Chapter 6: The Flying Broomstick and the Wand

Book One: Surviving the Impossible, by Bear Grylls

Built around the old warning that it is better to be prepared for the unlikely than to suffer when the unexpected comes, this book uses the author’s own hard-earned knowledge and experience to show readers how to respond properly when danger arises in the wizarding world.

Sherlock was especially intrigued by the wilderness survival guide and by the author’s firsthand accounts of facing trolls, long-tailed crocodiles, vampires, grindylows, and other perilous creatures entirely on his own.

After skimming through it for a while, Sherlock made up his mind and bought it without hesitation.

At the end of the required list was also a special notice:

First-year students are not permitted to bring their own flying broomsticks.

This special reminder had, of course, long since caught Sherlock’s attention.

Sherlock was not the sort to obey rules for their own sake.

He never minded breaking them—if it became necessary.

As for flying broomsticks... whether he needed one or not was still uncertain, but at the very least he had to find out exactly what the thing was.

At the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop, also on the north side of Diagon Alley, Sherlock finally saw one.

As the name suggested, a flying broomstick was a broom that could soar through the air.

In the wizarding world, it was the most commonly used means of transport for witches and wizards, and it was also widely employed in various sporting events.

For this curious novelty, Sherlock, who had always been filled with curiosity for the unknown, naturally plunged right in.

Yet after looking around for a while, he found the prices astonishingly high.

Even the most basic flying broomsticks started at one or two hundred Galleons, already reaching the annual currency exchange limit that nonwizarding families were allowed to obtain.

High-quality flying broomsticks, such as the top-tier models Lightning Two Thousand and Cleansweep Seven, cost more than one thousand Galleons each.

According to the shop owner, for someone heading off to magical school, a flying broomstick’s greatest use, apart from flight itself, was taking part in Quidditch matches.

It was a sport somewhat like football.

The main difference was that the field had moved from the ground into the sky, along with a number of extra rules.

It could be said that in the wizarding world, everyone loved Quidditch.

Still, for all sorts of reasons, Sherlock ultimately declined the shop owner’s enthusiastic pitch, even after the man claimed he could provide a way for first-year students to sneak a flying broomstick into school.

In addition, he once again persuaded his mother to choose a tin cauldron.

Mrs. Holmes had originally wanted to buy one made of solid gold.

Besides the prohibition on bringing a flying broomstick, the school list also reminded new students that they might bring an owl, a toad, or a cat.

According to the pet shop owner, toads had once been all the rage many years ago.

Although they possessed no magical ability of their own, they were excellent subjects for practicing spells and testing potions.

For apothecaries in particular, their skin could attract liquids, making it far more convenient and efficient to test potions that had to be taken by mouth.

Unfortunately, times had changed.

Toads were no longer in fashion.

Cats were not ideal either; besides catching mice, they also tended to trigger allergic reactions.

So owls were the best choice.

But in Sherlock’s view, that was simply because an owl cost fifteen Galleons, far more than the average pet cat at ten Galleons and a toad at only a few.

Still, Sherlock chose an owl.

Just on the basis that it could deliver letters and parcels, it was already worth the price.

This time, the three members of the Holmes family rarely reached the same conclusion.

Next came the part of the trip Sherlock was most interested in.

Buying a wand.

There was only one wand shop in all of Diagon Alley, located on the south side.

Compared with the other shops in Diagon Alley, this one looked small and shabby.

A single wand lay on the purple cushion in the display window, and the golden sign above the door had peeled away, leaving the words: Ollivander: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 BC.

Sherlock immediately thought that the lack of renovation was perhaps intentional, meant to emphasize that date in antiquity.

When he stepped into the shop, a little bell rang softly.

Sherlock’s eyes swept quickly across the room.

The space was not large, and aside from a bench in the corner there was no furniture to speak of.

Thousands upon thousands of narrow paper boxes holding wands were stacked from floor to ceiling, and a thin layer of dust lay everywhere.

Just then, a gentle voice sounded. “Welcome.”

The speaker was a small old man, his silver eyes shining in the dim shop like two bright moons.

Smart, confident, lonely, compassionate, about fifty-five, and having just seen off another customer.

At first sight of Ollivander, Sherlock reached that conclusion at once.

At the same time, Ollivander smiled at Sherlock and his parents and said, “A young wizard from a nonwizarding family, I see!”

At this, Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

This was already the second time today he had heard the word nonwizarding.

The first had been from Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron.

From context, it seemed to refer to ordinary people from wizardless families, but...

“Which arm do you use your wand with?”

Ollivander’s question interrupted Sherlock’s thoughts.

“My right hand,” Sherlock said, after a pause, and then added, “My left can do as well, if necessary.”

Ollivander gave Sherlock a somewhat surprised look.

In all the years he had run his shop, he had never heard such an answer.

After a brief pause, he still followed procedure and asked Sherlock to extend his right arm first, beginning to take his measurements.

From shoulder to fingertips, from wrist to elbow, from knee to armpit, every detail was measured with meticulous care.

In the process, Sherlock was astonished to discover that the measuring tape was operating by itself.

But then, this was the wizarding world, and he soon accepted it.

If it could not be explained, magic supplied the answer.

For Sherlock, the scene was merely unexpected; for Mrs. Holmes, it was thrilling.

What a marvelous tool!

She absolutely had to ask this gentleman about it later. With something like this, making clothes for her husband and child would be so much easier.

Once the measurements were finished, it was time to choose a wand.

Sherlock had originally thought it would be a very simple matter.

He never imagined that it would take even longer than his mother’s usual shopping trips.

Nine inches, willow, with a sharp swish when waved; a fine wand for casting spells—here, give this one a try.

Sherlock took the wand.

But before he even had time to wave it, Ollivander snatched it back.

Sherlock: (ಠ_ಠ)

What was that supposed to mean?

“Try this one instead—mahogany, ten and a quarter inches, more flexible.”

Before Sherlock could ask, the other man had already thrust a new wand into his hand.

This time Sherlock did try waving it, but there was no reaction at all.

“Again—unicorn hair, ebony core, good springiness, nine and three quarters inches.”

Something on the shelf beside them flew off—clearly unsuitable as well.

“White ash, phoenix feather, seven and a half inches.”

“Black walnut and dragon heartstring, eight inches.”

“...”

And so time slowly slipped away without anyone noticing.