"Odd looking letter you've got there, love. What does it say, John?" Said Mrs Watson with a smile as she smeared a thick layer of jam over her breakfast toast. John struggled to find words, his mouth had run dry and his small hands fumbled for a chair as his eyes ran across the intricate green lettering.

"John? Are you okay sweetheart?" John couldn't speak, he simply handed over the piece of parchment to his mother and picked up his cup of tea with slightly shaking hands. But, there was no such thing as magic, he thought hastily, trying to quell the building excitement in his chest. But he suddenly recalled childhood memories of moving objects with a glance and sending other children flying across the pitch by accident when playing rugby. And what about his father, the father he had never known? His mother had said he had been a soldier in a great war against very evil people and never said anything more, for the man had died when John was only a baby. John raised his eyes to his mother's face, suddenly alarmed to see she was crying, only to be relieved when she let out a watery but gleeful laugh. "I always knew it, you're just like your father! He would be so proud."

And with that, John Watson knew, with a burst of joy, that the letter was telling the truth. He had been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

At last, with his trunk packed with the bizarre assortment of items the letter had suggested and a hasty wave goodbye out of the car window, John was heading to Kings Cross Station with his sister, Harriet, who had only recently gotten her driving license. She seemed to be relishing in shouting at other drivers and playing her music loudly enough to earn many disapproving glares from pedestrians. John tried his best to ignore the clinking of empty bottles down at his feet in the passenger seat, instead examined the wand he had purchased the week before. He was still having a hard time getting his head around the idea that he was a wizard. Harriet grinned at him, her eyes dangerously leaving the road as she ruffled his sandy hair. "I can't believe you get to be whisked off to some bloody posh-boy magic-trick school and I'm still stuck in this dump, soldier."

She swerved just in time to avoid hitting the car in front. John was simply pleased that she hadn't thrown herself into one of her jealous tantrums when she'd heard the news. In fact, she had seemed to of perked up a lot recently since she had been spending time with a new friend- Clara was her name?

"I'll make sure to send you a white rabbit in the post." He replied with a chuckle.

"Yeah, and while you're there find out what's up with the post Johnnie, I'm not having any owls swooping into my damn room." She winked at him and they debated excitedly what Hogwarts would hold in store until they hit the busy streets of inner London and Harriet announced sharply she had to concentrate on driving after nearly hitting a couple of elderly women as they crossed the street.

Before John knew it he was stood in the middle of the swarming crowds of Kings Cross Station, looking nervously between the ticket clutched tightly in his grip and the space between platform nine and ten. He chewed his lip as he checked his watch, starting to regret his impulsive decision to let Harriet drive off once she'd help him load a trolley with his trunk, apparently she was meeting Clara and didn't want to be late. He only had ten minutes before his train was supposed to leave. "Damn it, Harry." He muttered, closing his eyes in frustration.

"Sorry, are you talking to me?" A voice said to his left. Snapping his eyes back open John began a hasty apology before taking in the scrawny, dark haired boy who had spoken. This boy, like him, also seemed to be alone and was pushing a trolley. But, most importantly, he had a bird cage with a snowy white owl screeching inside, sat on top of his luggage.

"Are you-I mean- Do you-," John scolded himself for being so anxious with his words and straightened his back as the dark haired boy nudged his glasses further up his nose nervously. "Are you going to Hogwarts?"

The other boy gave a relieved sigh and smile, "Yes, I am, thank goodness! Can you figure out how to get onto the platform? I asked the guard but I don't think that was a good idea." He gave a worried glance behind his shoulder where a man in uniform was looking at the two boys suspiciously.

"Maybe we should head off." John whispered and the other wizard boy nodded in his agreement. John stuck out his hand as they began to push their trolleys away, "I'm John Watson by the way."

"Harry Potter, it's nice to meet you" replied Harry, shaking the outstretched hand before pausing and staring over Johns shoulder. "John, I think they're wizards too, they might be able to help us."

John twisted to see a red headed family bustling through the crowd, all the boys in the family seemed to be pushing trolleys like John and Harry's. They decided it was the best option they had at the moment and hurriedly approached the family who warmly introduced themselves as the Weasleys.

Five minutes later they had all passed through the solid brick wall of the platform and boarded the scarlet Hogwarts Express. Harry and the youngest boy of the Weasleys, Ron, had disappeared into an empty compartment, offering John a seat to join them, but John had politely declined. He had suddenly felt very queasy and wasn't eager to throw up over people who had helped him so readily. Putting it down to nerves, he began walking down the train looking for a toilet when the train started moving suddenly and John stumbled in the carriageway, blundering straight into a portly boy who caught him with a quick, "Upsie-Daisy, you alright?"

