A/N: Here we are at the beginning of my mad dive into the adventure of writing a Potterlock epic. I always wanted to write something really long and it's possible that I just might achieve it with this. My lovely followers and reviewers requested that I write more Potterlock after the few ficlettes that I did, so here you are: a multi-chap for your reading pleasure. This story begins in 1962, eight years prior to the start of Lord Voldemort's first reign of terror. I will attempt to make use of as many Sherlock characters as possible whilst fitting them as best I can into the canon Harry Potter world. This story will focus on Sherlock, Molly, and John, with Sherlolly being the main pairing. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Plot Twist

Molly Hooper considered herself wholly unremarkable, though she had a habit of poking at dead animals and seemed to be very good at going unnoticed. The idea that she was important and belonged somewhere was foreign to her. The matron of the girl's home where she lived was not a particularly kind or forgiving woman and had thus done nothing but encourage Molly's bleak view of herself. Imagine the eleven year old's surprise when a strange woman named Professor Sprout showed up one August afternoon at the door, asking to speak with Molly Hooper.

"Good morning. My name is Pomona Sprout. I'm a professor at a school Molly Hooper has been invited to attend," she greeted with a cheery smile. Mrs. Digby, the matron, stood there for a long moment and stared disbelievingly at the woman standing before her. She then turned to walk over to the foot of the staircase and shout to the eleven year old.

"Molly! Get down here!" A minute later, Molly came running down the stairs, her brown eyes lit up with excitement. It didn't sound like she was in trouble. Maybe someone was finally interested in taking her in. She beamed at the stocky, frizzy haired woman by the door who was smiling warmly at her.

"Hello, Molly. I'm Professor Sprout. I've come to discuss Hogwarts."

"Sorry? H-Hogwarts?"

"Yes. It's a school for boys and girls like you. Here is your letter." She took from her coat an envelope sealed with wax and handed it to Molly, who hesitantly opened it. The more she read, the wider her eyes became.

"A school...for witches and wizards?" she asked in shock. Before the professor could answer, Mrs. Digby snatched the letter from Molly's hands and scanned it with her beady blue eyes.

"What tomfoolery is this?! Is this some sick scheme?!" The matron demanded. "A school that teaches magic?! Do you honestly expect me to believe that?! Molly, if this is your idea of a joke-"

"I don't know anything about this, I swear!" Clearly Mrs. Digby didn't believe her, because she grabbed Molly by the collar and looked as if she was about to throw her across the room. Sprout acted quickly in the girl's defense.

"Please, calm down, madam. The poor girl hasn't done anything wrong. These things often happen when Muggle-borns get their letters. It's perfectly understandable that you are alarmed, but there is no need to shout," the professor soothed and Mrs. Digby's anger was replaced with resigned confusion. Slowly, she let go of Molly. "Is there somewhere I can talk to Molly privately?"

"I suppose you can use my office," the matron replied and showed them through a door off the entry hall. It was the nicest Molly ever remembered Mrs. Digby being and was probably because the severe matron saw this as an opportunity to be rid of her. Professor Sprout took a seat in one of the two chairs in front of Mrs. Digby's desk and gestured for Molly to take the other one. The creaking of the old wooden seat did nothing to calm her nerves.

"Um, what does Muggle-born mean, professor?" she asked. Her mind was overwhelmed with questions and that was the only one that was able to make it out of her coherently.

"It's the term for a witch or wizard who was born to Muggle parents and Muggle is our word for a non-magic person."

"But how can I be...a witch? I'm not special o-or talented and I certainly don't know anything about magic." She was just dull, quiet, mediocre Molly. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Ah, but you are, Molly. Have you ever made something happen that you couldn't explain?"

"Well, one time, a girl at school was chasing me and I fell, but she ran right past me like she couldn't see me lying there. She thought I'd run around the corner."

"There you are, then. You're a witch, Molly, and if you'd like, you can come to school at Hogwarts and learn how to control your powers." It was too good to be true, in Molly's opinion, to suddenly be given an extraordinary chance to get away from this place. It was a nice dream, so Molly decided that she would go along with it for however long it lasted.

