*Ultimate Survival Manual* — by Bear Grylls.
Centering on the mindset of “better safe than sorry,” this book drew upon the author’s personal experience and knowledge to demonstrate to readers how to react correctly when encountering danger in the wizarding world.
Sherlock was particularly interested in the book’s wilderness survival guide and the author’s personal encounters facing dangerous creatures like trolls, long-tail alligators, vampires, and Lethifolds alone.
After leafing through it roughly, Sherlock decisively bought it.
At the end of the required list, there was a special reminder: [First-year students are not allowed their own broomsticks] This special reminder had naturally caught Sherlock’s attention long ago.
Sherlock was not one to strictly follow rules.
He never minded breaking rules—if necessary.
As for broomsticks…
whether it was necessary to bring one was hard to say, but he at least needed to figure out what the thing actually was.
At Quality Quidditch Supplies, also located on the north side of Diagon Alley, Sherlock finally saw one.
As the name implied, a broomstick was a broom that could fly in the sky.
In the wizarding world, it was the most common form of transportation used by wizards, as well as being widely utilized in various sports competitions.
Fascinated by such a novel gadget, Sherlock, who was always filled with curiosity about the unknown, naturally plunged right in.
However, after a bit of observation, he found their prices staggering.
Entry-level broomsticks started at one or two hundred Galleons—already reaching the annual exchange cap for non-wizard families.
High-end broomsticks, such as top-tier brands like the Nimbus 2000 and the Cleansweep Seven, cost upwards of 1,000 Galleons apiece.
According to the shopkeeper, for someone attending a magical school, the main purpose of a broomstick besides flying was participating in Quidditch matches.
It was a sport similar to football.
The main difference was that the pitch moved from the ground into the air, along with some additional rules.
One could say that in the wizarding world, everyone loved Quidditch.
However, due to various considerations, Sherlock ultimately declined the enthusiastic owner—even though he claimed he could provide a method for first-years to sneak a broomstick into school.
Besides that, he once again persuaded his mother to pick out a pewter cauldron.
—Mrs.
Holmes had originally wanted to buy a solid gold one.
In addition to not bringing a broomstick, the admissions list also reminded new students that they could bring an owl, a toad, or a cat.
According to the pet shop owner, toads had been all the rage many years ago.
Although they possessed no magical abilities themselves, they were excellent subjects for practicing spells and testing potions.
Especially for potion-makers, their skin absorbed liquids, making it much more convenient to test oral potions.
Regrettably, times had changed.
Toads were no longer in vogue.
Cats wouldn’t do either; besides catching mice, they easily triggered allergies.
Thus, owls were the best choice.
However, in Sherlock’s view, it was purely because an owl cost 15 Galleons, far more expensive than pet cats averaging 10 Galleons and single-digit toads.
Even so, Sherlock still chose an owl.
Considering it could deliver mail and packages alone, it was worth the price.
This time, the three members of the Holmes family reached a rare consensus.
Next came the part of the trip Sherlock was most interested in.
Buying a wand.
There was only one wand shop in all of Diagon Alley, located on the south side.
Compared to the other shops in Diagon Alley, this shop appeared small and shabby.
A single wand rested on a faded purple cushion in the window, and the gold lettering over the door was peeling, reading: [Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC] Sherlock immediately realized that perhaps the lack of renovation was an intentional choice to highlight the “since 382 BC” date.
When they stepped inside, a light tinkle of bells rang out.
Sherlock’s gaze swiftly swept across the shop.
The space wasn’t large, with no furniture except for a single bench in the corner.
Thousands of narrow paper boxes containing wands were stacked from the floor to the ceiling, covered in a thin layer of dust everywhere.
Just then, a gentle voice sounded: “Welcome.” The speaker was a small, elderly man, his pale silver eyes shining like two bright moons in the dim shop.
[Intelligent, confident, solitary, compassionate, around fifty-five years old, has just attended to another customer.] The moment he saw Ollivander, Sherlock immediately reached this conclusion.
Meanwhile, Ollivander smiled at Sherlock and his parents.
“Ah, it appears we have a young wizard from a Muggle family!” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the word.
This was the second time today he had heard the term “Muggle.” The first was from Tom, the landlord of The Leaky Cauldron.
Contextually, it referred to ordinary people from non-wizard families, but…
“Which is your wand arm?” Ollivander’s voice interrupted Sherlock’s thoughts.
“Right hand,” Sherlock paused, then added, “Left hand works too—if necessary.” Ollivander gave Sherlock a somewhat surprised look.
In all his years running the shop, he had never heard such an answer.
After a brief daze, he still had Sherlock stretch out his right arm according to priority and began measuring him.
From shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, knee to armpit, meticulous down to the last detail.
During this process, Sherlock was surprised to find that the tape measure was operating on its own.
However, considering this was a magical world, he quickly accepted it.
When logic fails, magic fills the gap.
This scene merely surprised Sherlock, but for Mrs.
Holmes, it was thrilling.
What a wonderful tool!
She must ask this gentleman later—with something like this, making clothes for her husband and son would be so much easier!
Once the measuring was finished, it was time to select a wand.
Sherlock had originally thought this would be a simple matter.
Never did he expect that the time spent next would be even longer than his mother’s usual shopping trips.
“Nine inches, made of willow, swishy, a fine wand for spellcasting—here, give it a wave and try.” Sherlock took the wand.
Before he could even wave it, Ollivander snatched it back.
Sherlock: (_) What was the meaning of this?
“Try this one, mahogany, ten and a quarter inches, much more pliable.” Without waiting for Sherlock to ask, he jammed a new wand into his hands.
This time, Sherlock did try waving it, but there was no response whatsoever.
“Next, unicorn hair with an ebony core, good elasticity, nine and three-quarter inches.” An item from the adjacent shelf flew off—clearly not a match either.
“Ash, phoenix feather, seven and a half inches.” “Black walnut with dragon heartstring, eight inches.” “…” And so, time slowly slipped away unnoticed.