Sherlock possessed remarkable powers of observation and memory.
At a glance, he recognized this owl as the very one that had delivered a letter three days ago.
Just like last time, it circled the room a few times before dropping the letter into Sherlock’s hands with a soft snap.
Mr.
and Mrs.
Holmes were struck dumb with astonishment.
“Good heavens, Taran, what am I looking at?
An owl delivering mail?!
This has to be a hallucination!” “Oh, Holy Mother Mary, Violetta, I’d bet you anything it’s a messenger from God!” Watching his wife repeatedly make the sign of the cross, Mr.
Holmes shook his head and said, “Hey, sweetheart, you’re reacting like a frantic turkey right now.
Everyone knows divine messengers only come to Earth when Doomsday arrives.” “Good grief, how could you say such a thing?
What a terrible thought—it’s as bad as Aunt Susan’s apple pie next door!
Keep talking like that, and I swear I’ll force-feed you a slice.” Mr.
Holmes shrugged, dropping the argument with his wife.
He turned to his son.
“Sherlock, do you think it’s a messenger from God as well?” “No,” Sherlock replied coolly.
“It is merely an owl trained to deliver mail.” As he spoke, he unsealed the envelope.
The reply was simplicity itself: “I shall visit at nine o’clock.
—Minerva McGonagall.” “Heh.” Sherlock couldn’t help letting out a soft chuckle.
Intriguing.
It seemed that fellow had quite a lot of faith in the actor he had hired.
He checked the time; it was 8:45.
In fifteen minutes, this self-proclaimed Professor McGonagall would arrive.
“Sherlock, what on earth is going on?” Faced with his parents’ confusion, Sherlock gave a slight shake of his head.
“We had best let our guest explain this.” After all, he was quite eager to see this “Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry” for himself.
At nine o’clock sharp, there came a knock on the front door.
“Hello.
I am Minerva McGonagall, replying to your letter.” A stern-looking woman appeared before the Holmes family.
Five minutes later, Professor Minerva McGonagall and the Holmes family were seated neatly in the living room.
McGonagall’s first impression of Sherlock was favorable.
Sherlock was tall for his age, making him appear somewhat lean.
While not the particularly adorable type for a young boy, he possessed resolute features and a sharply defined face.
His long, narrow gray eyes were especially striking.
Aside from his eyes, his thin, hooked nose was equally noticeable.
All in all, Sherlock had an alert, decisive air about him, matching McGonagall’s image of a fine student.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the incisive McGonagall cut straight to the chase.
Every child born in Britain with magical talent was automatically listed on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’s admissions roster.
When these children turned eleven, they would receive their acceptance letters delivered by owl.
If the recipient failed to receive the letter, owls would keep delivering them until they did.
Along with the acceptance letter was a list of required supplies, including uniforms, textbooks, a cauldron, a wand, and so forth.
For children from wizarding families, this was as routine as eating or drinking.
However, for some, they neither knew they possessed magic nor were aware of the wizarding world’s existence.
In such cases, Hogwarts would send a faculty member to visit in person, explaining everything to the guardians to ensure the message was received.
However…
“Mr.
Holmes is the first to actively request our visit.” As she said this, McGonagall looked at Sherlock with even greater admiration.
In McGonagall’s view, for anyone with magical talent to forgo a systematic magical education was a waste—if not a crime.
In the Middle Ages, people deeply feared magic.
Many wizards, especially witches, suffered various degrees of persecution, some even losing their lives.
Back then, wizards had no complete educational system; all wizard children were taught magic at home by their parents.
It was under these circumstances that Hogwarts came into being.
By now, it possessed a history spanning over a thousand years.
Thus, for someone born to a non-wizarding family like Sherlock Holmes to actively show interest in understanding the wizarding world was highly commendable.
After all, during every annual recruitment drive, there were always non-wizarding families who shrank back in terror at the mere mention of magic.
Honestly, it was already 1991!
Movies and TV shows about magic were based on reality—why did these people still hold such an attitude toward magic?
Still, approaching sixty, McGonagall knew very well.
Prejudice in the human heart was a mountain no amount of effort could move.
Even though the magic school’s teachers repeatedly emphasized that a wizard’s power grew with age, and that if a young wizard reached school age without learning to control their magic, violent magic outbursts would occur—sometimes at the cost of their very life—even so, the notion that wizard equaled evil persisted in certain minds.
So after encountering numerous setbacks, Hogwarts established a new rule.
If these families still refused enrollment after learning the truth about the wizarding world, the children could remain at home and attend ordinary schools.
