The scarlet locomotive released a final whistle as it pulled away from King's Cross Station. Steam wafted past the windows in great white clouds, and the bustling London platform gradually faded into a blur of waving hands and tearful goodbyes.
The Scottish countryside began to appear beyond the glass.
In their compartment, the initial awkwardness between Harry and Ron had melted away. What had begun as tentative introductions had blossomed into an enthusiastic exchange of stories and questions.
At this point, Harry and Ron were no longer as reserved as when they first met.
Especially Harry—he found that both he and Ron were very interested in each other's families.
"So, you really didn't know about any of this?" Ron asked incredulously, gesturing. "Quidditch, Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans—nothing?"
Harry shook his head.
They questioned each other back and forth, rapidly deepening their understanding.
Sherlock didn't join in. Just from listening to their conversation, he had enough information to make deductions about both of them.
Instead, he was more interested in the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead. Of course, in Sherlock's view, the scar looked more like a capital "N" than the legendary lightning bolt.
Harry and Ron were getting more and more excited in their conversation. Ron, carried away by enthusiasm, decided to show these two friends from Muggle families some magic.
"Actually," Ron said, lowering his voice and glancing toward the compartment door, "I could show you a bit of magic right now. George taught me a spell that can turn it yellow."
"That's Scabbers," Ron explained, noticing Harry's curious gaze. "He's been in the family for ages. Used to be Percy's—that's my brother who just made prefect—but he got an owl for becoming prefect, so Scabbers got passed down to me."
After saying these things, Ron opened his trunk and began rummaging through it.
The inside of the trunk was quite messy. He moved aside a pile of books, pulled out two robes, and after a long time finally extracted a wand.
"Want to see some real magic?" Ron asked, holding up the old wand His eyes shone with the anticipation of finally being the one with knowledge to share, rather than the continuous recipient of hand-me-downs and secondhand stories.
"Absolutely!" Harry replied immediately, leaning forward with undisguised eagerness.
Sherlock also turned his attention to the upcoming demonstration, though his interest was of a more analytical nature.
During the summer holidays, he had tried many spells and had succeeded with all of them.
By reasonable judgment, his magical talent should be quite good.
However, he was powerless when it came to transfiguration like McGonagall turning a teacup into a squirrel.
Of course, after reading the textbooks, Sherlock also knew that wasn't first-year curriculum—it was beyond the syllabus.
Under his two friends' gazes, Ron cleared his throat and waved his wand:
"Right then," Ron announced solemnly, as if he were about to perform the most complex magic in existence. "Here goes: Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!"
The incantation hung in the air with all the dramatic weight Ron had intended. One second passed. Then another. Then a third.
Scabbers continued his peaceful sleep, his gray fur showing not the slightest hint of yellow transformation. His tiny chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of undisturbed sleep.
Harry: (°ー°〃)
Sherlock: ←_←
Harry's expression shifted from eager anticipation to polite confusion, his eyebrows climbing toward his hairline as he tried to process what he had—or rather, hadn't—witnessed.
Sherlock's face remained neutral, though the slight tightening around his eyes suggested he was drawing conclusions from this 'magical' failure.
Undeterred by this initial setback, Ron adjusted his grip on the wand and tried again, putting extra emphasis into his pronunciation: "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!"
Once again, absolutely nothing happened. Scabbers continued his nap with admirable dedication, apparently immune to Ron's magical efforts. The silence in the compartment grew increasingly awkward as the seconds ticked by.
Harry: (lll￢ω￢)
Sherlock: ←_←
Harry's face now showed a complex mixture of disappointment and secondhand embarrassment. He desperately wanted to say something encouraging but had no frame of reference for whether this was normal magical behavior or a complete disaster.
"Well," Ron said finally, his face flushing red as he lowered his wand in defeat, "I always suspected that spell was complete rubbish. George probably knew it was a fake all along—he's always playing pranks like that."
He attempted a laugh, but it came out rather forced and hollow.
It was at this moment that Sherlock's voice cut through the uncomfortable silence: "Is it the wand that's the problem?"
Ron looked up sharply, confusion replacing embarrassment. "What do you mean?"
"Your second eldest brother's wand," Sherlock clarified, nodding toward the pointing at wand in Ron's hand.
The wand was very worn, with some parts peeling off, and one end was gleaming white.
"Oh, this is Charlie's old wand. The unicorn hair is almost showing, but Dad says that won't affect its use..." Ron carefully touched the worn wand, then suddenly looked up.
"Wait just a minute," Ron stammered, his voice climbing in pitch. "How could you possibly know this was my brother's old wand?!"
"Ron, even I can tell it's an old wand..." Harry couldn't help saying.
He was secretly pleased, vaguely feeling his intelligence had gained the high ground.
"No, no, no, I mean, how did you know it was my second eldest brother's wand? I haven't told you how many brothers I have yet!"
'That's right!'
Only then did Harry realize.
