If Sherlock went to Hogwarts (Fanfiction)

Like one of them

It was rather chilly outside, the wind had picked up a little now making Sherlock's dark locks blow away from his delighted face and his shirt and jeans clung to his body. As his fingers stung with cold he buried them deep within his black jeans pockets were they met with coins made of ice.
He hesitated at first, realising he had no idea how this money was related to muggle money and what could be worth Six quid he could be paying the equivalent of sixty pounds worth, before remembering that he did not in the slightest care about this and therefore run off to buy a fruit bat he rather liked.
"No. Robes first. Come on." And with that his father pulled him by the collar of his shirt, hauling him away and towards a shop with many manikins in the slightly misted window, Scrawled above this was the words: 'Madam Malkins: Robes for all occasions'. As they entered the threshold Sherlock felt the pound of Redbeard's tail against his leg and smiled, feeling reassured.
In there were a couple of other students trying on robes and pinning hems up, chatting rather merrily to themselves."I want to be in Hufflepuff- Don't care what no one says about it!"
"Having an attitude like that you're on the line up for Gryffindor, gee I hope I get into the Gryffindor quidditch team..."
Sherlock stuck by his father's side as he past the two boys, his heightened mood seemed to flicker a little.
"Father..." He pleaded, tugging at his sleeve.
His father took a nervous glance down at Sherlock and then at the two brown haired boys. "Oh Will..."
"Sherlock. My name is Sherlock."
"Why your mother just didn't let you grow up as a normal wizard I don't know. It's so much more complicated." His hands absently ruffled Sherlock's hair.
"Why did you not tell me?"
"Squibs," his father whispered, finding a corner of the shop to quietly talk in, "are shunned by our society- But that's not why we didn't tell you!" He added, mistaking the confusion playing on Sherlock's face for horror.
"What is a Squib in this Context?"
"A word used when a non-magical person is born into a wizarding family." Sherlock's face lit up with understanding yet inside he felt a little sad doubt playing at the back of his mind: How could they be so sure he wasn't a Squib? "Because you got a letter." Sherlock looked up, wondering if he had said it out loud. He hadn't. His father just knew. "Surely you can forgive us Sherlock? We didn't want you to feel like an outsider, like your brother was better than you-"
"Too late."
Sherlock left his father, sitting on a cardboard box, holding his head in his hands as Sherlock and Redbeard went to find some robes he liked. The two boys had identical ones on, sewn in a crest Sherlock could not quite see but could only guess to be Hogwarts's. He did not wish to approach them, feeling just as unsocial as he had been in his old school, the school he had left to be home schooled instead. His parents didn't know that there was a bully there too.
So Sherlock and his trusty companion searched distant robes. Sherlock trailed his hands along them, rapidly feeling the different textures under his tingling, moving fingers.
They paused. He had come across a dark robe with grey faint checks. With admittedly some difficulty, Sherlock managed to retrieve the robe and splay it across his body. Sherlock was not that into cloths, a mere necessity into standard life yet awful useful to let him see a clear display of anyone else's character yet in this he felt right somehow, like it was meant to be. Sherlock, Redbeard and this robe against the worlds- both magical and otherwise. Redbeard whined in warning as Sherlock looked up, blushing slightly. His father was there, staring at him looking rather concerned.
"Really the least I can do is buy you that robe."
***
Sherlock wore the robe down Diagon alley, fitting in rather nicely, Its end flapping slightly in the picking up wind, the collar up to help shield him from the icy gale. A/N: Yes. Yes I did just do that. "You never told me...Hufflepuff, Gryffindor- what are they?"
"School houses."
"Obviously. But the boy, he said 'an attitude like that you'll be in Gryffindor.' What has attitude got to do with what school house you go into?"
" They do a sort of personality test. Gryffindor: Brave who seek glory. Hufflepuff: Kind hearted and hard working. Slytherin: Cunning and power hungry and well," He looked down at Sherlock, one eyebrow raised. "Ravenclaw: Clever and wise."
As they made their way up along the street they slowly ticked off items on the shopping list. Sherlock could not wait to peel through the ancient looking pages of the books he had now, magical runes and leather covering its contents.
"Now your wand. Your mother did want it to be done with her but if we're quick-"
"Why don't we want mother there?"
" The question is more so if you want Mycroft there. Besides, wand buying is a very personal thing you know."