John hastily got to his feet, "Thank you, sorry, yes I'm fine, are you?" The chubby boy smiled up at him, his eyes crinkly slightly through his spectacles. "Yeah, don't you worry about me. I'm Mike, Mike Stamford. You look a bit peaky mate, you might want to find a compartment to sit yourself down in."
John gave a short laugh as the queasy feeling hit him again, "Trust me, no one wants a compartment with me."

Unexpectedly, Mike's friendly smile grew further before he said, "You know, you're the second person to say that to me this journey."

John furrowed his brow, "Really? Who was the first?"

After a quick wander further down the train they came to a compartment where John could just make out a single dark figure through the frosted glass of the door. Before they had even opened the door a deep baritone voice called from inside, "Mike, can I borrow your quill? I left mine in my trunk."

Mike grimaced at John as he slid the door open to reveal a tall pale boy with a mess of curly dark hair stretched across three of the seats, hastily sorting through a pile of parchment notes. Mike patted his pockets, "Sorry, I don't have mine either."

There was a second's pause before John stepped into the compartment, a biro held out in his hand. "Will this do?" He asked, and the boy looked up finally, his pale eyes sweeping over John. John stiffened, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He had the sudden impression that the boy wasn't all he seemed. Pale skin, dark hair, unnatural eyes…did vampires exist in the wizarding world?

The boy took the pen from him with long calloused fingers. "Thanks," he said, turning his attention back to his notes, "and no that's a ludicrous idea John, only wizards can attend Hogwarts. Oh and I like to play the violin when I'm thinking, I may not even talk for the rest of the journey, would that bother you?"

John started and twisted his head sharply to look at Mike who, to his surprise was smiling at him. "Yeah," he said with a chortle, "he does that. Anyway, I was looking for a lost toad when I ran into you, nice meeting you John!" And with that he was gone and John was left alone in the compartment with the apparent mind-reader. He stood awkwardly for a moment, staring at the pale boy before snapping out of it and grabbing his trunk and hoisting it above the seats. Slowly, he turned and sat on the seat, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. The boy was still sprawled lazily across the seats, but he suddenly flung his notes to the floor and swung his legs down so he was sitting, leaning on his knees with his head resting on his hand, staring at John.

"Alright, you've got questions." He said. John almost laughed at how odd it was to hear such a deep come from such a skinny boy, despite the fact he was so tall. However, he was still pretty certain this boy could read-

"No, I can't read minds John, that form of magic isn't taught at our level for several years, it's really a simple matter of observation."

John sat there with his mouth open in shock before stuttering, "H-How do you know my name?"

The boy's eyes suddenly lit up with excitement and he began speaking very fast. "The same way I know you're from a single parent family, your father, a soldier, died a long time ago. You aspire to be like him even though you can't remember anything about what he was really like, no, you were too young. I know you were brought to the station by your brother, older brother, Harry. He can remember the death of your father and feels the loss worse, consequently has taken to drinking. How I know you're looking for someone to befriend but are too nervous to attempt making friendships, possibly because you don't know how you'd begin, more likely because you're worried they'd turn against you. I don't just see John, I observe."

John was seriously concerned he was going to be sick. However, he was resisting the urge to reach out and punch the pale face that was staring at him with burning grey eyes which had suddenly seemed to change to a gleaming green. John clenched his fists as he asked through gritted teeth, "How could you possibly know all that?"

The boy gestured loosely up to the trunk above Johns head on which the words "John H. Watson" were printed against the battered leather. "Your name, easy. Your clothes tell me the most, decent quality but a bit well worn, most likely come from a single income household. Your father: single parent and you have a small lipstick smudge on your right cheek where a mother would kiss you goodbye until next summer. Plus your watch, silver, it's not a boy's watch, it doesn't even seem to work, so why would you wear it? Sentiment. It was your fathers, you wear it to not only remember him but so you can convince yourself you are like him. Mimicking a father? Not a common idolisation, therefore he died before you could get to know him, you don't remember any of his faults. You're proud of him, the way you stand even your hair cut, its military so he's a soldier, probably died in combat. Now, your brother. A letter sticking out of your pocket signed "love Harry", unopened, you haven't even noticed it's there. That means it was given to you when you were distracted: coming into the station. The drinking? Your shoes are splashed with alcohol from the foot well of where you were sat, from here you can smell it, don't worry, it's only slightly. The alcohol is strong, it's a serious problem then, not just drinking for pleasure. Now you, your friendship issues. That was a simple matter of listening, I heard you walk past this compartment with two other boys who you were chatting with happily. Why not stay with them?"

