Just a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor: No More, No Less

Chapter 3: The Wizard's Hidden Study

"Seven days! You've been gone for seven days! You disobedient child! Didn't you come to greet me the moment you returned home? Loafing around instead! Ungrateful son!!"

The shrill female voice continued its tirade, hurling insults from behind the closed door. Sherlock, however, recovered quickly from the initial shock.

The speaker's tone suggested it was the original owner's mother, but her attitude towards her son was far from pleasant. The string of verbal abuse painted a clear picture of her anger. Yet, despite her outburst, she remained hidden within the room.

"Why did I even have you? You wild whelp! It's your fault! Your father abandoned me! You calamity! Haven't shown your face in a week! Why don't you come in here and clean up after me!"

Sherlock couldn't help but frown at the barrage of unpleasant insults. He wasn't a fool. By now, the situation was clearly amiss. The combination of the belligerent woman, the strange door with no handle, and the overall peculiarity of the room raised red flags.

He glanced at the faint yellow light emanating from beneath the door. After a moment's hesitation, he decided to enter the room for a closer look, forgoing a response to the suspected mother.

This was, after all, the original owner's home. If there was a problem here, it meant the original Sherlock had one as well. Now, merged as one being and seeking a stable life in this world, Sherlock naturally had to confront his own issues.

He approached the handle-less door cautiously. The yelling continued unabated from within. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he pushed the door open fully and stepped inside.

The room behind the door wasn't large, resembling a standard bedroom of about 20 to 30 square meters. One wall housed a row of wooden bookshelves overflowing with thick volumes. Judging by the furnishings, this appeared to be a study.

Instead of a chandelier illuminating the room, five candles provided the light source. To Sherlock's astonishment, these candles defied gravity. They weren't placed on any table but hovered eerily in mid-air, held aloft by invisible means.

Finally, upon entering, he laid eyes on the source of the incessant yelling. It wasn't a real person, but a portrait hanging on the wall opposite the door.

The woman in the painting, with her wild hair and crazed expression, seemed to glare out with bulging eyes. Her tirade continued unabated.

"Maggots! Wild dogs! What kind of expression is that? Don't even have the decency to bark at me!"

Her words fell on deaf ears. Sherlock, having established a materialistic worldview for over two decades, was now under siege by the fantastical scene before him.

He approached the portrait with disbelief, reaching out to touch the framed photo. He confirmed it was indeed ordinary paper, not some pre-recorded video screen.

While time travel could be vaguely explained by an undiscovered scientific phenomenon, the levitating candles and the animated photo defied logic. Only supernatural events or magic could account for such occurrences.

It was only now that the gravity of the situation dawned on Sherlock. The world he'd arrived in wasn't simply late 20th century England. The problem wasn't confined to the room or himself.

The world he now inhabited was likely the biggest problem of all!

Just as Sherlock stood stunned, a teacup on the desk below the portrait suddenly leaped towards the teapot. The teapot, as if imbued with life, poured a steaming cup of tea into the cup. Simultaneously, the chair in front of the desk scooted beside him, seemingly inviting him to sit.

The furniture in this study appeared to possess a life of its own, anticipating his needs without any instruction. One of the levitating candles drifted towards the bookshelf, finally revealing the titles of the books.

"Defending the Darkness: Advanced Defense Magic," "Encyclopedia of Dark Magic Creatures," "Maintaining Your Wand," "The Flexible Use of Transfiguration in Actual Combat," "Defeat Evil: Defense Spells," "Shut Your Brain"...

Sherlock's gaze scanned the titles of the magical tomes until it landed on the one at the top shelf. His pupils constricted abruptly!

"Hogwarts: A School History!"

Hogwarts!

Terms like defensive magic and dark magic might have been unfamiliar to Sherlock, but Hogwarts was a different story. Anyone with a passing knowledge of foreign films or Western literature would recognize it.

This was the magical world of Harry Potter, the boy who survived and, along with his friends, vanquished the Dark Lord Voldemort. Hogwarts was the central setting, the wizarding school where Harry Potter spent seven years honing his magical abilities.

In his previous life, as an Sherlock's childhood as an orphan meant he hadn't read the famous book series. However, the tale of Harry Potter, the boy who lived, was a global phenomenon. In high school, his English teacher loaned him the original English version of the first book to improve his language skills. While he never purchased the sequels, various movie reviews and online content over the years at university gave him a general understanding of the continuing plot.

So, while not entirely clueless about the world he might be in, the specifics remained a mystery. He only grasped the broad narrative.

Most importantly, this revelation was a complete surprise. Sherlock initially believed he'd landed in a mundane world – a wealthy heir about to inherit a vast fortune and titles, leading a life of leisure and financial freedom.

But here he was – a wizard!

Suddenly, a memory jolted him. The letter he received outside – the one with the green "H" surrounded by a lion, snake, eagle, and badger... that wasn't just any emblem! It was the Hogwarts crest!

Sherlock had clutched the letter since entering the room, only now realizing its significance. He scrutinized the address and his name inscribed on the envelope in emerald green ink. He swallowed hard.

If his memory served him right, Hogwarts only accepted students over eleven years old. His current driver's license clearly stated his birth year as 1972. In 1992, that made him precisely twenty.

This letter couldn't possibly be an acceptance notice. Then what was it?

Without further speculation, Sherlock tore open the envelope, eager to resolve his mounting questions. He retrieved the single sheet of parchment within.