Title: Risen from Darkness

Summary: Found and raised by a murdering mastermind. Rescued and adopted by a genius detective and a war veteran. Invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Just your regular, damaged war orphan.

World: Sherlock Holmes and Harry Potter

Chapter One:

Azkaban and Nurmengard were not the only prisons of the Wizarding World. There were others, so many, many others, but there was one deathly feared, ranked among Azkaban and Nurmengard both. No one spoke its name in fear of reprisal from its strange, bloodthirsty Keepers except in the fewest of occurrences. It was in an older, less civilized part of the world, merely a gaping abyss in the earth. Prisoners are thrown in, and once one enters that terrible abyss, there is no coming out. But every so often, something rises from the darkness, from that Hell on earth. Something…Something is sent back.

I was born in hell, forged by suffering and hardened by pain…yet still, in that terrible darkness, my innocent mother gave to me a name that meant, of all things, Hope.

"Professor McGonagall, this is Marie." The witch stared at what she had been certain was an intricate doll blink those far too observant eyes – Did they darken in color? – and stand up from where she had been kneeling at the lit fireplace with grace that could not, should not, be found in a mere child. The fair headed man that had answered the door of 221B introduced her to the child that Albus Dumbledore had spoken of. The child was fourteen, not the customary eleven, but extenuating circumstances had prevented her from attending Hogwarts or even receiving her letter. The Headmaster had already spoken with the child and had her tutored for the past year so that she would be able to be on par with her peers.

"Good day, Madam, am I to assume that you are the emissary sent from Britain's Magical Institute?" Each word was carefully spoken in a manner more fitting to an aged Lord than that of a young girl of fourteen as she inclined her head towards the elder woman. Her voice was soft but strength could clearly be heard within it. Dark, almost wild curls fell over her shoulders as the fourteen year old, Marie, sat back down in front of the fireplace in a single, elegant movement.

"I-I am. I trust that you have heard of me from the Headmaster?" The experienced Transfiguration Mistress didn't quite know why she stuttered underneath the child's blank stare, there was…there was something empty about her. She could feel nothing from the child; it was as if she were only a Golem or some other Magical construct. Even though she could not feel Auras or the such, she could still feel the spark of Magic that surrounded all Magical beings. That spark was absent from the child.

Something flickered in the girl's blank eyes (Thank the gods), as if a memory had been trigged by her words. "Yes…he often begins the lessons with anecdotes concerning the school…I believe that you are the Transfiguration Mistress, if my memory is correct?" She tilted her head to the side in a manner reminiscent of a young fox while her fingers played with the material of her dark skirt.

"Indeed I am. The Headmaster has led me to believe that he has already Sorted you, but as you were not Sorted on the grounds of Hogwarts herself, you may ask for a ReSorting."

"My House…is acceptable to me." The girl seemed to have weighed her words, considered the possible outcome of what she had said, but spoke nonetheless. She considered where she had been Sorted to be suitable, if it adequate.

"Very well." The older witch sighed in relief as those terrible eyes slid away from her and returned to the flickering flames of the fireplace. There was something empty about the child…something wrong….it was just wasn't right…for someone so young to have such dead eyes.

No, you would not do well in Hufflepuff as you are. The simple kindness displayed within that House would be too much for your already fragile heart. Yet there is a great capacity for love inside of you, strange that that innocence and purity has survived so long.

You respect and admire knowledge as any Raven would, rather, you lust for it. But that polite façade…you could never worship as they do…No…perhaps not Ravenclaw…yet any would admit that you would belong in that House…

How odd…the masks that you wear are so similar to those of the Slytherins…the current you would thrive in that Pit of Snakes. Yes, you are no stranger to manipulation, as clever and sly as any Serpent that has been in that House… is that not what has allowed you to survive?

But there is courage, so much of it lurking inside of you…a leap of faith indeed…very well child…I have made my choice…I wish you the best of luck, one young…you shall need every bit of strength and power you have accumulated over the years to survive and perhaps, perhaps, you will discover that which you have lost…