The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's very first thought was that this was not someone to defy. His second thought was that Sherlock obviously thought differently, for he had adapted an expression Harry had often seen on Dudley's face when he tried to focus on a particularly challenging video game.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."
She pulled the door wide. Harry couldn't help but note all of Sherlock's reactions to the wondrous image presented before them, wanting to know how someone from a family of wizards would react to it, wanting to fit in.
There was little question however that Sherlock was not a good example of normality.
While everyone looked from left to right in order to keep admiring the gargantuan entrance hall and its flaming torches illuminating even the seemingly transparent ceiling and the magnificent staircase that led to the upper floors, Sherlock seemed satisfied with only a single glance.
To someone like Harry, who had grown up with the extremely self-centered and materialistic Dursleys, it was not the magical objects that defied his sense of reality, but rather Sherlock's complete detachment from the world around him that struck him as otherworldly. He was looking at everything, but he didn't seem to be really seeing any of it. Sherlock's words from before echoed back in Harry's head before he could parse them. We all saw it. You just didn't observe it.
"The rest of the school must already be here," said Hermione. "I can hear their voices."
Smiling, Sherlock raised his arm excitedly as if waiting to be given permission by the teacher to answer a question.
"Another good thing to note is that the rest of the school also has two functional eyes," said Sherlock. Then, his childish, maniacal grin turned to a depressed one. "Forgive me, are we not competing to see who can find the most obvious fact to talk about? I apologize for my apparent excitement, I'm in fact quite disappointed at your lack of intell―"
"Is there a problem?" asked Professor McGonagall.
"Absolutely," responded Sherlock happily. "But rest assured that none of the problem I'm making can either get me a detention or lose house points, as I technically don't belong to any house yet."
McGonagall's glare said she would have gladly warned him further, but there were more important things to address. Hermione shot Harry an angry look, as if he were responsible for Sherlock.
"Speaking of houses, I believe this point must be addressed. The sorting ceremony will take place shortly, where we will place you in one of the four houses. Your house will be like your family during your stay in Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.
"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin―ah yes, Holmes?" she said once she noticed his hand raised high up in the air.
"Which house is the best one?"
McGonagall opened her mouth slightly, clearly not wanting to lose her composure but finding it difficult to do so. When she spoke, her voice was so calm it sent a chill down Harry's spine.
"There is no best house, Holmes."
"Is there a worst house, then?"
This time McGonagall hesitated and Harry thought he had caught a glimpse of a victorious smirk on Sherlock's face, but a moment later he decided he must have imagined it, for it had been replaced by a serious expression.
"There is no worse house either, Mr. Holmes. Simply allow the sorting hat to decide what house you are in and make your house proud by helping it win the house cup, a great honor. Is it clear?"
Sherlock nodded. Hesitantly, McGonagall left them at an empty chamber where they would await to be called. As soon as she could no longer hear them, Hermione voiced her complaints.
"Are you trying to get expelled before the year even starts?"
"If that's how it ends up being, then c'est la vie" said Sherlock, shrugging. Harry didn't need to know French to realize Sherlock's pronunciation was way worse than the boy seemed to think. "I might as well get expelled now if that's all it takes because I certainly won't last seven years."
But Harry wasn't listening to their fight. He had swallowed nervously a couple times in a row now and was tired of waiting for their seemingly never-ending argument to end.
"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked them.
Hermione bit her lip.
"I wasn't able to get a clear answer out of any of my books. There's way too many metaphors and not enough clear answers, like it's such common knowledge nobody thought to write it anywhere. If I had more time to prepare―"
"They put a magical hat on your head that reads your mind and decides your destiny," said Sherlock nonchalantly, seemingly picking his words for maximum dramatic effect.
"How did you know?" asked Hermione, not able to hide a hint of admiration in her voice.
"I'm a genius," he responded. "But I also have an older brother who has come to Hogwarts. As had many other people in the train. For someone so eager to learn, you aren't very good at extracting information from people, are you?"
