Welcome to the revised version of A Scandal at Hogwarts! If you are a new reader, I'm so glad you found my piece after its major revision, and if you're an old fan that read this before 2016 and is here to reread, then welcome back and I hope you like my revisions! I went through and made major changes to the writing style, but the story is mostly the same. I also took out most of the Author's Notes (except these beginning ones). I've just gotten much better at writing since I originally published this so I decided to fix it up nice and pretty for you wonderful readers.

Original Completion: October 2013

Revision: May 2016

There is a version of this story in both Polish and Russian. The Polish one can be found on Fan Fiction under the name "Skandal w Hogwarcie" and the Russian one can be found on Ficbook under the name "Скандал в Хогвартсе". A French one is also in the works, but I don't have an estimated date for its completion. If you want to do your own translation, go ahead, just send me a link to the translation and credit me as the author.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

AU: Sherlock characters in the Harry Potter universe. This takes place eleven years after the plot of the book—John started going to Hogwarts five years after the fall of Voldemort and the bulk of the plot is in his sixth year—so if you're looking for a story where Sherlock characters are interacting with Harry Potter characters, this is not the story you want. Other than the staff being mostly the same, like McGonagall and Filch and Hagrid and stuff (and Neville being the Herbology professor), and references to Harry and his friends since they're famous, it is not about those characters. This also is not the second generation of the Potter/Weasley families, it's before their kids would be at Hogwarts, so they won't be in here either.

Rated M for smutty fun times [chapter 22] and TRIGGER WARNING for torture [chapter 25] and suicide [chapter 20] (the latter is a casual reference in folk lore but the former is an actual scene).

Without further ado, enjoy!

No matter how hard he tried, John Watson could never quite shake the feeling that he was some sort of fraud. People expected so much from him, so much that he just couldn't give them. People thought he was one thing when he knew in his heart it was a lie.

And it was all because the Sorting Hat went and mucked up John's sorting in his first year.

John was immersed into the Wizarding world at the age of eight, when his sister Harry (who was calling herself that far before she even knew about Harry Potter) received her Hogwarts letter via owl when she was eleven. He himself did magic on accident the first time a year later, accidently blowing up a vase when he was getting teased by Harry, and it was the only time John wrecked something and his mum was excited about it. He privately thought she was a bit jealous of their magic and was living vicariously through them, since she didn't have it.

Harry ended up a Gryffindor and spent the next several years bragging to her brother about how it was the best house and anyone worth anything ended up in it. But John mostly ignored all that talk because he knew from the moment he learnt about Hogwarts that he would end up in Hufflepuff. Not because he aspired to it or anything, but just because it fit him. Loyal, with no other useful skills. That was John Watson to a T. No offense to other Hufflepuffs, he supposed. But really, "bravery", "cleverness", and "ambition" were much more useful than "loyalty". What the hell did you even do with that?

The wizarding world ended up being under his very nose all along. He saw it everywhere once he knew. Mysterious owls. People in funny clothes. He figured out that his childhood friend Molly Hooper had been a witch all along, as had his babysitter Mrs Hudson. She actually was the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts.

He heard from Harry that Muggle Studies used to be an unpopular class but that many people took it now, in the post-Voldemort scene. She started going to Hogwarts two years after Voldemort, who used to be referred to as "You Know Who", was killed by Harry Potter. In fact, they were still rebuilding some things by the time she got there. Three years later when John showed up, however, the renovations were finished, but it was still a bit of a fad to be Pro-Muggle and Muggleborn, like it might fix all the bad Voldemort did.

Which was good for John, really, because he was, for all intents and purposes, Muggleborn. His father left before John was born and never mentioned anything about being a wizard to Mum before then. Because of that, they called themselves Muggleborn because, being raised by their Muggle mother, they might as well have been. Then again, after they found out, the Watson house quickly became more magically oriented. Mum was obsessed with magic things. She collected it, marvelled over it. Every little magic thing made her grin like a child and she took magic things apart to try to see if she could figure out how they worked.

She never could.

