John and the Stolen Stones 1

The station was busier than usual. Commuters bustled here and there, occasionally shooting a muttered apology to the ground. John took it all in eagerly. He had been to Kings Cross on several occasions before but this time was different.

"The professor lady said one 'o'clock!" John's mother cried as she pushed John and his dad across the platforms, "It's ten to, we're cutting it really fine!"

John searched over people's heads, looking for the right barrier.
There, platforms nine and ten.

"There it is! There it is!" he squeaked with excitement

He sprinted through the crowd.

"John!"

John stopped in front of the barrier between platforms nine and ten.
It looked so solid.
He suddenly became frightened and looked nervously around for his parents. They came up behind him and egged him on. John took another fearful glance at the very hard brick wall. What if it was all a hoax? He screwed up his eyes, took a deep breath and ran at it. The expected collision never came. John stumbled and bewilderedly opened his eyes. Before him, in all its magnificence, was a scarlet steam engine, the words Hogwarts Express printed in gold along the side. There was a piercing whistle.
John jumped as someone grabbed him and pulled him into a big hug

"Be safe, John, have fun!" his mother wept

John hugged her tightly back, "I will, thanks, mum!"

His dad handed him his trunk, "We're so proud of you,"

John grinned as he took the handle.
His mum pushed him towards the train, "Hurry, get aboard!"

John jumped onto the last carriage. The door shut behind him and he shoved his head and hand out the window to wave enthusiastically,

"Bye mum! Bye dad!" he yelled over other farewelling parents and children

John's own parents waved back,
"Write to us, John!"

"I will!"

John ducked back inside as the train pulled out of the station and went to find a seat.
The first few compartments were full of spritely older students and in the ones after those, people glared at him as though daring him to enter and ruin their fun.
John continued to the end.
The last compartment was empty apart from one skinny boy who was hugging his knees and staring out the window.
John took a deep breath and knocked before sliding the compartment door open.
The boy's head turned to look at him.

"Hi," John said, trying his best to sound friendly, "um, are these seats saved? It's just that, everywhere else is full"

The boy's eyes moved up and down John carefully as though analysing him. John shifted uncomfortably.
After sizing him up, the boy nodded toward the seats in front of him.

John sighed with relief,
"Cool, thanks,"

He picked up his trunk and hoisted it into the luggage rack above his head.

"You're a Muggle-born."

John turned to look at the boy in surprise.
He had very pale skin and dark curls which fell around his deep grey-green eyes.

"I – yes, how did you know?"

The boy blinked
"Do you know much about the Wizarding World?"

"Did you use magic to find that out?" John asked as he sat opposite the boy

He smiled, "I don't need magic to work out such obvious things, Watson."

"How did you know my name? What else do you know?"

The boy dropped his legs and put his hands together,
"I know that you've recently been on holiday abroad, most likely France, somewhere the weather is nice and hot. I know that you have an older brother named Harry, who is either lazy or doesn't care much for themselves. I also know that you are a Muggle-born by the name of Watson."

John blinked
"That, was amazing."

The boy smiled again, this time with a hint of pride.

John laughed, "How? How did you know?"

"I didn't 'know', I deduced. You're a Muggle-born. Muggle-borns tend to keep their wands in their trunks while those who grew up in the Wizarding World would keep their wand on their person, as their parents would. You aren't carrying your wand on you. I know your name is Watson; it's printed on your trunk. I deduced you had been abroad. Your face is tanned, but when you lifted your trunk onto the luggage rack, your sweater slid up your back to reveal a tan line around the waistband, possibly obtained on a holiday abroad, considering the disastrous weather in England, where there are nice beaches, like in France, as your back was tanned, revealing you didn't wear a shirt in the sun. I believe you have an older brother named Harry. The tag on your old sweater is hanging out, which has the name 'Harry W' scribbled carelessly on it, hence the laziness."

John gaped at the boy
"But, how do you know I'm not Harry?"

The boy raised a long pale finger and pointed at John's trunk. John followed his gaze.

"You're name is J. Watson, not Harry."

John turned back to this strange boy, his mouth still hanging open

"Amazing! Just amazing!"

"You think so?"

"Yeah!"

Silence fell as John continued to gawk at the boy in awe. The boy himself seemed to enjoy the attention. Finally, John had the sense to close his mouth and offer his hand

"John. John Watson."

The boy took it,
"The name's Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."

. . .

The train started to slow down. Night had fallen and John and Sherlock had changed into their robes. With a screech the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station. The carriage doors opened and all the students filed out.

"First years! First years over here!"

A lantern bobbed over everyone's heads, held by a young woman
"First years over here!"

John and Sherlock wandered over to the woman who introduced herself as Professor Mary Morstan. She led them to a small dock where several small boats were moored. The two boys got into one and they were joined by two girls, one pale with blonde hair, the other dark with a chocolate-brown afro.

John leaned to whisper in Sherlock's ear,
"What can you deduce from them?" he asked, eager to see more of his companion's trick

"It's too dark to deduce much," Sherlock said, not bothering to keep his voice down, "but I'd say the blonde girl is quite poor, judging by her hand-me-down robes and the state of her shoes, which look as if they've been walked in a lot, but not by her as she doesn't walk naturally in them which implies the shoes have not been worn in by her and so are also second hand, most likely from an older sister or her mother. The other girl in front of us is very inattentive-"

The girl with the afro turn haughtily to face Sherlock
"'Inattentive'? What do you mean 'inattentive'?"

