Lex Parsimoniae
Title: Lex Parsimoniae
Author: Harikari
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Warnings: Violence, strong language, possible major spoilers for both seasons of Sherlock, sort of a crossover/fusion with the HP universe that takes place in that time after the End of the HP series but before the Epilogue (probably won't follow the HP history/facts/world exactly but there is some mention of it), not Brit-picked, etc.
Disclaimer: Don't own em'. Written for fun, not profit.
Summary: When a series of suspicious and dangerous accidents start to happen at Hogwarts John, a seventh year Gryffindor determined to put a stop to it all, enlists the help of his loathed but brilliant classmate -- Sherlock Holmes.
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Prologue
John was sitting at the Gryffindor table, staring up at the Headmistress and wondering what sort of dinner would be served after her annual Beginning of Year speech was over. He was hungry, but he didn't particularly feel like eating ham or-
In a flash of movement Molly elbowed him in the gut.
"Jesus," he hissed. "Ouch, Molly. What-"
The girl's arm shot out; she pointed firmly at the large, ornate doors that led out into the entrance hall. "Look," she insisted and then put her arm back down, folded both of her hands in her lap and started to sort of bounce in her seat a little. Like she was excited.
John turned and looked.
The doors had been flung open and a gaggle of very small looking first year students were making their way into the Great Hall, trailing after a rather harried looking Hagrid. But the Care of Magical Creatures instructor and the obviously nervous first years were not the reason a sudden chorus of hisses and harsh whispers had started up (a chorus the seventh year Gryffindor had managed to miss while pondering over the soon to come start of year feast).
No. The cause of the hushed chaos was the teenager walking at the head of the small group of first years, just behind Hagrid.
He was tall and pale and had dark hair and startling, bright eyes and looked about John's age -- much too old to be a first year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And yet there the boy was, coming to a stop along with all of the eleven and twelve year olds in front of the long table where Headmistress McGonagall and the professors all sat.
"Here they are, ma'am," said Hagrid and waved his arm in a vague sort of way to take in the group of children behind him. "They're all yours." And with that the half giant moved around the table and to his own seat; as he settled into his large chair he kept his eyes on the teenager, as if nervous.
McGonagall nodded at the man in thanks and stood, swept her sharp gaze across all of the house tables. The hissing and whispers faded and she nodded again, sharply.
Silently and quickly she moved to place the familiar four-legged stool in front of the long table where the Professors were all looking on, sat the frayed and rather ugly looking Sorting Hat atop the stool and waited.
After a long moment of first years fidgeting where they stood and a number of older students shifting nervously in their seats the hat began to sing.
It was a normal sort of song for the hat, nothing that gave a clue as to who the pale, young stranger standing in the midst of the little first years was. Just clever rhymes about bravery and brains and heart and cunning.
The singing came to an abrupt stop; there was a scattering of half-hearted applause. Then, finally, McGonagall motioned to the young man. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes, our new transfer student, will go first. Then, as usual, I will call out of the names of our first years in alphabetical order."
That bit of information led to an immediate burst of conversation that almost just as immediately cut off when the Headmistress pursed her lips and glared around at the tables. "Mr. Holmes? If you would. Please have a seat." She gestured at the stool with her wand and stood waiting for Sherlock, who was staring up at the enchanted ceiling (it was a clear night, the stars shining brightly in the dark sky) to sit.
"That won't be necessary," said Sherlock. He was still looking up at the ceiling as he spoke.
McGonagall blinked. John noticed Hagrid sitting up a little straighter in his seat, leaning forward.
"I'm..." The Headmistress trailed off.
She shook her head as if to clear it and then started again. "Have a seat, Mr. Holmes. This is the Sorting Hat -- it will tell you which House you belong in." She made a sort of shooing motion with her hands.
Sherlock's gaze left the ceiling, drifted to the (rather imposing, in John's opinion) woman standing in front of him. "I know what it is. I know why you want me to sit. It's not necessary."
McGonagall bristled. She looked annoyed, angry. "It certainly is necessary, Mr. Holmes. All students are required to be sorted-"
"Yes," Sherlock went on. "Of course. I know. But I also know exactly how that hat works, what it bases it's decisions on. I know that how much it, for lack of a better word, thinks a person belongs in Hufflepuff or Slytherin does not matter. Because just asking it to be in a House or to not be in a House -- just making a choice is enough to override the hat's...decision."
McGonagall was turning red. "Whether that assumption is true or not-"
"It is. And it's not an assumption."
"You still need to take a seat. The hat needs to be placed on your head."
"No. I just need to be within a certain proximity of the thing." He took a single step closer to the stool. "And I need to have made my choice." He turned to look around at all the gaping students, seemed to carefully study each table before he turned back to McGonagall. "And I have. Though none of the Houses look particularly appealing."
"What in the bloody hell?" shouted Sally Donovan from her place at the Ravenclaw table. "What an absolute freak! Who do you think you are?"
The Headmistress -- who looked as if she wanted to take points away from the transfer student in front of her but couldn't work out just how she could do that if he wasn't even in a House yet -- didn't even seem to hear the girl. "You must-"
"I choose Gryffindor," said Sherlock.
And a split second later the hat -- as if it had been jolted with a burst of electricity -- jumped.
"GRYFFINDOR!" it shouted before landing back on the stool and going still. Silent.
Without a word Sherlock Holmes walked away from the four-legged stool and the Headmistress, made his way over to the Gryffindor table. He took an empty seat next to a wide eyed second year.
There was a beat of complete quiet.
Then McGonagall cleared her throat; pulled a scroll from the depths of her robes and unrolled it. She cleared her throat again, loudly, and began to call out names.
Part One