Harry Potter felt helpless.
His usually harsh Uncle Vernon had uncharacteristically driven him to King’s Cross Station and even helped push his heavy trunk inside.
Harry had wondered why Vernon was suddenly being so nice, but he understood the moment he saw there was no Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
No wonder Vernon had left so quickly—he had abandoned him on purpose!
In desperation, Harry plucked up the courage to ask a guard.
Although he didn’t mention Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, he was still yelled at for making trouble.
Mostly because Harry couldn’t even explain where Hogwarts actually was.
Upon learning that there wasn’t even an eleven o’clock train listed, he felt completely helpless.
Stroke of luck amidst misfortune: he ran into a kind wizarding family.
With their help, Harry finally made it to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
However, because he arrived so late, the train was nearly full.
Harry had to squeeze through the crowd with effort, finally finding an empty compartment near the back.
He tried to lift the trunk onto the train steps, but being small and skinny and the trunk being so heavy, both of his attempts ended with the trunk slamming hard onto his foot.
He couldn’t care about his aching foot now.
Taking a deep breath, he tried a third time with all his might.
Naturally, it failed again.
At the critical moment, a powerful hand firmly caught the trunk, keeping it from dropping onto Harry’s foot a third time.
Harry looked up, and a striking, unforgettable face appeared in his sight.
“You need help.” With a gentle lift, the other boy heaved the trunk onto the steps and smiled at Harry.
Harry had grown up in an environment of bullying and oppression, both at home and at school.
At home, he didn’t even have his own bedroom; his uncle and aunt made him sleep in a cupboard under the stairs infested with spiders.
Whenever he caused trouble, he was punished by having meals withheld, and he was constantly bullied by his cousin Dudley.
At school, Harry had no friends either.
That was also because of Dudley.
As the school bully, Dudley was thoroughly tyrannical.
He was so domineering that no one dared stand up to him, while his gang followed him around like lapdogs.
Knowing how much Dudley hated Harry, nobody wanted to cross Dudley and his gang.
In such an environment, Harry had naturally developed an unsociable, withdrawn personality.
And yet…
At this moment, Harry would bet that the smile on the boy standing before him was the most charming smile he had ever seen in his life.
Whether it was the distinctive gray eyes, the thin aquiline nose, or the effortless way he had solved the trunk problem, everything about him made him look remarkably reliable.
The last time he had felt this way was on his birthday.
The giant Hagrid had brought him his Hogwarts acceptance letter and told Harry he was a wizard.
“I’m Sherlock Holmes, a first-year.
And you?” While Harry was still dazed, Sherlock extended his hand.
“H-Hello, Holmes.
I’m Harry Potter, also a first-year.” Harry was so nervous that he reached out with both hands toward Sherlock.
But he quickly realized how foolish that looked and hurriedly pulled one hand back.
He simply lacked social experience and was terrified the other boy would laugh at him.
Sherlock, of course, would do no such thing.
Even for Sherlock, finding Harry Potter—whom he had never seen before—on a full train wasn’t an easy task.
Luckily, Sherlock had arrived early enough to systematically rule out the people waiting on the platform.
That way, he only had to focus his attention on those who had just entered the platform.
Even so, Sherlock was somewhat surprised.
Because when he found Harry, he noticed the boy had come completely alone and looked to be in quite a poor state.
This fact had briefly made Sherlock wonder if he had approached the wrong person.
Even if Harry had lost his parents, given his status in the wizarding world, wouldn’t it be normal for eight or ten people to see him off?
Yet he had come entirely alone.
When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
And so Sherlock understood: this hero who saved the wizarding world had not grown up in the world of wizards, but had remained in the non-wizard world.
This made Sherlock even more interested in Harry.
“Just call me Sherlock,” Sherlock said, shaking Harry’s hand.
“It’s crowded up ahead.
Let me help you find a seat here, Potter—or may I call you Harry?” “Ah?
Oh, sure.” Harry nodded subconsciously.
By the time he snapped out of it, Sherlock had already ushered him into the window seat of the compartment.
Afterward, Sherlock brought all of Harry’s luggage inside and set up his pet owl, Hedwig, as well.
Being managed so smoothly by someone he had just met didn’t annoy Harry at all; instead, it made him feel remarkably at ease.
Stepping into the magical world for the first time, he was secretly terrified out of his mind and desperately needed an older-brother figure like this.
A bold thought even rose in the depths of his mind: *It would be great if I could just follow Sherlock like this from now on.* Compared to his cousin Dudley, this new classmate looked utterly reliable—like a real older brother.
If Sherlock hadn’t said so himself, Harry would have assumed he was an upperclassman.
Once both of them settled in, Sherlock glanced at Harry again: “It looks like you haven’t been having an easy time.” Just that single sentence triggered an intense urge in Harry to pour his heart out.
Seeing the encouraging look in Sherlock’s eyes, Harry spilled everything about his experiences over the years in one breath.
Sherlock proved to be a thoroughly attentive listener, nodding constantly and asking follow-up questions from time to time.
Through this conversation, Sherlock gained a much more comprehensive understanding of Harry.
*Even more interesting than I thought.* “So, your uncle dropped you off at the station today and left on his own, but luckily you were helped by someone else and finally made it here?” “Exactly!
I was wondering why he suddenly became so nice—wait, how did you know that?” As Harry spoke, he suddenly realized something was wrong.
He looked at Sherlock in complete shock: “I only said I lived with relatives all these years; I never said it was my uncle!
“And!
How did you know I couldn’t find the platform and got help from someone else?” Sherlock was well accustomed to this kind of reaction.
At first, he used to enjoy it.
After explaining his deductive process in detail, seeing the surprised and admiring looks on others’ faces would fill him with a natural sense of superiority.
But after happening so many times, Sherlock had grown used to it—so much so that it had become bland.
By now, he considered this ability commonplace, hardly worth bragging about.
Anyone could reach his current level if they trained diligently.
But others clearly didn’t think so.
Take Harry in front of him, for instance.
Looking at his expression, Sherlock knew that if he didn’t explain this clearly, their friendly conversation wouldn’t be able to continue.