It was John Watson's first day off to Hogwarts, and he felt as turned around and confused as he had ever been. He refused to admit to himself that there might have been a bit of fear mixed in with all those other emotions, but he couldn't help but notice that his hands shook a little unless he kept them clenched tight in his lap. It was a miracle he was on this train at all, he thought, craning his neck to stare at the scenery passing by. There had been an awful traffic jam on the way to King's Cross - he'd never heard his mum curse so fervently - and then there was the issue of getting to the platform.
"Run at the wall?" his mother had asked, shaking her head in awe as a friendly witch skipped through the bricks with her trunk in tow. "But - but can just anyone do it? Do you have to have - er - magic?" She rubbed her hands nervously across the front of her skirt, glancing around the station. "John, dear, maybe you should just go it alone? Just prance on through and find yourself a spot on the train, how about it?" She looked hopefully down at him, and he nodded apprehensively. "Go on," she urged. "You're nearly late!" She folded him into a hug, squeezing tight. "Do be careful, John. And keep in touch," she added, releasing him from her grasp. "We'll see you at Christmas, dear."
"Sure, Mum." He gulped, glancing at the very solid-looking bricks between platforms nine and ten. "Er - goodbye then." He leaned his whole body weight onto his trolley and walked towards the platform. It's an illusion, he told himself. That girl just walked on through. You can do it. You've got magic, John. He felt foolish, certain that he would crash into the bricks and send his luggage flying everywhere and that the whole thing would turn out to be one of his sister Harry's pranks. He frowned. Well, she couldn't pick on him anymore. Not while he was at Hogwarts.
He took a few quick steps, squeezing his eyes shut, and when they opened again he was staring at a bustling platform. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was real. It wasn't a prank. There was a train, with Hogwarts Express painted on the side plain as day, so presumably the wizard school was real, too. It wasn't a prank; it was really happening.
A broad grin spread across John's face as he jogged towards the train. Around him, families were saying their last goodbyes, mothers calling out last bits of advice, and little siblings pouting as their brothers and sisters climbed aboard. A man turned from helping his daughter up the steps and caught sight of John. "Need a hand, there?" he asked with a smile, and before John could even nod his luggage was hoisted up. "Just you go find a seat," the man advised. "They'll take this up to your room when you get to school." John hopped up onto the stairs, stammering his thanks as the man faded into the crowd.
He found himself a seat in a compartment with two older girls. They glanced up as he entered, then promptly returned to their gossip and giggling. John sat awkwardly in silence by the window, glancing at the girls occasionally and wishing he had brought a book or something. Or that he knew anyone on this train. The train ride passed slowly, broken only by more giggles from his two compartment-mates and one visit from a young blonde witch pushing a cart full of candies and snacks. John had gotten a few, counting out the bizarre coins he had exchanged proper currency for at that goblin bank. He shivered a little, remembering that experience. It was a good thing his mother hadn't been with him on that trip; she was overwhelmed with everything in that Diagon Alley place and had planted herself in front of an ice cream parlor, staring fixedly at a brick wall. John had gotten the distinct feeling that all this magic stuff distressed her, and he wouldn't be surprised if at this very moment she was glad to be rid of him and all these new stresses for a few months.
Thinking of his mother and Harry, kicking back at home and heaving sighs of relief that the ridiculous spell books and cauldron were gone from the living room corner, John reached for one of his snacks and ripped it open angrily. He gave a cry of shock as a frog - a frog, made of chocolate - hopped out of his hand and across the floor, right out of the compartment. The gossip died down in the other side of the compartment, and he knew both girls were staring at him in disdain, but he could do nothing but stare down at the empty wrapper. Only it wasn't empty. Bracing himself, he pulled out what appeared to be a trading card of some sort. It's fine. He flipped the card over, and the slender witch pictured there winked at him with a sly smile. He choked back another noise and stuffed the card deep into the bag which held his brand-new robes. Magic was going to take some getting used to.
And now he sat, shivering in the great stony entrance hall at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His head was spinning. This was a mistake; this had to be a mistake. What was he doing here? There were ghosts here, for pity's sake. And big hairy men the size of houses, and boats that moved by themselves. And unless he was very much mistaken, he had caught a glimpse of a horse-drawn carriage making its way up to the castle - minus the horse. This whole thing was crazy. Harry had slipped him a drug or something; must have done, to be having this psycho dream.
"Are you nervous?" whispered the girl next to him. John glanced sideways at her. She was tiny - had he seen her on the street he would have put her age closer to eight or nine than eleven - and pale, with huge brown eyes and two pigtails jutting out the sides of her head. "I am," she added, gazing sincerely into John's eyes.
"Me too," John admitted in the same low tones. "Do you know what happens next? Why are we out here, but everyone else is in there?" He nodded to the enormous doors in front of them.
"Oh, we're to be sorted!" she explained, her eyes going somehow even wider. "You must be Muggle-born?" John didn't answer, just gave her a blank stare. "You're not from a magical family, are you?" He shook his head.
