"Sherlock, I bet you never could have guessed what just happened!"
In the meeting room beside the Great Hall, Mrs. Holmes clutched Sherlock's arm with barely contained delight.
"Mum was just chatting with Madame Delacour, and it turns out our families met in France years ago."
Sherlock delivered this in a tone utterly devoid of inflection.
"That's exactly right!" Mrs. Holmes was not the least bit surprised that Sherlock had already worked it out. Still gripping his arm with one hand, she reached over with the other and pulled Mycroft into the circle. "Fleur already knew the both of you back then, isn't fate just remarkable?"
Fleur's mother, Apolline Delacour, stood a little to one side watching Mrs. Holmes's excitement with a quiet smile, saying nothing.
She had known all of this far longer than Mrs. Holmes had.
The moment word spread last summer that the Triwizard Tournament would be held in England, she and her husband had already met with Mycroft's representative. None of them had anticipated that Mycroft would seek out their daughter.
At first, both parents assumed the young man simply meant to use the occasion to court Fleur. What followed, however, had left the entire family deeply shaken a man barely past twenty, and a Muggle at that, already wielding quiet influence over a neighboring country's wizarding world. It was utterly beyond comprehension.
And yet, to judge by Mrs. Holmes's manner now, the woman seemed entirely unaware of what her own son actually was.
Apolline had quietly probed the matter. Just as she suspected.
By this point Fleur had come to stand beside her mother, pulling little Gabrielle close, her heart full of a familiar, weary resignation. In her estimation, neither of the Holmes brothers was the least bit straightforward. The elder appeared gentle but was unfathomably deep. The younger was brilliantly sharp yet cold as ice.
Only eight-year-old Gabrielle remained blissfully unaware of any of this. She blinked her wide, liquid-blue eyes with curiosity glancing up at the tall, upright Mycroft, then over at the composed and unreadable Sherlock, her small face alight with wonder.
"You two!" Mrs. Holmes fixed her sons with a look. "I know perfectly well you both figured it out, but doesn't it strike you as the least bit magical?"
Mr. Holmes caught his sons' eyes and gave them a meaningful look.
Mycroft's lips curved into a smile. "Quite unexpected, really."
"What a remarkable coincidence," Sherlock said flatly, his expression unchanged.
'Could you two possibly be any less convincing?'
Fleur observed all of this and inwardly rolled her eyes.
Yet faced with such thoroughly perfunctory responses, Mrs. Holmes appeared to notice nothing whatsoever and pressed on with undiminished warmth, taking Madame Delacour by the hand:
"Mycroft is seven years older than Sherlock, and Fleur is eight years older than Gabrielle—isn't that funny! Apolline, don't you think? It really does feel like destiny."
"It does, rather," Madame Delacour agreed pleasantly.
It had been years, but she genuinely enjoyed Mrs. Holmes's company. The woman was kind and warm-hearted, truly lovely in every way. As for her sons, however…
Well. Best left unsaid.
A woman as purely good-natured as Mrs. Holmes was better off not knowing about certain arrangements. Though Apolline had to admit it was all rather awkward—the elder son had recruited her own daughter to keep an eye on the younger. What a business.
Across the room, Harry had fallen into conversation with the Dursleys and Sirius.
Uncle Vernon, belly leading the way, surveyed the surrounding witches and wizards in their peculiar robes with narrowed, suspicious eyes.
"I have a distinct feeling those people are looking at us funny," he muttered.
Harry stifled a laugh and nodded with great solemnity. He thought to himself that the Dursleys arriving at Hogwarts was rather like Mr. Weasley wandering into the Muggle world—of course people were staring.
"How come Dudley didn't come?"
Once he had mastered his expression, Harry asked the question that had been nagging at him. Last summer, Dudley had pestered him more than once about visiting Hogwarts, even thumping his chest and declaring: "Don't worry, Harry—even if it were Malfoy and his lot all at once, I wouldn't be scared!"
The memory still made Harry smile, warmth spreading through him unexpectedly. His cousin, reformed, wasn't bad at all.
Aunt Petunia's expression flickered oddly, her eyes darting away. "He hasn't broken up yet."
Only she knew how complicated her feelings had been when the invitation from Hogwarts arrived.
Twenty years ago, she had wanted this more than anything. When Lily received her letter, Petunia had written to Dumbledore herself full of hope, full of longing asking whether she might come too.
His reply had been kind in its phrasing and absolute in its refusal. After that, she had resolved to cut herself off from the wizarding world entirely. And now, twenty years on, here she stood, not as a student, but as a parent. The irony of it settled heavily in her chest.
Vernon had supported her without a second thought when she said she wanted to come. It was Dudley she kept thinking of.
She had imagined it more than once: how wonderful it would be if Dudley, like Lily, had received a letter. Lily's parents had been Muggles too, and Dudley had Lily for an aunt, the chances ought to have been reasonable.
But life rarely obliged such hopes. Poor Dudley had turned out, in the end, to be just like her—no magic, no letter. And so, Petunia had decided it was better he didn't come. Seeing all of this might leave him with the same yearning and heartbreak she had carried for decades.
It was fortunate, at least, that he was still in school.
The two of them had talked it over and come quietly, and moreover—
"Don't breathe a word of this to Dudley," Aunt Petunia said, her voice firm.
"Why not?" Harry frowned.
"Because I said so, and that's that," Uncle Vernon said, jaw set. "Now then, boy—you'd better win this thing, or we'll both be embarrassed."
Harry shrugged and let it go. Dudley was their son; if they had decided, there was no point in arguing.
'Whatever makes you happy.'
