2. The Sorting Ceremony

The waiting in the room next to the Great Hall was agonisingly slow. Professor Longbottom had told them to wait until he came to fetch them again, but everyone was so nervous and panicky that the wait seemed longer than the five minutes it actually was.

Professor Longbottom opened the door again and everyone held their breaths. 'Form a line,' he said in a friendly manner, 'and follow me.'

He led them outside, gathered them in front of the huge doors of the Great Hall and, with a smile, opened them.

The room was huge – the ceiling was high (if there was a ceiling; all you could see was the starry sky from outside), and there were five long tables. The teachers were seated on one, the rest of the Houses were seated together. Professor Longbottom walked between two of them, the students following him. When they reached the teacher's table, he stopped and faced the students after putting down a stool with a ragged old hat on it. Sherlock knew what would happen next; it would sing about itself and Hogwarts and the Houses. When the rip near the base of the Hat moved, Sherlock rolled his eyes but said nothing. He lost interest after a few lines, though and started to inspect the ceiling instead.

The Hat finished and the Hall erupted in a polite applause, and then professor Longbottom spoke up again.

'I am going to call your name and then place the Sorting Hat on your head,' he announced. 'It will determine in what House you will be placed. Adler, Irene!'

A girl, pretty for her age, walked forward with determined steps and sat down on the stool, letting the big Hat fall over her dark brown hair.

'RAVENCLAW!' it shouted and the girl walked to the cheering table.

A few more "A's" came next before a funny incident occurred. A boy with a seemingly permanent sneer on his face was called forward – Sherlock only caught his last name, Anderson – but when he sat down to be Sorted, the Sorting Hat opened its mouth and murmured, 'Hmm... I haven't had this in a while... A Squib! What to do with you? I can't put you in any of the Houses... Lack of talent, lack of ambition, lack of loyalty and bravery... What to do, what to do...'

Sherlock looked at John in confusion. 'This has never happened before,' he whispered. 'Not that I know of, at least. But what do you do with a Squib?'

The boy looked hurt and angry, even more so when professor Longbottom snatched the Hat off his head. He looked at the Headmistress, who stood up and gestured towards the far corner of the room, where a man in shaggy robes stood, a cat in his arms. 'This is unfortunately a highly uncomfortable incident,' she began in a steady voice, 'and it has seldom occurred. I would recommend, Mr Anderson, that you go and talk to our caretaker, Mr Filch, and ask him for you to be his assistant this year. It would be unfair to send you home.'

The boy got off the stool, red in the face. He walked reluctantly to the man, who looked at him in a more friendly manner than he had ever looked at any student at Hogwarts.

'Resume the Sorting!' professor McGonagall said.

'Brook, Richard!' professor Longbottom called. The small, Irish boy with whom Sherlock and John had shared their boat with stepped forward. The Hat obscured his dark, sparkling eyes as it called; 'SLYTHERIN!'

After this, the girl from their boat, named Sally Donovan, ended up in Gryffindor, and more students were spread across the Houses. Sherlock waited in intense anticipation, more scared than he wanted to admit, until –

'Holmes, Sherlock!'

He stepped forward, smiling at a reassuring touch on the elbow from John. He tried to breathe properly, he tried to stop his legs from shaking like jelly. He sat down on the stool and felt the Hat go over his dark curls as professor Longbottom placed in on his head.

A voice suddenly spoke up in his head.

'Ah, another Holmes. What's it going to be, Ravenclaw? There's definitely some talent there, oh yes, I can see it. But I can also see a great will to prove yourself, and ambition... what about Slytherin? It would help, you know... Ah, but there is more! Loyalty! So much loyalty, that is typically Hufflepuff. And then remains your courage... Gryffindor will surely welcome you, for the same reasons as Slytherin... What will it be...?'

Sherlock frowned. Slytherin? The Hat didn't even consider Ravenclaw? But he didn't want to be in Slytherin! He wanted Gryffindor...

'Are you sure...? You could be great, you know.'

I can also be great in Gryffindor, now go ahead and Sort me!

'Alright, if you say so... GRYFFINDOR!'

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief when the Hat called out the name of the noble House. Grinning, he took the Hat off and walked towards the cheering table, enjoying the look on Mycroft's face way too much. He was the first of his family to have been Sorted in Gryffindor; really Sherlock, to be the only one, to be unique.

John smiled at him and now it was Sherlock's turn to give him a reassuring brush of the hand.

The Sorting went on, and "Riley, Kitty" and "Moran, Sebastian" were Sorted in Slytherin, "Sawyer, Sarah" in Ravenclaw and "Knight, Henry" in Hufflepuff. Then it was John's turn. When professor Longbottom called "Watson, John" his brain seemed to have gone numb. All he thought was please Gryffindor, please Gryffindor and he was hardly aware that the Hat was already on his head.

