The train to London turned out to be exactly the sort of experience Harry might have expected when traveling with someone who had spent the better part of his adult life living in a world where "reasonable transportation" meant flying motorbikes and carriages pulled by skeletal horses.
Which is to say: educational, mildly terrifying, and absolutely hilarious.
It started at the ticket booth, where Hagrid had confidently announced that he needed "two tickets to London, please" while simultaneously pulling out a leather pouch that clinked ominously with what were obviously not standard British pounds.
The ticket clerk—a middle-aged woman named Margaret whose name tag suggested she'd been dealing with difficult customers since approximately the Bronze Age—looked at the handful of gold and silver coins Hagrid had produced with the expression of someone whose day had just taken a sharp left turn into the bizarre.
"I'm sorry, sir," she said with the careful politeness of someone who'd been trained to handle unusual situations but had never quite expected to encounter a seven-foot man trying to pay for train tickets with what appeared to be pirate treasure. "We don't accept... foreign currency? Are these commemorative coins of some sort?"
Hagrid blinked, his massive hand frozen halfway through counting out Galleons with the concentration of someone performing advanced mathematics. "Foreign? But they're—oh." His face went through several expressions in rapid succession: confusion, realization, embarrassment, and finally something that might have been panic. "Right. Muggle money. Course. Should've thought of that."
He began stuffing the wizard coins back into his pouch with hands that suddenly seemed too large for the delicate operation, occasionally dropping coins that rang like tiny bells when they hit the floor. A small crowd of other travelers was beginning to gather, drawn by the spectacle of a giant man apparently having some sort of currency-related crisis.
"I've got this," Harry said quickly, stepping forward with the confidence of someone who'd spent years watching the Dursleys navigate normal human interactions. "Sorry about the confusion—he's from... Scotland. Very rural Scotland. They still use old coin systems in some of the more remote areas."
It was complete nonsense, but delivered with the kind of earnest certainty that made people want to believe it rather than ask uncomfortable questions. Harry had learned the art of creative explanations during eleven years of covering for accidental magic, and the skills transferred remarkably well to covering for magical companions who didn't understand Muggle society.
"Ah," Margaret said, nodding with the relief of someone who'd been handed a reasonable explanation for an unreasonable situation. "That would explain it. How quaint. Now, about payment..."
This, Harry realized with growing horror, was where his plan hit a significant snag. He had exactly zero British pounds to his name, owing to the Dursleys' generous policy of ensuring he never had access to money that might be used for frivolous things like food, clothing, or basic human dignity.
Hagrid, meanwhile, was patting his pockets with increasing desperation, producing a series of items that definitely belonged in a wizard's coat but would probably cause more questions if displayed in public: a dragon-hide glove, what appeared to be a crystalline flower that hummed softly, a compass that pointed in four directions simultaneously, and what looked suspiciously like a preserved fairy wing.
"Er," Harry said, his confidence evaporating rapidly as the queue behind them began to show signs of impatience. A businessman in an expensive suit was checking his watch with the theatrical annoyance of someone whose schedule was Very Important, and a mother with three young children was beginning to emit the low-frequency stress signals that preceded complete parental meltdown.
Then salvation arrived in the form of a young woman about Harry's age who'd apparently been watching the entire exchange with barely concealed amusement. She had short, spiky purple hair that definitely wasn't natural, multiple piercings that caught the station's fluorescent lighting, and was wearing what appeared to be a band t-shirt featuring a group Harry didn't recognize under a leather jacket that had seen considerable adventure.
"Excuse me," she said, stepping up to the counter with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to solving other people's problems, "but I couldn't help overhearing. You need tickets to London?"
"That's right," Harry said gratefully. "Two adults to King's Cross, if possible."
The young woman—her name tag read 'JENNY - STUDENT VOLUNTEER'—pulled out a standard debit card and nodded to Margaret. "Put it on here. Consider it a good deed for the day."
"Oh, we couldn't possibly—" Hagrid began, looking mortified at the idea of accepting charity from a stranger.