A bell sounded as they opened the small, cramped room, the metallic sound reverberating so that its source was impossible to detect. The air was musty, colours earthy and the smell and look reminded Sherlock of an old library, long forgotten.

Instead of books lining the walls however, long peculiar looking boxes towered in great rows, scattered across tables and strewn across floors. "Hello?" His father's echoing voice called.

"Morning Mr Holmes." A very old, very wrinkly, very grey and very thin man appeared out of nowhere, not as Sherlock's father had done, with a popping noise, but silently as if he had just been a ghost, slowly materialising before them.

"Ollivander. That's you I suppose?" Sherlock asked, unafraid of an old, frail man such of the likes of this. The man approached, nodding slightly. "The sign- that's how I knew your name. 'Since three hundred and eighty two BC'. Well, I know you're old but you're not that old."

The wrinkled, almost milky white eyes travelled to Sherlock's father, expectantly which made him cough and say, "William, don't be rude."

"Don't call me-"

"Don't worry Mr Holmes. With age comes knowledge-"The old man's voice was sickly smooth, his moon-like eyes, glistening.

"If that's what you tell yourself..."

"And my knowledge is in wand making. How may I help you my little fellow?" Sherlock would hardly call himself little, he was almost as tall as the old man and had been the tallest in his class at his old school.

"We need him to have a wand, he's going to Hogwarts this term."

"Ah, I see. Well then, let us get started Mr Holmes."

He pulled out a rolled up tape measure from his inside robe pocket, which sprung to life of its own accorded. All across Sherlock's body it stretched, like a thin yellow serpent, measuring forearms, head, feet and even his nostrils.

Without looking at Sherlock the man shuffled away to the beginning of a row to the left of where Sherlock was standing, still frozen, hardly inside the little shop at all.

White skeleton hands clutched dark wood placed on a deep velvet cushion, clasping it in their hand and giving it to young Sherlock who could not help but tremble. Magic, he decided, scared him as much as it exited him. Yet he had barely touched it before it was whisked away again. Many attempts happened like this until the old man, Ollivander, disappeared into the Shadow once more, retrieving a very dusty looking box when he returned.

He placed it on the desk in front of him, his creased face looking doubtful. "Had to get it out of the back. An unpopular blend. I wouldn't normally make one quite like this however, if you are worthy of it..."

"Excuse me? Worthy of what?"

"I thought you were clever Mr Holmes, did it never occur to you that the wand choses the wizard, it is not a tool but a friend." Sherlock reached out timidly due to the intensity of Ollivander's gaze on him and as soon as his finger's made contact with the pale beach wood, warmth, indescribable warmth, danced across his whole body making him feel refreshed and transformed. He was buzzing like electricity was running through his wire like veins.

"Twelve and three quarter inches, beach, unicorn hair, rather bendy. Made it years back-"

"Mr Ollivander sir?" Sherlock said, a smile playing across his face, making even his fresh face wrinkle, "You are a very wise man."

"I do believe that was an attempt of an apology." His Father chuckled from somewhere beside Sherlock, who's whole face lit up in delight as it turned to the sound of his voice, grounding him but not quite enough for him to hide his joy, his relief.

"I can't believe it- I'm a wizard."

A/N: I know this is quite a long chapter but I'm glad you persevered through it. Did you like it? Tell me in the comments below. I'm sorry if it was a little rushed it's just I wanted to get it up on Wattpad before I went to my place in Somerset which has NO WIFI. I hope you lovely people all have a lovely well deserved break and a nice Halloween (if you celebrate it) and thank you once again.

Phoebs x