Chapter Text
Chapter 1:
If there's one thing John Watson could never get used to, it's how crowded platform nine and three quarters always was. He had been told that there were approximately only three thousand wizards in Britain (which, for a country with a population of forty million, is relatively little) and it felt like they all gathered on this little platform every year on September 1st. For someone who generally preferred smaller crowds, this was always distressing. His chest felt a little tighter, the heat became a little more noticeable, the air felt thin and empty. The worst was in John's first year; scared, alone with no one except his pet owl (his parents and older sister were on the other side of the wall) and hundreds of people constantly bumping into his trolley. Even when he was on the train the eleven year old could feel the heavy stare of other kids over his old scuffed trainers and second-hand jeans and the jumper his mum knitted when he was nine. Eventually, he found a friend. A tall boy with dark curly hair and an ability to know his entire life story through one glance settled the boy's nerves. He didn't feel quite so lost afterwards.
Of course, now John was in his sixth year it was all fine. He could dodge the people and see through the smoke emanating from the red train easily. What was a little heat and claustrophobia compared to the relief of being back in the wizarding world?
John hopped onto the train and walked through the corridor, dragging his suitcase behind him. He looked through one, two, three, four compartments until he found the one he was looking for. Or at least, the person in it.
The sound of the compartment door opening did not rouse the boy lying on the seats, who was stretching his gangly legs so that one had to hang over the edge. He was reading. A large leather bound book entitled "Half-blood, two paths" covered the boy's face so that only a few ebony curls stuck out of the top. John grinned. He was yet to be disappointed with a different greeting. Or in fact, a greeting.
"What are you reading?" John asked as he sat down opposite, as though five minutes, rather than five weeks, had passed since their last meeting (John staying over at the Holmes family's home.)
"You can read John," a deep voice said behind the book, "Look at the spine and see what you can deduce from the letters."
"Ha-ha." John rolled his eyes, "I meant, what is it about?"
"Oh,it's dull. Mother gave it to me. She says as a half-blood I have a responsibility to choose between the muggle world and the wizarding world." The boy put the book down with an air of disgust, "Can't see why I can't have both. But only the good bits."
"Sherlock Montanna." John muttered.
"What?"
"Oh, it's a muggle TV show - Never mind. You wouldn't know it... How was your summer, Sherlock?"
"Dull."
"For someone with such a high IQ, you don't have a very extended vocabulary. I think you use that word more than anything else."
"Shut up."
"Those two come a close second, though."
Sherlock chuckled, a sound which went straight to John's chest. It was a nice sound, if rarely heard. That's probably why he appreciated it so much. "Well, for someone who plans on being a doctor, you don't have a good sense of hygiene. You've been avoiding washing the back of your right hand since you got home from France three days ago."
John grinned, "Oh? You're deducing me so soon into the journey?" The train had only just left the station.
"Yes. I know that you met a girl named Mary while you were in France. You were keen on her but you're not particularly bothered now. Also, you stayed up to finish a homework you had forgotten about last night. Probably charms."
"How did you do that then?"
"I can see pink glitter pen with a number and a name 'Mary' and a kiss afterwards on your hand. The number is distinctly European and for a mobile phone. The fact you left it on and refused to wash it off shows you were keen, but you have not added the number to your phone yet. You're procrastinating, most likely because you're not as keen on her as she was of you, but you feel bad. You don't like long distance relationships."
"Okay, that I get so far. What about the fact I was in France? I never told you."
"Yes, that's because you like watching me deduce you. Really, John, I'd have thought you'd be bored of it by now."
"Never." John smiled truthfully. A strange look passed over Sherlock's face, but it was gone and replaced with a serious 'I'm concentrating and very clever' face before John could identify it.
"There was an odd interval for a week until three days ago when you didn't text me very much. I deduced you were abroad, because there is always bad signal and texts cost more, so you refrain from using your phone so much. I knew it was France because you have a distinct tan. You were sunbathing. Your family rarely leaves Britain due to financial issues, but they went abroad this year. Nowhere fancy, though. Nowhere which would require flight. So there's no other option than France."