"I don't want to seem rude or anything, but why did the school send you to talk to me?" Fortunately, Professor Sprout seemed to know what Molly meant by that.

"Oh, well, they seem to think you're likely to be sorted into Hufflepuff and I'm Hufflepuff's Head of House. I must say, I think they're right. You'd fit in nicely," the plump woman answered, sounding a little excited. Unfortunately, Molly was even more baffled than she was before.

"Hufflepuff?"

"That's one of the four houses at Hogwarts. The other three are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. You're not a Slytherin. I can see that clear as day."

"Oh, um, okay... There was a list of things I need for school with my letter, like a cauldron and a wand. I don't know where to find any of that stuff. And I need to get to King's Cross Station to get on the train for school, but I don't have a way of getting there." As Molly spoke, she began to realize just how many problems she was going to have in preparing for school and it was overwhelming. Professor Sprout gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"Don't you worry, dear. A wizarding family has graciously agreed to help you there. Mr. Holmes will come and get you on Saturday to take you to Diagon Alley so you can get your things. He has a little brother who's beginning at Hogwarts this year as well, so there will be someone your own age with you," she consoled. Molly gave her a nervous smile in return. "Do you have any other questions?" In truth, the young girl had many, many questions swirling around in her head, but she couldn't think of a single one that didn't make her feel silly.

"No, ma'am," she answered meekly.

"Well, in that case, I'd better be off. It was lovely meeting you, Molly. I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts in September."

"It was wonderful meeting you too," Molly said as Professor Sprout got up from her own creaky chair. The plump witch shook her hand and made for the door. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, dear. Remember, Mr. Mycroft Holmes will be coming to collect you this Saturday at precisely eight o'clock, and I mean precisely. That young man has a very strong sense of punctuality." With that, she was gone and Molly was left sitting in Mrs. Digby's office, wondering if any of what she had just experienced was real. Over the next few days, she read and reread her letter many times and even took to carrying it with her around the girl's home, just to remind herself that she wasn't going mad and that she was indeed a witch bound for a school that taught such people. The other girls didn't know what to make of it all. A few of them who believed it started calling her a freak. Others called her a liar or simply stopped acknowledging her all together. Molly tried not to let it get her down. Instead, she spent her time daydreaming about the world she would soon be a part of. She had no idea what it would be like, but she had a lot of fun making it up.

On Saturday morning, Molly got up at the crack of dawn to get ready for Mycroft Holmes' arrival. She quietly slipped out of her bunk and dressed herself in her best clothes. Of course, her best clothes weren't much. Her jumper and skirt were worn and faded and her shoes were rather beat up (though she did spend an hour cleaning the mud off them). She stowed her Hogwarts letter in the pocket she'd sown to the inside of her jumper and got herself a bit of toast before going to sit on the bottom step of the staircase to anxiously await the man who would take her to a place called Diagon Alley, wherever that was. Mrs. Digby appeared not much later out of her office door to scold Molly about eating toast in the entry hall. The matron thought this entire matter was complete madness, but she had stopped questioning it for the simple reason that it would get troublesome, unnatural Molly Hooper away from the girl's home for most of the year and she didn't have to foot any of the bill. That was good enough for her. Despite her acceptance of the situation, however, Mrs. Digby seemed to have decided that no witch or wizard was worth her respect, thus making it imperative for her to be rude when Mycroft Holmes arrived with his little brother.

Just as Professor Sprout had said, the wizard came through the front door of the girl's home at exactly eight o'clock, an eleven year old boy in tow. Both pairs of shockingly blue eyes immediately looked to her.

"You must be Molly Hooper. I am Mycroft Holmes and this is my younger brother, Sherlock," the man greeted. His accent was posh and he enunciated every word with precision. Molly had only ever heard anyone talk that way on television and suddenly felt even more timid than usual. She slowly stood up and approached the two wizards. Sherlock seemed to be silently scrutinizing her appearance, which she supposed was only natural given that he and his brother were both dressed impeccably.