"Sure you can," Jenny interrupted with a grin. "I'm heading to London anyway for uni, and my student account has more money in it than I know what to do with. Scholarship perks. Besides," she added, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "I once got stranded in Edinburgh with nothing but foreign coins and the kindness of strangers. Paying it forward."
Harry felt a surge of genuine gratitude that had nothing to do with enhanced memory or cosmic systems and everything to do with simple human kindness. "Thank you. Really. We'll find a way to pay you back, I promise."
"Don't worry about it," Jenny said, accepting the tickets from Margaret and handing them over. "Just promise me you'll have an adventure worth the price of admission. Life's too short for boring train rides."
As they made their way toward the platform, Hagrid walking with the careful gait of someone trying very hard not to accidentally demolish anything important, Harry caught Jenny's arm.
"Seriously, thank you. Is there any way we can contact you? Send you the money when we get to London?"
Jenny considered this for a moment, then pulled a pen from her jacket pocket and scrawled something on the back of Harry's train ticket. "Email address. But honestly, don't worry about the money. Just... I don't know, do something interesting with your lives. Make good choices. Don't let the world convince you to be ordinary."
She paused, studying Harry's face with curious eyes that seemed to see more than most people's. "You've got an interesting look about you, you know that? Like you're carrying secrets that are bigger than you are. That can be dangerous, but it can also be powerful. Just... be careful which one you choose."
Before Harry could ask what she meant by that, Jenny had melted back into the crowd with the practiced ease of someone who knew how to navigate busy public spaces without getting trapped in awkward conversations.
"Interesting girl," Hagrid observed as they found their platform. "Bit unusual, but good heart. Reminds me of some of the students I've met over the years—the ones who see magic in the world even when they don't know that's what they're seeing."
Harry pocketed the ticket with Jenny's email address, making a mental note to contact her once he had access to wizard money and could properly repay the debt. Something told him that wasn't the last time their paths would cross, and he found himself curious about what she'd meant about carrying secrets.
The train itself proved to be Hagrid's next great challenge. The carriages were designed for people of reasonable, human proportions, which meant that Hagrid's entry into their compartment was less 'boarding public transportation' and more 'geological event with tickets.'
Harry watched in fascination as Hagrid carefully, methodically folded his enormous frame into a seat that was clearly not engineered for someone of his dimensions. It was like watching someone try to fit a small mountain into a teacup—theoretically possible, perhaps, but requiring considerable creative geometry and probably defying several laws of physics.
The result was that Hagrid occupied not just his assigned seat, but also most of the aisle, part of the window, and what appeared to be a significant portion of the electromagnetic spectrum. Other passengers entering the carriage took one look at the situation and immediately began the complex social mathematics of finding alternative seating arrangements that didn't require them to climb over a giant.
"Comfortable?" Harry asked, settling into his own seat with the easy grace of someone who fit properly into standard human-sized furniture.
"Oh, fine, fine," Hagrid said, though his voice was slightly strained and he appeared to be breathing carefully, as if sudden movement might result in structural damage to the train itself. "Just takes a bit of getting used to, that's all. Usually when I travel, it's either by magical means or in vehicles that're designed for... well, for people like me."
"People like you meaning giants?" Harry asked quietly, conscious of the other passengers who were trying very hard to pretend they weren't eavesdropping while simultaneously being absolutely riveted by the presence of someone who looked like he'd stepped out of a fairy tale.
"Half-giant," Hagrid corrected, also lowering his voice. "Me dad was human, me mum was... well, that's a story for another time. Point is, I'm used to spaces that're built for magical folk, where being unusual isn't quite so... unusual."
The train began to move with a gentle lurch that would normally be barely noticeable. For Hagrid, who was apparently accustomed to transportation methods that didn't involve gradual acceleration, it was clearly an unexpected sensation.
"Blimey," he muttered, gripping his seat with hands that could probably crush coal into diamonds. "Starts so smooth, doesn't it? No lurching about, no sudden drops, no feeling like yer stomach's been left three miles behind yeh."
"That's... generally considered a good thing," Harry said, amused despite himself. "Most people prefer transportation that doesn't make them question their life choices."
