At 10:43am on September 1st, King's Cross station was full to the brim with people, each with their own narrative and destination. They bustled about with their heads bowed, hardly stopping to wonder at anything... unusual that they might happen to see. Each man and every woman was in their own little world. However, most of these were quite dull and I shan't bother you with them. Instead, let us focus on one particular little boy and his mother.

John Watson was a small boy of eleven years, with dark blond hair, blue eyes, and a lightly freckled nose. He was not tall or imposing for a boy his age, but there was a certain sturdiness about him which you can be sure playground bullies were well aware of. At first glance, he was a fairly average child.

Much less average were the contents of the sizable trolley which he was pushing before him. Perched on top of an enormous trunk was a large owl in a wire cage, and it was glaring hungrily at the little birds that swooped in and out of the station.

John seemed just as nervous about his owl as anyone else who approached it, which was odd considering the bird belonged to him. In fact, he seemed rather nervous about everything. He kept glancing about the station, searching for something.

"Can you see it, mum?" John asked. They were standing between platforms nine and ten, and they were getting more anxious by the minute. How were they supposed to get on a train that didn't have a platform? 9 and 3/4 had sounded funny enough on the ticket, but now they had arrived and the platform simply wasn't there.

"No, I haven't a clue." His mother said, worried. "I suppose we should ask somebody, but somehow that doesn't seem like a good idea. We're getting funny enough looks as it is."

At that moment, a family of four stopped next to them, directly blocking their view of the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. The family consisted of a mother, a father, and two boys. The first boy was tall and looked to be about seventeen. Though his expression was impassive, John thought privately that he didn't look very agreeable at all. The second boy was younger, perhaps about John's own age. He had a mop of dark curls and sharp blue eyes. Even under a large jacket, one could tell that he was very skinny.

Whilst his parents spoke to the older boy, the younger one turned to John and his bewildered mother and said,

"You walk through the barrier between 9 and 10."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You're carrying an owl, and you look confused. You must be muggle-born and therefore don't know how to find the platform. If you run at the barrier between platforms 9 and 10, the train is on the other side."

"Hurry up, we're going!" That was the older boy. The younger rolled his eyes and turned to rejoined his family. Sure enough, they strode briskly toward the barrier and vanished, leaving John and his mother gaping behind them.

They exchanged glances.

"Well then." John's mother said, taking him by the hand. "Come on, John. If we're going to look like idiots, we might at well do it together." She helped him wheel the trolley around, and they began to move toward the barrier with increasing speed. And just as John was beginning to feel sure that they would crash, they passed through. In front of them lay a crowded platform and a gleaming red train.

John sighed with relief as the last corner of his trunk fell into place with a loud clunk. He looked around the empty compartment. What now? His mum had left (his sister was at home and she needed looking after), and he didn't know anyone. He could just sit in his compartment, but his insides were bubbling with excitement and he was feeling restless. He left his compartment and pushed his way down the train and back out into the noise and steam of the platform.

He was just wondering what he had actually planned on doing on the platform, when John walked headfirst into somebody.

"Do watch where you're going."

John looked up in surprise. He had walked straight into the boy with the dark curly hair. His family was nowhere in sight.

"Oh. Sorry, mate." He said. The two stood there awkwardly, oblivious to the noise and laughter around them.

"Thanks for helping us with the barrier." John said. The boy snorted. "You were going to miss the train at the rate you were getting on."

John wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he said,

"I'm John. My name, I mean."

"Sherlock."

At that moment the train whistle sounded.

"You'd better get on," said Sherlock.

"See you at Hogwarts then." John said, turning to leave.

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm... not old enough. I'm here with my brother." Sherlock said, almost defiantly.

"Alright, next year then." John said, grinning. Sherlock regarded him quietly from under his mop of hair. Then he said, more to himself than to John-

"Yes. Next year."

The whistle sounded again and John really did have to get on the train. But as he watched the boy grow smaller and smaller in the distance, he wondered if that had really been the right thing to say.