"Can we go now, brother? This place reeks of bad cooking and sick," the boy complained and Mrs. Digby must have heard him because she came down the stairs, pushing past the girls observing Molly's visitors from the railing above.

"Oi! You two take Molly and go. I don't want your sort hanging around here," she snapped, her eyes narrowing as she pointed a stubby finger at Mr. Holmes.

"We were just leaving." He replied coolly. "Come along, Ms. Hooper." Without need for further prompting, Molly hastily and eagerly followed the Holmes brothers out. In the street, there was a car waiting for them, which they quickly climbed into. Molly had only been in a car twice before, so this added to the excitement of the situation. Mycroft directed the driver to take them somewhere called the Leaky Cauldron before turning back to look at the pair of eleven year olds sitting across from him. "I'm sorry, Ms. Hooper, but that is a dreadful place to call home. It's a miracle that you've survived this long."

"It's alright, Mr. Holmes. I can't tell you how glad I am to be getting away from there, if only for a little while," Molly responded, feeling slightly less awkward. The corners of Mycroft's lips twitched into a brief smile. "Um, Sherlock. You're starting at Hogwarts this year too, yeah? Are you excited?" Molly turned to the boy sitting next to her who seemed to be in a rather poor mood. He didn't even look at her and continued to stared out the window when he spoke.

"What's there to be excited about? I might be getting away from Mycroft's nagging, but I'll have to suffer rules and live a structured life for the next seven years," Sherlock grumbled and his elder brother grimaced.

"You'll have to forgive my brother's attitude. Magic isn't anything new to him and he considers school to be more of a limitation on a his will to learn than a liberation of it."

"Oh! He must be very, very smart, then." This succeeded in finally grabbing Sherlock's attention and earning Molly a proper smile from Mycroft.

"Yes, he is. You are of uncommon intelligence yourself, I seems. No doubt you've read every book you could get your hands on. I see why my mother chose to sponsor you of all of the Muggle-borns this year," he told her and Sherlock stared at her blankly, the latter unnerving her a little. After a moment, he seemed to lose interest and looked out the window for the rest of the car ride. "Ah! Here we are," Mycroft announced when they'd pulled up outside an inn labelled the Leaky Cauldron. "If you can see an inn in front of you, Ms. Hooper, you need not have any further doubts about whether or not you are a witch." Judging by the grin on Molly's face, he knew that she could see it. They all climbed out of the car and entered the Leaky Cauldron. It was packed with all sorts of oddly dressed people and as they passed through to the back, Molly swore she could see someone's knife cutting a piece of steak by itself. She followed the Holmes brothers through another door that lead them to a small, walled in courtyard occupied only by a dustbin at the back. Mycroft promptly approached it and detached the handle of his umbrella to reveal a wand. "Watch carefully, Ms. Hooper. You will need to remember this in the future." He traced his wand over the bricks in the wall, going up three from the dustbin and two across, then firmly tapped the brick there. A second later, the bricks began to move and form an archway on the other side of which was a bustling street of witches and wizards. Molly stood there a moment and gazed in awe at the sight before her. Sherlock seemed completely unimpressed and unceremoniously pushed past her to step into Diagon Alley.

"Come on. We haven't got all day," he called and she obediently followed, still with an expression of amazement plastered across her face. She didn't know where to look first. Diagon Alley was a feast for her eyes that made her burn with curiosity.

"It's best if you stay close to me. Both of you. Small children are easily lost in this sort of crowd," Mycroft cautioned. Molly listened to him without question, but Sherlock didn't pay him much mind and walked a few yards ahead of them. "We'll go to Ollivander's first and get your wands. Then we'll get your school robes sorted at Twillfit and Tattings and- what's the matter, Ms. Hooper?" Molly had suddenly stopped and stood frozen in and expression of horror and embarrassment.

"I-I haven't got any money. How am I supposed to pay for everything I need?"

"No need to worry. I'll pay for everything," Mycroft assured her, relieved that there wasn't an actual problem.

