"It was just taking off a coat, wasn't it…"
Watching Hermione leave with a flushed face, Ron muttered under his breath, "Well, at least she's gone."
Harry and Ron began changing into their school robes alongside Sherlock.
Sherlock took note of Ron's trainers—they were indeed peeking out from beneath his robes, just as he had previously deduced.
But right now, he had no time to comment—his nerves were getting the better of him.
Ron didn't look much better. His face had gone pale.
They were just eleven years old, after all. Leaving home for the first time to venture into an unfamiliar world—it would be strange not to be nervous.
As for Sherlock—well, perhaps it was best not to treat him like a typical child.
The train began to slow, and finally came to a full stop.
Night had fallen completely, and the moment the train doors opened, a biting wind swept in, causing the young witches and wizards to shiver in unison.
Sherlock was physically stronger than most kids his age, but having only just recovered from a serious illness, even he found the cold hard to bear.
The British chill—damp and penetrating—made its presence keenly felt. Everyone was trembling.
Just then, a glowing light appeared above their heads, drawing all eyes upward. A booming voice followed:
"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"
A giant of a man over three meters tall—stood before them.
It was because of his towering height that the lantern he held aloft cast its light from so high above.
Sherlock instantly realized: this must be Hagrid, the man Harry had mentioned.
Though Harry had been rather conservative in his description—Sherlock estimated the man was at least three and a half meters tall.
Only in the wizarding world would that be possible. In the Muggle world, even the tallest people barely reached two and a half meters.
Despite his shaggy beard, Hagrid offered Harry a warm smile. "Harry, over here, yeh all right?
Come on now, follow me—any more first years? Mind yer step! That's it—first years, follow me!"
Under Hagrid's lead, the first years separated from the older students and made their way down a steep, narrow path.
It was pitch black all around until they rounded a bend—and then the view opened up dramatically.
The young wizards and witches let out a collective gasp.
Before them stretched a vast, dark lake, its surface gently rippling—serene and mysterious.
And beyond the lake stood a towering mountain, atop which loomed an enormous castle.
Turrets and towers pierced the sky, and windows sparkled under the starlight, drawing every eye.
Hogwarts. They had arrived.
At that moment, the entire group fell silent, holding their breath in awe.
Until Hagrid spoke again to snap them out of it.
To honor the school's four founders, first-year students traditionally crossed the Black Lake by boat to reach the castle, just as the founders themselves once had.
That was why Hagrid had gathered the newcomers.
With only four students allowed per boat, Harry and Ron naturally climbed into one with Sherlock.
Having already become acquainted before school started, Hermione followed as well.
Ron rolled his eyes at this, unable to hide his annoyance.
"Everyone aboard? Forward!"
Once Hagrid confirmed everyone had boarded, he took a boat of his own to lead the way—though with his size, there was no room for anyone else.
And so the little fleet of boats glided across the water, creating ripples that spread out across the lake.
Some students sat in quiet awe, staring up at the towering castle. Others tried to row faster, while still others chattered excitedly about what lay ahead.
Sherlock's group fell into the third category.
Hermione was the first to break the silence. "How do you think they decide which house we'll be sorted into?"
Harry shook his head. "Hagrid never mentioned it."
Sherlock hadn't found anything about it in the books he'd bought, either. It was as if everyone deliberately kept it a secret.
So the three of them turned to Ron.
Faced with six eyes staring at him, Ron grew flustered and blurted out, "It's some kind of test—Fred says it's really tough. But he might've been joking."
"He was definitely joking," Sherlock said with a shake of his head.
It couldn't possibly be dangerous. It was just a school placement test—like those in the Muggle world. How could it hurt anyone?
Ron still looked uneasy. "I hope so… Anyway, Sherlock, someone like you, smart and sharp—you'll be in Ravenclaw for sure. I think I'll end up in Gryffindor."
Hermione raised an eyebrow at that.
Sherlock simply smiled without replying.
The boat ride across the lake was shorter than expected. While disembarking, Hagrid even found Neville's missing toad, to the boy's overwhelming joy.
But that joy quickly faded.
Standing at the castle's grand doors was a tall, black-haired witch in a dark green robe. After exchanging a few words with Hagrid, she took charge:
"First-year students, Professor McGonagall."
"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take it from here."
There was something about her stern expression that made all the students instinctively wary.
This was none other than Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and Head of Gryffindor House.
When her eyes landed on Sherlock, her face softened with a small smile. "Good evening, Mr. Holmes."
"A pleasure to meet you, Professor McGonagall," Sherlock replied politely.
The nearby students looked at them in surprise.
Hermione nudged Sherlock with her elbow. "Holmes, how do you know Professor McGonagall?"
The gesture confirmed again that she was quite the forward sort. Seeing Harry and Ron's curious expressions, Sherlock decided to explain—Professor McGonagall had visited his home to answer questions before term began.
"I see," the three of them said in unison, satisfied for the moment.
Their attention soon shifted to Professor McGonagall's speech.
"Welcome to Hogwarts. The Start-of-Term Feast will begin shortly, but before you can join the others in the Great Hall, you must first be sorted into your houses…"
Compared to Ron's vague explanation, Professor McGonagall's introduction was far more balanced.
She emphasized that each house had a proud history and had produced exceptional witches and wizards.
There was no hierarchy among the four houses—no better or worse. No matter where one was sorted, they were all part of Hogwarts.
With that, she led the first-years into the entrance hall before excusing herself to prepare for the Sorting Ceremony.
While waiting, over twenty ghosts drifted through the walls in single file, causing quite a stir and frightening many of the new students.
Sherlock, however, was fascinated—these were phenomena that current science couldn't explain.
He tried to strike up a conversation with them, but the ghosts were too busy whispering among themselves to pay attention to first-years.
Only one ghost, a plump friar, responded, expressing a hope that Sherlock would be sorted into Hufflepuff—because that was his own former house.
"That's hardly a compelling reason," Sherlock murmured, losing interest in further ghostly interaction.
Instead, he turned his attention to the Great Hall's architecture.
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