The thrum of the enchanted motorcycle engine dwindled to a gentle hum as they began their descent. The cold, crisp air of the upper atmosphere gave way to the dusty, fume-choked air of London. Below, the city sprawled in a chaotic web of roads and buildings—a stark contrast to the tidy, uniform streets of Privet Drive.
Hagrid landed in an alleyway, a quiet, unremarkable space between two large, modern buildings. He slid off the seat, his immense bulk making the motorcycle shudder. Alister helped Astra out of the sidecar and onto the grimy pavement. She clung to his hand, her wide eyes taking in the strange new surroundings.
"Right then," Hagrid said, patting dust from his coat. "Here we are. The Leaky Cauldron."
Alister's gaze followed Hagrid's pointing finger. A few paces away, nestled between a record shop and a bookstore, was a small, grimy pub. It was dark and run-down, seeming to actively lean against the buildings on either side. Its sign—a rusty cauldron with a single, slow drip—was half-hidden in shadows. The sight was so jarring, so out of place among the clean, modern facades, that it took a moment for Alister to even register it.
Then he noticed the strangest thing of all. People passed by, their faces a blur of indifference, yet none of them seemed to see the pub. They walked right past it, their gazes fixed on points in the distance, as if the space where the Leaky Cauldron stood were nothing but a blank wall.
[Analysis of surrounding non-magical individuals: visual perception of the 'Leaky Cauldron' is being actively blocked by magical wards. Suggests a deliberate effort to conceal this location from the mundane world. This is a highly effective application of magical energy.]
The System's voice, cold and precise, was a welcome guide through this bizarre reality.
"What's the matter, Alister?" Hagrid asked, noticing his pause.
"No one can see it," Alister said—a statement of fact that held no surprise.
Hagrid beamed. "Right you are! Can't have Muggles pokin' about, can we? It's the entrance to Diagon Alley." He pushed open the heavy wooden door, and a blast of warm noise spilled out: the clatter of tankards, the low murmur of conversation, and a faint, sweet smell of butterbeer.
Alister led Astra through the doorway, and the world behind them vanished. They stepped into a pub that was anything but run-down. The air was thick with smoke and the scent of woodsmoke, and the room was packed with a vibrant, colorful crowd of people in every imaginable style of clothing.
Wizards in long robes, witches in pointed hats, and a few strangely dressed individuals all mingled, talking and laughing. The entire place hummed with an almost palpable energy.
Astra's hand tightened in his, her gaze wide with wonder.
Hagrid led them to a quiet corner. He turned to face them, his expression one of paternal pride. "Welcome to the magical world, you two. This is your home now."
Alister looked at the bubbling fire in the hearth, at the bustling magical people around them. The world was dying, but in this place, it was still very much alive.
A tall, wiry man with a balding head and a kind smile approached their table, holding a rag. "Afternoon, Hagrid. Unusual to see you this far from the grounds," he said, his voice raspy. "What can I get for you, old friend?"
"Tom, good to see ya," Hagrid rumbled, a large grin spreading across his face. "Just one butterbeer and two juices for now. I've got a couple of visitors with me. They're Alister and Astra Potter."
The name "Potter" rippled through the pub in whispers, a wave of quiet excitement passing from table to table. Tom's eyes widened, and he leaned in closer. "Potter? The Potter who...?" He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze moving from Alister to Astra.
The Leaky Cauldron went silent. The sound of a dropped tankard echoed through the space, and every wizard and witch turned to stare. Tom's gaze fixed on Astra, on the lightning-bolt-shaped scar barely visible beneath her messy fringe.
"Astra Potter," Tom gasped, a tremor in his voice. "She has the scar! The Girl Who Lived!"
Whispers erupted, growing into a low, frantic murmur. Fingers pointed, and Alister's body went rigid. He instinctively pulled Astra behind him, his small frame a shield against hundreds of staring eyes. A cold, defensive rage—the kind he knew from a lifetime of combat—settled over him.
