Sherlock's gaze swept over his brother. Compared to their last meeting, Mycroft had become more robust, walking with steady strides, clearly his muscle-building regimen had been quite effective.
His dark gray three-piece suit was impeccably tailored, with his signature black umbrella and a thick overcoat draped over his arm.
His broad forehead was remarkably similar to Sherlock's, and his sharp gaze even more so.
Mycroft's eyes quickly scanned the room before nodding respectfully toward their father.
"Father, Merry Christmas."
"Good to have you home. Merry Christmas," Mr. Holmes said with a smile.
Sherlock also stood at this moment, the brothers' gazes meeting in midair.
Though they were brothers who hadn't seen each other in ages, there was no warm embrace between them.
The air was filled with an unspoken contest, full of familiar understanding and complete comprehension of each other's thought patterns.
In an instant, both brothers understood what the other had been up to recently.
"Ah, my dear brother has finally deigned to leave his mysterious office."
Sherlock spoke first, in his familiar manner. "Carrying that black umbrella in the dead of winter—don't you think people will find that strange?"
"This umbrella has more uses than you imagine, my dear brother—though I see you've grown quite a bit taller. Clearly the food at Hogwarts is excellent."
The corners of Mycroft's mouth curved upward almost subtly, like a chess player who had anticipated every move, watching his opponent fall into position according to plan.
"So, not only did you find yourself a case, but you also solved a major problem involving the Ministry of Magic's history along the way?"
Despite being a Muggle, he spoke of magical matters as casually as discussing what to have for dinner.
Facing Mycroft's aggressive questioning, Sherlock raised his chin slightly.
He might restrain himself in front of their parents, but before his elder brother, he would never suppress his pride.
"A correction, Mycroft—that's called eliminating a threat that had been lurking beside a friend for twelve years. Quite efficient, wouldn't you say, finished before Christmas dinner."
"Efficient? If I recall correctly, you've been in contact with that criminal since your first year."
"So, you think I should have exposed him in first year?"
"Well, that's my mistake. It would indeed have been too demanding to expect that of you before you'd demystified magic."
"No, you're quite right. I should have discovered it sooner. But better late than never."
"His disguise might have been clever to the bureaucrats of the magical world, but before true powers of observation, it was nothing more than a clumsy children's trick."
"Yet this 'clumsy children's trick' left a pure-blood aristocrat's heir vacationing in Azkaban for twelve years and caused the deaths of half a street full of people."
"Which means those Ministry of Magic folks are even worse than Scotland Yard—letting the real culprit go free while an innocent soul nearly rotted away in despair."
"Precisely. Which is why I had to intervene."
"Your adventurist tendencies remain unchanged, dear brother."
"Regrettably, even action based on a clear chain of evidence was still outmaneuvered by office bureaucracy. Speaking of which, should I be thanking you?"
"Thanks, aren't necessary, but for an underage person not yet fourteen to directly intervene in a deadly truth hidden for twelve years, while also causing our mother to worry about that fugitive godfather's identity—that's not what a son should do."
"As a twenty-year-old adult who lives close by but can't even find time to come home, I don't think you have any standing to criticize me."
Both spoke faster and faster, the air beginning to fill with the smell of gunpowder.
"That's enough, you two!"
At this critical moment, Mrs. Holmes suddenly spoke, interrupting their clash.
She stepped forward to gently take Mycroft's coat and umbrella, frowning as she said:
"Tonight is Christmas Eve, a time for family to gather.
You finally see each other, and it's not so you can compete over who's smarter or debate conspiracy theories.
The food is getting cold—let's eat first!"
Hearing this, Mycroft immediately complied, handing his coat and black umbrella to his mother, his hard image before his brother temporarily softening under their mother's slightly reproachful gaze.
"Your mother is quite right. It's dinner time, boys."
Mr. Holmes spoke at the right moment, guiding everyone toward the fragrant dining room.
He looked at his two sons with a smile.
Neither of his sons was straightforward enough.
They seemed to be arguing, but were actually caring for each other in their own way.
Mycroft walked composedly toward the dining table, his posture steady, as if the argument with Sherlock had never happened.
Sherlock watched Mycroft's back, his face showing that hard-to-catch smile so similar to his brother's, then followed.
The dining table under the lights was bright and warm, loaded with fine food and wine.
However, the brothers' Christmas Eve conversation about truth and efficiency had only just begun, waiting for a suitable quiet moment to continue.
Perhaps after dinner, in conversation by the fireside.
But at least for now, it was time to raise glasses and wish each other a Merry Christmas.
Merry Christmas!
Mrs. Holmes's cooking skills went without saying—even Ron, accustomed to Mrs. Weasley's meals, would praise them.
At the dinner table, Sherlock and Mycroft, under Mrs. Holmes's gentle gaze, presented a harmonious picture of brotherly affection.
Until after dinner, when Sherlock and Mycroft came to chat by the fireside.
"Your taste in friends is quite particular, my dear brother. That boy called Harry—his danger coefficient is very high." Mycroft leaned forward slightly; his voice lowered so only Sherlock across from him could clearly hear:
"The office has recently received some new reports. The magical world is not as peaceful as fairy tales suggest.
Sirius Black's return to freedom doesn't represent an ending, I'm afraid it's merely the prelude to the curtain rising again.
Are you certain you want to remain center stage, even pulling that boy and our entire family into this spotlight with you?"
The flames in the fireplace crackled. Sherlock's eyes became sharp in an instant.
He met Mycroft's unfathomable gaze without retreating, only burning with the desire for challenge.
