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Most magical schools in this world are situated in rugged mountainous regions.
Hogwarts is no exception.
However.
Its specific geographical location is confidential.
Even within the British magical community, not many know it.
Not to mention, all magical schools are protected by concealment charms; non-magical people only see ruins or warning signs.
Finding the school is almost impossible.
Just five minutes ago, the Holmes family didn't even know magic existed.
Yet, just moments ago, Sherlock, a boy from a Muggle family, uttered something extraordinary in a matter-of-fact tone.
Hogwarts is in Scotland!
This was simply... a stampeding Gorgon! McGonagall exerted great effort to maintain her composure.
"Know what?"
Compared to McGonagall, Sherlock appeared calm.
As if he didn't understand why she was so surprised.
"Did you mean... Hogwarts is in Scotland?"
McGonagall couldn't help but press further.
"Merely a simple deduction."
Seeing McGonagall still looking bewildered, Sherlock sighed and produced the acceptance letter he had received three days prior.
"This paper is thick, sturdy, and of particularly good quality. A stack costs nearly half a pound."
McGonagall looked at Sherlock, puzzled.
Her gaze seemed to ask: So what?
Sherlock handed the letter to McGonagall, "Professor, could you please hold it up to the light?"
Though confused, McGonagall complied with Sherlock's request.
Then she saw, within the paper's texture, a capital 'A' intertwined with three lowercase letters: 'l', 'b', 'a'.
McGonagall was stunned.
Over the years, Hogwarts had sent out countless acceptance letters, but this was the first time she had noticed this detail, nor did she understand its significance.
"Do you understand what this means?"
She couldn't help asking.
"Of course. 'Alba', the Gaelic word for Scotland. This paper is manufactured in Scotland."
Sherlock stated it as if it were obvious.
"But..."
Before McGonagall could retort, Sherlock quickly explained:
"Naturally, this alone isn't sufficient proof—but add the Scottish Eagle-Owl that delivered the letter, the tartan pattern on your blouse, and the occasional use of Scottish Gaelic in your speech... If one couldn't deduce it from these clues, it would be rather foolish."
"Merlin's beard..."
After Sherlock finished his rapid explanation, McGonagall was utterly astonished.
What had seemed utterly incredible moments before now appeared perfectly logical after Sherlock's explanation.
This young wizard was truly... full of surprises.
Perhaps upon returning to school, she should consider suggesting that Headmaster Dumbledore strengthen the security measures?
After all, deducing Hogwarts' location without magic was simply too unbelievable!
"Sherlock, are you really going to attend school there?"
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Head of Gryffindor House, had departed.
Professor McGonagall was deeply impressed that Sherlock had deduced Hogwarts' location solely through observation—even though Sherlock himself considered it obvious.
Because of this, the usually strict Professor McGonagall offered lavish praise and expressed considerable anticipation for Sherlock's life at Hogwarts.
Following this, McGonagall didn't forget her duties.
She informed Sherlock that items like wands, robes, and spellbooks, seemingly belonging only to a fantasy world, could actually be purchased right here in London—provided one knew where to look.
She could have taken Sherlock directly to Diagon Alley.
But as Head of Gryffindor and Deputy Headmistress, McGonagall was extremely busy, especially with the start of term approaching.
Upon discovering that Sherlock's family did not reject magic and that his parents promised to take him themselves, she decided to allocate her time to families who needed her more.
So, she explained everything meticulously, including the method for traveling to Hogwarts by train.
Furthermore, McGonagall, representing Hogwarts, had Sherlock's parents sign a confidentiality agreement—the existence of magic could not be revealed to anyone outside the immediate family.
This wasn't an issue for Mr. and Mrs. Holmes; they weren't ostentatious by nature.
Sherlock, however, seemed to ponder something, his gaze growing deeper.
After McGonagall left, the naturally sentimental Mrs. Holmes began to hesitate again.
According to McGonagall, once Sherlock went to Hogwarts, he would have to live at the school, only returning home for Christmas and summer holidays.
This alone was somewhat difficult for Mrs. Holmes to accept.
Not to mention this arrangement would continue until Sherlock graduated after his seventh year.
The thought that for the next seven years, Sherlock would only be home for just over two months each year was naturally hard for her, as a mother, to bear.
"My dear Varita, since it's Sherlock's own decision, we should support him—we always have, haven't we?"
"I understand, Tarnan, but Sherlock is only eleven..."
"Trust me, and trust Sherlock. He will take care of himself."
While the reputation of wizards wasn't exactly stellar, Sherlock's safety was paramount.
The consequences of uncontrolled magic... sounded utterly terrifying.
Besides, this was Sherlock's own choice.
He wasn't an ordinary little boy, after all.
Mr. Holmes explained while putting an arm around his wife, guiding her towards the bedroom, simultaneously glancing back to give Sherlock a reassuring look.