A few seconds and then –

'GRYFFINDOR!'

John almost ran to the table, a big smile on his face. Sherlock smiled back and sat beside him. A few older students introduced themselves ('Greg Lestrade, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team') and so did the Gryffindor ghost ('Sir Nicholas, please'). One girl was left ("Yao, Soo Lin") and she too was greeted by the loud cheers from the Gryffindor table.

Professor Longbottom removed the stool and the Hat and took place at the teacher's table, right next to professor McGonagall, who rose and spread her arms. 'Let the feast begin!'

The long tables were suddenly filled with food ad spotless gold plates and cups. John instantly realised that his stomach was growling loudly; he filled his plate with fried chicken and chips and peas and carrots. When he was eating happily he looked at Sherlock, whose plate was close to empty.

'Aren't you going to eat something?' John asked him, his mouth full of mashed potatoes.

'I am eating,' Sherlock said, waving at the small pile of baked potatoes in front of him. 'Besides, you already stuffed me with those sweets...'

'Right then, suit yourself,' John said, leaving Sherlock to poke his food around his plate. He couldn't ignore him for long, though, and soon he asked him again, 'When do you actually eat?'

'I told you, I am eating now,' Sherlock said, genuinely confused.

'Yes, but let's be honest – it isn't that much... Do you ever, you know... stuff yourself full with whatever you can find?'

'Like you're doing now?' Sherlock chuckled.

John looked at his plate and smiled; there were lots of chicken bones, sloppily eaten to the bone, a big pile of chips, the last bits of a sauce and at least ten different kinds of vegetables. 'Sort of,' he laughed. 'But I've got an excuse – I haven't eaten like this in years. Feels good to finally afford it, you know.'

'Yeah,' Sherlock said. 'I don't know, I guess I'm never really hungry. Well, there are periods in which I don't eat for days, but –'

'Days? Sherlock! And you don't starve to death?'

Sherlock shook his head. 'Well,' he said with a smile, 'I confess I do feel quite hungry after those periods, but if I eat on a regular basis...'

John scoffed and chose a chicken wing next. 'These are really good, though,' he said, his mouth full.

'So are the potatoes,' Sherlock said, pointing his fork at him, from which one baked potato hung pathetically. 'Cheers.' And he stuffed it in his mouth.

John chuckled, shaking his head. He took a sip of his pumpkin juice – a refreshing drink, tasting nothing like it sounded – and finished the rest of his chips, vegetables and mashed potatoes.

Dessert came and John immediately forgot about his stuffed stomach; there were lovely puddings, pies, cakes, ice creams and waffles and custards. John had difficulty choosing, but eventually decided on a big piece of treacle tart and smiled when Sherlock loaded a big portion of dark chocolate pudding on his plate.

'What?' he said when he noticed John staring at him.

'Nothing. Pudding looks good,' John choked.

Sherlock raised one eyebrow and slowly, one corner of his mouth curled upwards. 'Okay, I have a weakness for chocolate pudding. Done laughing?'

'Not really,' John said and then changed the subject, not wanting to upset Sherlock. 'So, professor Longbottom will be teaching us Herbology, then?'

'Yes,' a voice to John's left said. It was Greg Lestrade, the seventeen year-old boy who had introduced himself to the two new first-years. 'He's been here for a few years now, quite soon after he left Hogwarts ten years ago. He's the Head of the Gryffindor House, and quite rightly so – he used to be good friends with Harry Potter. Still is, from what I've heard. Whenever Mister Potter visits the school to help professor Thomas and professor Finnigan on Defence against the Dark Arts for one lesson, they always get together, the four of them. Sometimes Mister Weasley joins him. It's always amazing to have such legends at the school.'

'So Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan both teach Defence Against the Dark Arts?' Sherlock asked. 'Interesting. They were also in Dumbledore's Army, weren't they?'

Greg nodded. 'And of course loads other kids back then, but they've all gone separate ways. I heard they still hang out every once in a while. I mean, they've been through so much together.'

John nodded thoughtfully. 'When you think about it, it must have been quite horrible.'

'I was six years old during the Final Battle of Hogwarts,' Greg told them. 'And even at that age I could sense that something wasn't quite right.'

John shivered. 'I actually just realised we are in the room where Voldemort died. And even though he did get defeated, so many others died before him...'

Greg just nodded, a grave expression on his youthful face. 'You know, when they rebuilt Hogwarts, they made another hallway in the castle with portraits of all the people who died by Voldemort's hand. It's horrible to think how long that corridor is...'