But thanks to his mother's peculiarity, by the time he got to Hogwarts, he knew a bit about the magical world. He knew about the gadgets from Mum and about the current events from Harry—like how Minerva McGonagall was now Headmistress of Hogwarts (though people were kind of marvelling at that, since she was so old. Then again, Dumbledore was probably like three hundred when he died, from all that John had heard about him, so McGonagall still being alive wasn't that surprising). He knew that the first years took enchanted boats to get to the castle, and someone said that Ron Weasley enchanted his boat to run backwards when he was a first year. John wasn't sure he believed it. He'd heard a lot of stories about the 'Heroes of Hogwarts', and more than half of them were made up. They'd also said that Neville Longbottom spent the train ride his first year madly searching for a toad, and that was highly unlikely from a Hero of Hogwarts. People just made things up.

But the thing he knew most of all was that when he got to the Sorting Hat, he would be put into Hufflepuff.

He still remembered that night, more clearly than you'd think…

The Sorting Hat had just finished singing his song, which according to Harry he did every year. He really wasn't a bad singer for a hat.

But now it was time for the sorting. Many of the kids around John were nervous, but John himself was not. Knowing what house he was going to be in took all the mystery out of it. He spent the entire sorting—his name, starting with a 'W', ensured he would be last—paying attention to who got sorted into his own house. He was relieved—though unsurprised—when Molly became one. He was glad he'd have at least one friend on his first day.

Once he was standing alone, he knew it was his own turn.

Which was supported by the sharp call of: "Watson, John!"

The nerves just barely sprang up then, but mostly at sitting in front of the whole student body. He took small steps up the stairs towards the stern looking McGonagall. Why she had to look so cross when he hadn't done anything John didn't know.

He took a seat, and the Hat fell over his eyes.

There was barely a pause before the Hat made his choice.

The Hat screamed, "GRYFFINDOR!"

See, he just knew he—

John blinked.

Had he heard wrong?

Had it just said…

The Gryffindor table all jumped up, clapping for him. His mouth fell open with a quiet pop.

Gryffindor. The hat said Gryffindor.

Impossible. Gryffindor, the house of courage. John spent half of his childhood getting beat up by his sister. What on earth was courageous about that? The Hat was wrong, plain and simple. Should John ask McGonagall for a re-sort?

It was too late. She was shoving him unceremoniously off the stool and pushing him—slightly more gently—towards his table. The Gryffindor table.

He searched the table for his sister, who waved at him and winked from a little farther down the table. Her glance said it all: she knew this would happen. But that wasn't possible. This was clearly a mistake.

When he sat down, the boy next to him, who curiously had silver hair even though he couldn't be more than thirteen, turned to him with a grin.

"Good on ya, mate," he said. "Name's Greg," he added, thrusting out a hand. "I'm a second year."

"John," he replied, still in a daze. "I'm a first year."

He felt stupid for saying it the moment it left his mouth, but Greg only laughed good-naturedly. "Yeah, I actually figured as much."

John liked Greg, as far as you could like someone you only just met, but John was too distracted to feel talkative. He couldn't stop thinking about how he probably needed to report this mistake to a professor before people thought he was actually supposed to be there.

"Erm… I have a question," John asked Greg.

"Alright," prompted Greg.

"Does the Sorting Hat ever… get it wrong?"

Greg's brows knitted together. "Whaddayou mean?" he asked.

Well, the question seemed straight forward enough to John, which probably meant Greg had never been asked it before and that was where his confusion was. Which kind of implied what his answer would be. But before John could say anything in response, the Headmistress called for attention in order to make a start-of-term speech. She had keen emerald eyes, hair pulled back so tight that it tugged at the skin of her face, and hair as black as pitch. He wondered privately whether she dyed it or if she used magic to keep it dark. Did wizards and witches—proper ones that weren't raised like Muggles—use hair dye?

"In the tradition that Albus Dumbledore left behind, I won't stop hungry students from eating with long speeches. So, with that… tuck in."

Then food suddenly appeared on the golden platters that already sat on the long table.

"Whoa!" muttered John. Nobody'd ever told him about that.

He was part of a minority, however, because most people (already wielding their golden cutlery eagerly) were unsurprised.

As the people around him began to eat, he overheard a first year from the Hufflepuff table murmur, "Did you know that this food's made by unpaid house-elves?"

Another girl scoffed. "Well, your information is about half a decade behind the times. Hermione Granger—you know, the one who destroyed the Horcruxes with Harry Potter—works for The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and she is very active in increasing the rights of house-elves."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. Supposedly, she got offered a position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement recently."

"How do you even know that?"

"Well, my mum knows a guy who knows a girl who has a sister that knows Ron Weasley, who's Hermione's husband."

"I know who Ron Weasley is! I'm not an idiot!"

