It was just another first day back to school, and another set of first years to be sorted before they could finally eat dinner. John Watson shifted on his bench at the Gryffindor table, staring his empty plate down. "Whatcha doin?" Mike nudged him.
"Waiting for the food." John mumbled back.
"This is your second year here, you know the drill, mate." Gregory Lestrade said from across the table. "Try to smile as the first years come in. You remember what it was like for you."
John spun himself around to face the small stool with the Sorting Hat on it. He did remember. Being a muggle born, learning he was a wizard, being shepherded into this Hall, all eyes on him, the Hat booming "GRYFFINDOR" as fast as it could.
The doors opened, and the first years were marched in and stood in a line. Professor McGonagall began to read the names. "Abbot, Hannah! Baker, Destiny! Eldridge, Steven!" And the list pattered on. "Holmes, Sherlock!"
A loud moan of desperation escaped from the Slytherin table. "Not another Holmes!"
The Slytherin table laughed mockingly. A boy removed himself from the line and walked gracefully to the hat. His midnight curls fell just above his eyes, and his robes moved like smoke around his feet. As he turned to sit on the stool, his observant gaze could melt fire itself, and made every one in the Hall feel small and exposed. "Ravenclaw." The Sorting Hat didn't make his announcement as fervently as normal, a tinge of vulnerability in his voice. The boy stood stiffly from the stool and found a spot on the bench at Ravenclaw.
The Hall was only silent for a moment. "Hooper, Molly!" A small girl with dirty blonde pigtails bounced onto the stool, and was sorted into Hufflepuff without a second thought.
"That kid's going to cause trouble here, I can already tell." Greg said to his mates at the Gryffindor table as the rest of the first years were being sorted.
Mike Stamford piped up again, "I heard he's taking all second and third year classes this year!"
John shook his head. "That's hard to believe. No one could be that clever."
"Yeah, where did you get that information?" Greg probed, always the fact checker.
"I'm friends with his family, remember? The last time Mum and I were over at the Holmes', his mum was bragging about it. But, having been to his house a dozen times, I've never seen the bloke before. I was starting to think he was a myth Mrs. Holmes had made up to make herself feel big."
John looked over to the Ravenclaw table as Stamford continued to gossip about the Holmes family. The kid with black hair and a penetrating gaze had softened once the attention was away from him. John could see his face from where he was sitting, and it was as if someone had taken the marble he seemed to have been carved from, and turned it to clay, ready to be molded by an artist, or frozen by the sweep of a cold hand. John cocked his head slightly in thought. Who was he that felt he needed to put on a cool mechanical front, only warming when the eyes were gone?
"I could introduce you two, if you'd like, John. I think you'd be great friends." Mike offered.
"Um, no thanks." John pulled himself back into the conversation. "I can introduce myself, if I want to."
But dinner came and went, and John continued to watch the young gentleman from across the room, noting that the boy didn't lift a single fork to his mouth. Later that night, John stared at his ceiling thinking about a first year taking all second and third year courses. "No one could be that clever." He said again. But something told John, the boy with raven locks and marble features just might be.