Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft, Wizardry, and Sometimes Deductive Reasoning

The Train Ride

"Goodbye, boys! Have fun in school, and don't cause trouble for the teachersㅡand Mycroft, take care of your little brother. Help him cope with the transition, okay?" Mrs. Holmes beamed, radiating warmth and pride as she ruffled her youngest son's hair.

"Yes, mummy dearest," said Mycroft in a lazy tone, smirking at his brother's scowl of discomfort.

"See you in December."

Mr. Holmes bent down. "Sherlock, I know you're not looking forward to Hogwarts. There will be a lot of other children and you will need to do things you consider 'boring'. But this is a wonderful opportunity for you to find your passion and make friends."

"I don't need friends. I need more crimes to solve. That is my only passion." Sherlock's grimace grew like a stain. "Besides, everyone there will be idiotic. Even the Ravenclaws."

Mrs. Holmes beamed. "I beg to differ, dear. Your mum just happens to have been one."

Sherlock dodged the question. "Goodbye, mummy. I'll write home once in a while."

The elder Holmes brother shuffled his feet impatiently. "Come along, Sherlock. The compartments fill up quickly. You don't want to spend hours on a train with a stranger."

"You have no one to sit with."

"Neither do you, goldfish." Mycroft stalked off ahead of his brother.

Sherlock practically ran to catch up, colliding straight into another boy. His owl Billy shrieked in his cage as it clanged into another owl's and skidded to the floor. Sherlock stared at the bespectacled kid, relishing in the novelty of deduction.

He doesn't know how to take care of his clothes. Disheveled clothing suggests he is from a neglectful home. When I ran into him, he flinched away and looked terrified. Abusive home, then. However, his things are brand-new and he glances around, as if he is in a new and unfamiliar environment. Recently introduced to the Wizarding World, so probably Muggleborn. Parents would have to be rolling in Galleons to buy him all this new stuff, though. First-year for sure. No older siblings, or he wouldn't look so clueless here. The fringe of his hair is combed straight down while the rest is definitely not, so he is concealing something on his forehead. Acne, perhaps? The observations rattled in his brain, not quite connecting. A final look down at his Potions book, opened face-down on the dirty train station floor, revealed a name: Harry Potter. So simple, it felt like cheating. Oh, of course. That makes sense.

A mumbled "sorry" was all Sherlock heard before Harry Potter cleaned up his mess and was absorbed back into the crowd. Pity. He was cute. Shaking his head, he went over to his brother, who had already made it to the Express.

Mycroft smiled condescendingly. "See, Sherlock? The Boy Who Lived is in your year. Not everyone will be-"

"Boring."

Mycroft pursed his lips and opened the compartment door. Sherlock stepped in and shut it. He took out a Potions book, a not-so-subtle hint that he was to be left alone. Mycroft retrieved an excessively shiny prefect's badge from the folds of his robe and pinned it lovingly onto the front. Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued to read.

Nearly two hours into the journey, the door slid open. A bushy-haired girl --Muggleborn, first-year, secretly insecure, goody-goody attitude, dentist parents-- came in.

"Has anyone seen a toad?"

Mycroft and Sherlock, slightly shocked at being addressed so directly, stared.

"Evidently not. If you do, please give him back to Mr. Longbottom in the compartment two cars down. Oh, and I'm Hermione Granger," she offered, "and--"

"Sherlock Holmes, a pleasure to meet you."

She evaluated him for a few moments, then left to continue her search for the runaway amphibian.

Mycroft gave his little brother a scathing look. "She was actually trying to be nice, you know."

Sherlock turned away from his brother when the door slid open again. This time it was one of the Weasleys. Percy Weasley, according to Mycroft.

"Shirking your prefect duties, Holmes?" The redhead smirked, flashing his (also excessively shiny) badge.

Mycroft looked up. "Weasley, don't get cocky on me. I patrol the corridors in exactly two hours and twenty one minutes. Not a minute earlier, not a minute later. Besides, I was not aware stopping by Mrs. Clearwater's compartment every quarter hour counts as patrolling."

Weasley flushed red for a moment, then swept his gaze to Sherlock. "You have a brat to babysit this year? And here I thought we had nothing in common! I suppose Ron is sulking by himself as well." He chuckled unpleasantly.

"Ronald is sitting in the next car with the one and only Harry Potter. I would say he's been more successful at socialising than you in first year," Mycroft said dismissively.

"What? I don't believe it. Five galleons says you're bluffing." Percy looked amused.

"You don't have that sort of betting money, Weasley. Get out."

He did, and the compartment became silent once more.

Sherlock must have dozed off. He awoke to the sound of Mycroft's voice telling him to change into his school robes. He shook out his hair and sat up. A Pumpkin Pasty lay in front of him, seven inches away from five golden galleons. He was the premier school for witches and wizards. Boring as it sounds, he would certainly find something to amuse himself with. Until they got off this train, however, he could enjoy a snack.

***I am submitting this chapter and Chapter 3 for a Johnlock fanzine on Tumblr, so I have made some edits.