"Center stage? Mycroft, have you only been in that office so long that even your thinking has ossified?
From the moment I entered the magical world, this so-called stage has never had margins to hide in."
"Are you making excuses for actively walking into that boy's world as soon as you entered school?"
"Excuses? Danger never disappears because you turn your back on it, Mycroft. I believe you, standing at the center of the vortex, understand this better than I do."
"I certainly understand it better than you. Eyes that can see the truth are themselves light sources."
"In that case, you should also know that this matter is unavoidable. What must come will eventually come."
"That sounds a bit like fatalism, my dear brother."
"Think what you like. Harry is my friend. I won't let him be harmed."
Sherlock stood up, actively ending the conversation.
In just the short time the brothers had been talking, Mrs. Holmes had looked their way more than once. If they continued, she would certainly intervene.
Rather than that, better to end the conversation after making his position clear.
After all, neither he nor Mycroft wanted to worry their mother.
On the other hand, Mycroft, sitting on the sofa, watched Sherlock's departing back and couldn't help shaking his head, a smile appearing at the corners of his mouth.
"Harry is your friend, but you, are also my brother—"
December 25, 1993, Christmas Day.
Two years had passed since the dissolution of the unbreakable alliance.
The fall of the red giant had also affected the magical world.
With the formerly unified red magical world splitting into multiple independent magical governments, the magical world's political landscape had suddenly become much more diverse.
First, the Magical Alliance Department had dissolved along with the union, and each member nation's magical government began operating independently.
Over these two years, they had all been re-establishing their own political systems, formulating policies and regulations, handling internal affairs and foreign relations.
Before the union's dissolution, the Magical Alliance Department had held an important position in organizations like the International Confederation of Wizards, with considerable voice in international magical affairs.
But after that, its magical power's influence internationally was greatly diminished.
However, as the Russian Ministry of Magic, which had inherited the vast majority of the union's legacy, began re-emerging on the international stage, a new balance of political forces was gradually forming.
Of course, even so, it was still far from what it had been.
Russia couldn't compare not only to established magical nations like Britain and France, but even against emerging magical powers like Japan and America, it couldn't hold a candle.
Next were the magical schools.
Systematic magical schools registered with the International Confederation, like Britain's Hogwarts, were not numerous—there were only eleven in the entire world, and each school had its own characteristics.
For example, America, which once formed two poles in the Muggle world and now stood alone.
Its magical school was called Ilvermorny.
This school was the world's only magical school co-founded with No-Maj participation.
No-Maj, like Britain's Muggle, referred to ordinary people without magic.
In Britain, having wizards and Muggles jointly participate in founding Hogwarts would be simply unimaginable.
What's more, Ilvermorny's founder was a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin.
Given this, Ilvermorny Magic School was recognized as one of the greatest magical schools—most democratic and providing education for all.
The magical school that originally belonged to the union was called Koldovstoretz, now formally inherited by Russia.
This school differed from Western European magical schools including Hogwarts in that their students rode entire trees rather than broomsticks when playing Quidditch.
The warrior nation was living up to its name.
Yet even with such character, with the union's dissolution, its standing among magical schools worldwide began rapidly declining.
"—That's how things stand."
Mycroft said to Sherlock, his trademark calm tone underlying the precise transmission of information followed by observation.
"You're telling me all this not just to give me a lesson on international relations between the Muggle and magical worlds, are you, Mycroft?"
"My dear brother, while your Hogwarts is relatively independent, it's not completely isolated from the world.
Obviously, information, personnel, and influence can still flow through various channels.
Don't forget, besides the red union's dissolution, there's also the European Union's formal establishment.
This has caused the European magical community to strengthen its connections recently.
Hogwarts happens to be one of the most influential magical schools in Europe."
"So, you want to remind me that this chaos might affect Britain? Affect Hogwarts? Even directly affect me?"
Mycroft's eyes were calm as water. "Our talk yesterday about center stage may have been somewhat dramatic, but the more chaotic the lighting, the easier for true performers to hide, or to be pushed forward.
Your tendency to attract trouble, and trouble's tendency to attract you, will only be amplified in this more unstable world.
Not to mention your dear friend, his special identity ensures he'll always be at the center of the vortex."
"Haaa!" Sherlock laughed aloud. "That's precisely my purpose, my dear brother."
"I know you enjoy adventure, but I must still remind you not to constantly place yourself in danger."
Perhaps after last night's reflection, compared to Christmas Eve, Mycroft's words seemed more direct.
Sensing the concern in his words, Sherlock surprisingly didn't argue this time.
However, when he saw Mycroft stand up after finishing, Sherlock still frowned. "You're leaving?"
"Father and Mother hope I can stay here a few more days, but unfortunately I cannot fulfill their wish, so—spend time with them properly. I'll still try to come back in the evenings these few days."
Mycroft straightened the hem of his wrinkle-free suit, casually picked up his black umbrella leaning to one side, and lightly tapped Sherlock's headboard.
"I won't disturb your appreciation of Christmas presents. By the way, you're even more popular with girls than I imagined. Mother will be very pleased."
After saying this, Mycroft left Sherlock's bedroom with steady steps.
"Presents?"
Following Mycroft's gaze, Sherlock saw his pile of Christmas presents.
This was already an annual tradition.
At this moment, a letter on top caught Sherlock's eye.
He picked up the envelope—the faint pleasant fragrance and beautiful elegant handwriting already indicated the sender's identity.
Gemma Farley.
As Sherlock opened the envelope, he couldn't help but pause slightly.
This gift greatly exceeded his expectations.
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