"Different strokes, I s'pose," Hagrid said philosophically. "Though I have to admit, there's something to be said for being able to see where yer going without having to peer through clouds or worry about whether the thestrals are feeling cooperative."
Harry filed away the casual mention of thestrals—winged skeletal horses visible only to those who'd witnessed death—as another reminder of just how different Hagrid's normal world was from standard human experience. In the books, they'd been portrayed as somewhat ominous creatures, but Hagrid spoke of them with the fond exasperation of someone discussing particularly moody pets.
The ticket conductor appeared at that moment, a thin man with the harried expression of someone whose job required him to navigate moving trains while checking hundreds of small pieces of paper and somehow keeping track of who belonged where. He took one look at Hagrid's creative approach to seating arrangements and his expression suggested he was wondering if his training had covered this particular scenario.
"Tickets, please," he said with professional politeness, though his eyes remained fixed on Hagrid with the fascination of someone observing an unusual specimen.
Harry handed over both tickets, noting the conductor's slight double-take when he saw the name 'Harry Potter' printed on one of them. For a moment, he wondered if somehow his fame had extended into the Muggle world, before remembering that 'Harry Potter' was actually a fairly common name and the conductor was probably just processing the coincidence.
"Thank you, Mr. Potter," the conductor said, handing the tickets back. "Traveling to London for business or pleasure?"
"School shopping," Harry said easily. "Starting at a new school in September—need to get books and supplies."
"Ah, excellent. Education's important." The conductor's gaze drifted back to Hagrid, who was still occupying what appeared to be several seats' worth of space despite technically sitting in only one. "And you, sir?"
"Helping with the shopping," Hagrid said cheerfully. "Know all the best places to get proper supplies. Been doing it for years, I have."
The conductor nodded politely, though something in his expression suggested he was trying to imagine what kind of school supplies might require the assistance of someone who looked like he could arm-wrestle a small building and win.
"Well, enjoy your trip," he said finally, moving on to the next compartment with the relief of someone who'd successfully navigated a potentially awkward situation without anything catching fire.
As the countryside began to roll past outside the windows, Harry found himself relaxing for the first time since waking up in Hagrid's hut. The gentle rhythm of the train was soothing, and watching Hagrid's ongoing battle with the constraints of Muggle transportation was providing considerable entertainment.
The half-giant had now discovered that the fold-down table attached to the seat in front of him was intended for passenger convenience, and was studying it with the intense concentration of an archaeologist examining a significant artifact.
"Clever bit of engineering, this," Hagrid said, carefully extending the table and then folding it back up several times. "Simple mechanism, but effective. Much more reliable than the tables at the Three Broomsticks—those're held up by magic, and sometimes when there's been a particularly enthusiastic celebration, the spells get a bit confused and everything starts floating."
"Tables that float on their own?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.
"Oh aye, all sorts of furniture does that in the wizarding world. Self-setting tables, chairs that adjust to whoever's sitting in them, beds that warm themselves... Very convenient, most of the time. Though there was that incident a few years back when someone's dining set got confused and started trying to serve dinner to the ceiling. Took three Ministry officials to sort that one out."
Harry filed this away as another example of magic being simultaneously wonderful and completely impractical. The wizarding world, as described in the books, had always seemed to have a peculiar relationship with common sense, and Hagrid's casual anecdotes were confirming that real magical society was every bit as brilliantly chaotic as he'd imagined.
"So," Harry said, settling back in his seat, "tell me about Diagon Alley. What should I expect?"
Hagrid's entire face lit up with the enthusiasm of someone about to share his favorite subject. "Oh, Harry, it's something else entirely. Best magical shopping district in Britain, maybe in the world. Got everything yeh could possibly need and quite a few things yeh didn't know existed."
He leaned forward conspiratorially, his voice dropping to what he probably thought was a whisper but would have been clearly audible to anyone within fifty feet. "The entrance is hidden right in London—behind a pub called the Leaky Cauldron. Looks like nothing much from the street, mind, just a grubby little place that most Muggles walk right past without seeing. But once yeh get inside..."
"Hidden?" Harry prompted.
"Magic," Hagrid said simply, as if this explained everything. "Special charms that make Muggles not notice it, or if they do, they suddenly remember urgent business elsewhere. Very effective. Been working for centuries."
