Fic: Sorted [First Year]

[tinfoiltennis]

Summary: Sherlock cuts a swathe of deduction through the Hogwarts Express and sorts everyone into their Houses before they even get there. Ensemble piece.
Rating: G
Warnings: Moriarty exists. None!

“...And purple giraffe with a tree on its back holding a Death Star,” Donna said, crossing her arms and doing her very best to give the obnoxious boy across from her a proper glare.

“Huh?” he said. His name was Dean, or so he said when he dumped his big duffel bag of whatever he was carrying onto the seat and sprawled like a bored octopus.

“I knew it! You weren’t paying attention to a single thing I said!” she said. She did her best to turn her head away and stick her chin up like she saw on telly, but she thought it looked a bit silly so she gave up on it halfway through and stuck with glaring.

“How’s that my problem?” Dean said. He did his best to shrug like he didn’t much care, but it was difficult because he was twisted up in the seat like a blanket after kicking it away mid-sleep. And, anyway, it didn’t matter how much he shrugged because there was a point here, yes there was, and if he didn’t want to bother listening to her why’d he sit in her compartment in the first place.

Donna let out one of those frustrated, angry noises that couldn’t be put into proper words at all. “Could you top trying to act like you’re some kind of movie action hero for just five seconds? Cos you’ve been doing it since you’ve shown up in here and it’s already getting old!”

Dean did one of his half shrugs again, only this time he added a smirk. A smirk! What kind of eleven year old boy smirked? Not only smirked, but smirked like he meant it and did it every other day. “No can do, sweetheart--”

“Sweetheart?! Who do you think you are?”

“--And seriously, stop shouting already. Pretty sure there’s people on Pluto who heard that.”

She gave a harrumph, which she learned from her mum was the way to signify being done an argument. She was so busy gathering up her luggage and going on a word rampage that she barely even noticed the person standing in the hall outside the open door. “Gryffindors. Not even worth my time....” he’d said, but she didn’t much care because she was on a roll.

***

"... and if you don't watch your step, the nasty old caretaker'll have you down in the dungeons hanging from the ceiling by your thumbs before you can say 'please, sir, it wasn't me!'" Balthazar finished with a devious smirk. Rachel frowned and hit her brother lightly on the arm.

"Professor McGonagall wouldn't let that happen," she said flatly. "You're just trying to scare us, and it's not working."

"Oh come on, I had Cassie going for a moment or two," he grinned, nudging Castiel in the ribs. Cas frowned slightly and shuffled a centimetre to the left.

"No you didn't," he said flatly. Most of the time, he didn't mind Balthazar, but there were some days he was near impossible to deal with, and right now, Castiel would rather be elsewhere on the train than sitting with his family. He hadn't managed to catch a glimpse of Anna yet. And she wasn't going to come within fifty feet of anything related to the family, he thought glumly.

Uriel snorted quietly from his seat next to the window.

"You're losing your touch, Balthazar," he said. He turned away from the window to look directly at his cousin. "You're forgetting we've already had six family members in the school. The stories are wasted on us by now."

"Ah. It was still worth a try," Balthazar shrugged carelessly. "Filch is a nasty piece of work, though. He's jealous, you see."

"Jealous of what?" Cas asked in puzzlement.

Who or what Filch was jealous of that made him so unpleasant, he didn't hear, because as Balthazar opened his mouth, the door to their compartment opened in perfect sync with it. A boy with dark curly hair and a piercing gaze stuck his head inside and swept his eyes around the compartment, resting on each of them in turn. Castiel had the distinct thought that this was probably what insects felt like when people looked at them under a magnification spell.

"Can we help you?" Balthazar asked frostily, his teasing smile giving way instantly to the brittle facade most of the family used to talk to those they considered inferior. Cas shifted another centimetre to the left, closer to the door.

The boy met Balthazar's eyes with what almost looked like a smirk. "Old and moneyed," Castiel thought he heard him mutter, but he didn't get a chance to ask before the stranger cleared his throat and spoke up.

"No, not at all, but--" his eyes snapped over to Rachel, and he pronounced with certainty, "Ravenclaw." Rachel exchanged a helpless glance with Castiel. He shrugged - how was he supposed to know what was going on? Before any of them could take a breath, the strange boy had turned to Uriel, pronouncing in turn, "Gryffindor." He paused before swivelling round to Castiel, taking a breath, and pausing again, narrowing his eyes as he looked at him.

An insect under a magnification spell was the wrong metaphor, Cas thought uncomfortably. This was probably how butterflies felt when people pinned their wings to cork boards.

"Your sister's up near the prefects' carriage," he said finally, and that was such a surprise that Castiel started, looking up at the boy - who couldn't be more than about Castiel's own age, he realised with another jolt of surprise - with wide eyes. "I think she was looking for you."

"How did you--" Cas started, but before he could finish the sentence, the boy had gone, shutting the compartment door with some force behind him.

There was a long silence, one where Castiel became keenly aware of how the other three were all looking uncomfortable. It probably didn't have anything to do with how they'd apparently just been pre-emptively Sorted.

