“Deducing all this was actually quite simple…” Sherlock pointed at Harry’s glasses and explained, “A normal family would never let you head off to a new school wearing a pair of glasses that are already broken and taped together in so many places.
Your clothes are neat, which shows you have decent personal habits, but the style is hopelessly outdated and obviously ill-fitting—baggy and far too large for your frame.
Thus, I deduced they must be old hand-me-downs from that ‘cousin’ of yours.
The battered trunk beside you is covered in scuffs and dents, clear evidence of years of heavy use.
Since he is your cousin, according to *The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts* and *Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century*, your only surviving family is your mother’s sister.
Therefore, I deduced you live with your aunt and uncle.
From these details, it’s easy to infer how they treat you—” “What did you say?
The books mention me?” Harry looked at him in total disbelief.
Sherlock stared at him.
“It seems you haven’t read your books carefully—in fact, I know almost everything about you.” The shock on Harry’s face deepened.
Sherlock offered him a slight smile: “Not just those two books.
Bathilda Bagshot’s *A History of Magic*, a required textbook for first-years, mentions you as well.” Harry suddenly felt a wave of dizziness.
He composed himself and couldn’t help asking again, “Then…
how did you know it was Uncle Vernon who dropped me off today?” “I was just coming to that—if you hadn’t interrupted me.” “Oh, I’m sorry.” Harry apologized hastily.
He always felt as though he was ruining things without meaning to.
“It’s fine, as long as you don’t interrupt me again.
The lower-right side of your baggy clothes bears a mark from being slammed in a car door.
As for how I can tell it was a car door rather than something else, different angles and amounts of force produce different effects.
This particular crease was clearly caused by a car’s right-side door.
From your manner of speaking and your tidy appearance, I can tell you are a disciplined person, so you shouldn’t have been late today.
Yet you were.
Just now, you couldn’t lift your trunk by yourself, and combined with your description of that dreadful relative, it wasn’t hard to figure out what he did.
He was never willing to bring you here in the first place; he dropped you off at the station purely to watch you make a fool of yourself.
For someone visiting for the first time, without keen powers of observation, it is difficult to notice that Platform Nine and Three-Quarters is located between Platforms Nine and Ten.
Pardon me, but based on my observations, you do not yet possess such keen instincts.
Therefore, your arrival here was only possible with someone else’s help.” Sherlock spoke very fast, nearly double normal conversational speed.
Mainly because he felt these matters didn’t truly warrant a lengthy analysis.
Though the volume of information seemed vast, the evidence was as glaring as ink spattered across a blank sheet of paper.
Of course, there were things he didn’t mention.
For instance, he had spotted Harry the moment the boy stepped onto the platform and had already deduced who had helped him reach it.
After Sherlock finished speaking, it took Harry several minutes to fully digest everything before he blurted out: “Brilliant!” Sherlock shrugged.
He truly didn’t think this minor talent was worth boasting about or receiving praise for.
His nonchalance only earned him more of Harry’s admiration.
Just as Harry was about to say something more to express his awe, the compartment’s sliding door suddenly opened, and a red-haired head poked inside.
“D’you mind?
Everywhere else is full.
Can I sit here?” Harry immediately looked toward Sherlock.
The red-haired boy’s eyes followed Harry’s glance toward Sherlock as well.
“Of course, Mr.
Ronald Weasley.” “Thanks.” The red-haired boy agreed.
But as he pushed his trunk into the compartment, he suddenly froze and asked in shock, “Wait, how—how do you know who I am?” “If you wish to conceal your identity,” Sherlock pointed out as Harry watched with equal curiosity, “I suggest you refrain from leaving a name tag attached to your trunk—or at least don’t face the tag directly at people when you speak to them.” The red-haired boy looked down, stunned.
He had forgotten about the tag entirely.
*This guy…
seems really incredible.* Seeing the red-haired boy’s reaction made Harry feel much better.
So it wasn’t that he was stupid; Sherlock was just that amazing.
While Harry felt secretly relieved, the boy sat down next to him.
He had chosen to sit beside Harry mainly because Sherlock’s presence felt a bit too overwhelming.
Facing Sherlock, Ronald fared no better than Harry had earlier, looking rather nervous.
Under these circumstances, Sherlock naturally held absolute initiative.
He was somewhat interested in Ronald.
According to historical records, the Weasley family was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, possessing a long history in the wizarding world.
Red hair was their family’s defining characteristic.
The so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight referred to wizarding families with pure or nearly pure magic bloodlines—another piece of knowledge covered in *A History of Magic*.
Originally, Sherlock had intended to use Harry as his entry point for learning about the magical world.
However, after interacting with Harry, he realized the boy—having grown up in an ordinary family—knew less about the wizarding world than Sherlock did after reading for a single month.
Under these circumstances, Ronald, hailing from the Weasley family, was a much better candidate.
“I am Sherlock Holmes.
You may call me Sherlock.” After introducing himself, Sherlock pointed next to him.
“And this is Harry Potter.” He paused after saying this, having already predicted Ronald’s reaction.
Ronald did not disappoint.
“Harry Potter?
Wait—you’re saying he’s Harry Potter?!
*The* Harry Potter?!” Ronald’s voice spiked.
Realizing he was being too loud, he quickly lowered his voice and looked at Harry in disbelief.
“Are you really *the* Harry Potter?” Ronald stared straight at Harry.
Evidently, this revelation shocked him far more than Sherlock figuring out his identity earlier.
Noticing Harry turning red under Ronald’s gaze, unable to say a word, Sherlock answered for him: “Is it not obvious?” This allowed both Harry and Ronald to sigh in relief, and Harry cast Sherlock a grateful glance.
“Unbelievable…
I’m actually in the same compartment as Harry Potter.” Although Sherlock knew from books that Harry was famous, Ronald’s reaction provided his first real-world confirmation.
This was getting more interesting by the minute.
Harry lifted his bangs, revealing the scar on his forehead to Sherlock and Ronald.
Ronald’s eyes widened in shock.
“Is that where You-Know-Who…?” “Yes,” Harry nodded.
“But I don’t remember it.” Ronald asked eagerly, “Nothing at all?” “Well—I just remember a lot of green light, but nothing else.” “Green light?
What was that?” “I don’t know either.”