Harry Potter and the Missing Owl

The famous boy wizard finds himself in an unfamiliar place - and time. But what business brings him to one of the most famous addresses in English literature?

    In the London of the late nineteenth century, night had settled in and spread its wings far and wide into every corner of the massive city. Lamp-posts topped by luminous circles lit sections of the streets, with areas of partial darkness in between. Not that there was much to see. The yellowish light mostly illuminated the black surface of the roads and the plain windowed walls of the houses. It was a particularly windless night, and the London air was at its worst as a warm miasma hung around, reminding any observant soul that it was still summer. The pervasive silence was interrupted only occasionally by trivial sounds: the bark of a stray dog, the footfalls of a patrolling policeman or the distant whoosh of a solitary owl flying low.

    There was, however, one sound in a certain neighborhood that went on ceaselessly. The continuous thud of hooves on the asphalt signaled the progression of a horse-drawn carriage through the street. It rushed past silent houses with shuttered windows, alternating between patches of light and near-darkness, the only sign of motion in the ambience of stillness.

    Then suddenly the carriage, too, came to a halt. A head with a shock of untidy jet-black hair and spectacles over the eyes poked out through the cab window. ‘Is this 221B Baker Street?’ he asked.

    The cabman confirmed it curtly. The passenger paid him and alighted from the carriage. With a round-eyed expression the cabman gazed at the large golden coin he had just received.

    Harry Potter stepped onto the pavement and looked up at the building ahead of him. It was as unremarkable as those he had passed along the way, but there was one major difference. One of the windows had its panes opened wide, and light poured out through it. The silhouette of a man could be seen moving to and fro, apparently pacing around in impatience.

    Harry’s knocks on the front door were answered by a young page, who asked him his name and business and, upon hearing the reply, led him up the stairs to the right rooms and held the door open for him.

    Sure enough, there was the wiry figure, the masterful face and the keen eyes of the most illustrious detective in all of England. Even at this hour, when nearly everyone was in bed, Sherlock Holmes was fully dressed. With distinct alertness he surveyed the newcomer. ‘You are late, Mr. Potter,’ he said.

    Harry managed a sheepish smile. ‘I’m sorry, cabs were hard to find at this time. I hope I haven’t kept you up for too long.’

    ‘No, no!’ chuckled Holmes. ‘No hour is too late for my business. Pray sit down, and tell me all about your troubles.’

    ‘It’s my owl, Hedwig,’ said Harry as he seated himself. ‘She’s been missing since the day before yesterday. I searched for her as far as I could, but in vain.’

    ‘When did you last see her?’

    ‘The night before she went missing. I woke up in the morning to find that she was gone.’

    ‘Was the owl kept in a cage?’

    ‘Yes. The cage door was hanging open. Actually, I let her out most nights, but …’ Harry hesitated. ‘There’s this weird thing.’

    ‘What is it?’

    ‘I don’t remember releasing her, but I clearly recall that in the morning both my door and window were closed tight. Even if the cage door was open somehow, Hedwig would still be trapped in my room.’

    ‘So you can absolutely rule out the possibility of the owl escaping?’

    ‘I can see no way she could have.’

    ‘Very well,’ said Holmes thoughtfully. ‘He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, but his visage was a study in concentration. His eyebrows were furrowed for a few seconds, before his eyes flew open.

    ‘If it is as you say, then the only possibility is that someone came to your room while you were asleep, and took the bird.’

    ‘But how?’ asked Harry, startled. ‘I’m a light sleeper. Things much smaller than people breaking into my room wake me up.’

    ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,’ said Holmes evenly. ‘It is the only possible explanation. If you are seeking any other, I’m afraid you will have to depart from science and turn to the realm of magic and myths.’ He smiled in amusement.

    Like a speeding train, it hit Harry. He knew what had happened. The great detective had solved the mystery.

 

***

 

    Harry was awake again.

    He sat up in his bed, seeing sparks of light as he rubbed his eyes and stretched his body. It felt as though he had slept through the night, but a glance at his wristwatch showed that barely five minutes had passed.

    A glass bottle stood on top of the bedside table, half-filled with a colorless liquid. Hermione had said that the potion would help him think. She had evidently neglected to mention that the process involved a blackout and a vivid dream.

    Harry looked up at Hedwig’s cage. It was still empty with its door open, just the way he had left it. Near the cage lay a large cardboard box with golden letter emblazoned on it: Weaseleys’ Wizarding Wheezes. Vanishing Candies. It’s easy to use. Just swallow and … vanish! He remembered that he had taken out one of the sweets to look at it, and perhaps had not put it back in.

    He reached into the cage and �" as expected �" his hand touched something soft and feathery. This was followed by a familiar reproachful screech.

    A broad grin appeared on Harry’s face. He felt relieved, and stupid. He had worried his friends for nothing, and now the damage must be undone. Without delay, he pulled out his ink bottle, quill and a roll of parchment, and set to work.

Reviews

[Reeti]

It's very intriguing. When you brought in Sherlock Holmes, i thought: "heck, you're going to pull off a detective work with another very mystical character of the literary world?" but, then, you used 'magic' to be resolved. Harry Potter is one of the books that has spurred my interest in books. The narrative structure is also something that meets Joanne's taste and skill.