The boy's eyes didn't soften as he began detailing on John's psychological profile. John felt numb, his anger replaced with shock as he gaped.

"Proud and loyal, you weren't suited to the tacky material friendships formed in childhood. Especially when you found yourself on the receiving end of a vicious bully-group. But no, you wouldn't just stand there and take it. No. Your knuckles, John." John glanced down at his hands where white and pink scars scattered the tanned skin. "You fought back, but you now have trust issues, never sure whether the next person who comes along will play nice just to stab you in the back. And finally, how did I know you thought I wasn't human?"

It was only then that the boy gave a small wry smile. "Well, let's just say you're not the first."

Silence filled the compartment. The boy leaned back in his seat and stared out of the window at the clouds and landscape passing by. John slowly realised his mouth was still open and closed it, swallowed and ran his hand through his hair. He exhaled nosily before beginning to chuckle. The boy sharply turned his head, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"That," John began, "was amazing."

The boy's tight expression of distrust suddenly cleared in brilliant surprise. "You think so?"

"Of course it was it was extraordinary." John grinned even wider, nodding his head, "It was quite extraordinary"

The boy looked as though he was suppressing a small smile before returning his gaze to the window, "That's not what people usually say"

"What do they usually say?"

"Piss off."

John burst out laughing just as the carriage doors were flung open. A pale boy with a pointed face and white blonde hair stood there, sneering down at them, with two other heavy-set boys behind him who closely resembled a pair gorillas which John had seen at the zoo in the summer when a python had escaped unexplainably.

"Oh, sorry," said the boy, who didn't sound sorry at all, "We were looking for Harry Potter, have you seen him?"

John didn't like the sound of this boy's snide voice, and decided quickly that he wasn't telling him anything about where Harry and Ron were sat. But before he could tell the boy to leave, he spoke again, this time looking closely at the boy John was sharing the compartment with.

"You're a Holmes aren't you? My father is always talking about your family. One of the last pure blood families left, and your brother is a Slytherin Prefect, yes?" The boy stuck out his hand.

"Draco Malfoy, it's nice to keep good blood in company, don't you think?"

The Holmes boy looked incredibly bored with the whole affair, and just glanced at the pale hand that had been extended towards him. "Ummm…." He began. "No."

Malfoy withdrew his hand sharply, affronted. The thuggish boys behind him cracked their knuckles and glared angrily at Holmes, of whom had picked up his notes and was flicking through them as he spoke in a drawl that challenged Malfoys.

"Firstly, it's Sherlock Holmes. Secondly, the idea that a person's blood determines their class or character is both medieval and childish. Thirdly, if you ever relate me to either my brother or any of my so called family again I will personally write to your father and tell him that you've been caught in a compromising situation with no less than seven muggle-borns."

Malfoy's already pale face blanched even more before turning pink with anger.

"You'll regret that, you jumped-up snob" he spat, his voice rising in pitch.

"That's rich from someone called Draco Malfoy." Said John suddenly, the excitement of a fight beginning to pump through his veins. The three boys in the doorway only just seemed to notice that he was there. Malfoy's pink tint spread to the tips of his ears and he yelped, "Crabbe! Goyle!"

The two boys started forward and John leapt to his feet, his fists clenched, but before any blow could be thrown the boy, Sherlock his name was, flicked his wand lazily and Malfoys thugs were scooted smartly from the compartment and thudded heavily into the carriage way.

"Thank you for your input Malfoy." Sherlock called as he flicked the wand again and the door slid sharply shut in the blonde's face. John sat down again and found he couldn't stop smiling. Sherlock was looking out the window and said quietly, "We better change into our robes, we're getting close to the castle."

He looked at Johns face, and finally cracked a wide toothy grin.

"You got something wrong you know." John said as he pulled on his cloak and Sherlock froze.

"What? There's always something, dammnit…"

"Harry is my sister."

"Sister!" Sherlock hissed and John chuckled happily as the lanky boy threw his clothes around the compartment muttering to himself. He was looking forward to life at Hogwarts more every minute.