Harry Potter, Sherlock A Study in Witchcraft

It was yet another dreary morning of September 1st in London, which found young girls and boys venturing to Platform 9 ¾ to catch the Hogwarts Express. Nothing was very abnormal about this day; the sun went in intervals of shining and being covered by cloud, the temperature was warm for that time of year, but it was slowly lowering as the days neared Autumn. King's Cross was fairly busy, but most of the commuters (mainly the ones with kids and in "odd" apparel) were seemingly disappearing somewhere in-between Platforms 9 and 10. Included in this number was the family of Holmes, which included mother, father, and two boys: one of seventeen and one of eleven. The one of eleven was nervous, but made sure it didn't show on his face.

"We're almost there, right?" he asked, tapping a small rhythm on the windowsill of the rental car.

"Yes, just be patient," the boy's older brother answered him. "See that building? That's the train station."

"Good," the younger boy stated as the car turned into a parking lot, then found a parking place.

"Alright. It's fifteen minutes until eleven, so I suggest going to get your seats situated. No lingering!" ordered the father; a mid-aged man with much authority in his look.

"Mycroft, help Sherlock with his things for God's sake! He's only eleven years old!" the Mother commanded of the elder Holmes brother, Mycroft, who obliged. He opened the trunk and started to unload the two trunks and multiple other things.

"I can get most of it," Sherlock put in, obviously not keen on his skills being doubted.

"Really, Sherly? You brought your skull?" Mycroft questioned as he drew the obviously wrapped package.

"He's my friend!" Sherlock reached for it, but Mycroft held it from his reach.

"You'll make so many friends at Hogwarts that you won't _need _a rotting skull to keep you company!" Mycroft argued, putting it back in the trunk. Sherlock glared at his older brother, then looked to the desolate package. He closed his eyes, focused on having the skull in his trunk, and then opened his eyes again. With a smirk he noticed the package had disappeared.

"You realise you can't do that after your first year, right Sherlock?" mentioned a very unamused Mycroft.

"Until after my sixth year?" Sherlock asked, curiously.

"Trust me, it's an agonizing wait. This summer has been fantastic, however. Well worth the wait."

"Okay! Come along boys!" Mr. Holmes commanded again, his voice a bit louder. He ran to grab some carts so that they could wheel the luggage to the station, and helped Mycroft place a trunk on each.

"Ten minutes!" Mr. Holmes informed, panicking slightly.

"Dad, it's alright. We'll make it." Mycroft smirked, looking at his beautiful black owl sitting on top of his trunk. He started for the station, and Sherlock, with a light brown owl on top of his, followed.

"Okay, it's just like all the other years Sherly. Just run for the wall. See you there!" Mycroft ran for the wall, and instead of being thrown back, went straight through it.

"We'll be right behind you, sweetie," Mrs. Holmes coaxed, getting a replying nod from Sherlock. Blinking a few times prior, Sherlock ran at the wall, then opened his eyes.

Of course he wasn't impressed. He had done this five years previously, while coming with Mycroft to all but his first year's send offs. However, it felt… different. He felt like he belonged there this time, not just the awkward younger sibling who chased the express as it rounded the corner. Now, it was his turn to board the bright red train that sat on the tracks with kids getting on, either alone or with a group of friends. One family caught Sherlock's attention more than any other, however.

Near the train, there were four people; two girls and two boys. They all had blonde hair that seemed to match perfectly. The younger girl, however, was holding onto the smaller boy, who looked about Sherlock's age, and seemed to be yelling something. The older woman, who looked very well on in years, attempted to tug the teenage girl off the eleven-year-old's large jumper sleeve. The boy looked sad, as if he didn't want to be mean to the girl, and the girl continued to yell. Sherlock took note of this strange incident as he walked to another compartment to load on with his brother.

"Hurry, Sherlock! Five till, and it leaves right on the dot!" informed Mycroft. Sherlock nodded, and followed Mycroft up the steps to the train, and then to an empty compartment.