"Brilliant!" John smiled. "You got that all right."
"Good. I hate it when I'm wrong."
"Oh, so do I. It makes you sulk."
"I don't sulk." Sherlock frowned stubbornly.
"Trust me, you do. Now, how about that deduction about the charms homework I did last night?"
Sherlock inhaled. "You have obvious bags under your eyes and shaky hands from drinking multiple cups of coffee this morning. Therefore you stayed up later than usual. You have ink smudged over your hand from writing; it was an essay. I knew it was charms because you hate charms. You find it useless and dull. Well, you also find potions dull but you want to become a wizard-doctor. It requires newts in potions, so you wouldn't leave it until the last minute. So charms it is." Sherlock finally exhaled.
"Fantastic!"
"Meretricious. There's also the obvious fact that at three this morning you texted me an entire rant about the pointlessness of charms at this stage in your student career."
Sherlock got out his phone and showed it to John. On it read a message John barely remembered sending.
3:01am - Whats the point in doing charms anyway we know all the useful stuff when am I ever going to turn a teacup into a mouse I hope if Molly becomes a teacher here she sorts it out because I'm sick to death of it I wish it was our last year but nooo we're stuck in our ducking sixth year the most pointless uninteresting year I hate this
"Oh."
"Honestly John, your grammar is appalling. If this is what it's like sober I hope you never drunk text me. I doubt my brain cells would survive reading it."
"Shut up." John laughed.
"Also, 'ducking' is an interesting choice of adjective." Sherlock smirked.
John sighed, "Ducking autocorrect."
Sherlock laughed and it stabbed at John's chest even more. A sardonic chuckle was one thing: a genuine laugh was so rare and so beautiful-sounding John always smiled back. If he could, he would bottle that laugh so that he could listen to it whenever his dad started drinking or Harry was shouting the house down.
John quickly realised that no one had spoken for several seconds and that they had been staring at each other for just as long. He cleared his throat.
"So, what did you do over the summer?" He asked.
"Nothing much. Read this and a bunch of other books about future careers - Mother's doing. There was a serial killer making his way around Sussex, but the police refused to let me help. Idiots."
"Yeah, I'd bet. That's it then? Read some books and got rejected by the police?"
"Well, I tried spying on Mycroft." Sherlock said, "He's head boy now, so he's been sorting out... Stuff. He's helping to organise something, but he refused to tell me what it was. It's probably dull, but I was so bored I didn't have any other choice than to find out what it was."
"And did you?" John asked.
"Oh yes. I have no idea what it is though. Something like a - tournament? With two other schools. I don't know. Dull."
John sat up. "Is it the tri-wizard tournament?"
"Yes, I think so. Why?"
"Why? God, Sherlock, you really need to get out more. It's the tri-wizard tournament! Hogwarts will be hosting!" John said excitedly, looking at Sherlock for a reaction. He just frowned in confusion. John sighed.
"Sherlock, do you remember in our first year when a bunch of sixth and seventh year students went missing?" He emphasised the last word by making quotation marks with his hands, "Around October time?"
"No I was caught up in the case of the poisoned pumpkin juice and Violet Finnley's case around that time." Sherlock frowned, a silent 'obviously' hanging in the air.
John opened his mouth to explain, then stopped and sighed, "Never mind. They'll explain it in assembly. I'm too -" he yawned, "- tired to go over it."
"You should probably sleep then." Sherlock said. "You slept for three hours last night and we'll be arriving at Hogwarts in 2 more hours. I'll wake you when we're nearly there."
John smiled tiredly as he leaned against the window. "Since when did you care about my well being?"
Sherlock broke eye contact and looked out of the window. "You'd be surprised."
John's last thought before he fell asleep was whether Sherlock looking away was intentional, and what word could identify the colour of Sherlock's eyes. He settled on a word he once heard some time ago - "resplendent". He wasn't even 100% what it meant - he just knew it was right.