HP: I AM SHERLOCK HOLMES

”Survival Guide for Extreme Situations” — by Bear Grylls

This book centered on the philosophy of ”hope for the best, prepare for the worst,” using the author’s traumatic personal experiences with practical knowledge to demonstrate how readers should respond when encountering the numerous dangers lurking within the magical world.

What particularly captivated Sherlock was the comprehensive wilderness survival guide contained within the book, alongside Bear Grylls’ personal accounts of facing dangerous creatures alone like trolls, the water-dwelling grindylows, vampires, and the blood-thirsty vampire bats. Each tale was recounted with such detail that made Sherlock’s pulse quicken with a mixture of fascination.

After spending some time examining the book’s contents, Sherlock made his decision without hesitation and purchased it.

At the conclusion of his essential supplies list, printed in bold crimson letters, was a special reminder that had immediately attracted his attention:

[First-year students are not permitted to bring their own broomsticks]

This particular restriction had naturally piqued Sherlock’s curiosity from the moment he’d first read it. He had never been one to follow rules with blind obedience—his analytical mind always sought to understand the reasoning behind regulations. He had no worries about bending or breaking rules when logic and necessity demanded it.

Flying broomsticks were an unknown variable in his calculations. Whether there existed any genuine necessity to have such an item remained unclear, but his logical nature demanded that he at least understand the true nature and capabilities of these mysterious objects before making any decisions.

Quality Quidditch Supplies

Located on the bustling north side of Diagon Alley, Quality Quidditch Supplies displayed an array of broomsticks suspended in mid-air, rotating slowly to showcase their craftsmanship. It was here that Sherlock finally encountered the legendary flying broomsticks in person.

As their name said, these were not ordinary household cleaning tools but sophisticated magical instruments capable of soaring through the skies with grace and speed.

Throughout the wizarding world, they served as the primary means of transportation for magical folk. Beyond just travel, these remarkable devices were used in various competitive sports that drew passionate crowds from across the magical community.

For someone like Sherlock, whose insatiable curiosity about unknown phenomena had driven him since childhood, such revolutionary magical technology was utterly irresistible.

However, his enthusiasm was considerably dampened when he began investigating their prices, which were absolutely astronomical by any reasonable standard.

Entry-level flying broomsticks, suitable for beginners but lacking advanced features, had prices starting at one to two hundred Galleons—a sum that represented the absolute upper limit of currency that non-magical families could legally exchange in a single year through Gringotts Bank.

The truly exceptional flying broomsticks, prestigious first-tier brands like the sleek Nimbus 2000 with its responsive handling and the reliable Cleansweep Seven known for its stability, actually had prices exceeding 1000 Galleons each.

The enthusiastic shop owner, a middle-aged wizard whose eyes sparkled with genuine passion for his goods, explained that for students attending Hogwarts, flying broomsticks were used far beyond just simple transportation. Their greatest use lied in participating in Quidditch matches.

That was a sport similar to football.

The main difference from the former was that the field moved from ground to air, with some additional rules.

It could be stated without exaggeration that throughout the magical world, almost everyone had some affection and enthusiasm for Quidditch.

However, after carefully weighing various practical and financial considerations, Sherlock ultimately declined the shop owner’s increasingly enthusiastic sales pitch—despite the man’s confident claims that he could provide discrete methods for first-year students to secretly smuggle flying broomsticks past the school’s security measures.

During their continued shopping trip, Sherlock once again found himself tactfully persuading his well-meaning mother to select a practical pewter cauldron over her initially preferred option.

Mrs. Holmes, whose generous nature often led her toward extravagant purchases, had originally set her heart on buying a pure gold cauldron that gleamed magnificently but offered no practical advantages beyond its impressive appearance.

”Mother,” Sherlock had reasoned patiently, ”while the gold cauldron is undeniably beautiful, the pewter option will serve the exact same functional purpose at a fraction of the cost, leaving us with additional funds for other necessary supplies.”

Apart from the strict prohibition against bringing flying broomsticks, the school supply list also informed new students that they were permitted to bring one animal companion: an owl, a toad, or a cat.

The knowledgeable pet shop owner, a kindly witch whose small shop overflowed with cages, tanks, and perches housing various magical creatures, provided fascinating historical context for these choices. According to her experience, toads had enjoyed tremendous popularity many years ago, representing the height of fashion among young wizards.

”You see,” she explained while gently stroking a particularly plump toad, ”while toads possess no inherent magical abilities themselves, they serve as absolutely excellent subjects for practicing spells and testing the effects of various potions. Their unique physiology makes them particularly valuable for aspiring potion-makers, as their porous skin readily absorbs liquids, making it significantly more convenient and practical to test potions that require oral consumption.”

Unfortunately, as she said with a hint of melancholy, times and preferences had shifted dramatically over the decades. Toads were no longer considered fashionable or desirable companions among the current generation of students.

Cats had their own set of complications—while they were good at their traditional role of catching mice and other small pests that might plague dormitories, they frequently triggered severe allergic reactions in sensitive peoples, making them problematic choices for shared dormitories.

Therefore, owls emerged as the overwhelmingly superior choice for most students. These magnificent birds provided unparalleled utility, serving as reliable postal services capable of delivering letters and packages across vast distances.

However, Sherlock’s practical mind immediately recognized the basic economic factors influencing this apparent consensus. In his assessment, the preference for owls stemmed largely from their higher cost—15 Galleons each—compared to pet cats averaging 10 Galleons and toads that could be purchased for single-digit prices.