Once he had said his hellos to the Dursleys, Harry drifted over to Sirius and the two of them fell into eager discussion about the third task.
When Harry mentioned that Professor Lupin had given him some private preparation, Sirius broke into a wide grin and slapped his knee.
"Moony's finally come round! He was exactly the same as a prefect—far too by-the-book. We told him a hundred times: sometimes you have to know when to bend the rules!"
A shadow passed over Sirius's face as he said it.
He couldn't help thinking of his best friend.
But he tucked the feeling away quietly. What mattered now was that Harry was well. As Professor McGonagall had once said to Sherlock and Harry at the Gryffindor table—that was enough.
After the meeting room visit, the rest of the morning was given over to the champions and their families.
The Holmes parents and Mycroft, Harry's aunt and uncle—all of them were fascinated by Hogwarts, and given the particular bond between Sherlock and Harry, the two families gravitated naturally toward one another. With Sherlock and Harry as guides, they set off to explore the school.
Mrs. Holmes, of course, could not leave Fleur and her mother behind. "Apolline, do come along! Let the children show us round properly—I'm sure you've never seen a school quite like this!"
She was quite right about that. Though Apolline was a witch, she had never had occasion to visit Hogwarts before.
Charmed by Mrs. Holmes's enthusiasm, and mindful of her arrangement with Mycroft, she agreed readily enough. Whatever one thought of it all, staying on good terms with the Holmes family was clearly to one's advantage. From everything she had observed, the brothers were both, at least, respectful toward their parents.
The group toured the castle, the grounds, the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and made a special stop to admire the Beauxbatons carriage—all gleaming blue lacquer and impossible size and the Durmstrang ship, dark and massive in the lake.
Mr. Holmes became particularly captivated by the Whomping Willow. He circled it several times with bright-eyed interest before turning to Sherlock. "Extraordinary thing. Do you think we could transplant it to our garden?"
All in all, it was a thoroughly pleasant morning.
The one persistent awkwardness was Mrs. Holmes, who had developed an irresistible tendency to link Mycroft and Fleur at every opportunity.
"You're both the eldest in your families, and you knew each other as children that practically makes you childhood sweethearts!" She took each of them by the hand, beaming. "And now Sherlock and Fleur are competing together in this tournament, it really is written in the stars for our two families!"
Madame Delacour maintained a smile of polished, impeccable courtesy throughout, while privately reflecting that Mrs. Holmes seemed to know rather less about her own son than Apolline herself did.
A few carefully casual enquiries confirmed it beyond all doubt.
"Mycroft is such a wonderful boy, a modest little government post, of course, but he always gives it his best, and so driven—he'll go very far indeed, I'm certain of it…"
Mrs. Holmes continued in this vein with great warmth.
Sherlock: (—_—)
Mycroft: (╮(╯▽╰)╭)
Fleur: (σ'ω')σ
Speech is silver; silence is gold.
Mrs. Holmes's matchmaking efforts made no impression whatsoever on Fleur or Mycroft, but they caught the attention of an unexpected audience: Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.
"Madam," Aunt Petunia asked, perking up considerably, "did you say the elder Mr. Holmes works for the Crown?"
"Oh yes! Mycroft was hired by the government straight out of university. Steady work, good pay—he just travels rather a lot and doesn't make it home as often as I'd like…"
Mrs. Holmes had never warmed particularly to the Dursleys, given what Harry had told her about how they treated him. But Harry had said they'd changed a great deal in recent years, and her generous heart had adjusted accordingly.
What followed was an animated exchange between two Muggle mothers on the subject of raising successful children though it was largely Aunt Petunia consulting Mrs. Holmes on the question of how, precisely, one produced a son like Mycroft.
She was quite certain Dudley was every bit as capable. He simply hadn't had the right opportunities yet.
At noon, the champions, their families, and the school staff all came together in the Great Hall for lunch.
Hogwarts' warm gesture of inviting the champions' families to witness the final task had earned unanimous approval. Most parents agreed that being present to watch their children compete to see with their own eyes that Hogwarts nurtured not only knowledge but courage and character was worth far more than any written account.
Several noted that it was rare, given the demands of work, to share something so immediate and meaningful in their children's school lives. The consensus was that this kind of education, one that valued the whole person, deserved every encouragement.
In short: glowing reviews all round.
The fourth-years arrived not long after, having just finished their History of Magic examination. When the young Gryffindors filed in and spotted the unfamiliar faces gathered near Sherlock and Harry, a wave of curious and surprised looks swept down the table. Those closest to the pair made their way over at once.
"Hello, sir! Hello, ma'am!"
"Sherlock, is that your family?"
"Sirius Black—could I possibly have your autograph?"
Mrs. Holmes spotted Hermione in the crowd immediately and drew her into a warm embrace without a moment's hesitation.
"My dear, it's been too long and you look even lovelier!"
Hermione went slightly pink, flustered by the sudden affection. "Hello, Uncle! Hello, Auntie! Hello, Mycroft!"
Mr. Holmes and Mycroft both gave her a warm nod.
Mrs. Holmes, delighted, laughed even more brightly at Hermione's bashfulness. "The school really has had a wonderful idea, inviting everyone at the very least, I don't have to cook today!"
Before she had finished the sentence, another familiar voice rang out nearby.
"Hello, Uncle! Hello, Auntie! Hello, Mycroft!"
A bright, pretty figure appeared at the Gryffindor table.
"Gemma!"
Mrs. Holmes's joy doubled at once. Without further ceremony, she pulled Gemma down to sit beside her, Hermione on her left, Gemma on her right and settled in between them, perfectly content, smiling from ear to ear.
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