"Well," Balthazar said, clearing his throat slightly. "That was odd."

***

“--And I said to her, you’ve got to be kidding me. No way a set of robes that shabby costs that many galleons. Waste of my money, I’ll tell you that right now. Don’t you think so?” Sebastian Wilkes said. He kept gesturing at the crumpled heap of black fabric he suspected used to be wizarding robes but now looked like someone’s second hand leftovers. He’d have to speak to his mother over holiday about this, make no mistake.

“Oh, I think you can do better,” the person sitting across from him said. Absently, like he’d hardly been paying attention so far. Which was fair, because Sebastian didn’t really pay attention to him so far. He dressed sharply, even in the muggle style, but he needed a person to talk at not to.

“I know I can.” Sebastian grumbled, fixing up his cuffs. “Shopping’s much better in Paris. I know that much. I’ve been there lots of times. Just last week, too.”

“Am I going to have to hear that story too?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, it’s just so boring, isn’t it? Lots of people go to Paris, don’t they?” He smiled as he spoke, almost humming with the words.

“Yes, well, this is different. And I don’t just go to Paris, I go to lots of places. I’ve seen all kinds of things.”

Before he could explain the kinds of things he saw, the door swung open. The person -- whoever he was -- across from him quickly glanced over, but Sebastian glared with all the affronted dignity he could muster. “And just who the hell are you?”

The oddball outside the door took one look at the compartment. He said, “Slytherins. The both of you.” Then, almost as quickly as he showed up, he shut the door behind him with a whompf.

Sebastian blinked three times in rapid succession. “What was that all about?”

“Haven’t a clue.”

“Right. Well, as I was saying--- Jim, that’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Right. I was starting to think you’d forgotten it.”

“Of course not!”

***

“I drink from the keg of glory, bring me all the pumpkin pasties in the land!” Theta crowed triumphantly as he threw the compartment door open. Ushas, already in her Hogwarts robes, rolled her eyes fondly; Koschei smirked.

“Not all of them,” he said pointedly. “At least one of them has my name on, you promised.”

Theta pouted. “Oh, alright then,” he sighed theatrically, spilling the contents of his bulging pockets out over the seats. He fished a half-squashed pasty out of where it had inexplicably gotten caught one one of his buttons (strange how things like that always seemed to happen) and tossed it to his friend. “Catch.”

“You’re rather overreacting for just getting things from the food trolly, Theta,” Ushas pointed out as she went back to her book. “I want one of the chocolate frogs, by the way. I’m still missing Rowena Ravenclaw.”

“Have all of them, then,” Theta shrugged, not so much sitting down as shooting himself backwards into the upholstery. He grabbed a packet of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans and flipped it over, studying the back with all the concentration of a scientist on the brink of a life-changing discovery. “Did you hear they’ve released new flavours for the every flavour beans?” he asked, looking to each of his friends in turn.

“So I heard,” Ushas said, looking up from her book again. “It must have taken some work if the flavours really are the ones they’re saying they are.”

“It’s false advertising though, isn’t it?” Koschei said conversationally, wrinkling his nose. “I mean, they’ve been saying every flavour for years but they obviously weren’t, not if they’ve just brought out new ones.”

“Hmm, I suppose,” Theta agreed, not really listening. Honestly, it didn’t really matter to him whether it had been false advertising or not, not really. Not when that meant there were new, possibly deadly flavours of beans sitting in that harmless little box for him to try.

Deadly was probably a bit of an exaggeration, but it was more fun to think of it that way.

“Well, go on then,” Koschei urged, sounding bored. But then, Koschei only ever tried to sound bored if he was actually interested but wanted to seem cool. Theta didn’t really get why he tried, but that was Koschei for you. “Let’s see these new flavours of yours, I can tell you’re dying to get into them.”

“Alright, alright, I’m getting there, don’t rush me!” Without further ado, he ripped the box open and poured the multi-coloured beans out over one of his new textbooks, the one he’d been reading before he got bored with it. Koschei leaned forward, and even Ushas put aside all pretence of reading and leaned over to help the boys sort through them.

“That brown one’s dirt, we had it last year...”

“The grey one’s pepper, isn’t it?”

“Don’t bother with any of the green ones, I heard that none of the new flavours are that colour.”

“Hang on,” Theta said finally, “What’s this funny blue one?”

The three of them stared at the innocuous, light blue bean in his hand.

“Mum always said never to eat anything that was blue,” Koschei said finally.

“Jelly is blue.”

“So are blueberry-flavoured sweets.”

“Yes, but it’s not natural!” Koschei pressed, frowning at the bean like it had done him a personal grievance. “You’re not really going to eat it, are you?”

Before anyone could answer, the much-abused compartment door, left ajar by Theta earlier, was pushed open fully. In the doorway, obviously getting a good look at the three friends and their compartment without seeming like he was getting a good look at the three of them and their compartment, stood a boy about their age.

Theta blinked owlishly at him. “Hi there,” he said, from lack of anything better to say, and also because the silence was beginning to get very awkward.