"And once you're inside the pub?"
"That's where it gets interesting," Hagrid said, his eyes twinkling with anticipation. "There's a courtyard behind the pub—looks like nothing but brick wall, but tap the right bricks in the right pattern, and..." He gestured dramatically. "The whole wall opens up like a great doorway, and there's Diagon Alley stretching out before yeh like summat out of a dream."
Harry could picture it perfectly from his enhanced memory of the books, but hearing Hagrid describe it with such genuine excitement made him eager to experience it himself. The magical shopping district had always seemed like one of the most appealing aspects of the wizarding world—a place where magic was commonplace, where the impossible was just another day at the office.
"What kind of shops?" Harry asked.
"Everything," Hagrid said emphatically. "Ollivanders for wands—been making wands for over two thousand years, that family has. Magical theory says the wand chooses the wizard, and old Ollivander can tell yeh more about wand lore than anyone alive. Then there's Flourish and Blotts for books, Madam Malkin's for robes, the Apothecary for potion ingredients..."
He paused, counting on his fingers with the careful concentration of someone performing complex mathematics.
"Eeylops Owl Emporium if yeh want a pet owl, Magical Menagerie for more exotic pets, Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment for telescopes and such, Quality Quidditch Supplies for flying gear..." Hagrid's voice took on the wistful tone of someone discussing a particularly appealing catalog. "And right at the end of the alley, behind more security than the Crown Jewels, there's Gringotts."
"The goblin bank," Harry said, remembering.
"That's right. Run by goblins for near on a thousand years. Very serious about security, goblins are. Got vaults that go down for miles underground, protected by magic that'd make yer hair stand on end just thinking about it. Dragons, curses, protective spells that... well, let's just say nobody's ever successfully robbed Gringotts and lived to tell about it."
Harry nodded thoughtfully, his enhanced memory providing perfect recall of exactly how Gringotts' security worked—and how it would eventually be bypassed by a certain trio of teenagers riding a dragon. But that was still years in the future, and he had more immediate concerns.
"And I have money there?" he asked. "In a vault?"
Hagrid's expression grew soft with something that might have been sympathy. "Oh aye, yeh do indeed. Yer parents left yeh quite well provided for, they did. James Potter came from old wizard money—the Potter family's been accumulating wealth for centuries. And Lily, well, she might've been Muggle-born, but she was brilliant at Charms work. Did quite a bit of consulting for the Ministry before... well, before."
He cleared his throat awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable discussing Harry's parents' deaths in detail. "Point is, yeh won't be wanting for anything at Hogwarts. Good thing too, considering how the Dursleys have been treating yeh."
The mention of the Dursleys brought back memories—Harry Potter's memories—of eleven years of systematic neglect and emotional abuse. The cupboard under the stairs, the hand-me-down clothes that never fit properly, the constant message that he was unwanted, unloved, a burden to be barely tolerated.
But those memories felt distant now, like something that had happened to someone else. Harry Smith's adult perspective made it easier to contextualize the abuse, to understand it as a reflection of the Dursleys' character rather than his own worth. And knowing what he knew about the wizarding world, about his true heritage and the people who would come to care about him, made the Dursleys seem less like insurmountable oppressors and more like... obstacles that had already been overcome.
"I'm looking forward to seeing it all," Harry said sincerely. "The shops, the bank, the people. It'll be nice to be somewhere I actually belong."
"That yeh will," Hagrid said warmly. "And Harry—" His voice grew serious. "I know it's been hard, not knowing about any of this for so long. Not knowing who yer parents really were, what they died for, what yeh are. But that's all behind yeh now. From today forward, yer part of the wizarding world properly. Yeh'll have friends who understand, teachers who can help yeh learn, a whole community that'll welcome yeh home."
Harry felt something tight in his chest loosen slightly. "Thank you, Hagrid. For coming to get me, for explaining everything, for..." He gestured around the train compartment. "For putting up with Muggle transportation just to make sure I get where I need to go."
