Professor Holmes and Watson
Sherlock was on the train, looking out as the steam from the front misted his view of the rolling hills of Scotland. His brother, Mycroft, persuaded Sherlock to take this job as the Ministry of Magic was trying to find a decent Defense against the Dark Arts. Rather unwillingly, Sherlock took up the offer as he was bored. He hadn't been to Hogwarts since he was a boy. He remembered the annoying prefects, the first year pranks (usually on him) and the revenge he so subtly delivered. Of course, the Sorting Hat found placing this young boy very hard. He was courageous, sly, clever, but also slightly clumsy too, at least he was in his first year. In the end, his wit and intelligence overruled the others, resulting in a Ravenclaw.
Sherlock then looked at his Daily Prophet he had bought before entering the train. He was reading how some quidditch guy, probably really famous, had been part of a major sporting accident and was retiring from professional competitive quidditch to teach at Hogwarts. However, he was quickly interrupted as a mature adult walked in with a small briefcase floating behind him. The guy flicked his wand and the briefcase, with the initials JHW, flew up and maneuvered neatly into a tight space. The guy sat down opposite Sherlock before closing the compartment door. Sherlock looked up properly at the man. He had light brownish, blonde hair, with a couple of light grey strands appearing. He also had a moustache of the same colour, which Sherlock really didn't like. He preferred people clean shaven rather than messy. The only reason his hair was a curly nest was because he couldn't tame it.
"Professor John Watson. I'm new here... Any tips?" He asked in a friendly manner. Sherlock looked into his eyes.
"I'm new here too. What does the H stand for? Harry?" Sherlock said, only replying to Professor Watson's question briefly. John hesitated at the mention of Harry, then said,
"No. It doesn't really matter anyway." He avoided eye contact. "So what are you going to teach?" Sherlock saw him trying to change the subject, but didn't really give much thought to it.
"Defence against the Dark Arts. I've always preferred that compared to other lessons." Sherlock stated.
"Oh. That's nice, I'm the new Quidditch teacher." John replied, even though Sherlock hadn't asked. Sherlock suddenly realised that this Watson guy was the man from the Daily Prophet. But surely a famous quidditch player would have enough galleons to retire and live a very comfortable life? The quidditch accident, Sherlock could see, had left John with a limp and a walking stick.