"Oh, no! I couldn't possibly-"

"It's fine. It's all part of sponsoring you," he pressed and she relented, though somewhat reluctantly. They made their way to Ollivander's Wand Shop. The peeling gold lettering above the door read 'Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.' and Molly gaped, never having heard of a business being around so long. They stepped inside and were soon greeted by a thin old man with wild eyes.

"Ah! Mr. Mycroft Holmes- Alder, 14 inches, dragon heartstring, nice and sturdy. Good to see you again, and with a pair of young students looking to buy their first wands, I see. Wonderful," the man who could only be Ollivander said excitedly. Mycroft gave him a courteous smile in return.

"This is my younger brother, Sherlock, and Molly Hooper, a Muggle-born we're sponsoring. I think you had better place Ms. Hooper first as I have a feeling my brother will be even more difficult than I was."

"I see. Very well. Come over here, my dear, and we will begin." She nervously came to stand in the spot he indicated and a measuring tape began to measure her all on its own. Ollivander went to take an armful of thin boxes from the shelves and place them on the desk beside Molly. He handed her a wand and told her to give it a wave. She did so and nothing happened. Before she had time to express her bewilderment, Ollivander snatched the wand from her and gave her another one much longer and darker in color. She waved it and it emitted a loud bang. This was apparently not what the wandmaker was looking for, because he took that one from her as well. After another five wands, he handed her a medium sized one of a rich, golden color. When she twirled it, a stream of shimmering, pink bubbles came from the end and Ollivander smiled. "Pear, 12 ¼ inches, unicorn hair, supple. That is the wand of a good natured witch, Ms. Hooper. It will serve you well."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Ollivander," Molly replied with a broad grin.

"You are most welcome." Mycroft promptly paid the wandmaker for Molly's wand and nudged his little brother forward. "Ah, Mr. Holmes the Younger. Where to start with you...I think it's best we stick to the rarer woods." With his own suggestions in mind, Ollivander set to work. As Mycroft had predicted, it took ages to find the right wand for Sherlock. By the time the boy was handed a very long black one, Ollivander had nearly had his eyebrows burnt off several times. With a swish of this last wand, a shower of silver sparks shot out of it in a rather beautiful display, signifying that it had chosen Sherlock. "Very fitting for an uncommon fellow like yourself," the wandmaker commented. "Ebony, 16 inches, dragon heartstring, quite unyielding. It's curious that I sold it's brother only yesterday to another young wizard. Spruce, 13 inches, dragon heartstring from the very same dragon that gave the core of your wand. I think we can expect interesting things from both of you." Sherlock did not seem particularly surprised or enthralled by the wandmaker's words, but Molly listened with rapt interest. It was to be expected, given that all of this was so new to her. Mycroft paid for his brother's wand and they went on their way to the next part of her extraordinary day.

"For this stop, I'm afraid we're going to need to perform a bit of deception. You see, Twillfit and Tattings is a rather upscale establishment with certain attitudes about Muggle-borns and less wealthy people."

"Oh," Molly breathed, suddenly feeling like an enormous burden on the Holmeses.

"Don't fret. I will simply make your clothes look newer and refer to you as our cousin." He waved his wand and Molly's clothes looked for a moment like they were going back in time, reversing every bit of damage that had been done to them over the years. Molly's smile returned and the trio entered the shop. Madam Twillfit greeted Mycroft cheerly, though her smile faltered when she caught sight of Molly.

"And who might this be?" the seamstress asked, narrowing her eyes in scrutiny. Clearly she did not approve of Molly's taste in clothing.

"This is our cousin, Molly Hooper. She'll be needing school robes like Sherlock." In moments, Molly found herself standing perfectly still while her robes sewed themselves around her. The same was being done for Sherlock (who seemed bored out of his mind) and another girl, who was staring at Molly.