They were quiet for a moment. Greg broke the silence with a melancholy smile. 'Anyway, everything's fine now. As fine as things can be, I suppose. McGonagall really is a fine Headmistress; she's been here after Snape died and she'd been doing really well even since.

'Greg,' John asked, 'Who are the Heads of House for the other Houses?'

'Well, you've got Flitwick and Slughorn, they are the Heads of Ravenclaw and Slytherin, and then there's professor Stapleton; she teaches Arithmancy and is Head of Hufflepuff.'

They talked a bit more, also with the rest of the Quidditch team and their fellow first-years, about Hogwarts, Quidditch and Harry Potter. But then the desserts disappeared and the plates were spotless again. The chatter around the Great Hall quieted down as professor McGonagall rose from her golden chair.

'I have only a few announcements to make,' she said, her voice echoing impressively through the room. 'First of all, mister Filch would like to inform you that all products from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes are still forbidden, as is doing magic in the hallways. Furthermore, I'd like to tell the first-years that the Dark Forest on the edge of Hogwarts grounds is strictly forbidden. Now, prefects; take the first-years of your House to their dormitories and class will begin tomorrow morning. Goodnight.'

Greg smiled at them. 'Later, mates.'

John smiled and went to find a prefect, Sherlock on his tail. They waited for all the Gryffindor first-years to join them and then the two prefects – a girl and a boy – set off into the Entrance Hall, the first-years trailing them. They climbed the marble staircase and followed dozens of corridors and finally they reached the Gryffindor tower.

'As some of you may already know, the staircases move,' the girl prefect said. 'So be careful around those, they can be very stubborn. Oh, and there is one fake step on the stairs; best to step over it if you don't want to get stuck.'

They halted in front of a giant portrait of an enormously fat lady, who looked at them with a smile and asked, 'Password?'

'Decoy Detonator,' the boy said, and the portrait opened, revealing a big hole in the wall. They climbed through it one by one, entering a large, round common room, warmly lit by a fireplace, tapestries on the walls and tables, chairs and sofas placed close together.

'Girls' dormitories are to your right, the boys' are left,' the girl said, waving her arms in the general directions. 'Your things have already been brought up.'

Most of the first-years immediately went up to their dormitories, like Sherlock and John. They shared their room with three other boys, named James, Carl and Jack. They set out to make up their bed in the small, round room – Sherlock having taken the bed at the far end, John next to him, the window between them – and got into a casual conversation.

'My parents are Muggles,' Carl said casually, folding up his robes, which had now turned red – like the rest of the Gryffindor first-years. 'Was a bit of a shock for us at first, though. I was convinced it was some sort of prank.'

'I'm half blood,' James said. 'Dad's a wizard. Hadn't actually told my mum until I was born.'

'My mum told my dad before they started kids,' piped up John. 'Luckily he accepted it, otherwise I wouldn't be here.'

'I grew up with magic,' Jack said. 'You, Sherlock?'

'Pureblood,' Sherlock said softly. 'Does it matter?' He didn't bite it out, he was genuinely confused.

''Course not, mate,' Jack laughed. 'We're just chatting is all.'

'Oh,' Sherlock said, apparently not getting it. 'Well, okay then.'

'So, you and John,' Carl asked, trying to change the subject. 'You've known each other before today?'

'No, why?' John asked, putting on a white T-shirt as pyjama top.

'Well, you seem really close,' Carl remarked. 'But I suppose you're just hitting it off right, then.'

John and Sherlock frowned at each other and shrugged. They all got into bed, stayed talking for a while and slowly, one by one, they fell asleep.

Sherlock was the last to sleep. He thought about what Carl had said; he and John seemed really close, apparently. Sherlock didn't know what that meant, exactly; he didn't know much about friendship, he'd never had many friends. But he did know one thing; he enjoyed John's company and he wasn't planning on losing it just yet.

The next morning, an excitement hung thick in the air, it was almost touchable. Everyone was glad to be back at school – or new at school – and classes were about to start again.

They received their schedules at breakfast; they sorted it all out with professor Longbottom, their Head of House, and then it was time for their first class of the year; Potions. John noticed that Sherlock was quite excited; potions must be something he enjoyed or found fascinating.

Professor Slughorn awaited them in the dungeons, his big belly even bigger than it had been ten years ago. A few cauldrons were behind him, different colours of smoke evaporating into thin air.

'Welcome, class,' he said happily. 'Please, take a seat. Let's start, shall we?'

John and Sherlock sat together and opened their books. Carl, Jack and James sat opposite them while the Slytherins – with whom they shared the class – sat on the other side of the room (even though Slytherin House had improved on its students, Gryffindors and Slytherins were still each other's natural enemy).

'So,' professor Slughorn continued. 'First class on year – first class Potions ever for you, in fact! Lovely! Now, as you can see there are a few cauldrons behind me. Take a look and tell me what potions they're filled with. I hope you've been reading ahead.'