"Now, we should be able to have this to ourselves… there seems to not be as many first years this year, oddly enough." Mycroft stated as he placed his trunk on the shelves above the seats. He then drew his wand and started making little sparks with it. Sherlock also put his trunk on the opposite shelf, keeping his wand with him. He looked at it, interested in it for some reason. He remembered the warm glow it had emitted when he first touched it at Ollivander's. How Ollivander had said that it was a good wand for a little bit of everything; charms, curses, jinxes, even healing spells. However, it must be handled with extreme caution, and if it fell into untrustworthy hands it would quickly change allegiance. Of course, Sherlock thought nothing of wand lore, so he just ignored it.

Suddenly, there was a girl at their compartment door. She was already in her Ravenclaw robes with a brilliant "Head Girl" badge pinned to the left side of the robes. Mycroft looked to her, smiled, and opened the door.

"Mycroft, we're needed in the Prefects' compartment," the girl said, then looked to Sherlock. "Is that your brother that you always talked about?"

"Yes, this is S-" Mycroft began, but Sherlock interrupted.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes," he wasn't intimidated by the older girl as she gave a small chuckle.

"Nice to meet you, Sherlock. I'm…" she gave a side glance to Mycroft, then looked back to Sherlock. "… Anthea. Head Girl, and seventh year Ravenclaw. Welcome to Hogwarts. Now, Mycroft, we need to go." Mycroft nodded, gave Sherlock a certain look, then followed Anthea out of the compartment.

Sherlock decided to just look out the window, then spotted his parents. They were smiling to him, so he decided to wave. The train gave a sudden jolt, and then started to leave the station. Sherlock caught a glimpse of different faces flashing by the window, some of the younger ones trying to outrun the train. He remembered being one of those kids, then laughed slightly.

After the train rounded the corner, the blonde boy from earlier appeared at Sherlock's compartment. He knocked three times before Sherlock gave a small nod to tell that it was unlocked. The blonde boy gave a nervous smile before entering the compartment.

"Your first year as well, then?" Sherlock asked the boy as soon as he sat down. The boy nodded. "You'll be in Hufflepuff." Sherlock stated afterwards, almost as if it were clearly obvious.

The boy was silent for a few moments before speaking again. ".. What makes you say that?" He didn't seem too offended, but he just wanted to hear what Sherlock had to say.

Sherlock could hardly contain a smirk. "I saw you at the station with your family. You were being tugged at by your older sister, while your mother tried to get her off. The sister is a Squib, going by how your parents treat her as the odd one out, and you're a wizard. So, pure-blood. Of course, you're also not that good at dressing as a muggle. You're jumper's about three sizes too big and your trousers are a size too small, which also implies wizarding family. However, your sister was dressed as a very well blended muggle, and she didn't board with you, even though she looks of Hogwarts age. Squib. Your parents have given up on her, most likely because she is an alcoholic. Why I say you will be in Hufflepuff is because you still care about her. You still see the hope that she can still be a decent human being, even though your parents have given up. You're a first year, going by how desperately she clung to you, as if she'd never been separated from you for this long before. Now, my name is Sherlock Holmes. What would yours be?"

The blonde boy's eyes were wide with amazement as Sherlock spoke. Finally, after he had finished, the boy muttered, "Watson… John Watson."

"Watson?" Sherlock repeated. "I think my parents knew some Watsons, though they never socialize much. The only boy I grew up with is my brother."

"My parents mentioned some Holmes', yeah…" John was still in a kind of shock from what Sherlock had said about him.

"Oh? And what did they say?"

"They're all smart-arses." John stated blandly.

Sherlock gave a small laugh at that. "After my first impression, do you find that to be true?"

"A bit, yeah…" John gave an awkward smile, looking around the compartment. "So, what house do you think you'll get?"

"Me? Well, I'm thinking either Ravenclaw or Slytherin. I only include Slytherin because my brother was thinking he would get Ravenclaw, but he got Slytherin."

"Interesting… So, where is your brother?"

"Oh, he's with the prefects. He's Head Boy, so he has to talk with the prefects and stuff."

"Head Boy?" John looked impressed.

