I admire his ability to form conclusions from minute details and observations. My favorite quote from all of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works sums up just about everything I love about Holmes — "to a great mind, nothing is little." As menial as it seems, that one sentence changed my life, becoming my motto for as long as I can remember.
As a child I considered myself something of a detective. I solved puzzles and riddles with ease and was often able to figure things out without much or any help. Also like Holmes I developed a habit of speaking with a very extensive vocabulary, so much so that my peers often had difficulty understanding what I was saying. I carried a pen and journal around with me at all times, making my handwriting impeccable and my note taking skills unmatched.
I got made fun of a lot in primary school for being the way I was; many kids would avoid me because the student body had labeled me as "weird," and if they did talk to me it was just to ridicule me. It never really got to me. My father always told me that my classmates were just jealous of how brilliant I was, but I knew it was because I just didn't fit in.
I was also labeled as "weird" because of certain . . . occurrences. Sometimes, the wind would pick up a person or two that were bothering me and throw them away. Not so much so that their pain was a cause for concern, but enough for them to back off. Once, I made a water fountain explode. I'd never told my father about any of this because I didn't want him to think I was any stranger.
However, I couldn't hide anymore when I'd opened the door expecting the mailman to instead see a strangely dressed woman at my door. I gave her a polite smile from the doorway.
"Is this the Holmes residence?" She asked me. I nodded.
"Not Baker Street, but close enough," I joked. It was something my dad said when people asked. The woman looked at me oddly, as if she didn't get the joke. Hm. Maybe she hadn't heard of Sherlock Holmes?
"Are you Lila?" She asked me. I nodded again, but more slowly this time. She looked inside. "And this is your father?"
He was sitting at the kitchen table, his coffee cup in hand. "Adam Holmes, pleasure to meet you."
"Allow me to introduce myself," the woman cleared her throat. "My name is Minerva McGonagall. I have some news about your daughter. May I come in?"
"Yes, have a seat," my father gestured to the other chairs at the table. "You too, Lila."
"Thank you," Minerva McGonagall had a seat across from my father, while I had a seat next to him. He and I exchanged wary looks. What was this about? I hadn't done anything wrong recently. The next words from her mouth shocked me to my core.
"It's my pleasure to inform you that your daughter is a witch," she said. My father looked as if he was about to interject, but she continued. "Most Muggles don't take kindly to that term, so I will explain for you. Your daughter is a carrier of magic."
I blinked. "Magic?"
I was the most prosaic person I knew. I never believed in Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, or any other childhood fables parents often tell their children. Trust me, my father tried his hardest but I always ended up foiling his plans with an investigation.
Hence why now the idea that I could be any sort of magic felt like it was a big joke. Who had hired their grandmother (great aunt?) to play a prank on me? I puzzled at her features, trying to decide which of my classmates she looked most like. Pinckney? No, his nose was too round. Adams? Wrong face shape. Hubberson? Unlikely. His build was different.
At my skepticism, Minerva McGonagall sighed and in the blink of an eye I watched her transform herself into a cat and back. My father's jaw fell open.
With a tired expression she went on. "Yes, Miss Holmes. Magic is real. And we believe you possess it."
"Not to offend you, but I've never turned myself or anyone into a cat before," I explained to her. Even if magic was real, I couldn't think of an instance at which I'd ever been able to do something like that.
"Well, this is very advanced magic," she told me. "At your age, it tends to manifest itself other ways. Has anything odd ever happened around you when you were angry or sad?" She asked me. I furrowed my brow. The random gusts of wind, exploding water fountains. Maybe even the conversation I thought I'd dreamed between myself and a garden snake. It all started to make sense now. But how did she know?
"Yes," I admitted. "I often get pushed around because of it."
"Most young witches and wizards do when they don't know how to control their magic," she replied. "Where you're going, however, you'll find that magic and unexpected happenings are quite the norm."
"You never told me about that, Lila," my father looked at me curiously.
"I didn't want you to think I was odd," I shrunk into myself.
"Most Muggle-born students have gone through the same things you have," McGonagall said kindly. "At our school, you will fit in just fine."
"You mean a school for people with magic?" My father raised an eyebrow.
I studied Minerva McGonagall with scrutiny, but was stumped. I could tell that the woman wasn't lying. She didn't fidget, and stared straight into my eyes and my father's. I took a moment to soak in all of what she'd told us.
"I know that such a concept defies everything you've ever known," Minerva McGonagall said, as though she could read my mind. "But this is no joke. Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry is a very fine institution, dare I say the finest of its kind. Under the leadership of the headmaster Albus Dumbledore, we excel in magical academics with classes that teach you how to brew potions, cast charms, defend yourself using your magic, and so much more. You can open your letter now, if you'd like to."
I did so gladly, running a nail under the flap to neatly separate the seal and the paper. Enclosed were two slips of paper. Upon first glance; one being a letter, the other being a list. I looked at the letter first.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Ms. Holmes,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
On the next page was a list of school supplies including cauldrons, vials, robes, and a myriad of books. I looked up at her.
"Where am I going to buy all of these?" I asked.
"No Muggle store will sell what you need, so you'll have to go to Diagon Alley. I'll give you further instructions to get there later."
"What is this term you keep using? 'Muggle?' " I asked.
"It means someone who doesn't carry magic, like your father," she explained. "Muggle-born witches and wizards are people who were born to Muggle parents who then still carry magic abilities."
"Was my mother a witch as well?" I asked my father. He looked to McGonagall questioningly.
"If she was, she never got the chance to tell me," he said.
"She has no records attending Hogwarts, and though there are other Wizarding schools it's safe to say that she was a Muggle as well," said Minerva McGonagall.
"About this Diagon Alley then," I continued. "How can I get there?"
