"It was actually quite simple to deduce…"
Sherlock pointed to Harry's glasses. "No ordinary family would send a child to a new school still wearing glasses that have clearly been broken and repaired multiple times with cellophane tape.
"Your clothes are neat, so you seem to have good habits, but they're outdated and clearly too big for you—hanging loose in a way that doesn't match your frame. I'd wager they're hand-me-downs from that so-called 'cousin' of yours.
"That battered trunk next to you is worn and scuffed from years of use. The signs of age are obvious.
"And since it was your cousin's, and based on what The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century tell us, your only remaining relatives are your mother's sister and her husband—so I deduced that you live with your aunt and uncle.
"From all this, it's easy to conclude how they treat you—"
"You mean the books mentioned me?"
Harry stared in disbelief.
Sherlock gave him a pointed look. "Looks like someone didn't do their reading. I know nearly everything about you."
Harry's eyes widened even more in shock.
Sherlock smiled faintly.
"Not just those two books. Even A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot—required reading for all first-years, had mentioned you."
A wave of dizziness washed over Harry.
He steadied himself and couldn't help but ask, "Then… how did you know it was Uncle Vernon who brought me today?"
"I was just getting to that—before you interrupted me."
"Oh, sorry," Harry said quickly, feeling once again like he'd messed something up without realizing it.
"It's fine. Just don't interrupt me again."
Sherlock's tone was calm as ever. "There's a crease on the lower right corner of your oversized shirt—a mark left by a car door.
"I can tell it was a car and not something else by the shape and angle of the impression. It matches the pressure left by a right-hand car door.
"Judging from your overall demeanor and neat appearance, you're a self-disciplined person. So logically, you wouldn't have been late today. But you were.
"You couldn't lift your trunk alone earlier, and your description of that awful relative of yours filled in the rest.
"He didn't want to bring you here at all—he just wanted to mock you.
"For someone coming here for the first time, it's not easy to find Platform Nine and Three-Quarters without sharp observation skills.
"Sorry, but from what I've seen, you don't yet possess that level of awareness. Which means the only way you could've gotten here was with someone's help."
Sherlock spoke fast—about twice the normal pace.
Mainly because he felt this sort of deduction hardly warranted analysis.
The evidence was as obvious to him as ink spilled across a blank page.
Of course, there were some things he didn't mention—like how he'd identified Harry as soon as he stepped onto the platform, and even deduced who had helped him through the barrier.
When Sherlock finished, Harry took several minutes to process everything, then finally blurted:
"That was brilliant!"
Sherlock only shrugged—he honestly didn't think there was anything worth boasting about.
Which somehow made Harry admire him even more.
Just as Harry was about to express his amazement, the compartment door slid open, and a redhead boy poked his head in.
"Sorry, everywhere else is full. Mind if I sit here?"
Harry immediately looked to Sherlock.
The redhead boy followed his gaze, waiting for the verdict.
"Of course you can, Mr. Ron Weasley."
"Thanks!"
Ron stepped in with his trunk—then paused mid-stride, staring in shock.
"Wait—how do you know who I am?!"
"If you want to keep your name a secret," Sherlock replied, gesturing toward him as Harry watched in curiosity, "you might consider not hanging a name tag on your trunk. Or at least don't face it toward the people you're speaking to."
Ron looked down—and froze.
He'd forgotten the nameplate was even there.
This guy... might actually be kind of amazing.
Seeing Ron's flustered expression, Harry suddenly felt much better about himself.
So it's not that I'm dumb… it's just that Sherlock's way too clever.
As Harry secretly consoled himself, Ron took the seat beside him—partly because Sherlock gave off a slightly intimidating aura.
In truth, Ron's reaction to Sherlock wasn't much better than Harry's. He, too, was a bit nervous.
Which meant Sherlock held all the control in the conversation.
He was also intrigued by Ron.
According to the books, the Weasley family was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight—an ancient lineage of pure-blood wizarding families.
Their red hair was a well-known family trait.
The term Sacred Twenty-Eight referred to wizarding families with completely—or nearly completely pure magical bloodlines. It was another detail Sherlock had picked up from A History of Magic.
Originally, Sherlock had intended to use Harry as his entry point into understanding the magical world.
But after talking with him, he realized that Harry, raised in a non-magical household, knew even less than Sherlock did after just a month of reading.
In that case, Ron Weasley might actually be the better guide.
"I'm Sherlock Holmes. Just call me Sherlock," he said, introducing himself.
Then pointed to the boy beside him. "This is Harry Potter."
He stopped there, already anticipating what Ron's next words would be.
Ron did not disappoint.
"Harry Potter? Wait—you mean the Harry Potter?!"
His voice jumped an octave.
Realizing he'd shouted, Ron quickly lowered his volume, turning to Harry with wide eyes.
"You mean you're that Harry Potter?"
Ron stared at him in disbelief.
Clearly, this news had shocked him even more than Sherlock's earlier deduction.
Harry, under the weight of Ron's intense gaze, turned bright red and couldn't even get a word out.
Sherlock stepped in smoothly: "Obviously."
Both boys let out a breath.
Harry shot Sherlock a grateful look.
"This is unreal… I'm sitting in the same compartment as Harry Potter."
Though Sherlock had already read about Harry's fame, it was Ron's reaction that gave him his first real taste of its impact.
This is getting more and more interesting.
At that moment, Harry brushed back his fringe to reveal his famous scar.
Ron's eyes widened. "That's from You-Know-Who, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Harry nodded. "But I don't really remember it."
"Not even a little?" Ron pressed.
"Well… I remember a lot of green light. That's it."
"Green light? What was that?"
"I… don't know."
"…"