“If you’re looking for somewhere to sit, I’m afraid we’re out of room,” Ushas said, blunt but not unkind. Theta smiled a little sheepishly; most of that was due to him spilling sweets everywhere earlier, even if their combined luggage also had a lot to answer for.

The stranger didn’t say anything for a while, taking in the book still on Ushas’s lap, the look on Koschei’s face - put out at being interrupted - and the blue bean still lying innocently in Theta’s hand.

“Ravenclaw and Slytherin, of course,” he said suddenly, like it was obvious, nodding in Ushas and Koschei’s direction. He looked at Theta. “Gryffindor or Ravenclaw?”

Theta blinked again, and looked to his friends. They looked just as nonplussed as he did.

“No idea,” he settled for in the end, shrugging. “Either’s good, isn’t it?” Absently, and deciding he’d better throw caution to the wind before the tension over eating a silly little sweet got ridiculous, he popped the bean in his mouth.

Not even a second later, he pulled a face and gagged. “Blu-tack,” he gasped out, mouth working in a vain effort to get rid of the taste. “Why would you even make something that flavour?”

Koschei laughed and Ushas sighed, shaking her head. The stranger raised his eyebrows a fraction.

“Gryffindor,” he said decisively. “Definitely Gryffindor.”

And with that, he was gone.

***

John gave up trying to nap on the train about an hour ago. The woman who came by with the food trolley earlier said he looked nervous, and he nodded along because that seemed about right. He kept glancing out the window, when he wasn’t busy tapping his hand against his luggage. He went for a walk earlier, chatting with the second years across the hall for a little while, and left the door open when he got back.

He forgot all about the door and most of the conversation by the time someone popped his head in the door and asked, “Hufflepuff or Gryffindor?”

“Sorry, what?” John shook his head like he was trying to shake cobwebs out of his ears. Meanwhile, the stranger - a boy, about his age, wearing probably expensive clothes but not the wizarding robes he’d seen - took the pause as an invitation to step into his compartment and lean against the doorjam.

“Hufflepuff or Gryffindor?” he repeated. He smirked a little, which was odd because John didn’t know too many smirking probably eleven year olds. He continued on, saying, “It’s bound to be one of them. Only two houses leave their compartment doors open like that, didn’t you know?” From his tone, it sounded like he’d been the only one to know for ages.

“Wait. How can you possibly know that?” John said, shifting his luggage around as he spoke.

The boy shrugged. “Simple, really. Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors are, usually, rather outgoing. Like to talk almost all the time. That and sometimes the Hufflepuffs forget to close them again, as I think you might have. Ravenclaws and Slytherins almost always close their doors. Ravenclaws because they don’t like being bothered while they’re working; Slytherins because they don’t like other people listening in. Do I need to slow down for you,” he paused, “John Watson?”

John crossed his arms. “Alright, supposing all that stuff about the doors is true, how do you know my name?”

“It’s written on your luggage,” he said, pointing at the plaid box shaped suitcase on the floor. “That, and, well, you just said.” He smiled a bit, before adding, “Can I come in?”

“Sure, go right ahead. You’re already blocking the door,” John said. The stranger sat down on the seat opposite him. It might’ve been his imagination, but he looked a bit tired for a moment, like he hadn’t found a place to sit all day. But whatever it was, it left quickly, leaving the stranger looking smug and lofty.

“Thank you,” he said. The words came out quickly and quietly, as if he wanted to cram them back down his throat the moment they escaped.

“It’s not a problem, really. There’s plenty of space to go around.” John said. He tried to sound reassuring when he spoke, like mum did when she spoke with Harry, but he wasn’t sure he managed it entirely. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together loosely in his lap.

“Clearly,” the other boy said. He smirked again, and John was starting to wonder if he had one for every occasion. This one was much less ‘Look at how clever I am’ and much more ‘I’m laughing at a joke I won’t tell you’. He fidgeted often, a restless sort of movement, as he couldn’t quite seem to figure out what he wanted to do with his hands. He spoke again, saying, “She was wrong. Just thought you’d like to know.”

John could feel his eyebrows raising into his hairline. “Who?”

“Your hand hasn’t shaken since I’ve been here. You’ve been bored, not nervous.”

The solution clicked into place once John glanced down at the empty packet of sugar quills next to him. “You mean the woman with the trolley?”

“Of course. Who else could I possibly mean?”

“Do you want an actual answer for that one?” he said. His voice went flat, and he huffed before he spoke.

“Oh, guess.” He drummed his fingers against the windowsill.

John leaned his head back, glancing up at the light coming from the ceiling as he thought. He closed his eyes and let out a simple, “That’s amazing.”

“Really? You think so?” he said. His tone had an edge of disbelief to it, and when John opened his eyes in response, he looked almost frozen in place.

“Definitely.”

The other boy smiled, an awkward, sharp and unpracticed thing, different from the numerous smirks that came before. He muttered under his breath, “Hufflepuff. Easily.”

“And what are you, then?”

“Sherlock Holmes. Slytherin, if I’m right. And I usually am.”