The sorting hat. The all-knowing (supposedly) magical old ratty hat that basically determined your future life at Hogwarts. Sherlock had been at first underwhelmed at the talking hat. There were plenty of things that wouldn't otherwise be talking if it weren't for magic. His father's favorite, the monster book of monsters, happened to try and snap its jaws on Sherlock's hand when he was researching potions before he was even admitted to Hogwarts. Though, he wasn't allowed to use magic, he always convinced his brother to give the occasional wand wave when needed.

His mother was an auror, formerly in Ravenclaw house, while his dad was a Hufflepuff studying herbology. He perfected remedies at Saint Mungo's Hospital, and tended to the wounded, especially through the unforgivable curses. He always would talk of a man named "Gilderoy Lockhart," an unfortunate case of plagiarism and inflated ego, if you asked Sherlock.

His brother, Mycroft, had just graduated from Hogwarts, being seven years apart, and had earned himself a high position in the Ministry of Magic, Britain's department. The minister himself had met with him, and had high hopes for the elder Holmes. Sherlock was often overlooked, seeing as he hadn't even gotten his wand yet, though somehow managed to gather all the ingredients to concoct a small amount of polyjuice potion.

"Alright, Sherlock. Platform nine-and-three-quarters is right through here." The elder said, first looking around, then going straight through the barrier. Sherlock followed suit, pushing his heavy trolley in front of him. The sight was more than expected. He'd never seen his brother off to the school, so the Hogwarts express was rather marvelous. Cats, toads, broomsticks, cauldrons; it was all there. Not like the usual school bus that came every morning. He had to tell his friends that he was moving. It was only partially a lie. But now, he was able to study real magic. His favorite subject was of course, potions, but defense against the dark arts intrigued him. He'd already read "Hogwarts, A History" and "The standard book of spells", grades one and two. First years were expected to master simple incantations, such as levitation and transfiguration by the end of the year. Mycroft had only let Sherlock borrow his first two books, for fear any more information would overwhelm the young wizard.

His luggage was swiftly packed onto the train, by magic of course, and he had a few galleons in his pocket for lunch later (and some sweets from honeydukes.) After a quick and minimally intimate handshake 'goodbye,' the anti-social young male walked the train until he finally found an empty car, sat down, and began reading a potions book he'd stolen from Mycroft.

All too soon, his silence was interrupted by a little girl, first year by the looks of it, who couldn't seem to find an empty car.

"Um. Sorry, do you mind? All the other compartments are full." She said, her face blushing with anxiety. Shy, but intellectually impressive. Her robes were brand new, but she was looking around nervously at well, everything. Her fascination with his moving book cover hinted at 'muggle-born.' A single glance and she had her entire background. Parents are wealthy, open minded, and probably believed in magic, being witnesses to it themselves. One was likely a squib, so that's how she managed to get wizard currency, new robes, and a wand from Ollivander's, all from Diagon Alley.

While everything was going on through his mind, he simply nodded in a silent 'yes, please sit.' to which she quickly shut the compartment door. The girl sat staring out the window for a good ten minutes, then finally turned to Sherlock, who had put his book down for the time being. He sometimes got motion sickness. This was one of those times.

"So, what is your name?" The girl asked

"Sherlock Holmes. and yours?"

"Molly Hooper."

"First year?"

"You too?"

Sherlock nodded, slightly bored by the small talk. Just then, the trolley passed their car, and they both eagerly split a box of every-flavour-beans and about ten chocolate frogs amongst each other. Sherlock pulled out a card and it read

"Harry Potter. Known for defeating Tom Marvolo Riddle, or Lord Voldemort, at the mere age of seventeen. Currently, he is working at the Ministry of magic as an auror in the British branch." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Him again. Really? I've got like eight of the bloke." Sherlock groaned, dropping his usually formal manner to complain like a child.

Molly giggled. "I like him. He is apparently coming to Hogwarts to teach Defense Against The Dark Arts this year. He had a rather bad injury in the field, something with a mermaid. So the ministry put him on leave for a few years so he could fully recover." She looked at her card as she took a nibble out of her frog.

"'Albus Dumbledore: Former headmaster of Hogwarts. Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard, Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and ten-pin bowling.' Well obviously Harry's declined interviews so his card's rather… incomplete."

"Dumbledore was a genius. I don't call many people geniuses, but he was rather brilliant." Sherlock said softly.

And then came another knock.

"Hello! Couldn't find an empty car. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all, John. Sherlock, this is my friend, John Watson."

Tell me if you want me to continue this on an irregular basis along with my black butler story. Review please! It gives me more motivation to write more.