A/N: Thanks to the super lovely old ping-hai (who is my brand new beta) for going through this and making it better. If you read the old version there isn't much of a change, just fixing grammar and punctuation. And a timeline tweak here and there but nothing major. Nothing you'd notice right away.
Sherlock looked up at the sign that said Platform 9 3/4 and then down at his his oversized robes. Madam Malkin said that he would grow into them by the end of the year but he didn't believe it. He was so small. He feared he would never reach Mycroft's height. At fifteen his brother was 6'2'' and had the stature to match. Sherlock ran his hands through his dark curly locks.
He looked up at his brother. Mycroft was preening at the Prefect badge on his chest. Their parents were ecstatic. Their son the Prefect. It really didn't matter what Sherlock did, his clever brother had done it first. His family was an old one that had been in Slytherin for generations and they expected the young lad to join them.
Sherlock clenched his fists together under his long robes. He didn't understand about the pure-blood mania. He had met a muggle once when he had gotten lost while they were on vacation. He had been kind and showed him how to get back to his parents. Along the way he had seen the marvels that the muggles had done without the use of magic. It was almost miraculous.
He looked around at the milling students. He could tell the first years from everyone else; they were the nervous ones. The ones constantly checking to make sure they had everything. The chittering about which House they would be in, what classes they were looking forward to.
He could also see the sideward glances his direction and knew that like the people in his village back home, they would treat him like dirt. Even with big brother watching over him.
He sighed and resigned himself to a lonely seven years at Hogwarts.
John shifted nervously under the glare of his older sister. He knew she thought he was special. But he wanted to be normal like her. To just go to the cinema and have a laugh and not worry about blowing it up. Like he did when he was five. He would always be separated from his family now and it burned like a fire in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't as though he didn't have friends at Hogwarts. He did. He was the best Seeker his House had seen in years and had friends on the team.
But he craved something else. Something he couldn't name. He sighed fitfully as his mother played with his tie.
"It's fine, mum," he muttered. And she pat his shoulder and sent him on his way to the train.
Gail and Kat were waiting for him.
"Hey mate, how was your summer?" Kat drawled. Kat was one of their beaters. He was a hard-looking fellow with the face of a troll. Massive and built like a Mack truck. And an absolute teddy bear. Wanted to go into training magical creatures for the Ministry. And he had somehow conned John into taking Care of Magical creatures with him.
Gail was their Keeper. She was long and lean with legs that seemed to go on forever. She had black hair and eyes with a heart-shaped face. And for the first time, John blushed when she smiled at him.
"Oh it was lovely, my sister spent the whole time trying to get me angry enough to blow something up."
"You didn't go anywhere?" Gail asked. Her family spent the summer in France and Kat spent his in Romania with dragons.
"No. Couldn't afford it this year. Me dad got cut from the hospital." John looked down at his hands.
"That's too bad, mate. Maybe next year." Kat pounded on his shoulder. John looked out the window and saw the most interesting boy. His dark-haired parents were congratulating the older boy while ignoring him. His clothes were too big for him and his brow was furrowed in anger. The boy must have sensed John's gaze, for he looked up and John saw that he had the most startling set of blue eyes he'd ever seen.
Their eyes met for a moment and then the other boy looked to his parents. He said something to them and suddenly they were kissing the boys goodbye. John looked down at his watch and realized that it was nearly eleven the train would be leaving soon. How had the boy known without looking at the time?
John was intrigued.
Sherlock got into the boat with a shy, mousy-looking girl and blond boy who was already taller than Sherlock by a few good inches. He sighed to himself and wished he was taller, even if it was just a couple inches.
They were herded into the Great Hall, to front, where there was a stool and the oldest hat Sherlock had ever seen. He jumped with the rest of them as it came to life.
With a humph, the hat introduced himself and gave his little song. Sherlock stared entranced and decided he didn't want to be in Slytherin, thanks. Ravenclaw seemed the best for him. He wasn't brave and loyal like the Gryffindors. Nor stout and true like the Hufflepuffs. And while he was clever and devious, he liked the wit and learning of the brilliant Ravenclaws.
They got to him and he walked up to the chair and sat down. The hat hummed and hawed a bit and then called out, "Ravenclaw!" Sherlock was surprised. He hadn't even tried to contest its decision. But he was pleased. He had gotten what he wanted. He looked over at his brother and saw the scowl etched like marble.
He smiled smugly. At least his accomplishments would be his now and not something his brother did before.
The next one was the mousy girl he'd shared his boat with.
"Molly Hooper!" She came up to the stage and the hat barely touched her ears when it called out.
"Ravenclaw!"
She skipped over to his table and smiled warmly at him. He wondered what the Sorting Hat saw in her that made it abundantly clear she was in his House.
A few more skipped by and he didn't care until they reached his other boat-mate.
"Sebastian Moran!"
"Slytherin!" it answered. That was interesting, Sherlock would have put him in Gryffindor but the Hat had put him elsewhere. Maybe it wasn't all about brawn after all.
John watched the first years carefully, looking for the boy he'd seen at Platform 9 3/4. For he must have been a first year, surely John would have remembered a boy like that had he been at Hogwarts before. He waited intently as name after name was called. Until finally it was called.
"Sherlock Holmes!"
And the blue-eyed boy walked carefully to the stage, where he sat. John waited and hoped that this wonder would be put into his House but he was disappointed when it finally called out Ravenclaw.
