The Dark wizard—He Who Must Not Be Named, Voldemort, had vanished.
All that remained was Harry Potter, and the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
To this day, no one knows why.
But whatever the reason, the undeniable fact remains: the Dark Lord who once terrorized the wizarding world was brought low by a baby.
Thus, the eleven-year-long Wizarding War came to an end. The magical world was finally free from the shadow of fear and despair.
Because of this, Harry Potter became a household name long before he ever came of age. As The Boy Who Lived, he was revered throughout the wizarding world.
There were even proposals to declare the day Voldemort disappeared as Harry Potter Day.
Though the proposal was never approved, it did nothing to diminish Harry's status in the magical world.
According to the standard magical admission rules, Harry Potter—being the same age as Sherlock—would also begin attending Hogwarts in the summer of 1991.
And without question, compared to Hermione Granger, Harry Potter held far more interest for Sherlock.
So, after thoroughly reading about this chapter of magical history, Sherlock came to a decision:
Once school started, he would find a way to approach Harry Potter and use this famous figure as a gateway to understanding the wizarding world.
Sherlock had no doubt—if the world he lived in were a novel, then even if Harry wasn't the protagonist, he was certainly a key plot-driving character.
Staying close to him would mean a constant stream of mysteries and conflicts falling into place naturally.
And with that, Sherlock's exploration of the magical world would become significantly easier.
Besides, compared to trying to approach adults like Albus Dumbledore or Minerva McGonagall, it would be far easier to get close to Harry.
Relatively speaking, of course.
Given how famous Harry was, it was likely he'd be the center of attention at school, surrounded by admirers—both boys and girls that's eager to follow him around.
Getting close to him wouldn't be simple.
But that only made it more of a challenge.
At last, September 1st arrived.
Mr. and Mrs. Holmes accompanied Sherlock to King's Cross Station.
Hogwarts was located in the Scottish Highlands—that much Sherlock had deduced, and Professor McGonagall had confirmed.
But traveling there by train? That was… odd, to say the least.
As Mr. Holmes joked, "Taking a train to a wizarding school? What, did they run out of flying carpets?"
What baffled them even more was the ticket itself: it indicated that Sherlock's train would depart at eleven o'clock from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Everyone knew King's Cross only had Platforms Nine and Ten—there was no such thing as Nine and Three-Quarters.
Fortunately, Professor McGonagall had been thorough. When she explained how to enter Diagon Alley, she had also taught Sherlock how to find this seemingly nonexistent platform.
10:00 AM, King's Cross Station.
A large plastic number 9 hung above one platform, and a matching 10 over another. And between them—absolutely nothing.
But Sherlock knew the truth: Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was hidden behind the barrier separating the two. One needed a special method to pass through it.
The moment of parting had come.
Mr. Holmes waved cheerfully to his son.
Mrs. Holmes, on the other hand, turned her back, her shoulders trembling as she silently wept—unwilling to face the moment.
She was always the more sentimental one.
Mr. Holmes, taking charge as the head of the household, gave Sherlock one last wave, then wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and led her away.
Sherlock, watching them go, didn't immediately dash into the wall.
First, he reached out and touched it—solid to the touch. Not an illusion.
He knocked on it. Thud thud thud—the sound proving it wasn't hollow either.
Looking down, he saw faint footprints and wheel marks leading straight into the wall. Judging by the stride length and depth, people had charged in with force and urgency.
Sherlock smiled.
Clearly, even without Professor McGonagall's instructions, he could have figured it out.
He speculated the barrier had been enchanted specifically to prevent non-magical people from accidentally passing through by brushing up against it. Only someone running full-speed would get through.
Nothing more needed to be said.
Facing the wall, Sherlock quickened his pace—and ran!
He didn't close his eyes, yet darkness still rushed over him—
But only for a moment.
Then, light burst through.
In front of him stretched train tracks and a bustling platform teeming with people.
Turning to look back, he saw the barrier had become an iron archway with a bold sign reading Platform 9¾.
Fascinating.
Sherlock let out a genuine smile.
He had originally assumed the owl-post letter was just a prank.
Who would have thought it would be the key to an entirely new world?
And Sherlock was sure—starting from this platform, he would never be bored again.
Since he had arrived a little early, the Hogwarts Express hadn't pulled in yet.
All he could do was wait.
But he didn't waste time. Instead, he began observing the young witches and wizards who would soon become his classmates—analyzing their backgrounds and behaviors.
This made the long wait far more bearable.
[First year. Mother is a witch. Father works in demolition. Didn't learn about his wife's magical identity until after marriage.]
[Returning student. Craves attention. Outgoing personality. Great communication skills. Often acts as host at events.]
[First year. Raised by grandmother due to unexplained absence of parents. Forgetful, timid, and lacking self-confidence.]
…
Just as Sherlock shifted his gaze away from a round-faced boy and his elderly guardian in search of his next subject—
A deep red steam engine roared into the station. A sign hanging from its side read: Hogwarts Express – 11 o'clock.
As soon as the train stopped, the platform erupted into movement.
Thick plumes of steam billowed above the crowd as students surged toward the train. The first carriage quickly filled up, then the second, then the third…
Some students leaned out of the windows to talk to their families. Others joked around in the aisles. A few sat quietly, wide-eyed, drinking in the magical atmosphere.
Sherlock didn't rush to board.
His target had yet to appear.
Until then, he would wait.
No matter how long it took.
At last—
He spotted a scrawny boy struggling to push a heavy trunk across the platform, alone.
Sherlock's eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
At last, you're here.