"There's a pub in London known as the 'Leaky Cauldron,'" she explained. "Muggles are unaware of its existence due to many concealment spells, but if you enter and go to the courtyard in the back, you'll see a dustbin. Tap the brick that is three bricks up and two bricks across from the dustbin." I already had my notebook out, scrawling down these details with speed and ease.
"Will they accept pounds?" My father asked.
"You can exchange pounds for, in increasing value, Knuts, Sickles, and Galleons," Minerva McGonagall answered. "Twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, seventeen Sickles to a Galleon. After you've exchanged your money and bought your school supplies, you'll want to put some of it into a vault at Gringotts. Gringotts is the only wizarding bank. It is run by goblins, and the vaults are very well protected, though some more protected than others depending on what you'd like to store. Some vaults are guarded by dragons, while others just require a simple key or goblin touch in order to open."
Goblins, I thought. Dragons?!
"Firstly, how will you put the exchanged currency back into the Muggle system?" I asked. "Is that why we have such frequent recessions?"
Minerva McGonagall merely blinked several times before she responded.
"I'm not sure how, but the Goblins at Gringotts put Muggle money back into circulation," she answered, regaining her composure. "I'm afraid that your recessions are Muggle's doing."
"Well, that is unfortunate," I sighed. "Could you tell me more about Hogwarts, then?"
"Of course," Minerva McGonagall nodded. "I'm pleased that you have so many questions. Well, first we have four houses, which I'm sure you'll hear very frequently about from students in Diagon Alley and on the Hogwarts Express."
"The Hogwarts Express, like Diagon Alley, is not noticed by most Muggles. You'll have to go to the wall between platforms nine and ten at Kings Cross Station and run straight through it. The Hogwarts Express will be directly in front of you. The train leaves at 11 o'clock sharp on the first of September."
"Right, thank you," I continued jotting this down in my notebook, wondering why people wouldn't notice so many wizards and witches running through a wall. "Anything else?"
"Well, when you get to the school, the first years often go to the castle by boat with Hagrid, who is the groundskeeper at Hogwarts," she added. "Once at the door, I will lead you to a hall and explain to you about our houses. One House, of which I am head of, is Gryffindor. I also teach Transfiguration. The second, headed by Professor Sprout of Herbology is Hufflepuff, the third, headed by Professor Snape of Potions, is Slytherin, and the fourth, headed by Professor Flitwick of Charms, is Ravenclaw. Students are sorted into their houses by the Sorting Hat. At the feast I will call the name of a student and I will place the Sorting Hat on their head. When the Sorting Hat calls the name of a house, that is the house you will belong to for the rest of your Hogwarts years, and often, where you'll make your greatest friends."
I found it amusing that a silly hat would dictate the rest of our school lives, but chose not to say anything, more curious about the school to risk offending her.
"So how are we Sorted?" I asked.
"Students from each house share similar qualities," she answered. "For example, Slytherins are known for their cunning and ambition, while Hufflepuffs are known for their amicable nature. Gryffindor is known for their nerve and bravery, and Ravenclaw is known for it's wisdom and wit."
I hummed. Ravenclaw it would be then.
"I see," I continued to jot down everything. I clicked my pen, placed the pen into the book and closed it. "Anything else that could be of use to me?"
"Hogwarts is the safest place on the planet," she hesitated. "Aside from Gringotts, I suppose. Despite what you may hear, know that Hogwarts is very well protected from dangers. We have one of the best healers of the century within our walls. You'll hear more from Dumbledore the night of the feast. Also, upon receiving your wand, you are not allowed to do magic in the Muggle world. The Ministry of Magic — yes, we have a Ministry — will not hesitate to punish you no matter how young you are."
"Okay," I answered. "Thank you. One last question, how do I owl the school back? I don't really have one."
"You don't have to," Minerva McGonagall answered. "If you've made up your mind, you can just let me know now if you'll be attending."
"May I have a moment alone with my father?" I asked. She seemed surprised, but nodded. "Of course."
She stood and walked into the next room. I turned to my father. He watched me, waiting for me to speak first. Clearly, he did not want to influence my decision.
"I'd like to go," I told him. He smiled.
"I figured," he replied, seeming proud.
"Will you be okay by yourself?" I asked. "I'll see if I'll be able to visit on Holidays and such. I can get an owl too, in order to message you back. I suppose that that's what they do instead of using our post. Like carrier pigeons."
"I'll miss you so much," my father shook his head. "But I want this for you. I want you to go and explore all that you can about magic. This all sounds crazy to me but I know we both can handle crazy. I'll be alright by myself, and I will return your owls as soon as I get them. I'll know that my daughter is receiving top marks in a school for people just like her, though I'm sure you will shine the brightest out of all of them."
I gave him a long squeeze before sitting back in my seat.
"Er, Professor?" I called to her. "I would be very happy to attend."
"Very good, then," she came back into the room and gave my father and I am approving nod. "I will get back to Dumbledore as soon as I can, but I have a few more stops to go. I will see you at Hogwarts, then, Ms. Holmes."
My father and I waved to her as she left, and as soon as the door closed, my father let out a huge sigh.
"Well," he took a seat on the couch, clearly still recovering. "When are we going shopping?"
"Since today is the thirtieth and the term starts on September first," I mused. "I suppose we'll go tomorrow. That will give me a month to read up on my books a little."
"Will I be able to get in?" My father asked.
"We're not the only cases of a witch born to Muggles," I looked up in thought. "I suppose it's likely that if I lead you there you'd be able to see it."
"Then we'll go tomorrow," my father smiled. "I'm excited for you, Lila."
"I'm excited too," I smiled back.
That night, I dreamt of myself with a magic wand, casting all sorts of spells for my father, surrounded by people just like me. I woke that morning with a grin on my face.
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