"I'm feeling rather lost, to be honest. John Watson, by the way," he added, sticking out his hand. The girl took it; her grip was stronger than John expected for her size.
"Molly Hooper," she said. "And don't be too scared. Hogwarts is going to be great!" And she launched into an explanation of houses and classes and teachers she'd heard about, and Quidditch - John was going to have to do a little more research to know quite what she was talking about there. And then the great doors swung open, and Professor Longbottom, who'd herded all the new students into the entrance hall, was leading them inside. John's mouth dropped open, and his wasn't the only one, looking up at the bewitched ceiling. Molly Hooper's face was frozen in a huge excited smile, and she bounced along next to him, peering around and trying to see over the taller students' shoulders.
The Sorting seemed to go by in a flash. Every first-year was cheered by their new house. John soon gave up trying to remember any of their names; he couldn't think straight for his nerves. Molly Hooper was put in Ravenclaw about half a second after the talking hat touched her head, and she flat-out ran to the table decked in blue and silver. John's name was one of the last - W's lot, as his mother would say - and then it was his turn. It was rather anticlimactic, really. He sat on the stool in silence for a few seconds, just long enough to wonder if this had all been a mistake, if the hat was trying to figure out a way to announce that this boy wasn't magic at all, when it cried out "HUFFLEPUFF" in a voice that made John's ears ring. He hopped off the stool and walked rather quickly to the black and gold table, where suddenly everyone was on their feet cheering for him. He couldn't help grinning as his new house-mates pounded him on the back and shouted welcomes and congratulations in his ear. He felt at home.
John found a few friends in Hufflepuff, but he had never been one to need a large group of friends, and he found himself hanging around Molly Hooper quite a bit. She was so friendly that the first few times John invited her into his common room to do Herbology homework - the Hufflepuffs had the best couches, in his and Molly's opinions - his fellow Hufflepuffs had wondered aloud why she was in Ravenclaw instead of their house. Molly just blushed and shrugged,.but John could tell instantly that Molly belonged in blue and silver. She was obsessive with her work, checking and rechecking every sentence, tracing over her handwriting and confirming every fact in two books before she would even think of putting quill to parchment.
He and Molly always tried to pair up in Herbology. It was one of her favorite subjects - she would never pick just one - and he found to his surprise that he enjoyed it as well. "It will help me later, I hope," she told him one day as she repotted some awful, tentacled plant, a frown of concentration pasted on her face. "I want to work at St. Mungo's. I think it would be fascinating."
"St. Mungo's?" asked John, disengaging a tentacle from his wrist with an unpleasant sucking noise. He shoved the plant into its new pot.
"More gently, please, John," Professor Longbottom instructed, coming up beside him and repositioning the plant. He stroked one of its flailing tentacles with a fingertip, and it curled obediently around itself and went still. "Good work, you two," he added before moving on.
"St. Mungo's is a hospital," Molly explained. "A famous one. I can't imagine how strange it must be for you, not knowing all that sort of thing." Before John could answer, she continued. "I just think it would be wonderful, getting to work with people, find out how they work. You know. I wish Hogwarts offered more specific classes like that."
"My mum always wanted me to go to med school," John told her. "I never thought much about it, I guess. I mean, it's a long way off, isn't it? But I can see how it'd be interesting."
"Med school," she said dreamily. "Oh, that would be fun." She tried stroking a tentacle like Professor Longbottom had done, and it snarled around her finger, coating it with a thick, foul-smelling sap. John gagged but helped her tug it off, trying not to let the nasty goop get on their books. "Thanks," she said when the plants were at a safe distance, looking down at her sticky hand in fascination. "I wonder if this is what those plants are useful for. What do you think it does?" When she brought her hand up like she was going to smell it or lick it or something, John knocked her hand away.
"Molly, normal people would just call it gross and try to wash off," he said with a laugh. "Don't eat it, for goodness sake. Not everything is an experiment." She rolled her eyes and hurried off to clean up, waving as she went. "See you later," he called after her, following the rest of the crowd away from the greenhouse.
There were some times, though, when Molly didn't make time to talk with him. Sometimes it was because she just had too much work and not enough time, but more often it was because she was scuttling around half a step behind a tall, dark-haired Slytherin second-year. When John asked her about him, she positively beamed. "Oh, that's Sherlock," she exclaimed. "We're good friends, have been for years. Our families live close together, you know, and we're the only magic folk for miles. Yes, we're good friends! You'd like him, I know. I'll introduce you, first chance I get, only he's really busy. You know..." She shrugged, still grinning. John did not say what he was thinking, which was that 'good friends' tended to walk side-by-side, not with one person struggling to keep up as the other person barely acknowledged their presence.
"Yeah, sure," was all he said. "Sounds good." And he kept frowning at Molly's back every time she passed him, half-jogging to keep up with the boy who ignored her attempts to get him to stop and meet John. He didn't like it, and if this Sherlock character messed up, John would make sure he knew. Molly was his friend, and if anyone hurt her, they would learn just how loyal Hufflepuffs could be.