Sherlock was certainly reassured.
Although his father usually deferred to his mother in most situations, at crucial moments, he always managed to persuade her.
Indeed, Mr. Holmes did not disappoint his son.
After thorough discussion, he ultimately convinced his wife (perhaps through more intimate means, as the original text playfully implies with '睡服' - 'sleep convince') to accept the reality of Sherlock being away for most of the next seven years.
The next step was preparing for school.
Sherlock had initially planned to purchase all the necessary school supplies himself.
But this time, Mrs. Holmes absolutely refused to let him go alone.
Additionally, the shopping required financial support from the family, so this time, father and son had to compromise.
The following day, the family of three drove off, soon arriving at Charing Cross.
It was a bustling area.
Located in the City of Westminster, adjacent to Sherlock's home district of Chelsea, it is traditionally considered the center of London and serves as the zero-mile point for road and rail distances in Great Britain.
The Holmes family's destination was on this very street.
According to McGonagall, they first needed to find the famous Leaky Cauldron pub—famous, of course, only within the magical world.
Before she mentioned it, neither Sherlock nor his parents had ever heard of such a place.
Sherlock initially thought this would be easy, but they encountered difficulties right from the start.
"Tarnan, did we get it wrong?"
Mrs. Holmes looked at the bookshop to the left, then at the record shop to the right.
Being in central London, both shops were very popular.
But no matter how she looked—left, right, up, down—she couldn't see a pub anywhere.
Mr. Holmes frowned as well.
He watched pedestrians entering the bookshop and the record shop, but none looked like they were heading to a pub.
At this moment, the couple simultaneously looked towards their son.
Unlike his parents, Sherlock saw it very clearly.
There was indeed a pub here.
Its location was exactly between the large bookshop and the record shop on the other side—just as McGonagall had described.
But.
If McGonagall hadn't specifically pointed it out, even Sherlock, with his meticulous observation skills, wouldn't have noticed it.
As for everyone else, including Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, it went without saying.
Judging by the hurried pace of the passersby, it was clear they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron.
"So this is the magical world's influence on the mundane world, reducing its own presence, making ordinary people overlook it?"
Sherlock understood.
Indeed, once one encountered the magical world, interesting things followed one after another.
He responded to his parents with action.
Watching their son walk straight towards the space between the two shops, the couple quickly followed.
As they drew closer, they finally noticed the pub.
Shabby, small, and grimy—that was the first impression the Leaky Cauldron gave.
Inside, the pub remained dimly lit and sparsely furnished.
Several tables were placed in the shadowy corners, where a group of people were drinking and talking loudly.
Everything seemed like an ordinary pub.
But these people were dressed in peculiar clothes, and their conversation topics were utterly bizarre.
Mr. Holmes overheard just a few sentences and couldn't help saying to his wife:
"Varita, I bet you, an ordinary person coming here wouldn't even finish their mead before getting up to leave."
Mrs. Holmes nodded in agreement.
After all, talk of "creating a meteor shower" sounded preposterous no matter how you heard it.
Sherlock's gaze, however, swept over these individuals one by one, each scene subconsciously analyzed and categorized.
[Smoking woman, 5 meters northwest, under 50, married, poor self-control, separated from husband, purpose in pub: seeking younger male companionship]
[Man grinning foolishly, 7 meters straight ahead, early 20s, about to marry, here to bid farewell to bachelorhood, his friends disapprove]
[Short man by the table diagonally behind, around 35, ill-tempered, doesn't have enough money for his drinks, currently planning to skip out on the bill]
[Average-looking sturdy man brushing past...]
It was as if each person Sherlock observed automatically presented this information to his sight; for Sherlock, this process had become as instinctive as eating or drinking.
[Man walking towards us, about 40, observing everyone entering and leaving the pub—oh, he's the owner]
"Two Muggles, one young wizard, a classic combination—another windswept summer has arrived."
The man stopped in front of the trio and introduced himself directly: "I'm the pub owner, Tom Cruise. You can call me Old Tom. Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron!"
Tom Cruise?
Looking at his nearly bald head, his face wrinkled like a shriveled walnut, his eyes almost squinted shut, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes' mouths twitched, momentarily unsure what to say.
They knew it was impolite, but they couldn't help themselves.
Sherlock, however, remained unaffected. He stepped forward directly to greet him:
"Mr. Cruise, Professor McGonagall sent us."
Having deduced Tom's personality through observation, Sherlock directly mentioned McGonagall's name.
"Of course, of course! Muggle-born wizards, rare but not unheard of. Follow me!"
While following Tom, Sherlock subtly inquired about the individuals he had observed earlier.
As the pub owner, Tom naturally knew their situations.
The results pleased Sherlock—his deductions were all correct.
It seemed that even in the magical world, the deductive methods he had derived from scientific principles still held true.
So...
When science and magic intersect—the story begins.
(End of Chapter)