was instances like there, where having a second person in your brain was helpful. Aeldin had been wandering around, exploring, as well. And so Sherlock could simply ask the soul shard if he'd found anything weird, and which corridors he had been wandering through.

Even still, he hadn't expected Aeldin to find a whole hallway he'd known nothing about.

╮ (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.) ╭

Scabbers was looking a little ill, John thought. His hair was all falling out, and he kept trembling. Logically, John knew that the little guy was probably dying from old age. Even still, it made him rather upset, because his brother had given him this rat. His father had taken a look at it, and just awkwardly patted John on the shoulder, telling him to try and keep the poor thing comfortable.

Percy looked just as sad as John was, often dropping by the little nest John had made for Scabbers to say 'hi' to the pathetic thing. Fred and George, sensing that they favorite younger sibling was really depressed by the whole dying pet thing, tried to cheer him up by saying they'd convince Charlie to send him a new pet from his workplace in Romania on the dragon reserve. Ginny, didn't understand what all the fuss was about—it's just an ugly old rat, afterall—but suggested they try to look for medicine when they went to Diagon Alley to look for their school supplies.

Molly had looked concerned by this, money was tight, though it was somewhat better now, now that they didn't have to worry about as many healer bills. Even still, she had only the best intentions when she suggested "Ronnie, dear, why don't you ask little Harry if he want to make it a trip with you?"

From the look on her husband's face, though, he didn't share her opinion.

Arthur had pulled a few extra odd jobs for his co-workers, tinkering and personal favors, and managed to gather a handful of extra sickles, which he gladly handed over to John. "See if the Menagerie has any rat tonics, alright kiddo?"

"Can I still invite Sherlock, Dad?" John asked.

Arthur hesitated. With Sirius Black running about, Severus was understandably terrified that Sherlock would catch wind of what was going on, and take off to vanquish the villain by his own little self. And Sherlock was already in such a fragile place, with all the stress his poor little body had undergone. Elsewise, Severus worried that Black would be able to hunt the boy down. Taking Sherlock to Diagon Alley was probably the worst thing to do at the moment.

"Maybe, bud," Arthur managed a smile. "I'll ask the professor, how does that sound?"

John responded with an unconvincing smile, but nodded anyway. "Thanks," he said, quietly. Arthur sighed, and prayed to the fates that Black would be caught soon. He quite missed having young Sherlock at the Burrow, and John had been growing steadily quieter, sadder, since Severus had asked for all visits to be withheld for the time being, as he and Sherlock would be moving around frequently and randomly, so as to throw Black off of their scent.

"Don't mention it, son," Arthur sighed.

(•_•) ( •_•)⌐■-■ (⌐■_■)

Sirius was more or less wandering aimlessly.

He did have a plan, he just wasn't quite sure how to execute that plan at the moment. After all, he had no idea who he could trust. Dumbledore, if the Headmaster was even still alive, should have known of Sirius' innocence. Remus was Sirius' best bet at an ally, but his old friend probably thought he was a traitor. James and Lily were both dead, and puppy had no idea who he was.

Besides, the papers said his pup was in a coma.

He had no idea where he was, but he knew he had to get to London. From there, he'd be able to make it to Scotland. Until then, he had to survive. So, Sirius hunted like an animal, ate like an animal, shat like an animal, slept in the mud like an animal.

It was all for Harry. He had to protect Harry. He had to kill that treacherous rat. He had to make sure his pup was okay. Should he look for Remy first? Try to convince his old friend? Should he try to get an eye on Harry?

He wasn't even sure where Harry was. Lily had a sister, didn't she? He should check there. She lived in Surrey, last Sirius knew. That wasn't far from London, and Sirius had all summer. It was easy work to pick-pocket a wand, and apparate to Surrey. He planned to only stay long enough to get an eyeful of the pup, or at least hear something about him—Harry might be in one of those muggle hoppicals. Then'd he'd have to apparate away, quickly. They were looking for him, monitoring apparition, part of why Sirius couldn't just apparate to Hogsmede.

What was the sister's name? Sirius struggled to remember as he panted down the muggle street, looking this way and that at the identical houses. Daisy? Rose? Petunia? Peony? It'd been twelve long years. Twelve, very, very long years. He couldn't remember. He knew the sister had a husband, was relatively sure they had a child. Names, though…names escaped him.

Where was Harry?

"Shoo! Ugh! Filthy mutt!" A rather rotund woman screeched. Sirius looked up at her, blandly. By her cankles was the ugliest little dog he'd ever seen. "Come, Rippy-poo! I don't want you to get fleas," she cooed down at it. Sirius huffed at it, and trotted off towards the hedges.

Soon, more obese people—and one stick lady—joined the woman around a table in the yard. The stick lady poured them tea, wine in the case of the fat woman, and served out fatty treats, which the three other people gorged themselves on. Unfortunately, with Sirius' hearing he could make out every lip smack and obnoxious slurp that came from them. He was about to move further away, when the woman started speaking again. Tired, and mentally exhausted, Sirius listened out of morbid curiosity.

"Saw that scrawny mutt you got hanging around," the fat woman said.

"Mutt?" blustered out the fat man to her right. "By jove, Marge. This is neighborhood wouldn't tolerate having any mutts wander the streets!"

"I saw it," 'Marge' insisted. "A great ugly black thing with the most matted and ratty coat. Reminded me of that insolent thing you used to keep in your cabinet. What was its name? Henry? Harvy?"
"Harry" the stick lady sniffed. Sirius froze.

"That's the one!" Marge chortled. "Good thing you got rid of it. What happened to the brat, anyway?"

"No idea," The fat man, huffed. "Some great brute appeared one day. Said he knew the lad's parents. Haven't seen hide nor hair of him since."

The fat woman laughed boisterously. "Good riddance," she said.

Sirius saw red.

sorry it's kinda shorter