It was obvious that Hermione had been hurt by the question, because she turned her back to the pair and paced towards the exact opposite end of the room.
"What did I say?" asked Sherlock to Harry.
"You said she wasn't good at making friends," said Harry. "People don't take that well."
"Why not? It's the truth."
Harry stared in disbelief at Sherlock for a few seconds, unable to comprehend how someone could think like that. Sherlock stared at him as well, probably for the same reason. At that moment, Harry and Sherlock realized they had found in each other what they needed the most. Their complete opposite.
Harry rather appreciated Sherlock's lack of tact. The unquestionable awfulness of the boy's social skills distracted Harry from the questionable, shaky house selection waiting ahead.
The sorting hat had been placed on top of a seating stool, and quickly produced an inspiring song about the four houses. Harry was hanging on its every word, attempting to gain any extra bit of knowledge about the houses, until he saw Sherlock's bored gaze.
"Sherlock," Harry whispered, hoping not to be noticed while the song played. "What is the best house?"
"You heard McGonagall. There is no best House."
"I'm not asking Professor McGonagall though," he said.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow slightly for a moment, then let it drop and showed a small grin. "Gryffindor," he responded simply. "It's the best one…for my purposes, anyhow. Ravenclaw is the one my brother belongs to, so I don't want to go there."
Harry did not ask about the other two houses, even though he wanted to. He had only known Sherlock for a few hours, but that had been long enough to know that he did not ever forget to elaborate on something. If he was reticent about it, then there was nothing to be said.
The song had ended, and Professor McGonnagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbot, Hannah!"
"Hufflepuff," Sherlock murmured.
Harry looked at Sherlock, surprised, as the girl rushed toward the hat. A moment's pause―
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.
The table on the right erupted into applause as she rushed towards the table and sat down. Harry turned to Sherlock, laughing in astonishment.
"How did you do that?"
"If I explain it, it stops being impressive," Sherlock grinned.
"No, it won't, I promise you," said Harry. "I'm just very curious."
"She was eyeing the Hufflepuff table for some time."
"But what if the hat just didn't think she was fit to be a Hufflepuff?"
Sherlock smirked, with the wickedness only an eleven year old could possess.
"Harry, if she wasn't fit to be a Hufflepuff, then what would she be fit for? Gamekeeper apprentice?"
"Are Hufflepuffs a joke?"
"Not really, no," lamented Sherlock. "Jokes are generally funny."
Harry did not have time to question Sherlock about his apparent dislike for Hufflepuff, for something else caught his attention.
"Granger, Hermione!"
"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Sherlock groaned.
"Perhaps you ought to forget what I said about it being the best house," he
said thoughtfully.
"Holmes, Sherlock!"
Shrugging, he walked up towards the hat. Unlike most students, he did not run towards it, nor did he move extraordinary slowly as if he dreaded it. He simply walked up to it in a reasonable pace, and picked it up.
"Would you announce Gryffindor already yes?" he asked the hat just before he put it on, loudly enough to provoke some giggles from the Gryffindor table.
"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat, making the giggles change into hysteric cheers.
As he clapped, Harry couldn't help but feel his stomach sink. He had grown very attached to Gryffindor within the past minutes after seeing Hermione, who like him had no previous knowledge of the wizarding world, and Sherlock, who was a curious but clever individual both be selected to the House. As he saw Draco Malfoy be selected into Slytherin, his stomach sank even further. Regardless of what McGonagall said, perhaps there were houses worse than others.
"Potter, Harry!"
As soon as Harry stepped forward, the whispers reminded him of what Holmes detachment from reality had made him forget. He was a famous wizard, even if he did not remember what had made him famous.
"Gryffindor, please," Harry thought as hard as he could.
"A polite one, eh?" said a small voice in his hear. "Well, as you wish then, polite Potter. It is not the best house for you if you ask me...but I appreciate a measure of politeness, you know?"
"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat.
Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and walked toward the Gryffindor table. He was very much relieved that he had been sorted into the same House as Sherlock and Hermione―he was particularly pleased he had been sorted at all, having previously been afraid of being told to be unfit to even be at Hogwarts. Percy the Prefect shook his hand, while the twins seemingly congratulated Sherlock about having accomplished something, though Harry could not discern what it was. Harry felt it would be better if he didn't know. Hermione waved at him from the other side of the table, the happiness of being sorted overshadowing her anger by proxy from earlier. He wished they were sitting closer together.
Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there. Harry couldn't help but notice the look on Sherlock's face. It was similar to the one he had given McGonagall, but much fiercer. As curious as he was, Harry did not ask him about the expression he had, suspecting Sherlock was not aware of how pleased he seemed to be at the moment.
"Welcome!" said Dumbledore. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!
"Thank you!"
He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know
whether to laugh or not for a second, until he noticed Sherlock was the one clapping and cheering the loudest. This made him far more confused.
"Is there something wrong with him?" he asked Sherlock uncertainly.
"Everything," said Sherlock solemnly. "And that is why he's interesting. Don't try to understand him, he makes as much sense as the food here."
Harry's jaw dropped. The feast in front of him was like nothing he had ever seen before. There were so many different types of food he could only attribute (and thank) magic for it. He had never been able to eat as much as he wanted with the Dursleys before. It was with a smile he began to eat, each bite reminding him he was no longer going to live that life. He was now going to get used to eating as much as he wanted, and watching Sherlock surprise ghosts as he told them exactly how they died with his eyes closed. It was quite the strange trick.
As dinner went on, some talked about their families, some talked about
classes and some talked about both. Percy Weasley, the prefect, talked with obviously uninterested Sherlock about his brother.
"I thought you would be in Ravenclaw, like Mycroft. But I'm glad you came to Gryffindor. Now we are almost all together. If only Mycroft had stayed with us...but perhaps this is for the best, both me and him ended up as prefects this way! Looking forward to seeing how you can help the house."
But Sherlock didn't seem to care much about Gryffindor.
"Is transfiguration really as interesting as you said it was over the summer? And hopefully at least half as disturbing?"
"Yes, in the beginning you―"
Harry stopped paying attention then, but not before noticing how the challenging notion of a hard subject to master had made Sherlock's eyes shine with excitement. Little after, he felt a sharp pain on his forehead, and was quickly informed by Percy he was looking at Professor Snape. Feeling too overwhelmed by the party, he did not press for more information.
At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent, and not even Sherlock or the twins dared to speak.
"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.
"Quiddich trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of the bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
Harry wanted to laugh, but found himself unable to do so as he saw Sherlock's absolutely maniacal smirk when he heard those words.
"Percy, does Dumbledore usually explain why we are not allowed to go somewhere?"
Percy nodded.
"Yes, he usually does so."
"How interesting," said Sherlock, smiling with a happiness so genuine it bordered on innocence.
This smile was so innocent Harry took notice it wasn't―it could be―real, in one way or another.
"Why are you smiling?" asked Harry.
"Because I don't have the faintest idea of what Dumbledore is talking about."
It would be a few months until Harry understood what Sherlock meant.
A few notes for this chapter. First I'd like to say that I'm writing Holmes based on the original Conan Doyle canon, but trying to account for the fact he is eleven years old after all. I'm also taking into account both the movie "Young Sherlock Holmes" which featured a terrible plot but a great Holmes, and the recent BBC Sherlock series which is wonderful and offers a great characterization of Holmes.
Secondly, I'd like to say I had some trouble deciding whether Holmes was better as a Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, as he loves his intelligence. But as I was re-reading the original canon a bit, I think I have to say Holmes doesn't treasure intelligence so much as intellectual stimulation. He thrives on challenge, he loves the feeling of putting his brain to use. He doesn't do things for curiosity, he likes to put his brain to good use. So with that in mind I think he fits Gryffindor more, as I always thought his intelligence was more of a tool he used so he could continue to seek adventures.
Well, that's about it. I appreciate the reviews I got, and would appreciate any reviews again-would love to hear some criticism on how my approach is going, what the readers would like to be implemented, anything like that.