Though they hadn't known each other long, Ron already considered Harry a friend.
And since Malfoy had not only offended Harry, but also insulted both Sherlock and himself, Ron naturally stepped up.
Harry, meanwhile, stared coldly at Malfoy. "Say that again."
He might be quiet and conflict-averse by nature, but when it came to his parents, there was a line no one could cross. No one was allowed to insult them.
"Oh? So you want to fight now?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow. He was a little surprised by their nerve—but one look at Crabbe and Goyle standing beside him, and his sneer returned.
His eyes flicked toward Sherlock, who hadn't stood up with Harry and Ron. The scorn in his gaze deepened.
A Mudblood through and through, he thought. No spine whatsoever.
Sure, the Weasleys were a disgrace to pure-bloods—but even they were better than that.
At this point, Crabbe and Goyle had already stepped forward like loyal bodyguards, looming over the trio.
Harry, for all his outward boldness, wasn't feeling nearly as brave on the inside.
Crabbe and Goyle were both much larger than him and Ron. His legs felt shaky.
Same with Ron—both of them were puffing themselves up with nothing but adrenaline.
They were still just kids, and it showed. Their momentary hesitation was immediately noticed by Crabbe and Goyle, who smirked in growing disdain.
As for Sherlock—they dismissed him entirely.
A timid little Mudblood. Not even worth mentioning.
So, seeing Harry and Ron bluffing and Sherlock shrinking back, Goyle took the initiative.
He reached for a Chocolate Frog sitting next to Ron.
"These look good," he said with a wicked grin. "Guess they're mine now!"
"Hands off!"
Ron, fired up by his love of food, finally overcame his fear and lunged forward.
Unfortunately, before he even touched Goyle, the latter shoved him flat to the floor.
Easily.
Harry froze.
Towering over him, Goyle suddenly reminded him of his cousin Dudley—the boy who'd bullied him for as long as he could remember.
He wanted to step in. But years of conditioning made his body hesitate.
As Goyle laughed and began tearing open the package, one thought echoed in Harry's mind:
Before I came to Hogwarts, I was bullied. And now I'm at Hogwarts… still getting bullied. So what was the point of coming here at all?
Just as Harry was about to despair—
Goyle let out a sudden yelp of pain.
A firm hand had clamped down on his wrist.
Goyle thrashed, trying to yank it free—but that hand, though not large, gripped him like an iron vise.
"I say," came a calm voice.
Sherlock, whom the trio had completely ignored, slowly stood up.
Still holding Goyle's wrist, he looked almost disappointed. "Isn't it polite to ask before taking something that doesn't belong to you?"
Goyle, grimacing from the pain, doubled over.
Sherlock wasn't exactly short to begin with—but now, standing tall, he was the one looking down on them.
"Sherlock!" Harry gasped, unable to hide the joy in his voice.
In his eyes, Sherlock seemed to tower like a giant.
Ron scrambled to his feet as well, his face lit with wonder.
We're saved!
"Let him go!"
Crabbe, finally realizing what was happening, charged toward Sherlock.
"Look out!" Harry shouted, finally overcoming his fear to jump in.
But before he could even get close, things had already changed.
As Crabbe lunged, Sherlock nodded calmly. "Sure."
And released Goyle's wrist.
Goyle immediately collapsed backward.
But before he could even hit the ground, Sherlock swung and landed a lightning-fast uppercut to Goyle's chin.
At the same moment, Crabbe reached him.
Sherlock, with effortless timing, extended a leg—
THUMP!
Crabbe went down face-first.
Sherlock smoothly retracted his punching hand and—without missing a beat, delivered a clean jab to Crabbe's ribs as well.
Both boys curled up on the floor, clutching their heads and moaning in pain.
They might've been burly for their age, but they were still just eleven. They couldn't take a proper hit—especially not from someone like Sherlock.
Because Sherlock wasn't just any kid.
He was trained.
Now his gaze shifted to Malfoy, whose expression had completely changed. The boy backed away in a panic as Sherlock gave him a bright, friendly smile.
"Well, Mr. Malfoy, proud scion of a pure-blood family… Would you like to give it a try?"
Sherlock's grin looked positively devilish in Malfoy's eyes.
He couldn't believe it. Not only had Sherlock beaten Crabbe and Goyle—it hadn't even been a fight. It was a one-sided demolition.
This guy doesn't fight like a wizard at all!
Gone was Malfoy's earlier arrogance. He stumbled backward and fled the compartment without another word.
Crabbe and Goyle followed close behind, tripping over themselves in their rush to escape.
Sherlock made no move to stop them. He simply let them go.
Harry and Ron, meanwhile, looked at Sherlock with sheer awe.
That thought crossed Harry's mind again—If only I could stick with him forever.
"You were amazing, Sherlock! How'd you do all that?"
"They were too weak," Sherlock replied modestly. "I had a tutor when I was younger—learned a bit of fencing and boxing."
"Boxing?"
"Fencing?"
Harry and Ron glanced at each other, and instantly pictured Sherlock wielding his wand like a sword, dueling enemies in close combat.
Amelee wizard?
That's… weirdly cool.
But then Sherlock suddenly interrupted their daydreaming.
"That word 'Mudblood', is it an insult?"
Harry turned to Ron, who looked like he was still shaking off the shock.
After a moment, Ron nodded grimly and muttered:
"It's a really nasty term for Muggle-borns. Horrible. Only the worst kind of Dark wizards use it."
"I see…"
Sherlock's expression grew thoughtful. "So Malfoy is one of those people?"
"Well, not exactly," Ron admitted. "I mean, I hate the guy and his family, but I don't think they're that far gone.
"A lot of Slytherins talk like that too. Malfoy's definitely ending up in Slytherin."
Sherlock gave it a moment's thought, then said:
"Ron, I've got two questions for you."
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