Despite his recognition of these commercial motivations, Sherlock nevertheless chose an owl. The bird’s ability to facilitate long-distance communication alone justified the expense, particularly given the isolated location of his future school.

Next came the portion of this magical shopping expedition that interested Sherlock most: the buying of a wand.

Throughout the whole of Diagon Alley’s bustling commercial district, only one shop specialized in wand crafting and sales.

Compared to the other vibrant, well-maintained shops that lined Diagon Alley with their gleaming windows and fresh paint, Ollivanders appeared small and shabby, as though it had remained unchanged for centuries.

A single wand rested on faded purple velvet cushioning in the dusty window display, and the once-golden lettering on the old door had peeled and faded significantly, though the words remained readable:

[Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.]

’The deliberate lack of renovation was perhaps intentionally maintained to emphasize and authenticate the impressive 382 B.C. founding date,’ Sherlock immediately theorized, his instincts analyzing even the shop’s aesthetic choices.

When he pushed open the door and stepped across the threshold into the shop’s interior, a delicate tinkling bell announced their arrival. Sherlock’s sharp gaze immediately conducted a comprehensive survey of the shop’s layout and contents.

The interior space was remarkably compact, containing no furniture whatsoever except for a single long wooden bench positioned in the far corner.

Thousands upon thousands of narrow rectangular boxes containing wands were meticulously stacked from floor to ceiling along every available wall surface and a thin layer of undisturbed dust had settled over most surfaces,.

Just as Sherlock completed his initial assessment, a soft voice spoke from the shadows: ”Welcome.”

The speaker was an elderly man whose most striking feature was his extraordinary silver-white eyes that seemed to shine like two brilliant moons in the shop’s deliberately dim lighting. His hair matched his eyes in color, and his movements possessed the careful precision of someone who had spent decades handling delicate, powerful objects.

[Intelligent, confident, lonely, compassionate, approximately 55 years old, recently finished serving another customer]

The moment Sherlock’s gaze fell upon Ollivander, his mind automatically cataloged these observations with the same systematic precision he applied to all his deductions.

Simultaneously, Ollivander gave a knowing smile and addressed Sherlock and his accompanying parents: ”It appears we have a young wizard from a Muggle family visiting us today!”

Sherlock’s eyebrow arched slightly at these words, marking the second occurrence of the term ”Muggle” during their magical shopping trip. The first had come from Tom, the sociable proprietor of the Leaky Cauldron.

’Based on the contextual usage, this term clearly refers to ordinary people from non-magical families, but the implications and potential cultural connotations require further investigation...’

”Which arm do you typically use for your wand?” Ollivander’s direct question interrupted Sherlock’s analytical thoughts.

”Right hand,” Sherlock responded without hesitation, then paused thoughtfully before adding, ”Left hand as well—if circumstances require it.”

Ollivander looked at Sherlock with surprise, his eyes widening slightly. Throughout his many decades of operating this shop and fitting countless young wizards with their first wands, he had never heard such an response.

After recovering from his momentary astonishment, he still prioritized the wands by requesting that Sherlock extend his right arm and began the traditional measuring process with meticulous care.

The measurements proceeded from shoulder to fingertip, from wrist to elbow, from knee to armpit, covering every conceivable dimension with thoroughness.

During this fascinating process, Sherlock observed with considerable surprise that the measuring tape operated entirely independently, moving and adjusting itself without any visible magical guidance.

However, considering that he now found himself fully immersed in the magical world, he rapidly adapted to this supernatural phenomenon.

When conventional explanation proved inadequate, magic elegantly filled the explanatory gap.

While this scene merely struck Sherlock as unexpected but logically consistent within magical powers, for Mrs. Holmes the experience was absolutely thrilling.

’This measuring tool is simply wonderful!’ Mrs. Holmes thought with increasing excitement. ’I absolutely must inquire about acquiring one later—with such an instrument, creating properly fitted clothing for both Sherlock and Tarquin would become infinitely more convenient and precise.’

Following the completion of the measurements came the wand selection phase, a process Sherlock had naively assumed would be straightforward and efficient.

He never could have anticipated that the time subsequently spent in this attempt would exceed even his mother’s legendary marathon shopping expeditions at London’s most general department stores.

”Nine inches, willow wood, produces a whooshing sound when properly waved, an absolutely excellent wand for precision spellcasting—please, try waving it,” Ollivander said, presenting the first candidate with ceremonial seriousness.

Sherlock accepted the offered wand, noting its surprising lightness and the subtle warmth that seemed to emanate from the polished wood.

However, before he could even attempt the suggested waving motion, Ollivander swiftly snatched the wand away.

Sherlock: (ಠ_ಠ)

What precisely was the meaning of this abrupt behavior?

”Try this alternative: mahogany wood, ten and a quarter inches in length, notably more flexible in its responsiveness,” Ollivander said before Sherlock could voice his confusion, already extending a replacement wand with determination.

This time Sherlock did manage to execute the recommended waving motion, but the wand produced absolutely no reaction whatsoever—no warmth, no sparks.

”Another option: unicorn hair core, ebony wood construction, excellent elasticity, measuring precisely nine and three-quarter inches.”

Various items from the nearby shelf suddenly flew outward in random directions—clearly indicating this wand was also unsuitable for Sherlock.

”Ash wood with phoenix feather core, seven and a half inches.”

”Black walnut embedded with dragon heartstring, eight inches exactly.”

….

Time continued passing gradually in this increasingly repetitive manner, with each failed attempt adding to the growing pile of rejected wands and Sherlock’s rising fascination with the complex science of wand compatibility.