"If they are your family, they aren't taking very good care of you, letting you wear such a terrible jumper. And your shoes, they're not even proper girl's shoes. Everything about you is tacky, right down to your horrible little pigtails. I can't imagine why Madam Twillfit let you in here," the girl sneered and Molly frowned at her. What had she done to deserve such rude remarks? Molly looked anxiously over at Mycroft as if to ask for help, but he was busy talking to the rude girl's parents.

"If there is anything wrong here it's your ill manner. Of course, I would expect nothing less from a girl who kicks her father in the shin when he objects to buying her all the sweets she wants." Sherlock finally spoke up and looked over to glare at the girl who was being nasty to Molly.

"Mummy, Mummy! This boy is being mean to me!" she whined, catching the attention of both her parents and Sherlock's elder brother, the latter of whom let out the sigh of a person who has had to deal with this sort of thing many times.

"What did you say to my daughter?" the mother demanded, gazing down at Sherlock indignantly. The boy was completely unfazed.

"Madam, your child is a menace," Sherlock told her flatly and Mycroft scowled at him.

"Well! Of all the impertinent things! Good day, Mr. Holmes. Do teach your brother to be civil."

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Rilliant. I've tried, but Sherlock is a problem child if I ever saw one. Good day," Mycroft apologized as the unmannerly family left in a hurry. He then turned to continue scowling at Sherlock while the finishing touches on the eleven year olds' robes were sewn. As his brother spoke with Madam Twillfit about payment for the robes, Sherlock's striking gaze fell on Molly.

"Why did you let her insult you like that?" he asked.

"It's alright. I'm used to verbal abuse. Besides, I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me upset or behave rudely myself. Thank you for defending me, though, even if you weren't very nice."

"I was only being honest. She was irritating and I wanted her gone. It had nothing to do with aiding you," Sherlock replied coldly before following his brother out of the shop. It was the first time in a long while that Molly had felt genuinely hurt by someone's lack of concern for her. She tried not to let it show, but she did seem to lose some enthusiasm for this adventure and Mycroft noticed.

"I take it my dear brother has said something to dampen your mood, Ms. Hooper," he commented as he led her over to a selection of trunks in the next shop they visited. "You should know that you are actually doing marvelously. Most people, adults and children alike, would be tearing their hair out by now. Of course, your resistance may owe in no small part to the fact that Sherlock has been remarkably quiet on this trip so far, particularly to you. I think we can safely take that it is a sign that he likes you in some small way. That is nothing to sneeze at, considering the way he treats almost everyone." Molly found these words to be very encouraging and the spark of excitement returned to her features. She spent the rest of the trip in high spirits and did not allow Sherlock's attitude to dishearten her. Mycroft was so pleased by the way things were going that when they were done with the shopping, he took them to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. This seemed to cure a portion of his little brother's mood and made Molly very happy.

When it came time to leave and they had all piled back into the car in front of the Leaky Cauldron, Molly Hooper's wide smile began to fade as she started to realize that in only a half an hour, she would be back at the girls' home and away from amazing things and the Holmes brothers who had treated her so much better than anyone at home.

"Be up early and ready to go on September 1st, Ms. Hooper. We will be coming to collect you for the train to Hogwarts. In the meantime, be careful and don't try to perform any magic," Mycroft informed her as they pulled up in front of the girls' home.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes. You've been very kind to me," Molly replied with a nod. The wizard gave her a polite smile in return before ordering his brother to help Molly get her trunk out of the boot of the car. Sherlock grudgingly complied and seemed puzzled by the warm way the girl looked at him as he helped her.

"My brother thinks you'll be a Ravenclaw, you know. He's wrong. You'll be in Hufflepuff," he told her blankly.

"Well, uh, your not the first one to say that. Thank you for helping with my trunk. I'll see you soon." Sherlock only quirked an eyebrow and went back to the car in response. Molly watched the Holmeses drive away and she felt strange, like she'd just fully realized that her life was about to drastically change.

A/N: So, what do you think? Have I started off well, or should I scrap this? I chose the make up of the wands very carefully and I wonder if anyone can guess who Sherlock's wand's brother belongs to. The wood is a major clue. Anyway, I hope you like this. ~T.Z.