Hagrid chuckled, carefully shifting his position and causing the entire train car to rock slightly. "Well, it's not so bad, this. Bit cramped, mind, and the seats aren't designed for proper sleeping, but there's something to be said for being able to see the countryside without having to worry about wind or weather or whether the flying creature yer riding is having philosophical differences with yer destination."
As if summoned by Hagrid's mention of sleep, a food trolley appeared at the far end of their carriage, pushed by an elderly woman whose practiced efficiency suggested she'd been navigating moving trains for decades. The sight of snacks and drinks seemed to remind Hagrid that breakfast had been some time ago, and his stomach produced a rumble that was audible three seats away.
"Anything from the trolley?" the woman called cheerfully as she approached their compartment.
Hagrid's eyes lit up with the enthusiasm of someone discovering unexpected treasure. "Oh, that'd be lovely. Harry, yeh hungry? My treat—least I can do after all the trouble this morning."
Harry realized he was, in fact, quite hungry. The emotional revelations and magical discoveries of the past day had overshadowed basic physical needs, but the smell of food was making his stomach remember that it had opinions about being fed regularly.
"What've you got?" Hagrid asked the trolley witch, leaning forward with interest and inadvertently blocking most of the aisle in the process.
"Standard selection," she replied with professional cheerfulness, apparently unbothered by having to conduct business with someone who looked like he could bench press the entire trolley. "Sandwiches, crisps, chocolate, drinks, fruit..."
"Bit of everything, I think," Hagrid said decisively, pulling out his leather pouch of wizard coins before catching himself. "Er... that is... Harry, don't suppose yeh could..."
"Actually," Harry said, remembering something, "I think I might have..." He checked the pockets of Dudley's oversized clothing, hoping against hope that his enhanced memory was correct about finding some forgotten change.
Nothing.
"Don't worry about it," the trolley witch said kindly, apparently recognizing the signs of travelers who'd encountered unexpected financial difficulties. "First trip to London?"
"Something like that," Harry confirmed.
"Tell you what," she said, pulling out a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of water, "these got made yesterday and I need to clear them out anyway. Consider it a welcome to the rails."
It was the second act of spontaneous kindness from a stranger in less than two hours, and Harry found himself genuinely touched by the simple human decency of people who saw others in need and chose to help without expecting anything in return.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. "Really. We appreciate it."
"Think nothing of it," she replied, moving on to the next compartment with the steady rhythm of someone who had many more passengers to serve and limited time to accomplish it.
As they shared the unexpected meal, Harry found himself studying Hagrid with new appreciation. The man had willingly subjected himself to a form of transportation that was clearly uncomfortable for him, had dealt gracefully with the complications of navigating Muggle society, and was now sitting in a space barely large enough to contain him, all to ensure that Harry got to London safely and prepared for his new life.
"Hagrid," Harry said quietly, "why did Dumbledore send you specifically? I mean, I'm grateful—don't get me wrong—but couldn't any wizard have come to collect me?"
Hagrid was quiet for a moment, his massive hands carefully unwrapping his sandwich as if it were made of delicate crystal.
"Well," he said finally, "I s'pose Dumbledore thought I was the right person for the job. Been at Hogwarts longer than most, know Diagon Alley like the back of me hand, good with people who're new to the magical world..." He paused, his expression growing thoughtful. "But if I'm being honest, I think there was more to it than that."
"More how?"
"I knew yer parents," Hagrid said simply. "Not just knew of them, like most people in the wizarding world do now. Actually knew them. James and Lily Potter, not the legend, not the story, just... just two young people who were trying to make the world a better place and got killed for their trouble."
His voice grew thick with emotion. "I was there the night they died, Harry. I was the one who pulled yeh from the wreckage of yer house in Godric's Hollow. I was the one who carried yeh to Privet Drive, handed yeh over to the Dursleys even though every instinct I had was screaming that it was wrong."
Harry felt his chest tighten. "You were there?"
"Aye. Hagrid's voice was barely above a whisper now. "Dumbledore's orders, they were. Said yeh'd be safe with yer aunt and uncle, said the blood protection would keep yeh alive until yeh were old enough to learn the truth. But leaving yeh there..." He shook his massive head. "Hardest thing I ever done. Knew from the first moment I saw those people that they didn't deserve yeh."