"Yeah, well, I hear she said she'd think about it. Joining the Law Enforcement squad. And did you know that after the battle of Hogwarts, she came back to Hogwarts to finish her last year and finished everything in two months, passing all her NEWTS with flying colours? She's so clever. I've seven posters of her in my room at home…"

John stopped listening then, rolling his eyes as he scooped himself some shepherd's pie and began to eat. Well, he only started with that. He then moved onto a million other things, feeling stuffed only ten minutes later. He looked over to Greg, who was also looking like he'd eaten too much.

"Were you saying something about sorting?" asked Greg sleepily as he took a swig of pumpkin juice.

Well, John figured he may as well see what Greg had to say about it. "I was asking if you could get sorted wrong."

He looked thoughtful. "Well… I don't think so. I mean, the Sorting Hat knows things. I don't think it messes up. Why?"

He opened his mouth, considering relaying his concern, but then shut it again. Clearly he was the only one feeling this way. Greg didn't seem to think it was something that happened.

He might have to keep this mistake to himself.

Then a girl with frizzy curls and a nice smile piped up on his other side. She was a first year like him. "I reckon even if you can get sorted wrong, all the houses are alright except Slytherin. So who cares?"

"Hey," Greg snapped, "Slytherins aren't all bad."

She scoffed. "Right. That's not what my sister told me."

"Well your sister was wrong," Greg insisted. "Haven't you heard about Severus Snape? He was a triple agent! Harry Potter never would've succeeded without him. Voldemort would have won!"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop a little at the mention of his name. He'd heard people used to be afraid to say it, and now he could see why. There was something about it… he didn't like it much.

Nobody else said anything, but he knew they noticed it too.

But still, the world went normal again in a second, and the girl said back, "Well, just because one's okay doesn't mean any others are."

Greg rolled his eyes and looked back to his food.

"What's your name?" asked John, just because he figured he should make as many acquaintances as he could on the first day, no matter what their first impression was like.

"Sally," she said.

"I'm John," he replied.

"I want to be an Auror someday."

John wasn't sure why she said this, but then Greg turned back to them. "You do?" he asked, as if he didn't want to be interested.

"Of course! It's the best job!"

"Well… I want to be too," said Greg timidly.

"Wow, cool! What about you, John? Do you want to be an Auror?"

John was nervous with all the sudden attention. "Erm…" he murmured. He'd never given any serious thought to what he wanted to be. Though he'd always wanted to be a doctor when he was little, so he said, "A Healer, maybe."

Sally raised a sceptical brow. "Like at St Mungo's?" she specified.

John nodded, glad that Harry had brought up the place once so he knew it was a hospital without having to embarrassingly ask. "Yeah, like that."

Sally didn't look like she liked the idea much, which she confirmed by saying, "Well, it's not as cool as an Auror, but whatever you like, I suppose."

Then Greg came to his rescue. "Hey, Healers are important."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine." She went back to eating. John wasn't sure he liked Sally much.

Even as he tried to make friends with his fellow house-mates, the sorting was on his mind. He glanced over to Hufflepuff and met eyes with Molly, who waved. He tried to reciprocate her smile, but he was already feeling it coming on. The feeling that he was somehow a fake because he ended up in Gryffindor. The house for brave heroes. Which was definitely not him.

John, to this day, couldn't figure out what the Sorting Hat had been thinking, picking him for Gryffindor. He'd never done a brave thing in his life. He was a Beater on the Quidditch team, which some people said was brave, since the Bludgers came at you so fast, but he'd never actually been in danger of being hit or anything—he was too fast for that. Plus, Hufflepuff had Beaters.

The truth was, John wasn't brave. And maybe it shouldn't have bothered him so much, but it did, privately. He never told his friends or anything, but he thought about it a lot. Maybe the Hat knew what his innermost wishes were, because he sure wished he was brave, but he knew he wasn't.

He went to McGonagall about it once, halfway through first year when he'd cried after someone hexed him in the hall and some kid made a joke that it wasn't very Gryffindor of him to cry like that.

McGonagall had told him, in a kinder voice than he expected, "The Sorting Hat sometimes knows more about us than we do. If he put you in Gryffindor, he sees something in you that even you don't."

And John just desperately hoped she was right.

I swear I won't Author's Note all the time in my shiny new revision, but please review! I love them. Every chapter, just at the end of the story, whatever you prefer. Thanks!