Chapter 18: Arrival at Hogwarts

“After all, she just took off her coat…”

Watching Hermione blush as she walked away, Ron muttered, “As long as she’s gone, that’s all that matters.”

Harry and Ron then began changing clothes alongside Sherlock.

He noticed Ron’s sneakers peeking out from beneath his robe, just as Sherlock had predicted.

But at that moment, he had no time to dwell on it—his nerves were overwhelming.

Ron looked pale, not faring much better.

After all, at just eleven years old, suddenly being uprooted from home and thrust into an entirely unfamiliar place, it was only natural to feel anxious.

As for Sherlock—it was best not to think of him as a child.

The train gradually slowed, finally coming to a halt.

Night had fully fallen, and as the doors opened, a biting wind swept in, causing the young witches and wizards to shiver in unison.

Sherlock was physically strong compared to his peers, but having just recovered from a serious illness, he found the chill hard to bear.

The damp, cold climate of Britain was now on full display, leaving everyone trembling in the cold.

At that moment, a bright light appeared overhead, capturing the attention of all the young witches and wizards. Then a rough voice called out:

“First-year students! First-years, this way!”

A towering giant, over three meters tall, appeared directly ahead.

Because of his immense stature, the light from the lantern he held seemed suspended high above.

Sherlock immediately recognized him as the Hagrid Harry had mentioned.

But Harry’s description was modest; by Sherlock’s estimate, the giant stood at least three and a half meters tall.

Truly, this was the magical world—whereas the tallest person in the Muggle world barely reached two and a half meters.

Though Hagrid sported a thick beard, he smiled warmly at Harry. “Harry, come here, how are you?

Come on, follow me. Any other first-years?

Watch your step! Alright, first-years, follow me!”

Under Hagrid’s guidance, the new students parted ways from the older ones, descending along a steep and narrow path.

The way was dark and shadowy, until around a bend, the scene suddenly opened up before them.

The young witches and wizards gasped in awe.

A vast black lake emerged as if the clouds had parted to reveal it.

Its calm surface rippled gently, tranquil and mysterious.

Even more captivating was the towering mountain across the lake.

Atop the slope rose a majestic castle, its spires reaching skyward, windows glittering beneath the stars, drawing every gaze.

Hogwarts. They had arrived.

At that moment, all the young wizards held their breath, quietly taking in the sight.

Until Hagrid’s voice broke the silence.

To honor the four founders of Hogwarts, first-year students traditionally crossed the Black Lake by boat on their first arrival, just as the founders once did.

This was why Hagrid had insisted the new students follow him.

Since no boat could hold more than four, Harry and Ron naturally joined Sherlock, their eldest brother figure.

Hermione, having known them before term began, followed as well.

This made Ron roll his eyes once again.

“Everyone aboard? Let’s go!”

After ensuring all first-years were on board, Hagrid took a boat alone at the front, leading the way—of course, given his size, there was no room for a second passenger.

The small fleet of boats glided across the lake, sending ripples across the glassy surface.

Some gazed silently at the colossal castle towering into the clouds, some tried to row faster, and others chattered excitedly about their futures.

Sherlock and his three companions belonged to the latter group.

Hermione began, “How do they decide which house we’ll be sorted into?”

Harry shook his head. “Hagrid never said.”

Sherlock’s books held no mention of this either, as if everyone tacitly agreed to keep it a secret.

The three looked expectantly at Ron.

Under six pairs of eyes, Ron grew uneasy and quickly said,

“There’s a test—Fred said it’s really tough on us, but I think he was joking.”

Sherlock shook his head. “He must’ve been joking.”

It was clear it couldn’t be harmful; it was just an entrance test akin to Muggle world placement exams—no way it could hurt students.

Ron remained somewhat worried. “I hope so. By the way, Sherlock, someone as smart as you will definitely be sorted into Ravenclaw. I think I’ll be in Gryffindor.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at that.

Sherlock just smiled without replying.

The crossing took less time than expected. While unloading and clearing the empty boats, Hagrid found Neville’s toad, making the boy ecstatic.

But the joy was short-lived.

A tall, black-haired witch in a deep green robe stood before the castle gates, taking over from Hagrid:

“First-years, Professor McGonagall.”

“Thank you, Hagrid. I’ll take it from here.”

Her stern expression made everyone instinctively sense she was not someone to be trifled with.

She was Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and Head of Gryffindor House.

When she saw Sherlock, a smile briefly touched her serious face. “Hello, Mr. Holmes.”

“Pleased to meet you, Professor McGonagall.”

Their exchange surprised the nearby students.

Hermione nudged Sherlock with her elbow. “Holmes, how do you know Professor McGonagall?”

Her casual familiarity confirmed Sherlock’s impression that this girl was naturally outgoing. Seeing Harry and Ron’s curious looks, he explained about McGonagall’s visits to answer his questions.

“I see.”

Their curiosity satisfied, their attention turned to McGonagall’s words.

“Welcome to Hogwarts. The opening feast will begin soon, but before entering the Great Hall, we must first determine which house each of you will join…”

Unlike Ron, Professor McGonagall’s introduction of the four houses was much more objective.

She emphasized that each house had its own proud history and had nurtured outstanding witches and wizards.

There was never any hierarchy or superiority among the houses; no matter which house you were sorted into, you were part of Hogwarts.

After speaking, she led the first-years into the Great Hall and then left to prepare for the Sorting Ceremony.

During this time, over twenty ghosts emerged from the walls in a procession, causing quite a stir and frightening the new students.

Sherlock was fascinated by these ghosts—something science had yet to explain.

He tried communicating with them, but they whispered among themselves, paying little attention to the first-years.

Only a plump friar responded, hoping Sherlock would be sorted into Hufflepuff, claiming that he had belonged to that house.

“Completely irrelevant,” Sherlock sighed, losing interest in further ghostly conversation and turning instead to observe the Great Hall.