Harry Potter was feeling helpless.
His usually harsh Uncle Vernon had, for once, driven him to King's Cross Station—and had even helped push his heavy trunk through the station doors.
At first, Harry was confused by this unexpected kindness. But as soon as he realized there was no sign of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, the truth hit him.
No wonder Vernon had driven off so quickly—he'd intentionally abandoned him here!
With no other choice, Harry nervously approached a station guard to ask for help.
He didn't dare mention Platform Nine and Three-Quarters outright, but even so, the guard scolded him like a troublemaker.
It didn't help that Harry couldn't explain where Hogwarts even was.
And when he learned there wasn't a single train scheduled to depart at eleven, he felt more lost than ever.
Fortunately, luck was on his side.
He ran into a kind wizarding family who helped him access the hidden platform.
But by the time he arrived, the train was nearly full.
Harry squeezed through the bustling crowd and finally found an empty compartment near the rear of the train.
He tried to haul his trunk onto the footboard, but with his slight build and the trunk's weight, it slipped both times and crashed down onto his foot.
The pain was sharp, but there was no time to worry about it.
Taking a deep breath, Harry braced himself for a third attempt.
Predictably, he failed again.
But just as the trunk was about to fall onto his foot once more, a firm hand caught it.
Harry looked up—and saw a face that immediately etched itself into his memory.
"You need help," said the boy calmly.
With one smooth motion, he lifted the trunk onto the train, then gave Harry a small smile.
Harry had grown up in a life full of neglect and mistreatment—both at home and at school.
He didn't even have a bedroom of his own; his aunt and uncle had made him sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, where spiders roamed freely.
Whenever he made the slightest mistake, he was punished by being denied meals, and his cousin Dudley never missed a chance to bully him.
At school, Harry had no friends. That, too, was thanks to Dudley.
As the school bully, Dudley was infamously obnoxious.
He was the only one bold enough to drop his trousers in public—and the only one others would rush to help zip back up.
Everyone knew Dudley hated Harry, so no one dared befriend him.
In that environment, Harry naturally became withdrawn.
And yet—
In this moment, Harry could've sworn the boy smiling at him had the most charming smile he had ever seen.
The striking grey eyes, the sharp, hooked nose, the effortless way he'd lifted the trunk—everything about him felt trustworthy.
The last time Harry had felt anything like this was on his birthday, when the giant Hagrid had brought him a letter from Hogwarts and told him he was a wizard.
"I'm Sherlock Holmes, first year. You?"
Harry was still in a daze when Sherlock extended his hand.
"I—I'm Harry Potter, also first year."
Harry was so nervous that he reached out with both hands.
Realizing how silly that looked, he quickly pulled one back.
He was terrified of being laughed at for his awkwardness.
But Sherlock, of course, didn't laugh.
Even for him, spotting Harry Potter on the entire train had been no easy task.
Fortunately, Sherlock had arrived early and had enough time to rule out those who'd already been waiting on the platform.
That meant he only had to watch for new arrivals.
Even so, he'd been surprised.
When he finally spotted Harry, the boy had arrived alone and looked visibly distressed.
Sherlock had even doubted himself for a moment—Had he found the wrong person?
Surely, even without parents, someone with Harry's fame in the wizarding world would be surrounded by well-wishers?
But no—he was alone.
Once all other possibilities were eliminated, however improbable the truth seemed, it must be accepted.
And so, Sherlock concluded: this so-called "savior of the wizarding world" had not been raised among wizards, but in the Muggle world.
That only made Harry even more fascinating.
"Just call me Sherlock," he said, shaking Harry's hand. "It's crowded up front. Let's sit here, Potter—or do you prefer Harry?"
"Ah? Sure, Harry's fine…"
Harry nodded reflexively.
Before he realized it, Sherlock had gently nudged him into the window seat of the compartment.
Then he brought in Harry's trunk, along with his own belongings—and placed his pet owl, Hedwig, onto the shelf.
Despite only just meeting Sherlock, Harry didn't feel uneasy. In fact, he felt reassured.
As someone entering the wizarding world for the first time, he was overwhelmed and anxious—and right now, Sherlock felt like the older brother he never had.
A bold thought crept into Harry's mind:
Wouldn't it be nice to stick with Sherlock like this from now on?
Compared to Dudley, this composed, capable boy felt far more like real family.
If Sherlock hadn't introduced himself as a first-year, Harry would've assumed he was an upperclassman.
Once they had settled in, Sherlock gave Harry another once-over.
"You don't look like you've had an easy life."
Just one sentence—and Harry felt an overwhelming urge to open up.
Meeting Sherlock's encouraging gaze, he suddenly poured out everything he'd endured over the years.
At that moment, Sherlock was the perfect listener—nodding thoughtfully and occasionally asking follow-up questions.
By the end of their conversation, Sherlock had gained a much fuller understanding of Harry.
Even more intriguing than he'd imagined.
"So let me get this straight," Sherlock said. "Your uncle dropped you at the station and drove off. Fortunately, a wizarding family helped you reach the platform, and that's how you got here?"
"That's exactly it! I was wondering why he was being so nice and—wait, how did you know all that?"
Harry paused, stunned.
"I only said I was staying with relatives—I never said it was my uncle!
"And how did you know I couldn't find the platform and that someone helped me?!"
Sherlock was unfazed by the outburst. He was used to reactions like this.
At first, he'd rather enjoyed them—laying out his deductions and watching others gape in astonishment had once given him a quiet sense of superiority.
But over time, it had grown tiresome.
Now, it was just routine. He saw nothing special about his ability.
In his view, anyone could reach his level of deduction with enough training.
Others didn't quite agree.
Take Harry, for example.
One look at the boy's expression and Sherlock knew: if he didn't explain himself, this budding friendship would be cut short.