Chapter 1 | Deductions of The Truth

Sherlock– No, Harrison silently laid on the casket the old man had conjured for him outside in the chilly night.

He wondered how it had come to this.

It started out with just another ordinary case, which he solved in an embarrassingly short time.

He was alone at the time as John was attending Rose's school event, but nevermind that, he had long accepted that John wouldn't be able to give him his whole attention when the child was born. The important thing was that he must have miscalculated the culprit's emotions, as the culprit didn't care that polices were surrounding her when she stabbed him right on the chest — straight through his heart.

Resulting his death.

He couldn't really focus on the shocked shouts of his name surrounding him. Just on the pain that appeared on his chest and the handle sticking out of it.

He remembered blinking twice before looking down on the blood-y scene upon him. He then poked at it a few times to the horror of his colleagues before sighing, "I suppose death has came around after I escaped it the first time. Let me just—" He sat down and laid on his back, "There. Much better."

The detective turned his head to see startled eyes, "Greg, I suppose you shall start losing a few cases in the future, good luck with that. Tell John to live happily with Rosie for me and my will is in the skull." He grimaced when the pain pulsed. Probably not much longer.

"And do tell Missus Hudson to tone down the Zumba music, lest the neighbors would probably start a riot—" Sherlock groaned as he started coughing out blood and decided to speed it up a bit, "Molly's been helpful. Anderson, Donovan — I suppose I do not dislike you two now."

His eyelids grew heavier by the second and just as he was about to lost consciousness, Sherlock added for one last time "And tell my family, I love them." He gave weak snort, "Even Mycroft."

( −ㅿ− )

He didn't really think that there was anything else after death, but obviously he was proved wrong when he stumbled upon an all-white train station.

The place was covered by a dense fog that obscured his vision. But even so, he was able to spot a figure of a woman in the middle of the empty train station, staring at him.

"Come, my childe, we don't have all day." A feminine voice resonated throughout the place, perhaps due to the lack of sound from their surroundings. And as if entranced, Sherlock felt his body move forward by itself.

Interesting.

Once he was in front of the woman, his body finally regained its senses and he could finally move talk, "May I ask who you are, madam?" He asked curiously.

The woman's lips quirk up, lighting up her unnatural pink eyes. "I am Lady Love." She said, smiling.

"Lady Love, you say?" Sherlock brought his hand together as though making a prayer and leaned his head on it, forming his signature thinking pose.

"Interesting, how very interesting. Would it be wrong to presume that there are others like you? Are they all named after other abstract words as well? Or just more important abstract words that had somehow formed a sentience–? Ah, apologies, I tend to ramble when I meet something new — which is not that many encounters—"

He stopped his tirade when he saw Love giggle, hard enough that her shoulders started shaking. He blinked and waited, eventually she calmed down and took a deep breath — he was pretty sure that it was an unnecessary humane gesture.

"It is good to know that John had been a good influence on you, Sherlock Holmes." The entity commented happily, "I did good making the two of you meet — your manners are not completely nonexistent now!"

Meeting said man's confused gaze, Love's smile turned solemn, "Though I suppose I should apologize for making you fall for your married best friend—" She purposefully didn't mention his flinch and picked up her tone instead, "But as you are my favourite mortal, let me make it up by sending you to another world, where you will find your destined one."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at Love's excited smile and skeptically asked "Is that even allowed? Wouldn't that ruin—" He made an ambiguous gesture with his hand, "Something ridiculous, like the circle of life of some sort?"

In response, Love only laughed and waved her hand, "Oh, not if you replace someone from that world. I'll just transfer your soul into an existing body easy-peasy!" She said easily, "Besides Destiny lost a bet with me, so there's nothing for you to worry about."

"Somehow, I only feel unease at your nonchalant attitude, madam."

Love continued laughing, "You don't have to worry, my dear detective! This is my realm after all." She winked as he nodded however hesitantly.

"Ah, I suppose each sentience has their own realm then? Do the others also have a favourite mortal?" He asked curiously, gaining a proud smile from the entity.

"That would be correct— Oh dear, look at the time! We've been talking for too long! Just get onto that train and you'll find yourself in a new body. Now hurry!" She said suddenly, pushing him onto the train that he was sure wasn't there before.

Just as the door was about to close, he heard, "Oh, and I left you a gift in the new world, be sure to be on a lookout!"

Then everything meshed into a blur, both literally and figuratively. When he was born as a boy named Harrison James Potter in the body of a babe, his sight took a while to adjust to the new environment. And even though his eyes had adjusted, he was still half-blind — he suspects that it's also due to his young age — so he tends to focus on his hearings instead and listen in on his parents' conversations.

With just snippets of conversations, he could quickly conclude that he is in a world where magic exists and currently in the middle of a magical civil war, while the non-magical beings — or muggles, as his parents call them — were blissfully ignorant of it all.

Surprisingly, he was quite proficient in accidental magic. Though he was quite unsure whether what he did was really 'accidental' as everything that he did was according to what he meant for it to happen, so rather than that, he called the peculiar style of magic 'intent magic'.

It was either that or 'purposeful magic', but that's just a mouthful.

He also discovered that he had a 'Tom' written just above his pelvis on the lower part of his torso.

Apparently, the term 'Soulmates' is an actual thing in the magical part of the world. Every child is to bear the first name of their counterparts. Then the middle and last name — if they have one — would then be revealed when they've reached an age where the wizarding community would consider them as an adult, which is fifteen-years old.

(Which Harrison thought to be preposterous. He wasn't even sure that Anderson could be called a fully fledged adult, and he was edging towards his forties.)

Though there is an exception for a particular situation. In which one is bestowed with a younger soulmate, their names wouldn't extend until said soulmate is of age.