This amounted to leaving their fate to the heavens.
Naturally, Hogwarts did not encourage this.
It was a last resort, used only when all else failed.
However, judging by Sherlock’s proactive attitude, such a scenario seemed unlikely to arise here.
While McGonagall observed Sherlock, he was observing her in turn.
In fact, before McGonagall even finished explaining Hogwarts to Sherlock and his parents, Sherlock had already completed his analysis of her through observation alone.
The result surprised him immensely.
Because according to his deduction, the woman claiming to be Professor Minerva McGonagall was not lying.
From a person’s fleeting micro-expressions, every twitch of a muscle, and every movement of their eyes, one could infer their innermost thoughts.
For someone seasoned in observation and analysis, achieving this was not difficult.
Sherlock was precisely that kind of person.
When she had just sat down and had yet to get to the main point, Sherlock had already deduced her character from her unwrinkled dark green robes, her neatly combed black hair pinned up in a tight bun, and the light reflecting off her square spectacles.
Earnest, stern, and meticulous.
If someone like her attempted to lie, it would be far easier to spot than with an ordinary person.
Because of this, Sherlock began to doubt his previous judgment.
If McGonagall wasn’t lying…
Did that mean this wasn’t that person’s arrangement after all?
Magic…
actually existed?
“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” Sherlock muttered under his breath.
“Pardon me, Mr.
Holmes, what did you just say?” McGonagall looked at Sherlock, not having caught his mumbled words clearly.
Sherlock’s parents looked at him with curiosity as well.
“No, it’s nothing.” Sherlock shook his head, then fixed a sharp, intense gaze on McGonagall.
To prove whether magic truly existed, there was one simplest method.
“Professor, could you show us magic?” Upon hearing Sherlock’s request, Mr.
and Mrs.
Holmes also turned to McGonagall with eager anticipation.
“Of course.” McGonagall was not surprised in the slightest by such a request.
Had they not asked, she would have found it odd—after all, she was thoroughly experienced in dealing with this sort of thing.
“If you permit me.” Having received their assent, McGonagall drew a black wand and flicked it elegantly.
Under the astonished gazes of the family of three, the teacup in front of Sherlock turned into a charming little squirrel.
“Oh, good Lord!
Good grief!
Look at that, what am I seeing?” “How incredible—a teacup…
actually turned into a squirrel!” Compared to his overly dramatic parents, Sherlock remained much calmer.
“Sleight of hand?
Hypnosis?
Or an optical illusion…” Even at this moment, Sherlock was still trying to explain what was happening before him from a scientific perspective.
Just then, the little squirrel transformed from the teacup shook its head and hopped onto his open palm.
“…” Sherlock experimentally stroked it.
Hmm, very soft.
The little creature even actively nuzzled against Sherlock’s hand, instantly relaying a warm, furry tactile sensation.
The feel was utterly real.
So…
this was real, not a dream.
Sherlock looked up at McGonagall and made one final attempt: “Professor, could you turn it back?” “Of course.” McGonagall waved her wand once more, and the squirrel in Sherlock’s hand instantly reverted into a teacup.
The tea inside was even still warm.
“…When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” Sherlock spoke the words a second time.
This time, he was certain.
This world…
really had magic!
What should have belonged purely to human fantasy was a reality.
For Sherlock, this was undoubtedly a complete reconstruction of his worldview.
However, once he accepted this premise, his mind opened up instantly.
The exquisite envelope, the mail-delivering owl, the strange recruitment method—all of it now had a rational explanation.
It seemed he really had misunderstood that fellow this time.
“Mr.
Holmes, are you willing to enroll in our school?” For McGonagall, the surprise of young wizards and their guardians upon seeing magic was something she was long accustomed to—the key was whether Sherlock would enroll on time.
Judging from the fact that he had replied to her letter, Sherlock himself shouldn’t pose an issue.
Now it all depended on his parents’ opinion.
Noticing McGonagall looking toward him, Mr.
Holmes thought for a moment and inquired, “Professor, will he need to board at the school?” “Father, I don’t suppose you would want me to travel to Scotland, four hundred miles away, for school and commute home every day.” “Scotland?
Oh, dear Sherlock, that’s far too distant!
Your mother and I wouldn’t be able to look after you.” “I can look after myself.” “But…” “Wait!
Just a moment!” The Holmes family looked at McGonagall in confusion.
She was staring at Sherlock with disbelief.
“Mr.
Holmes, did you just…
mention Scotland?” Sherlock looked at her calmly.
“Yes, Professor.” “H-How could you possibly know that?” McGonagall was astonished.