"Yeah. And Head Girl's interested in him, but won't admit it. Too bad he's got a crush on Gryfindor's male prefect this year. You don't know how much I've heard about this Lestrade guy over summer… It's annoying."

John laughed. "Your brother has a crush on another bloke?"

Sherlock frowned a bit. "Yeah. You make it seem like there's something wrong with it?"

"N-No! That's not what I meant! I mean, Harry likes girls, so I'm used to it." John was quick to correct himself.

"Good," Sherlock simply stated, then took to looking out the window. He started waving his wand just to observe what would happen. He noticed that the sparks were flung in a more precise manner than before. Why, he wasn't so sure, but he tried to figure it out.

After so much silence, John cleared his throat. Sherlock looked up at him, a little confused. "What?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, you've been quiet for a while… Are you okay?" John was very concerned for some reason.

"I was right," Sherlock stated with an air of pride.

"Right about what?" asked a confused John.

"Definitely Hufflepuff." And with that, Sherlock laid down on the row of seats he was sitting on, and drifted off to make up for the sleep he didn't receive the night previously.

* * *

"… surprised he hasn't woken yet. He's quite the light sleeper, you know. Some nights were a nightmare, no pun intended."

Sherlock opened his eyes to find John listening to Mycroft, who had returned from the prefect's compartment.

"I think he's up now," John said, looking over to Sherlock. He gave a small, awkward smile, while Mycroft smirked.

"Glad to see you back with the living, Sherlock," Mycroft remarked. "I've just been keeping your friend here company."

"Er… yeah," John added, not looking at either of the Holmes brothers.

"He's not my friend, Mycroft," Sherlock responded, "I don't have friends. I'm just… not that type of person. It's not my division." Sherlock didn't look at John as he said that, afraid that he might show some sort of emotion or something.

"Y-yeah, we're not… not friends," John muttered, looking a bit embarrassed. He looked to the ground, finding it very interesting all of a sudden.

"Well that was quite rude, Sherlock," Mycroft scolded. "I think you two are much _more, _or will be anyways, than friends." At this point, John pulled his jumper over his head.

"Shut up, Mycroft," Sherlock whispered.

"Or what, Sherly? Are you going to jinx me?" Mycroft gave a soft laugh, then pulled his wand from his pocket. "Six years of magical education against silly wand waving at home. I'm sure you'll turn victorious," he smirked to his younger sibling, who scowled in return. A small (and quite frightened) laugh emitted from the small bundle under the large jumper.

"Well, I'll leave you to get your robes on. We are almost there, believe it or not. You slept most of the day away, dear brother," Mycroft stood, letting his long Slytherin robes flow behind him. "I hope to be speaking with you more, John. You seem very interesting, and my brother was right. I believe you'll make an excellent Hufflepuff." With that, Mycroft unlatched the compartment door and slid out, striking a conversation as soon as he did.

"Alright, I'll get mine on first then," Sherlock muttered, standing and getting into his trunk. On top, luckily, he found his robes; bought brand new, and only used when he would feel like dressing in them, feeling like he was already at Hogwarts. He'd draw his wand and cast the small and colorful sparks that he had now grown bored of. Now, however, he drew them for a purpose. He quickly changed into them, pocketed his wand within them, and then sat again.

"You done?" came John's hushed voice, still muffled due to the jumper.

"Yep. All done. I'll look away if you'd like."

John finally emerged from his jumper, looking at Sherlock. "Er, if.. I mean, of co… Please?" John's cheeks were full of red blush as he reached for his own trunk (which sat beside Mycroft's neatly) and drew out his own robes. Sherlock turned to look at the wall while John put them on, obviously struggling a bit and taking longer than needed.

"Need help?" Sherlock asked after a while, getting too bored with the simple wall patterns.

"N-No. Of course not! I can put a set of bloody robes on, thank you!" John replied, very defensively. "Besides, they're on now. You can turn around."

Sherlock gave a sigh of relief and turned to look at John. "Decent robes. But they were meant for your sister. Even though your parents knew she would never come here they still got her fitted at age eleven. They're running short on money now, so they let you wear her robes. She was a bit taller than you in her age, which is why you're robes are just a bit too long and slightly too wide."