He could indeed tell it was an old wand, but Sherlock had directly stated it was Ron's second eldest brother's.
Wasn't this too outrageous?
Sherlock smiled.
"Actually, I know quite a bit more than that. I also know Your family has seven children in total. You're currently wearing your eldest brother's robes, using your second eldest brother's wand, caring for your third brother's pet, your fourth and fifth brothers are twins, and you have a younger sister who hasn't started Hogwarts yet."
The silence that followed this statement was deafening. Both Harry and Ron stared at Sherlock as if he had just announced he could read minds—which, given the accuracy of his deductions, seemed like the only rational explanation.
Neither could speak for quite a while. Finally, Ron's face turned red as he muttered:
"Sherlock, it's no fun tricking people like this. You must have investigated me beforehand!"
Harry, despite his previous experience with Sherlock's deductive abilities, found himself nodding in agreement. "He's right, Sherlock. You had to have known about Ron's family before we got on the train. There's no way anyone could figure out that much information just from... from looking at someone!"
At this moment, the two had formed a united front, certain that Sherlock had investigated Ron beforehand.
Sherlock observed their reactions with the patient amusement of a teacher watching students struggle with a concept that seemed basic to him. This wasn't the first time his deductive abilities had been met with accusations of trickery, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.
"My dear friends, what I've just done is actually quite simple and straightforward. Anyone with sufficient powers of observation and logical reasoning could reach the same conclusions. Think back to my earlier analysis of you, Harry—once I explained my reasoning process, didn't it seem almost simple?
Once I explain the deduction process, you'll even say, 'Ah, so it's that simple!'"
Harry was somehow half-convinced. "Really?"
"I still don't believe it!" Ron declared firmly, shaking his head so vigorously that his red hair flopped about like flames in a strong wind. "You definitely investigated my family somehow. Nobody could possibly know all that just from meeting me on a train!"
Compared to Ron, Harry's reaction was better—after all, he had witnessed this once before. But now he was equally skeptical.
After all, the information Sherlock had deduced about Ron was so detailed it couldn't compare to his earlier deduction about Harry.
Seeing both pairs of eyes filled with curiosity, Sherlock smiled and said:
"Very well then, let me walk you through the reasoning process step by step.
Ron's robes, his wand, his textbooks, even his trunk—all show significant wear and use by previous owners. I am Sorry— When you opened your trunk earlier, Ron, I couldn't help but notice the condition of your belongings. This immediately suggests a family with multiple children, where items are passed down from older siblings to younger ones."
Ron shifted uncomfortably but couldn't argue with the observation.
"Next, let's examine the robes more closely. They've obviously been altered—let down at the hems, taken in at the seams—but they still don't fit properly. I suspect when you change into them later, those sneakers you're wearing will be clearly visible beneath the shortened hem. The alterations suggest these robes have been adjusted for someone significantly shorter than their original owner."
Harry glanced down at Ron's feet and realized Sherlock was absolutely right about the sneakers.
"The old wand is too obvious—even Harry could tell just now." Sherlock continued.
Harry: |(*′口`)
"But that doesn't prove the wand belonged to my second brother!"
Ron couldn't help saying.
Sherlock shrugged. "Generally speaking, in wizarding families, wands and school robes are typically purchased together when a child starts Hogwarts. The fact that these items show different patterns of wear suggests they came from different brothers.
Since items are only passed down when the original owner no longer needs them—meaning they've graduated—we know that at least two of Ron's brothers have already finished their Hogwarts education."
"But how did you know which brother was which?" Harry asked, genuinely curious now despite his lingering skepticism.
"It's simple, my dear Harry. When Ron tried to show us magic, he mentioned that Scabbers here," Sherlock gestured toward the still-sleeping rat, "was given to him by 'his brother who became prefect.' He also mentioned that George taught him the spell he was attempting. This tells us Ron has at least two additional brothers currently at school.
It was a coincidence that I saw Ron talking with a pair of twin brothers on this train—no one would doubt whether they are family, with the same red hair and similar facial features.
But neither of them is a prefect—prefects are in the two specially designated compartments at the front, which isn't hard to find out about.
Based on all this information, deducing this isn't difficult, is it?"
Ron's mouth was hanging open now as the logical chain became clear.
"Look, from this information I can easily deduce that you have five brothers: with robes and wand coming from your graduated eldest and second eldest brothers respectively, the third brother who became prefect passed down his pet, and the fourth and fifth brothers are the twins I saw. Five brothers minimum, with Ron being the youngest."
"But how did you know I have a sister?" Ron asked weakly, though he seemed to know the answer was coming.
Sherlock's smile became somewhat apologetic.
"You probably didn't notice, but you have several long red hairs on your shoulder. Judging from the texture and color, the age should be similar to yours.
So, you should have either a sister or an older sister, with a younger sister being more likely.
This is the only piece of information I guessed rather than reasoned, but I think this guess should be correct. I think she hasn't started school yet?"