Chapter 3: Secret Study of The Wizard

"Seven days! You've been gallivanting around for seven whole days! You disobedient child! Coming home after such a long time and not greeting me first thing! Instead you wander around the house aimlessly like an idiot! You're an ungrateful wretch!"

The shrill voice continuously berated, yet no one emerged from the room behind the door. Sherlock quickly recovered from the initial shock. Judging by the tone, he surmised that the speaker was most likely the original host's mother, although her treatment of her son was far from motherly. Her words were full of spite, venomous and harsh on the ears. It was clear that she was formidable in her fury, yet even in her enraged state, she was not stepping out from the room. Instead, her verbal abuse targeted directly at Sherlock, continued.

"Why did I ever give birth to you? You're a freak of nature! It was because of you that your father left me! A harbinger of disaster, that's what you are! Seven days and you haven't even come back to clean up this mess!"

Sherlock found himself involuntarily frowning at her harsh words. He was no fool and could tell something was amiss. The ranting woman, the room hidden behind a door without a handle, and the house itself all seemed slightly out of place.

Looking at the dim light shining from under the door, Sherlock hesitated for a moment before deciding not to engage the angry woman. Instead, he chose to investigate the room wordlessly, after all this was now his house. Further, if something was wrong with his house, it was safe to assume that there were issues with the original owner too. Now that he had taken over control of his life, he needed to understand these issues if he wanted to survive and inherit the legacy of his father.

Treading lightly, Sherlock again moved towards the knobless door. Flames of rage still sputtered behind it, but he took a deep breath, steeled himself, and pushed the door open. The hidden room wasn't particularly large. It had the dimensions of an average bedroom, about thirty square meters or so. A wooden bookcase stocked with thick hardbacks filled one side of the room, evidently this must have been used as a study.

The room was illuminated not by a typical ceiling light, but by five candles. The striking part was that the candles were not set on a table, as one might typically expect; instead they defied the laws of gravity, floating in mid-air, held aloft by candlesticks.

Upon entering the room, Sherlock finally saw the real face of the woman who had been ranting at him. She turned out not to be a real person at all. Instead, her image was captured in a picture hung on the wall opposite the door. In the picture, the woman's hair was strewn wildly, her gaze wild and irate. She seemed ready to leap out of the frame with her onslaught of obscenities.

"You itchy louse! You pestilent dog! What kind of face is that you're making? You can't look at your own mother with such disgust! You disobedient scoundrel!"...

None of the woman's words made their way into Sherlock's mind. His belief in the physical world, built up over the past twenty years, were just shaken by the scene before him. In a second everything he believed he knew was pulled into question. He approached the picture of the woman with a dumbfounded expression on his face. Touching the framed photo, he confirmed that it was just a regular picture on a paper canvas and not a screen projecting a pre-recorded video.

His pre-existing knowledge of such extraordinary phenomena didn't yield a scientific explanation, that could explain away his doubts. These floating candles, the talking portrait - Sherlock couldn't understand how they were possible at all, they could only be explained through supernatural or magical means! Only now did Sherlock belatedly understand. The world he had transmigrated into was no ordinary late-20th-century Britain, and the problem wasn't just the room he was in, or himself. The world he was now in was possibly the biggest problem!

As Sherlock was lost in thought, a teacup suddenly hopped towards the teapot on the table. The teapot seemed to come alive, started hovering above the teacup and poured hot tea into it as if by itself. Meanwhile the chair by the desk began bouncing and wiggling towards him as if anticipating him to take a seat. The furniture in this study seemed to have a life of their own, serving him without needing for any instructions or guidance.

Finally, a candle floating in the air proceeded to illuminate the bookshelf, allowing Sherlock to see the titles of the thick volumes lining the shelves.

"The Dark Arts Outsmarted"

"Most Macabre Monstrosities"

"From Core to Caring: An Expert's Guide to Wands"

"Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration"

"Jinxes for the Jinxed"

"Guide to Advanced Occlumency"

...

His gaze scanned the titles of the magic books, halting on the title of a book on the topmost shelf. His pupils constricted dramatically. The title of the book was "Hogwarts: A History."

Hogwarts!

For Sherlock, terms such as wands, jinxes or dark magic were still fairly unfamiliar and not easily recognized. But Hogwarts was something almost anyone acquainted with Western literature or foreign films would know about! This was part of a magical story about a boy named Harry Potter, who was known as "The Boy Who Lived", and his friends. Their mischievous adventures, magical experiences and selfless dedication to fighting the Dark Lord was legendary.

And Hogwarts was the setting for this story, the wizarding school where the protagonist Harry Potter spent six years studying magic! Born an orphan in his previous life, Sherlock hadn't enjoyed the luxury of reading this widely known magical story when he was a child. But during high school, in an effort to improve his English, he borrowed the first book in the series from his English teacher to pass the time. Although he didn't read the subsequent books, he watched through several movie reviews while he was in college, thereby acquiring a rough understanding of the story.

Hence, he was not completely in the dark about the events of this world, but he didn't know the specifics either; he was only clear about the general direction of the story.

But more importantly than that - he had just found out he now lived in world of magic! He had thought that he had arrived in an ordinary world, that he was a wealthy heir about to inherit a massive fortune and a noble title, and that he could enjoy a carefree life thanks to his financial freedom. But who could've thought, he turned out to be a wizard!

As Sherlock came to this startling realization, he remembered something else. The letter he received outside the house, the one delivered by an owl, with its seal of a lion, snake, eagle, and badger encircling an 'H'...

Wasn't that the emblem of Hogwarts? He must have gotten a letter from the world-famous school of Witchcraft and Wizardry!

Sherlock had been holding that letter since he had entered the house, only now realizing where the letter could've originated. He stared at the green ink used to write his name and home address on the envelope, swallowing hard. If he wasn't mistaken, Hogwarts only accepted students who had turned eleven and his driver's license clearly stated he was born in 1972.

It was now the year 1992, making him exactly twenty years old, so this letter definitely wasn't an admission letter.

Then what could it be?

Without further speculation, and in an attempt to clear his doubts, Sherlock opened the envelope and pulled out the only piece of parchment that it contained.