"That… That's brilliant," John replied, wide eyed. "How do you know all of that?"

"I don't _know_, I observe," Sherlock shrugged as the train started slowing down. "Well, it looks like we're here."

"Yeah…" John's face lit up with excitement. "I can't wait! I've heard the feasts are amazing!"

Sherlock looked to John with a raised eyebrow. "We're about to enter a castle full of wizards and witches, full of magical passages and enchantments, and you're excited about the food?"

"C'mon," John said, unlatching the compartment door and holding it for Sherlock. Sherlock followed, actually surprised that John waited for him.

"I've proven my brother wrong, then," Sherlock commented, having the hints of a smirk on his face.

"With what?" John asked, only somewhat interested.

"He said, if I did what I've done, people won't wait for me. They also won't call it 'brilliant'."

"What did he say would happen, then?" John wondered aloud.

"'Piss off'," Sherlock said with a small shrug.

"Firs' years! Firs' years this way!" came a heavy voice from the station. A man of about twice the height and thrice the width of an average man stood with a lantern and a gathering group of first years.

"Half giant. His mother was a giantess, left the family when he was young. Father died his.. Second year? I think so, yes. He got expelled the next year," Sherlock muttered under his breath, only for John to hear.

"That's amazing…" John stated, looking from the man to Sherlock.

"All of yeh here? Good! Seems to not be as many of yeh as usual," the man frowned a bit, then smiled. "So, since yer first years, you'll be goin' by boat up to the castle. Groups of three or less per boat, I think'll work." He took another look at the group, nodded to himself, then led the group to a dock with many boats, all lined up.

"So, are we…?" John asked, looking at the closest boat.

"Well, I'm not eager to talk to anyone else, so sure," Sherlock responded, passing by John and getting in the boat. John followed, watching the rest of the students get into the boats; some uneasily, some excitedly. A poor girl actually tipped her boat over and had luckily been saved by the boy who was already in the boat.

"Well, you won't be the only first year Hufflepuff, John," Sherlock commented under his breath.

John looked back to Sherlock. "Wait, you think she'll be in Hufflepuff as well?"

He gave a nod. "At least I'm pretty sure. It's dark and I'm still slightly asleep from the train ride."

"Ah…" John muttered, then emitted a small gasp.

As the boats shifted slightly, the first years gained their first glance at the magnificent castle that was and is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Even Sherlock, who was very hard to amaze, widened his eyes at the sight of it. The towering castle gave off light like none of them had ever seen before, glistening off the surface of the measly lake they were on. The castle in itself seemed to radiate magic that reached out to the boats, drawing them in.

"…It's…" John tried to find words that would describe the castle well, found none, then let his mouth remain ajar.

"…amazing," Sherlock finished, then quickly shook himself out of his awe-state. "Come on, the boats have docked," he noted, slowly standing to get out. Noticing him, a few of the other first years started to scurry out of their boats, still gaping in awe at the castle. John followed shortly afterward, loosing Sherlock in the crowd of people as they gathered into the Entrance Hall.

"Welcome, first years, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," at the Professor's words, all the muttering among the first years ceased and all eyes were upon her. "Now, as many of you are either aware or have recently been made aware, you are all about to join the rest of your future classmates and enjoy in a delicious Welcoming Feast, but before, you must undergo the Sorting Ceremony. Now, you will be put into either of four houses: Gryffindor, for the brave, Ravenclaw, for the wise, Hufflepuff, for the loyal, and," she paused and gave a small scowl, "Slytherin, for the ambitious. Each house has produced many extraordinary witches and wizards, so don't be discouraged with whatever house you get. After the feast, you will be led to your house common rooms by your house prefect. Now, if you will follow me, we are ready to begin." With that, the professor turned and walked into the Great Hall.

"Woah…" John mumbled to himself, forgetting Sherlock wasn't there, and feeling quite embarrassed. Looking around, he saw the magnificence of the Hall: four enormous tables lined the hall parallel to each other with one perpendicular (where all the Professors sat, eying the first years with interest). All of the older students who sat at the four tables were also looking, some almost making bets where the frightened first years would be placed.

