I guess it all began on that train. That beautiful scarlet train. I'd gotten on, full of excitement and enthusiasm. My dad had seen me off, happy as anything. His son: a wizard. It was almost too extreme to believe. I wouldn't have believed it if that Ministry of Magic official hadn't come and proved to us that I was a wizard. I stepped on the train, lugging my heavy trunk behind me. I staggered down the train, until I found an almost empty compartment. There was only one person in the compartment, a young boy with his nose buried in a book. He had dark hair that curled uncontrollably and a skinny build.
"Sorry, do you mind if I sit here?" I asked, popping my head round the door. He lazily looked at me over the top of his book. Instead of replying, he waved his hand to signal that I could take a seat. A little discouraged, I pulled my trunk in, rested it on the rack by the door and sat down opposite the boy. Looking at him close up, I realised he couldn't be much older than me. Sunlight streamed in trough the massive window that dominated almost an entire wall of the compartment. For a few minutes, the outside world passed us by and we were silent.
"So, what's your name?"I asked, desperate to avoid the silence. Ever since I could remember, I've hated those awkward silences.
"Sherlock." He answered, turning the page of his book.
"I'm John Watson. Are you a first year?" I continued, refusing to let silence descend.
"Yes." He replied, obviously bored already. I gave up trying to spark a conversation. Luckily, the trolley lady came around not long after.
"Anything from the trolley, dears?" she asked, opening the compartment door.
"Erm, I'll have a chocolate frog, if you have any." I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a small-ish silver coin that I was told was called a 'sickle'. Sherlock completely ignored her. She closed the door and rattled off down the train, leaving me with my chocolate frog in my hands. Sherlock turned to me as she left.
"Single. Desperately seeking a companion. Worked here ten, maybe twelve years." He said, his words coming out as one long sentence.
"Who? The trolley lady?" I asked, probably sounding stupid.
"Yes, the trolley lady." Sherlock said shortly.
"How do you know?"
"It wasn't very hard. Her lipstick doesn't suit her at all but my brother's girlfriend wears it, so she's trying to look younger. no ring on her hand either and unlikely that she has a boyfriend. Single at that age, of course she's desperate. Her outfit is well worn around the neckline, suggesting it's old. The way she spoke, the tone she used, shows that she's said that same line many times. Conclusion, she's worked for a long time and wants a husband." He explained, ending with a flourish.
"You made that up." I said defiantly. "There's no way you could know that." Sherlock slowly put the book down and looked at me quizzically.
"You're a muggle born. Unsure of this great adventure you're about to have. Your dad works with some military job, possibly a soldier. But, your dad dropped you off, so it's unlikely he'd have a job that required long leaves of absence. Maybe he had a past military career, but quit when he wanted to start a family. Your mum didn't see you off, so there's a strong possibility that she's absent from your life in general. Maybe she died, more likely she left you and your dad some time ago. Now, your shoes are old, but they're too big for you, suggesting they belong to an older sibling. The pattern is unisex to probably your sisters. If it was a brother, you wouldn't have drawn over the girly colours used. Your sister wasn't there to see you off, suggesting she's older and already at school. She must be a muggle since she isn't on the train. The way you hold yourself tells me that you don't want to believe something this great could happen to you. Am I wrong?" His words buzzed out of him in such speed and accuracy that it was incredible he didn't pass out.
"How do you know?" I repeated.
"Please, it was easy." Sherlock bragged, leaning back and opening his book again. "I saw you on the platform for starters. Your dad's military haircut, the way you kept glancing around the platform, following everyone else. Deduction told me you were a muggle born; common sense told me the rest."
"That's incredible." I said, astounded.
"Really?" he asked with a note of confusion in his voice.
"Yes. That was amazing." I repeated, looking at him in awe. The door opened and a tall, pudgy boy stood there, looking at us. He had a regal feel about him. His dark hair was very similar to Sherlock's but not as curly. A girl stood gingerly behind him, not sure whether to do anything or not.
"Sherlock, you put your book in my trunk." He said irritably, holding out a large hardback book with the words 'The Lives and Habits of British Muggles' in gold print on the front.
"Thank you, dear brother. I've been sick with worry." Sherlock said sarcastically, holding his hand out for the boy to give him his own book.
"Oh, such wit. I'll bet a hundred galleons you'll end up in Ravenclaw." The boy said coldly.
"We all knew that. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out." Sherlock snipped, placing the book down next to him. The look on the boys face grew dangerous. His hand twitched towards his pocket. The girl saw it as well.
"Come on Mycroft. Let's go back to our compartment." She said, tugging at his arm. He reluctantly followed her.
"Who was that?" I asked once the door had closed.
"My brother: Mycroft. Slytherin, fourth-year. He's convinced he's going to be Minister of Magic when he leaves Hogwarts." Sherlock explained, going back to his book.
"Oh. What's Ravenclaw?" I said, thinking over the conversation.
"One of the four houses of Hogwarts. There are Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Each one is named after one of the four founders." He continued in his bored voice.