Sherlock took a deep breath,
"There was only one puddle on the way to the boats, a big muddy ditch in the middle of the road which everyone managed to avoid and yet you dozily walked right through it according to the mud on the hem of your robes-"

"Oh, piss off!" and she turned her back on him in a huff, "Freak."

John was taken aback but Sherlock seemed to shrug it off.

"Well," John muttered, almost apologetically, "I thought it was brilliant"

"Thank you, John."

At the boat shed, everyone disembarked and followed Professor Morstan through a secret passage up to the castle. After explaining the House rules she led the first years into the Great Hall. John gasped as he looked up to find, not the ceiling, but the night sky, and hundreds of floating candles. Professor Morstan placed an old hat on a stool in front of the entire school and started to read names from a scroll that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere

"Donovan, Sally"

The girl with the brown afro from the boat trip went up and put the hat on. A rip near the brim opened up,

"RAVENCLAW!"

The girl went to sit with the cheering people at one of the middle tables

"Hooper, Molly"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Holmes, Sherlock"

The pale, skinny boy John had met on the train walked up to take his turn on the stool

"SLYTHERIN!"

Sherlock jumped down and sat at one of the end tables.
Soon, the group of first year students dwindled to a small percentage of what there had been originally.

"Watson, John"

John walked slowly up to the stool and sat on it. Professor Morstan placed the hat on his head.

Please, Slytherin … same as Sherlock, John thought.

"Slytherin, eh?" said a voice in his ear, "No, I think you will do better in … GRYFFINDOR!"

The last word was said so that everyone else in the Hall could hear it.
Though slightly disappointed, John couldn't help but grin as he joined the cheering Gryffindor table.
On the other side of the Hall, a pale, skinny first year played with his fork in attempted indifference.

. . .

The next morning John went down to breakfast with Mike, another Gryffindor in his year. In the Great Hall, John looked to the Slytherin table and there was Sherlock, sitting alone. John immediately gestured for him to join them. Sherlock obliged.

"Mike, meet Sherlock Holmes"

Mike offered his hand,
"Nice to meet you, Sherlock," Mike smiled as Sherlock shook his hand

"Thank you, Mr. Stamford"

Mike jumped, "How did you do that? Can you read minds?"

John laughed.

"No," the corners of Sherlock's mouth twitched, "I simply recognised you from the Sorting last night. Shall we take a seat?"

They all sat down at the Gryffindor table and served themselves breakfast. Professor Morstan started moving down the Gryffindor table handing out timetables

"Here you are, Mr. Stamford, and Mr. Watson, and – who are you?"

She scrutinised Sherlock.

"I am Sherlock Holmes, Professor"

"Well, Mr. Holmes, this is the Gryffindor table. If you want your timetable you will have to get it from Professor Baskerville, the Head of Slytherin"

"Thank you, Professor."

John looked down at his timetable
"Ooh! We have Defence Against the Dark Arts first!" he cried

Sherlock leaned over to take a peek
"With the Slytherins apparently. We should go now"

"But the lesson doesn't start for another twenty minutes!" said Mike

"The castle is big; we may get lost on the way. Do you want to be late for your first class?"

"No." Mike admitted

They got up and made their way to the Grand Staircase.

"What floor is Defence Against the Dark Arts on?" John asked

"Third, I think."

The trio were nearing the third floor when they were stopped by a bunch of Slytherins,

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Freak."

These words were spoken by the boy in the middle. He had a sickly pale face with pristinely cut black hair and dark eyes that narrowed as he spoke.

"Anderson." Sherlock acknowledged

The boy named Anderson took a few steps down onto the staircase and pulled out his wand,
"You'll pay for that little 'incident' that occurred last night."

Sherlock looked coldly up at Anderson
"I only wondered how long it would take for someone to notice"

"You made me look like a fool"

"I didn't know you'd scream like a girl"

Anderson cracked and pointed his wand at Sherlock's face. John gasped and jumped in front of Sherlock.

Anderson laughed,
"The Freak only has a midget to back him up!"

The four other Slytherins, still on the third floor landing, joined in.
John blushed.
Sherlock turned John around and started herding him and Mike back down to the landing below

"I don't need anyone to back me up," he said as they strolled down the stairs, "You don't know any magic"

"That is where you'll find you're wrong," Anderson drawled as he directed his wand again, "STUP-"

There was a flash of red and John spun on the spot to see where the curse was headed but he stumbled as the staircase shuddered and started to move.
Anderson's spell went off in the opposite direction as the sudden movement had knocked him off balance.
When he managed to regain his feet, Anderson aimed once again.
John made a grab for his own wand, but not before he was hit on his left shoulder.

"John!"

John was propelled backwards and he tumbled down the rest of the stairs and over the edge of the moving staircase.
He tried to hang on to the last step but his hands slipped.
He fell.

John screamed as he disappeared into swirling emptiness and darkness.