Sherlock took to gazing around the Hall, spotted Mycroft, then avoided looking at that table all together (not thinking about the fact he may be joining that table after he was sorted). However, he noticed the Hall fell deadly silent as all eyes turned to the hat, whose "mouth" had opened, and he began his song:

_ Another year is finally here_

_ After a summer, have no fear_

_ Now, we welcome you back for more_

_ Not knowing all of what is in store_

_ For the first years, young and dear_

_ Don't be nervous to step up here_

_ I am the Sorting hat, as you can see_

_ And I will tell you where you should be._

_ Perhaps you'll be in Gryffindor_

_ Great wizards have before_

_ They've proven their bravery and strife_

_ And are not afraid of a knife_

_ Or maybe you'll make Hufflepuff_

_ Where loyalty is enough_

_ Hufflepuffs are good at heart_

_ Perhaps that's what sets them apart?_

_ You also might be in Ravenclaw_

_ Rowena was the one who saw_

_ That those of great wisdom and mind_

_ Be put with those of their own kind_

_Another way is Slytherin_

_ Though it may be hard to get in_

_ For only the most ambitious have silver and green_

_ Even if their ambition is not clearly seen_

_ So step forward young ones, try me on._

_ Everyone here has come and gone_

_ One last message, to one and all_

_ Always be weary of what lurks the halls._

As the mouth of the Sorting Hat closed again, the Hall burst into applause and screams of praise. The Professor waved her hand, and the noise slowly died down.

"Now, shall we begin?" She cleared her throat, unrolled a scroll in her hand, and began calling the name of "Bowler, Jessica."

Many names went by, and Sherlock spent his time trying to predict what house they would get before the Sorting Hat called it out. He only got one wrong (he thought "Gregson, Tobias" would be in Slytherin, but he actually made Gryffindor) before the Professor called his name.

"Holmes, Sherlock," came the Professor's brisk voice, piercing the young boy's thoughts. He slowly shrugged through the other first years, feeling every pair of eyes in the school on his back. He took a deep breath, though he wasn't that nervous, and went to go sit on the stool. The Professor, he could have sworn, flashed him the smallest smile before placing the hat over his head, where it rested over his eyes.

"Hmmm, interesting… very interesting…" the Hat began to mutter to where only Sherlock could hear. "You have qualities of nearly all the houses… though I believe Hufflepuff is far out of the question… Not very loyal, I believe… You have hints of bravery, but they are nothing compared to your ambition and wisdom, are they? Yes… you'd do great in either Ravenclaw or Slytherin… But which one? That's the question, isn't it? … I believe that the one to suit you best would be…" a small moment of silence before the Hat shouted "RAVENCLAW!" to the whole Hall. The Ravenclaw table clapped as Sherlock stepped down and walked to join his new housemates, some of which shook his hand. He glanced around and saw Mycroft flash him a small smile before the next girl (the one that had tripped, "Hooper, Molly") was called and, like Sherlock's prediction, put into Hufflepuff.

Many scared first years later (all of them going into the house Sherlock would predict), only to stood waiting.

"Watosn, John," called the Professor. John glanced back to Sherlock before slowly going up to the hat, obviously very nervous about having everyone look at him. He sat down on the stool like everyone else had previously, then let the hat be placed over his eyes.

It took longer than most of the others. The whole Hall sat quietly, watching John quivering under the Hat. Sherlock, of course, stood by his prediction that he would be placed in Hufflepuff, but now occupied his time trying to figure out which other house the Hat would be considering.

However, interrupting his thoughts, the Hat shouted "HUFFLEPUFF!" and John stepped down, giving a small smile, and joined the clad of black and yellow robes that surrounded one of the tables.

After the last girl (Wilson, Rebekah) was sorted into Gryffindor, the Headmaster stood, and an eerie silence instantly fell among the Hall.

"Well, now that we've accomplished yet another Sorting Ceremony, it is my pleasure to grace you with these four, long anticipated words:

Let the feast begin!"


End file.

Harry Potter, Sherlock, Supernatural