The train continued its steady progress toward London, carrying them through countryside that rolled past like a living painting. But Harry was barely aware of the scenery, focused entirely on the man sitting across from him who'd been carrying this weight for eleven years.
"Is that why you put a pig's tail on Dudley?" Harry asked with a slight smile. "Eleven years of pent-up frustration with the Dursleys?"
Hagrid's guilty expression was answer enough, though he also managed a rueful grin. "Maybe a little. Though to be fair, the boy did eat someone else's birthday cake. Basic manners, that is. Actions have consequences, even if the consequences involve magical pastry and temporary species modification."
Harry laughed despite himself. "I'm not complaining. It was the most entertainment I've had in years."
"Good," Hagrid said firmly. "They had it coming, all of them. Keeping yeh in a cupboard, treating yeh like yeh were less than human, lying to yeh about who yeh really are and where yeh come from..." His hands clenched into fists that could probably dent steel. "If I'd known exactly how bad it was, I might've done more than just pig tails."
"It's over now," Harry said gently. "I'm going to Hogwarts, I'm learning about magic, and I'll never have to depend on them again. That's what matters."
Hagrid nodded, though his expression remained troubled. "Aye, that's what matters. But Harry—" He leaned forward, his voice becoming urgent. "If they ever, ever try to hurt yeh again, if they give yeh any trouble at all when yeh go back for holidays, yeh tell me immediately. Understand? I don't care what Dumbledore says about blood protection or family obligation. Nobody has the right to treat a child the way they treated yeh."
The fierce protectiveness in Hagrid's voice was unmistakable, and Harry felt a surge of warmth that had nothing to do with enhanced memory or cosmic systems. This was genuine care from someone who barely knew him but was already prepared to stand between him and harm.
"I understand," Harry said quietly. "And thank you. It means more than you know to have someone looking out for me."
The remainder of the journey passed in comfortable companionship, with Hagrid sharing stories about Hogwarts, the magical community, and various creatures he'd encountered over the years. Harry found himself genuinely laughing at tales of misadventures with dragons, the ongoing political drama between the house-elves and the kitchen staff, and Hagrid's attempts to domesticate creatures that were generally considered undomesticatable.
By the time the train began to slow for its approach into King's Cross Station, Harry felt like he had a much better understanding of both Hagrid as a person and the broader magical world he was about to enter. It was a place of wonder and danger in equal measure, populated by people who were just as complicated and contradictory as Muggles but with the added variable of being able to turn each other into animals when disagreements got out of hand.
"Right then," Hagrid said as London began to appear outside the windows—first the suburbs, then the increasingly dense urban landscape that marked the approach to one of the world's great cities. "Ready for yer first proper look at the magical world?"
Harry grinned, feeling excitement building in his chest like a small, warm fire. "More than ready. Let's go shopping."
Outside the window, London sprawled in all directions like a living thing, full of millions of people going about their daily lives completely unaware that hidden in their midst was an entire parallel society of wizards and witches, goblins and dragons, magic shops and flying motorcycles.
In a few hours, Harry would be part of that hidden world. He would have a wand, proper robes, books full of spells and magical theory, and his first real taste of belonging somewhere that understood what he was.
*Day one of my new life,* Harry thought as the train pulled into King's Cross with a final, gentle lurch. *Time to see what Diagon Alley 2021 looks like.*
He had a feeling it was going to be quite an adventure.
—
King's Cross Station hit Harry like a sensory overload wrapped in the scent of diesel fuel and human anxiety. The platform teemed with people moving in seemingly random directions with the focused determination of ants rebuilding after someone had kicked their hill. Announcements echoed from overhead speakers in accents that ranged from crisp BBC English to something that might have been English if you squinted your ears and used considerable imagination.
Hagrid unfolded himself from the train with the careful precision of someone extracting a large object from a small container, drawing stares from fellow passengers who seemed torn between concern and fascination. A small child pointed with the directness that only children possessed, asking his mother in a voice that carried across three platforms: "Mummy, why is that man so enormous?"