He watched as Sherlock sneered at his older brother on his way to his new House and he got the impression that they got along no better than he and Harry.
All through dinner he kept his eye on Sherlock. The boy seemed separate from the others. Every time he opened his mouth it seemed that the others would either ignore him or hiss at him. The only one that seemed to hang on his every word was the mousy girl, Mary, Maggie, something like that. It was clear she was smitten with him.
And even though John was straight, he could see why. Put those dark curls and piercing blue eyes on a girl and every boy within howling distance would be baying at the moon. He chuckled into his pudding.
The other years were dismissed to the dorms and John was forced to give up his vigil of the lonely boy.
"Uh-oh," Gail said nudging Kat in the ribs. "Looks like Johnny here has his new pet project for the year."
"Oi!" John said as he gently pushed her to the side. "I don't have pet projects. I just like helping people."
"Well, you always single out one kid that you think will be bullied and you stick your neck out for them. Look where it got you last year. That Collins kid, he went mad. And you were put in detention for trying to beat the brains out the boy that cursed him."
John laughed. "I don't think this one is mad." John cocked his head to the side. "Well… maybe not mad like that." They joined in the laughter and they went up to their rooms.
Sherlock knew he was being watched the whole time but couldn't understand the older boy's interest. He didn't seem like he was looking down on Sherlock and it certainly wasn't sexual. The boy was clearly smitten with the leggy, raven-haired girl seated next to him. Too bad she was already shagging the red-headed troll seated across from them.
The boy that was watching him was small and tightly built. He had blond hair, not like the golden color of his boat mate. It was more the color of dried wheat. His eyes were dark blue but when the light hit them just right they seemed more brown than blue.
The other children ignored Sherlock when he told them about what they had on the train, who was snogging whom and which brought a cat, a rat, or an owl. Sometimes they would hiss "Piss off!" when he got too close to the mark.
He sighed and asked the Prefect if it was allowed that he could send his parents an owl. And got told it could wait until morning. He sighed fitfully. If he waited then Mycroft would tell them first and then they'd be angry with him. There was no help for it. He'd have to sneak out.
He memorized which staircases moved and when. He memorized the twists and turns the castle made and planned his outing for the evening. The boys in his dorm were all dull. He was a bit disappointed in the lot. He hoped that in Ravenclaw he would meet like-minded folk but they were stupid as the rest.
He laid back on his bed and stared up his pale blue canape of his four poster bed. He waited until he could hear their snoring before he slipped out and back down the Tower and across to the owlery. He had written his note to his parents before sneaking out. He took the fastest owl he could find and gave the damn thing a treat to take his letter.
It turned out he shouldn't have bothered. Mycroft had used the owlery on his nightly turn of the castle as prefect to send a message to their parents, so waiting for him when he got to breakfast was a bright red letter. He sighed and opened it and held his face away from the screeching voice of his mother.
"HOW DARE YOU? HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY BE IN RAVENCLAW? YOUR FATHER AND I ARE SEVERELY DISAPPOINTED IN YOU! DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT COMING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS!"
And then it tore itself to shreds and Sherlock ran out of the Hall and straight into the chest of the blond boy that had been watching him the night before.
John was running a little late because he couldn't find his History of Magic book, which turned out to be buried under his quidditch kit. He was about to enter the hall when heard the howler. He peeked in and saw it was the boy from the platform. His heart went out to him at the last line but as he opened the door he collided with the object of the letter.
"Oomph!" John grunted as they fell into a tumble to the floor. The dark haired boy struggled to get up but John caught sight of the tears and grabbed his arm.
"Are you alright?" John asked as the boy struggled against his grasp.
"Leave me alone."
"Come on, don't be like that," John pleaded.
"No one cares what happens to me."
"Well, maybe we can change that; I'm John. John Watson."
"Sherlock Holmes." The boy had stopped struggling and stayed still so that John could get up, too.
"Well, Sherlock, do you like chocolate?" Sherlock nodded and John dug into his pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar.
"It's not the magical kind like you get here but it still tastes good all the same." Sherlock took it gingerly.
"First wizard in your family." It wasn't a question. John looked down surprised.
"Yes, how did you know?" Sherlock merely shrugged. "Come on, tell me. I really want to know."
"You won't after I tell you." Sherlock insisted.
"Oh, come on. Tell me."
Sherlock took in a deep breath, "All your school stuff is new. And while you could be the oldest, your book bag says otherwise. It has the initials HW and it's not old enough to be your father's. Older sibling, then. It's not the usual bag you find in the wizarding world, meaning that your older sibling isn't magical. They could be a squib but your manner suggests you have a lot of pressure on you. Most muggle-borns feel like they have something to prove. You could be a half-blood but you said, 'not the magical kind you get here' meaning you still aren't used to the wizarding world. Having one magical parent would mean that you would be use to it but you aren't. Considering you're starting your third year that means this is only your third foray into the wizarding world and things are still new to you. In fact, you would rather not be magical at all."
"How do you know that?" John was frowning.
"You could have bought chocolate on the train but you still have your muggle chocolate." Sherlock cringed, waiting for the usual response.
"That was… incredible." John blinked.
"Really?" Sherlock rocked his head back in surprise.
"Of course it was. It was bloody brilliant."
Sherlock turned to the side and muttered through the side of his mouth. "That's not what people normally say."
"Oh, what's that?"
"Piss off."