'I certainly haven't,' John whispered to Sherlock, hoping that Slughorn didn't hear him. Sherlock smirked, because he had been reading ahead. Ever since he had bought his school books in Diagon Alley he had been flipping through them, looking for interesting information, and he had found that he enjoyed potions a lot.

Time passed by quickly while the students, studied, smelled, touched and at times even tasted the potions – something of which Slughorn highly disapproved. 'Don't taste the potions, please! For all you know there might be a Draught of Living Death or a Strong Polyjuice potion turning you into me for a couple of weeks! And you wouldn't want that to happen, now, do you?' He had said with a vague smile on his face.

Sherlock wondered how many times something had gone wrong in his class. Had a student ever died because they had tasted the wrong kind of potions? That would be fascinating…

John and Sherlock teamed up with Jack and James and, with the four of them, they walked past the cauldrons, attempting to identify the potions.

The fourth cauldron they came across contained a fluid that constantly changed colour. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and instantly asked the others what they thought it smelled like.

'I think it's sort of… I don't know… It smells like forest, if you ask me. The smell of wood and leaves. Bit like smoke, too,' James told him.

Jack shrugged, before admitting he thought it smelled like home. 'But my home definitely doesn't smell like wood, if that's what you're thinking!' he added hastily.

Sherlock looked at John, who simply shrugged. 'It's this smell I can't really place, it's a bit… I don't know… Why, what do you smell?'

Sherlock ignored the question. 'It's a love potion,' he stated. 'It has to be. Amortentia, to be specific. Amortentia is the only potion that smells different to everyone.'

'Excellent, Mr Holmes,' said professor Slughorn, who happened to pass by their cauldron, 'Ten points to Gryffindor!'

He clapped his hands, in order to attract everyone's attention and pointed at Sherlock's group. 'I hope everyone heard how Mr Holmes described the love potion in this cauldron? I want all of you to write that down. Also, pay a visit to the library and look up three different kinds of love potions. I want you all to hand an essay about them next week. Make sure it's at least one hundred words long.' He looked at the clock on the wall. The hand pointed to the right, where it said 'End of Class'.

'Alright. That's it for today,' Slughorn called out, 'Clean up your stuff, don't leave anything behind and enjoy the rest of your classes!'

Just before Sherlock and John walked out, Slughorn patted him on the back. 'I am impressed with you, Mr Holmes. You might just make a good potions master later…'

'Thank you, sir,' Sherlock said politely. He then turned his back on the professor and strode out the classroom, a smirk on his face.

He had just earned his first house points for Gryffindor! While several other Gryffindors congratulated and thanked him for the first ten house points of the year, he couldn't help thinking about Mycroft's face. Ever since Mycroft had been going to Hogwarts, Sherlock had had to listen to the hour long stories about him earning points for Ravenclaw. Sherlock's brother had loved to boast about how brilliant he was in class, and how he had earned the most points of all the Ravenclaw students and so on, and so on. Sherlock felt proud to know that he, too, could now earn house points and he promised to beat his brother in the House Cup. His thoughts were interrupted by John, poking him in the side with his elbow. 'Look,' he said, pointing at two other boys.

The Irish boy who had been called forward as "Brook, Richard" during the Sorting Ceremony was talking to James on the other end of the hallway and now signalled them over. The two Gryffindors glanced at each other and walked up to them.

'So you're Sherlock Holmes, aren't you?'

Sherlock nodded.

'I was talking to your friend here,' he gestured at James, 'He said you knew every single potion in the room. Convenient, isn't it?'

Sherlock frowned, not comprehending what Brook meant. 'What is?'

The Slytherin boy chuckled, 'Having a friend who boasts about you. That way, you don't have to do it yourself.'

'Do what?' Sherlock sneered. He didn't like the way Brook was talking to him.

'Boast, of course. As long as others point out how brilliant you are, you seem so humble yourself…'

'I…' Sherlock didn't know what to reply. Luckily, John did.

'Shut up and move.'

He shoved Brook against the wall, and pulled Sherlock along. They quickly made their way out of the dungeons. Sherlock decided he didn't just wanted to beat Mycroft in the house cup. The Slytherins were going down as well.

Sorry that this chapter is significantly shorter than the first. We're obviously not regular in breaking off chapters. However, if there's a good point to do it then so be it. :) Sorry for the long wait as well. School's been a bit of pain in the arse.

We hope no one's having trouble accepting Sherlock and John both as Gryffindors. But we really wanted them in the same house - it's important for the plot - and their personalities are so different it could only be Gryffindor. But yeah, we tried to play with it a little. Hope you had fun reading and leave us a review!