It had been one week since Sherlock got his wand, a day that began everything...
Twas like any other day in King's Cross station. People went about their daily business, attempting to catch the train, waiting around for others, trying to find an invisible gateway.
Allow me to clarify, it was like any other September 1st at King's Cross station. Every year, on this day, was the day that the Hogwarts Express would leave the station and take wizard children to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
So they were boarding up on the train, hoping to make it to their first year at school. Everyone was now waiting for the clock to strike 11, as they said goodbye to their family's for the year out their windows, the train took off. They were on their way to seven years that would change their lives forever.
Sherlock Holmes sat alone in his little booth, thanking God (who he thought was rubbish) that he was alone. Unfortunately for him, after about two minutes, he wasn't alone. His brother entered the booth, Mycroft Holmes.
Mycroft, in his fifth year, bearing his Slytherin badge and the P for prefect, opened the booth door and sat down across from Sherlock.
"So, excited for your first year, brother?"
"Ecstatic, an emotion I was just showing before you killed the mood of the room," he responded in his usual dull tone.
Mycroft snickered. "Please, don't be like this in front of all the other students. How are you to ever make any friends?"
"Oh, how silly of me. I should definitely focus on that, so I can go on dates, and exchange notes in class," he said with a fake smile and ample amounts of sarcasm.
"Do try to be more polite. We're to be living together soon, and I don't want to constantly have to apologize to my friends for your manners."
"There's no guarantee I'll be in Slytherin, you know."
"What, you think you'll be in Hufflepuff? I'd disown you if you did."
"I'd like to think we had some choice in this matter."
"Oh please, do you honestly believe we just choose who we are?"
"That's not what I believe, it's what I know."
Mycroft again, snickered. "So I see you've chosen to be an enormous prick."
"And you've chosen to be an ignorant twat."
In the booth next to them, there sat, again, two brothers. The Winchesters, who moved to Britain at the age of six but retained their American accents. The move was for their father's job, which was being an auror, a wizard bounty hunter. Of course, there were plenty of dark wizards to hunt in America, but their father, John Winchester, believed the specific one he was hunting was in this country.
So, rather than going to Wingsmith's Wizard School in the states, they were going to Hogwarts.
Dean Winchester fiddled with a small pendant that his twin brother had given him years back, and Sam Winchester sat there reading Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.
Much like many other booths, they were interrupted by someone who decided to intrude on them, seeing as how there weren't too many seats available, as many of them were full.
"Excuse me, can I sit here?" said a boy their age. His voice had no tone to it, and if he was any older it would've been quite gruff.
"Sure," said Sam. "What's your name?"
"Castiel," he said.
"Sam, could I talk to you for a second?" asked Dean.
Sam got up from his side of the booth and put his ear close to Dean's mouth.
"Sammy, can we not? He looks… odd."
Sam looked at the child, who just stood in the doorway with a blank expression, staring at nothing.
"Come on Dean, he's got nowhere to sit. Let's just let him in."
Dean grunted and Sam waved for Castiel to approach. Sam went back to his side but Castiel sat uncomfortably close to Dean.
"Um," Dean began, "could you um… you know…"
Castiel looked at him. "What?"
"…Never mind."
Somewhere else on the train, four boys sat in engrossing conversation. One of them, the one with the larger ears, was talking about defense against the dark arts. Next to him, the one with the odd hair, was discussing arithmancy. Across from him the one with the larger chin, was talking about muggle studies, and next to him, the angry one, was saying something about potions.
None of them seemed to realize that the others were not listening. Yet they all blabbed on, enjoying talking about their interests, even if the conversation had no flow. It was as if they were all talking to themselves but didn't realize it.
They all stopped when a young girl entered.
"Do you mind?" said the angry one. "We were discussing potions."
"Dark Arts."
"Muggle Studies."
"Arithmancy."
"Oh well, it's just that- you know what, I think I'll just sit down," said the blonde girl. She sat next to the one with the odd hair. "My name's Rose, by the way."
Another girl their age walked in, her with red hair. "So what's the story?" she asked.
"They're alright with it. This is Amy," she said.
Amy sat next to the one with the larger chin. She then got out some Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans and tossed a yellow one to Rose. She got out a red one and held it in front of the one of the larger chin. "Want it? I think it's cherry."
Hesitantly, the boy took it in his hand and ate it. He spat it out. "Ugh, apple."
She handed him a brown and yellow one this time. He ate them as well, attempting to get the taste of apple out of his mouth. "Oh, fish finger's one, and custard's the other."
Back in the booth filled with awkward silence, Mycroft Holmes got up and left Sherlock, opening the door for a young girl Sherlock's age, who quickly entered without waiting for invitation. Mycroft proceeded to leave.
"Of course, just sit down," said Sherlock before she said anything.
"Thanks," said the girl. "I'm Molly, Molly Hooper."
"Pleasure."
"…and you are?"
"Sherlock Holmes."
"Funny first name."
"Not as funny as 'Le.'"
"What?"
The door opened again, this time with four people standing there. The first, Greg Lestrade, was the tallest of the bunch, who gave a commanding atmosphere as he entered. Next to him was a young black girl with bouncy hair, and holding onto her arm was a man with a funny nose and sleek black hair, Donovan and Anderson.
Finally, there was a boy shorter than the rest, wearing a sweater and seemed to be quite tired of standing.
"Sherlock," said Lestrade, "I've been looking everywhere for you."
"I wasn't."
"I really hate you, sometimes. No, most of the time," he said as he took his seat next to Sherlock. Oddly enough, Sherlock didn't seem to mind this.
Donovan and Anderson sat next to Molly, while the shorter boy seemed to have trouble figuring out where to sit. Sherlock noticed this right away.
"Oh, for god's sake, just sit next to me."
The boy quickly sat on the other side of Sherlock, and he held out his hand for him. Sherlock hesitantly shook it.
"My name's John Watson," he said.
"Sherlock Holmes. How did you know Lestrade?"
"We talked a bit a week ago in Diagon Alley," said Lestrade for him.
"Molly," began Sherlock, "This is Lestrade."
"Um, Greg," said Lestrade.
"How can that be?" asked Sherlock. "You're name's not Greg Strade.
"Do you honestly think that my first name is 'Le?'" he asked.
"Isn't it?"
"It's nice to meet you, Lestrade," said Molly.
"I'm Sally Donovan, this is Anderson," said the black girl with the boy clutching her arm. "You've met the freak here, I'm guessing."
"Um," said Molly, but Sherlock wasn't listening, he was talking to Lestrade about the different houses (Lestrade wanted to be in Gryffindor, and Sherlock said that was for idiots who go headfirst. John tried to mention that very bright wizards were in Gryffindor, but Sherlock merely stated that Ravenclaw was better).
In yet another booth, eight people were arguing. They were Tony, Steve, Natasha, Bruce, Clint, Phil, Loki and Donald (nicknamed Thor, due to him being much louder than everyone else), but their story is almost here.
Of course, there were other groups of people who were just meeting, many who will be introduced soon, all of which have their destinies now intertwined. Of course, none of them knew it then, but the people on-board this train were all destined for greatness, or ruin.