"Because he eats his vegetables," Hagrid replied cheerfully, winking at the child while his mother looked mortified. "All of them. Even the ones that fight back."
Harry bit back a laugh as they navigated through the crowd, Hagrid's massive frame serving as an extremely effective crowd-parting device. People instinctively moved aside, creating a wake of clear space that allowed them to progress toward the exit with surprising efficiency.
"So," Harry said, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the general chaos of urban transportation, "the Leaky Cauldron is near here?"
"Oh aye, very close. Just a few streets over." Hagrid paused at the station exit, consulting what appeared to be a hand-drawn map pulled from one of his coat's infinite pockets. The map looked like it had been drawn by someone whose relationship with scale and proportion was theoretical at best. "Let's see... left here, then straight on past the bookshop, then right at the place with the funny sign..."
The transition from the controlled chaos of King's Cross to the organized mayhem of London's streets was jarring. Cars moved in patterns that seemed to follow traffic laws as loose suggestions rather than firm requirements, pedestrians darted between vehicles with the casual confidence of people who'd made peace with mortality, and the general noise level suggested that London had decided volume was directly correlated with importance.
Hagrid navigated it all with surprising grace, his size making him a natural focal point that other pedestrians automatically adjusted around. Harry found himself impressed by how smoothly Hagrid moved through the urban landscape, despite his obvious preference for more rural environments.
"There," Hagrid said suddenly, pointing down a narrow street that looked like it had been specifically designed to be overlooked. Between a record shop that appeared to specialize in bands nobody had heard of and a bookstore whose windows were so dusty they might have been archaeological artifacts, sat the most aggressively ordinary-looking pub Harry had ever seen.
The Leaky Cauldron.
It was exactly as underwhelming as the books had described – a narrow, grimy building that seemed to actively encourage people to look elsewhere. The sign hanging above the door was so faded that "Leaky Cauldron" was barely legible, and the windows were so dark they might as well have been painted black. It was the kind of establishment that looked like it served questionable food to questionable people and asked no questions about either.
"That's it?" Harry asked, though his enhanced memory confirmed that this was precisely what he should expect.
"That's it," Hagrid confirmed proudly. "Beautiful, isn't it? Been here for centuries, this place has. Hidden in plain sight, just like magic should be. Watch this."
They approached the entrance, passing several Muggles who walked by without giving the pub so much as a glance. Harry watched in fascination as a businessman in an expensive suit actually started to look toward the Leaky Cauldron, frowned slightly, checked his watch, and suddenly remembered he had urgent business in the completely opposite direction.
"Notice-Me-Not charms," Hagrid explained quietly as he pushed open the door. "Very subtle magic. Makes Muggles not want to pay attention, or if they do notice, makes them remember they need to be somewhere else. Been working perfectly for over three hundred years."
The moment they stepped inside, Harry felt like he'd crossed an invisible threshold into an entirely different world. The interior was everything the exterior had promised – dimly lit, slightly shabby, filled with the kind of atmosphere that suggested centuries of stories had soaked into the wooden beams and were slowly leaking out again.
But it was also undeniably magical.
Candles floated freely near the ceiling, providing warm light without any visible means of support. A fire burned merrily in the grate despite the summer weather, somehow managing to provide perfect temperature control rather than uncomfortable heat. The barman – a bald, toothless man who looked like he'd been carved from particularly weathered driftwood – was cleaning glasses with a rag that moved in his hands with its own subtle intelligence.
And everywhere, absolutely everywhere, were people who could only be witches and wizards.
A woman in emerald robes was deep in conversation with what appeared to be a small dragon perched on her shoulder. Two elderly wizards were playing chess with pieces that moved on their own and occasionally offered strategic advice in tiny, squeaky voices. A witch in the corner was reading a newspaper whose headlines were literally moving, the text rearranging itself as she watched.
Harry had read about this world, had perfect recall of every detail thanks to his enhanced memory, but seeing it, breathing it, being part of it – that was something entirely different.
"Welcome to the wizarding world, Harry Potter," Hagrid said softly, and his voice carried satisfaction, pride, and something that might have been homecoming.
This was where he belonged.
---
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