Sherlock Holmes had a keen eye and an exceptional memory.
So, the moment he saw the owl, he immediately recognized it—it was the very same one that had delivered the letter three days ago.
Just like before, the owl circled the room a few times and dropped the envelope directly into Sherlock's hand with a soft thwap.
Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were utterly stunned.
"Heavens, Tannen! Am I seeing things? An owl… delivering mail? This has to be a hallucination!"
"By the Virgin Mary, Valetta—I swear, it must be a messenger from God!"
Watching his wife repeatedly cross herself, Mr. Holmes shook his head and muttered,
"My dear, you look like a panicked turkey. As everyone knows, divine messengers only come down at the end of days."
"Don't be absurd! That's a terrible thing to say—like that dreadful apple pie Aunt Susan makes! Say one more word like that and I'll make you eat a slice!"
Mr. Holmes shrugged, opting not to argue further.
He turned to his son. "Sherlock, do you think it's a messenger from God?"
"No," Sherlock replied flatly. "Just an owl trained to deliver mail."
He said this as he casually opened the envelope.
The message inside was strikingly brief:
"I will arrive by 9 o'clock. — Minerva McGonagall."
"Heh."
Sherlock let out a quiet chuckle.
Interesting. So whoever orchestrated this had real confidence in their actor.
He checked the time: 8:45 AM.
Only fifteen minutes until this so-called Professor McGonagall was set to arrive.
"Sherlock, what on earth is going on?" his parents asked, bewildered.
Sherlock simply shook his head. "Better to let the guest explain it herself."
After all, he was curious to meet this "Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
At precisely 9 o'clock, there was a knock at the door.
"Good morning. I'm Minerva McGonagall, replying to your letter."
A stern-looking woman stood before the Holmes family.
Five minutes later, she was seated properly in the living room with all three family members.
McGonagall's first impression of Sherlock was a favorable one.
He was tall for his age, which made him appear a bit lean. His features weren't what one might call "adorable," but they were firm and sharply defined. His long grey eyes were particularly striking, and the slender, hawk-like curve of his nose only added to his impression of intelligence and alertness.
All in all, Sherlock looked every bit the attentive, capable student she hoped to find.
Following a brief exchange of pleasantries, the no-nonsense Professor McGonagall got straight to the point.
Every child born in Britain with magical talent is automatically added to Hogwarts' enrollment registry.
Once they turn eleven, they are sent a letter of acceptance—delivered by owl, of course.
If the child does not receive the letter, the owl will continue attempting delivery until it succeeds.
Along with the letter comes a list of required items: uniforms, textbooks, cauldrons, and wands, among other things.
For children from wizarding families, this is all completely normal.
But some children, like Sherlock, grow up unaware of both their powers and the magical world.
In such cases, Hogwarts sends a staff member to explain everything to the child and their guardians to ensure they are properly informed.
However—
"Mr. Holmes is the first student to ever request a home visit," McGonagall added, glancing at Sherlock with visible admiration.
In her view, anyone born with magical talent who refused magical education was wasting a gift—practically a crime.
In the Middle Ages, magic was feared. Witches and wizards, especially women, were often persecuted, sometimes even killed.
Back then, magical children were taught at home, if at all.
Hogwarts was founded to fix that, and it had now stood for over a thousand years.
So, to see someone from a non-magical family like Sherlock Holmes show such curiosity and initiative was heartening.
Every year, some Muggle families still recoiled in fear at the mere mention of magic—even in 1991!
Despite modern films and literature often drawing inspiration from magic, old prejudices lingered.
Of course, McGonagall understood this. At nearly sixty, she knew better than most:
Prejudice is a mountain few are willing to move.
Even though Hogwarts teachers repeatedly stressed that magical abilities grow with age—and that failing to learn how to control them could result in magical outbursts or even death—some parents still believed that "wizard" meant "evil."
So Hogwarts had created a policy: if a family, after being fully informed, still refused, their child would simply remain in the Muggle world.
In short: the choice would be left to fate.
But Hogwarts didn't encourage that path. It was a last resort.
From Sherlock's letter and attitude, though, McGonagall doubted this would be an issue.
As she evaluated Sherlock, he was studying her in return.
In fact, before McGonagall had even begun her explanation, Sherlock had already made a full assessment.
What shocked him was the conclusion he reached.
This woman—who called herself Professor Minerva McGonagall—was not lying.
From the flicker of her eyes to the tension in her facial muscles, Sherlock had studied it all.
He was well-trained in observation and deduction. For someone like him, reading people was second nature.
Even before she spoke, he had noted the lack of creases in her deep green robe, the perfectly styled black hair in a tight bun, and the polished rectangular glasses reflecting the light.
Meticulous. Strict. Orderly.
And such people were terrible liars.
Which made him question everything.
If McGonagall wasn't lying…
Then this wasn't some elaborate prank.
Magic… was real?
"When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains—however improbable—must be the truth," Sherlock murmured.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes—what did you say?" McGonagall asked, tilting her head.
Sherlock's parents also looked at him, puzzled.
"Nothing," he replied, then locked eyes with McGonagall.
There was one sure way to confirm the truth.
"Professor… could you show us magic?"
Mr. and Mrs. Holmes leaned forward expectantly.
"Of course," McGonagall said without surprise.
She had handled many cases like this before. She would have been surprised if he hadn't asked.
"That is, if you don't mind."
Receiving a nod from all three, she drew her wand and gave it a graceful flick.
Before their astonished eyes, the teacup in front of Sherlock transformed into a chubby little squirrel.
"Oh my word! Tannen, did you see that? It turned into a squirrel!"
"Incredible—tea cups don't just do that!"
Sherlock, meanwhile, remained far calmer than his parents.
"Stage magic? Hypnosis? Optical illusion…?"
Even now, he was trying to find a scientific explanation.
Then the squirrel wiggled its nose and hopped into Sherlock's open palm.
He reached out and gently stroked it.
Soft. Warm. Real.
The squirrel nuzzled his hand.
No trick could fake that feeling.
This was real.
Sherlock looked up at McGonagall, then asked one final question:
"Professor, could you turn it back?"
"Certainly."
She gave another flick of her wand. The squirrel vanished, replaced by the teacup—still warm with tea.
"…When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains—however improbable—must be the truth."
Sherlock repeated the phrase again.
This time, with certainty.
Magic was real.
The fantastical was reality.
And Sherlock's entire worldview had just shifted.
But once that truth was accepted, everything else—enchanted letters, mail-delivering owls, bizarre admissions procedures—suddenly made perfect sense.
So… it wasn't a prank after all.
"I take it, Mr. Holmes, that you'd like to enroll at Hogwarts?" McGonagall asked.
She was used to the stunned reactions. What mattered was whether Sherlock would attend.
Given his initiative, she expected no trouble from him.
But what about his parents?
Mr. Holmes, catching her gaze, hesitated, then asked, "Professor, will he be boarding?"
"Father," Sherlock interjected, "I doubt you want me commuting four hundred miles to Scotland every day."
"Scotland? Oh Sherlock, that's so far! Your mother and I wouldn't be able to look after you…"
"I can take care of myself."
"But still…"
"Wait! Just a moment!"
The whole family turned to McGonagall, surprised.
She was staring at Sherlock, astonished. "Mr. Holmes… did you just say Scotland?"
"Yes, Professor," Sherlock replied flatly.
"B-but… how did you know?!"
McGonagall was stunned.