Chapter 4: Wand and Magic

"Dear Mr. Forester,

Owing to some unforeseen circumstances, there are new developments to the previously discussed matters regarding Headmaster Dumbledore's decision. The specifics are rather complicated and inconvenient to clarify in a letter. Therefore, I shall take the liberty to personally visit you at your residence at 7:20 PM on the evening of July 3rd.

Signed Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall."

Sherlock's eyes scanned the terse contents of the parchment, a sense of foreboding growing within him. At the mention of Minerva McGonagall, he found his grasp tightening around the letter. This name he remembered from immersing himself in the first book in the Harry Potter series. The novel bestowed much significance upon McGonagall, detailing her role as Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and Head of Gryffindor house, making her an icon of integrity and staunch disciplinarian.

She wasn't the only noteworthy figure referred to in the letter. The mention of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, and a beacon of probity within the fantastical plotline failed to escape Sherlock's notice.

It seems the original owner had engaged in multiple dealings with Dumbledore, and the Headmistress's impending visit pertained to those very dealings. Her visit was slated for the evening of July 3rd; a mere five-hour window separating Sherlock from his rendezvous with the famous witch.

The crux of his predicament was not lost on Sherlock; despite transmigrating to this world of magic, he found himself devoid of golden fingers or systems. What was more daunting was his lack of his predecessor's memories, leaving him devoid of any understanding of his new identity.

Previously a medical diagnosis of Amnesia might have served to cover his flaws, but in this magical world, would such a defense hold water? Suppose Sherlock was to feign memory loss upon McGonagall's arrival, claiming to recall nothing preceding his current circumstance. What would the esteemed witch's reaction likely be? Would she resort to a magical diagnosis to ascertain the veracity of his claim, maybe getting him admitted to a magical healing center? Or would she pull the mighty Dumbledore into this, trusting him to delve into Sherlock's mind?

Regardless of which of these outcomes was most likely, they all were unacceptable to Sherlock. Each scenario had the potential to reveal his otherworldly origin, all the while betraying his foreknowledge of the future this world was to undergo. Predicting the aftermath was impossible.

The woman in the picture frame now sat hushed, her tirade of insults and screams having exhausted her. A soft snoring sound escaped her lips as her head lulled to the side. In clear contrast to her tranquillity, Sherlock found himself battling a wave of nervousness, pacing up and down the study, the crumpled letter in hand. His was a predicament of grave proportions, the first serious crisis since arriving in this magical world. The struggle seemed insurmountable - laden with perilous, or even lethal implications if not handled perfectly.

Flight was out of the question; he wouldn't make it far, considering any postage owl could track him down. Sherlock had to devise a strategy to deal with McGonagall's imminent arrival, acquainting himself with his predecessor's mannerisms and behavioral traits imperative to maintaining a seamless façade.

It was barely past 2 PM, five hours shy of the time stipulated in the letter. Time was sparse, and this study might hold the key to his salvation. Understanding that a Hogwarts letter and a study filled with magical books signified the legacy of a Hogwarts's alumnus, Sherlock found a sliver of hope. A wizard's house may be peculiar and foreign to Sherlock, but this study was a private space teeming with magical paraphernalia, making it likely to be the best representation of original owners personality he had.

As he neared the desk situated against the wall, he observed all the little details - watching the steam still dancing above the fresh cup of tea, the floating candlesticks illuminating the desk's surface with an ethereal glow; the original owner must obviously have cared greatly about this spot, unlike his front yard.

Scattered alongside the teapot were a bulky scribbling pad, a feather quill perched atop an ink bottle, and a wooden stick. Despite being relatively new to this world, Sherlock recognized this seemingly ordinary stick as a wizard's most potent tool - a wand. Even just hearing of Harry Potter was enough for people to know wizards fight with wands, just like everyone knows jedis fight with lightsabers.

Upon lifting the sleek, straight and approximately 13-inch long wand, Sherlock felt a strange energy surge through him. He embraced the sensation, allowing the magical force within him to flow into the wand. The result was an awe-inspiring burst of silver sparks crackling from the wand's tip, a manifestation of magic in its purest form and the source of power for wizardkind.

Exhilaration notwithstanding, Sherlock quickly snapped back to reality. The impending interaction with McGonagall took precedence over marveling at the wonders of magic. Failing to manage the situation might endanger his very existence in this world, apart from compromising his magical abilities.

With renewed determination, Sherlock set the wand aside, sipped on the lukewarm teacup's contents, and launched a thorough exploration of the room. His first discovery was nothing short of a treasure - a stack of journal notebooks belonging to his predecessor.

Who would have thought that a man marked by bushy eyebrows and a face reflecting earnestness would maintain a diary - a hobby most commonly practiced by teenage girls? Sherlock didn't delve into the peculiarities of his host's personality, keeping in my mind that he was under serious time pressure. The presence of a diary was a godsend, allowing Sherlock to delve into the host's past and possibly navigate the forthcoming engagement unscathed.

With a sense of urgency, he flipped open the diary, the dating on the first entry took him back a full five years, the host should have been 15 at the time.

"April 12th, 1987."

"Mary chose to end our relationship today. She reprimanded me for prioritizing academics over our bond and accused me of being emotionally distant, despite my good looks."

"I completely understood her implications. She had made it quite clear that she wanted me to kiss her in the auditorium, but the reason I agreed to be her boyfriend in the first place was to understand the feeling of love."

"Regrettably, my interactions with Mary have failed to evoke any such feelings within me. In the best interest of us both, I declined her invitation to kiss."

"So far, interactions with the opposite gender have failed to sway me, leading me to the conclusion that romance may not be my calling."

"It is a well-known fact among historians that considerable achievements in the mystical world of magic don't require the trappings of romantic love, as is obvious by studying our esteemed Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Therefore, I resolve to invest myself further in my journey towards becoming a formidable wizard, commencing this diary as a tribute to my unwavering dedication."