"The Ultimate Survival Guide" by Bear Grylls.
This book, centered on the motto "Hope for the best, prepare for the worst," draws upon the author's firsthand experiences to offer readers practical knowledge on how to respond to dangers in the wizarding world.
Sherlock found himself especially intrigued by the wilderness survival sections and the author's detailed encounters with trolls, long-tailed crocodiles, vampires, and even grindylows.
After flipping through a few pages, he made the decisive choice to buy it.
At the end of the Hogwarts supply list, there was a special note:
"First-year students are not permitted to bring their own broomsticks."
Naturally, this line had caught Sherlock's attention early on.
He wasn't one to blindly follow rules.
He never minded bending them—when necessary.
As for broomsticks… well, whether it was necessary to bring one remained to be seen. But he certainly needed to understand what they were.
At Quality Quidditch Supplies, located on the northern end of Diagon Alley, Sherlock finally saw one up close.
As the name implied, a flying broomstick was exactly that—a broom that allowed one to fly.
In the wizarding world, it was one of the most commonly used modes of transportation and also a staple in various magical sports.
Naturally curious, Sherlock eagerly delved into the shop to investigate.
However, what stunned him wasn't the flying—it was the prices.
Even an entry-level broomstick started at 100–200 Galleons—already brushing against the annual exchange limit for Muggle-born students.
Top-tier brands, like the Nimbus 2000 or Comet 290, sold for over 1,000 Galleons each.
According to the shop owner, broomsticks for Hogwarts students were primarily used for one thing: Quidditch.
It was a sport somewhat similar to football—only the pitch was in the air, and it came with a whole set of unique rules.
Suffice it to say: everyone in the wizarding world loves Quidditch.
Still, after weighing the pros and cons, Sherlock turned down the shopkeeper's enthusiastic sales pitch—even when he offered a discreet method to sneak a broom into Hogwarts despite the rules.
Later, Sherlock also managed to talk his mother out of buying a solid gold cauldron, convincing her to settle for a practical pewter one instead.
According to the Hogwarts supply list, first-years were allowed to bring an owl, a toad, or a cat as a pet.
The magical pet shop owner explained that toads were once extremely popular.
Although they had no magical abilities themselves, they were excellent test subjects for practicing spells or potion effects.
In particular, their absorbent skin made them useful for testing oral potions—a favorite among potion masters.
Unfortunately, times had changed.
Toads had fallen out of favor.
Cats were also less than ideal—they were good at catching mice, yes, but were also common allergens.
Owls, then, had become the clear winner.
In Sherlock's opinion, the real reason was their price.
Owls cost 15 Galleons, compared to 10 Galleons for most cats and just a few Galleons for a toad.
Still, Sherlock chose an owl.
The ability to deliver letters and packages alone made it a worthy investment.
This time, the Holmes family unanimously agreed on the purchase.
What came next was the part Sherlock had been anticipating the most:
Buying a wand.
There was only one wand shop in all of Diagon Alley—Ollivanders, located on the southern end.
Compared to the surrounding storefronts, it looked small and rather shabby.
A single wand sat on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window display, and the gold-lettered sign above the door had long since started peeling.
[Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.]
Sherlock guessed the lack of renovations was deliberate—to emphasize the shop's long and prestigious history.
As he stepped inside, a tinkling bell rang overhead.
Sherlock's eyes quickly swept across the interior.
The shop was cramped. Apart from a bench tucked in a corner, there was hardly any furniture.
Thousands of long, narrow boxes were stacked from floor to ceiling, all lightly dusted with age.
At that moment, a gentle voice spoke.
"Good afternoon."
The speaker was a short elderly man whose silver eyes gleamed like twin moons in the dim light.
'Observant. Confident. Solitary. Compassionate. Approximately 55 years old. Just finished assisting a previous customer.'
Sherlock formed the profile instinctively, the moment he saw him.
The man smiled and said,
"A Muggle-born wizard, I presume?"
Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
This was the second time today he'd heard the term "Muggle."
The first was from Tom, the barkeep at the Leaky Cauldron.
Judging from the context, it referred to people born to non-magical families—but still…
"Which arm do you use for your wand?" Ollivander asked, interrupting his thoughts.
"Right," Sherlock answered, then paused and added, "But I can use my left too—if necessary."
Ollivander glanced at him in mild surprise.
In all his years, no one had ever answered like that.
After a brief pause, he still had Sherlock extend his right arm and began taking measurements.
Shoulder to fingertip, wrist to elbow, knee to underarm—every angle was measured with meticulous care.
To Sherlock's surprise, the measuring tape moved on its own.
But then, he reminded himself—this was the wizarding world.
When logic fails, magic explains.
While Sherlock merely found this curious, Mrs. Holmes was thrilled.
What a marvelous tool!
She made a mental note to ask the old gentleman where to buy one—sewing for her husband and son would be so much easier with this!
Once the measurements were done, it was time to choose a wand.
Sherlock assumed it would be a simple matter.
He was wrong.
The entire process took longer than one of his mother's shopping trips.
"Nine inches, willow wood. Whippy, good for charms—here, give it a wave."
Sherlock took the wand.
But before he could even swing it—
Ollivander snatched it back.
Sherlock: (_)
What was that supposed to mean?
"Try this one. Cherry wood, ten and a quarter inches, more flexible."
Before he could speak, a new wand was already in his hand.
This time he managed to give it a wave—but nothing happened.
"Next. Unicorn hair core, ebony, nine and three-quarter inches, springy."
An item from the shelf next door went flying.
Clearly not the right one either.
"Ash wood, phoenix feather, seven and a half inches."
"Black walnut, dragon heartstring, eight inches."
"…"
And so, time quietly slipped away…