This must've been connected to what Love had told him. Something about finding his destined one in this new world.

Harrison also saw some of the wizarding world when they took him out for a walk, they also brought him to a bank that left quite an impression on him. He loved how the goblins in the bank worked, they quickly goes straight to the point without any dilly-dallying — he suspects that they wouldn't even care if they were told the truth about him.

Then they toured the muggle world by going through a wall beside a pub called the Leaky Cauldron — he stored the information in his growing mind palace, expanding only for the fact that a child's mental barriers were still flexible enough for him to manipulate. Quite similar to how someone's height would continue to grow until a certain age.

That was the last time he had seen the outside world however, as something major had seemed to happen. Thankfully they deemed it safe enough to discuss in the presence of a baby so he got the gist of it.

There was a prophecy implying that a child born in the end of July would have enough power to defeat the current Dark Lord and potentially end the war. And currently there're two children who could qualify as the prophecy child — one of them being him. Though they didn't say the prophecy outright, the keywords in their conversations were enough for him to piece the puzzles.

Hence why they have gone into hiding in a place called Godric's Hollow.

They used the Fidelius charm to maximize the security with a stout man named Peter Pettigrew as the Secret Keeper — which, Harrison quickly concluded, would just end in ruins.

He was quick to figure out that the man was a spy. There were so many laughable signs that'd point Pettigrew as a Death Eater, if you'd exclude the obvious distrust he displayed to his 'friends'.

He would always flinch at random times before making up an excuse to leave. There was also the fact that he was prone to use his right hand more than his left when he was so obviously left-handed, and had shown no signs that an accident had happened on that particular hand.

And yet it was as though he was being careful as to not get it exposed to the outside world.

It was so simple that he couldn't believe no one had caught on yet.

For his father, James, and Black, he could let it slide as they have shown that they valued festivities over intellect. He wouldn't even be surprised if there were children scarred by their excessive behavior during their Hogwarts years.

But as for his mother, Lily, he was quite disappointed that she didn't choose to further her suspicion when she found something out of place, he suppose that it was that naivety that was still stuck to her from her school days.

Perhaps Lupin could've figured it out had he not been under scrutiny merely for his 'Dark' werewolf traits.

Though there was one that he was a hundred percent sure knows yet did nothing with his knowledge. The man named Albus Dumbledore would sometimes glance at Pettigrew's left forearm and don on a knowing look whenever the stout man flinch before trying to get out of the house as quickly as possible.

So understandably, Harrison doesn't trust that man. Not one bit.

Dumbledore would always have this smug look when he thought no one was paying attention to him.

And thanks to his father's worship and habit to ramble to his child, in hopes that he would share his admiration, he knows that the man was a Legilimens as well as an Occlumens — a trait for those who have mastered the art of navigating another's mind and shielding one's mind respectively.

So he knows not to look at the man straight in the eyes, else he'd risk getting discovered before he could prepare anything in advance.

Harrison had a suspicion that the old man has plans, big plans for him.

And he was correct, as per usual.

On Halloween — or also known as Samhain — after he witnessed his own parents getting murdered, the reptilian man vanishing into the unknown, the traitor running in to grab his master's wand, a dour man who smelled of herbs grieving for his mum, and his godfather running out after his long-time friend, the headmaster finally appeared.

Harrison pretended to be asleep, eyes cracking open slightly to spy on the man.

He looked unfazed and unguilty as he walked over the witch's corpse to reach little Harrison.

The elder man then traced the jagged lightning bolt that is a scar on the child's forehead for a moment, "There you are, Tom. A small little Horcrux. I suppose 'The power he knows not' would be sufficient enough?" Dumbledore whispered to himself, to which the sentence Harrison quickly swore to never forget and stored into his mind palace.

The rest went by with a blur, and it ended with him being placed in front of some muggles' doorstep — the Dursleys', he heard from an aged woman's voice mentioned — inside a casket with a letter on top of his cold, shivering body.

In his feeble attempts to read the letter, somehow it ended up being transfigured into a blanket in response to his uncontrollable shivers.

Ah, now that's accidental magic. Harrison thought to himself, soaking in the tiny bit of warmth the blanket provided before eventually falling asleep from exhaustion. He pushed aside any thoughts of the letter temporarily.

Unbeknownst to the infant, his accidental magic had just pushed him out of the pan and into the fire.

With no letter to identify the mysterious child to the Dursleys nor to threaten them into housing the boy, he was quickly handed over to the authorities as a missing child, which then led to him being taken into an orphanage when no one recorded matched his DNA.

Hence for the next decade, with only a tattoo of a name as his identification, the muggle administration only recognized him as a kid named 'Tom' whose birthday was the day that he was taken in, which was on November 8th 2001.

( −ㅿ− )

Petunia: *Opening the door to see Harrison on her doorstep*
Petunia: *Screeching* "Oh my God!"
Harrison: *Blinking blankly*
Petunia: *Searching* "What. They didn't even leave a note?"
Vernon: *Approaching* "What's up, hun?"
Petunia: "Look at this, Vernon!"
Vernon: *Outraged* "How dare they put an unwanted child in our yard. I'm calling the police."
Harrison: *Babbling in baby talk* "Your wife is a walking ball of insecurities, while you're cheating on her with the office's janitor. You also have a newborn, most likely a boy, who you both adore and spoil rotten. Yeah, I'd take my chances with the orphanage."

Caretaker 1: "I suppose we'll call him Tom?"
Caretaker 2: "Tom? Why do you say that?"
Caretaker 1: *Showing the soulmark* "It doesn't come off. I'm beginning to suspect it's a tattoo after all."
Caretaker 2: "Poor lad. Probably had teenage junkies as parents."

J Out!