Chapter 9: The Long Platform, The Endless Wait

The mysterious figure—the Dark Lord, Voldemort—had vanished. Only Harry Potter remained, marked by the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. To this day, no one truly knows why. Regardless, it was an undeniable fact that the Dark Lord, who had terrorized the wizarding world, was defeated by a mere infant.

Thus, the eleven-year-long wizarding war came to an end, and the magical community finally freed itself from darkness and fear. Because of this, Harry Potter became a household name before he had even grown up, revered as the “Boy Who Lived.” Some even suggested designating the day Voldemort disappeared as Harry Potter Day. Of course, that proposal was never realized.

Yet, none of that diminished Harry Potter’s unique status within the magical world.

According to magical customs, Harry Potter, who was the same age as Sherlock, would also begin his studies in the summer of 1991. Undoubtedly, compared to Hermione Granger, Harry held far greater appeal for Sherlock. After learning about this history through books, Sherlock made a decision.

Once school began, he would quickly approach Harry Potter, using this pivotal figure as his gateway to understanding the magical world. Sherlock had no doubt that if his world were a novel, then even if Harry wasn’t the protagonist, he would surely be a crucial character. Being close to him would inevitably bring an endless stream of conflicts and intrigues, making it much easier to grasp the entire magical realm.

Moreover, compared to adults like Albus Dumbledore or Minerva McGonagall, breaking in through Harry was undoubtedly simpler—relatively speaking, of course. Given Harry’s fame within the wizarding world, he would surely be a star among stars at school. There might even be a group of devoted admirers bustling about him, making it no easy task to get close. But all the more reason—it would be a challenge worth pursuing.

Finally, September 1st arrived.

On this day, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes accompanied Sherlock to King’s Cross Station. Hogwarts lay nestled in the Scottish Highlands, a conclusion Sherlock had drawn and which Professor McGonagall confirmed. Yet, traveling there by train—well, to put it in Mr. Holmes’s joking words, “Taking a train to a wizarding school seems rather absurd. Have all their flying carpets been used up?”

What puzzled the couple even more was the train ticket, which stated that Sherlock would be boarding at platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o’clock. Everyone knew that London’s King’s Cross Station only had platforms nine and ten—there was no such thing as platform nine and three-quarters.

Fortunately, Professor McGonagall was a competent teacher. Along with explaining how to enter Diagon Alley, she also showed him how to find this seemingly nonexistent platform.

At ten o’clock, King’s Cross Station.

One platform bore a large plastic sign with the number 9, the other with the number 10, and naturally, nothing stood between them. But Sherlock knew that platform nine and three-quarters lay just behind the wall separating the two, accessible only through special means.

The time for parting came.

Mr. Holmes smiled and waved repeatedly at his son. Mrs. Holmes turned away, her shoulders trembling, unwilling to face the moment of farewell. As a sentimental person, this reaction was hardly surprising. Mr. Holmes, embodying the role of the family head, gave one final wave to Sherlock before pulling his wife close and departing.

Watching his parents leave, Sherlock did not rush to run into the wall. Instead, he reached out curiously to touch it—the surface was solid, not some illusory trick. He tapped the bricks, hearing a firm "thud," proving it wasn’t hollow. Looking down, he saw clear footprints and trolley marks leading straight through the wall. Judging by the spacing, these people had pushed hard and in haste.

A slight smile played at Sherlock’s lips.

It seemed that even without McGonagall’s instructions, he would have known how to enter. Sherlock guessed that witches and wizards instituted this barrier to prevent Muggles from accidentally passing through with a mere touch, requiring a swift run and a collision to gain entry.

There was nothing more to say.

Facing the wall, he quickened his pace and ran headlong into it.

Sherlock kept his eyes open, yet darkness engulfed him. But it lasted only an instant.

Before long, his vision cleared.

Ahead lay empty train tracks and a platform teeming with passengers. Turning back, he saw that the barrier had transformed into an iron archway, boldly inscribed with “Platform 9¾.”

Intriguing.

Sherlock allowed himself a genuine smile.

He had initially thought the owl-delivered letter was a prank but never imagined it would be the key to opening a new world for him.

He was certain that starting from this platform nine and three-quarters, he would never again know boredom for a very long time.

Since he had arrived early, the Hogwarts Express had yet to appear. Sherlock could only wait along the long platform. But he did not idle away the time; instead, he observed the young witches and wizards who would soon be his classmates, analyzing their backgrounds and histories.

This made the long wait far from dull.

“New student; mother is a witch, father an ordinary demolition worker—only discovered his wife’s identity after marriage.”

“Returning student; expressive, extroverted, often takes charge as host.”

“New student; parents absent for unknown reasons, raised by grandmother; forgetful, timid, lacking confidence.”

...

Just as Sherlock’s gaze shifted from a round-faced boy and his grandmother to seek his next subject, a deep crimson steam engine roared into the station. The sign on the train read: “Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock.”

As soon as it stopped, passengers surged forward.

Smoke curled above the crowd from the steaming locomotive. The first carriage quickly filled with students, followed by the second, then the third...

Students boarding leaned out of windows to speak with family, playfully tumbled in their seats, or gazed about curiously, the air filled with lively joy.

Sherlock did not rush to show his ticket and board.

His target had yet to appear. Until then, he would wait—even if it took a very long time.

Finally.

When a slender boy emerged alone on the platform, pushing a heavy trunk, Sherlock’s eyes lit with satisfaction.

At last, I’ve been waiting for you!