Hagrid's face went pale. He hadn't expected this. The story had always been about Astra, the girl-who-lived. His eyes darted around the room, seeing the curiosity, the awe, and the almost-worship in the faces of the crowd. He grabbed Alister's arm, his eyes wide with rare panic. "We've got to go, Alister. Now."
He moved with surprising speed for a man of his size, pushing his way through the stunned crowd with Alister and Astra in tow. They made a beeline for a small cobblestone courtyard at the back of the pub. Alister, holding Astra's hand tightly, felt the weight of a thousand curious stares on his back. His body was tense, ready to fight, to run, to do anything to protect his sister from this sudden spotlight.
They burst out into the cool air of the alleyway behind the pub. A dead end was blocked by a large brick wall. Hagrid pulled a pink umbrella from his coat and began tapping at the wall, but his movements were frantic, his hands fumbling with the handle. The panic had made him forget the simple sequence.
Alister, standing still and focused, watched Hagrid. His mind, aided by the System, analyzed the wall's pattern. It wasn't random—there was a specific order to the bricks, a sequence that his mind instantly recognized as a mathematical permutation.
"Hagrid," Alister said, his voice calm. "It's three from the top, two across. Then two from the bottom, four across."
Hagrid stopped, staring at the boy. "How d'you know that?"
"I don't know," Alister lied, the System's voice a constant hum in his mind. "I just... saw it."
Hagrid shrugged, his large hand moving to the bricks Alister had pointed out. He tapped them in the correct sequence, and with a low groan, the wall began to move.
The bricks swirled and shifted, folding in on themselves like a kaleidoscope, revealing a bustling, vibrant street beyond. The air filled with a thousand smells—freshly baked bread, old parchment, and a strange, sweet scent he couldn't name.
The sight was overwhelming. Diagon Alley was a long, winding street lined with shops of every shape and size. The buildings were crooked and colorful, their windows displaying everything from glittering cauldrons to magnificent live owls. Wizards and witches strolled leisurely, their robes and hats a riot of color and style. The world they had just entered was a chaotic, beautiful symphony of magic.
Astra gasped, her eyes wide with unadulterated awe. Alister's gaze, however, was fixed on the sight with quiet determination hardening his features. This was it. The place where his journey to save the world would begin.
Hagrid's face broke into a wide grin as he watched Alister and Astra stare at Diagon Alley. He saw how Alister's usually intense and serious gaze softened with a flicker of awe.
"Looks like an incredible sight, doesn't it?" Hagrid rumbled, his voice filled with paternal pride.
A sudden, sharp thought—a cold, hard fact from his years in the cupboard—cut through the wonder. "Hagrid, we don't have any money," Alister trailed off, the memory of their neglect a bitter taste in his mouth.
Hagrid let out a hearty laugh, a sound that made a few nearby owls hoot in protest. "Didn't think your mum and dad would leave you with nothing, did you? They were some of the best, and they knew how to provide for their own. First stop's always the same for a young wizard. We're goin' to Gringotts."
He led them down the bustling street, a human-shaped mountain clearing a path through the crowd. Alister and Astra followed, their heads swiveling to take in the wondrous sights. Alister's eyes, however, remained fixed on the imposing, snow-white building at the end of the street.
They stepped into a magnificent hall with gleaming marble floors and high ceilings. A dozen goblin figures sat on tall stools behind a long counter, their sharp faces and even sharper gazes a stark contrast to the friendly wizards they'd just passed.
Hagrid led them to a free teller. "Afternoon, Griphook," he said with a nod. "I've come to take young Alister Potter to his vault."
The goblin, Griphook, looked from Hagrid to Alister, his black eyes like chips of coal. "Do you have the key, sir?" he asked, his voice a gravelly monotone.
Hagrid reached into the depths of his coat and pulled out a small golden key. He handed it to the goblin, who inspected it carefully before nodding. "Ah, yes. The Potter vault. It will be my pleasure." He motioned for them to follow him into the depths of the bank, leaving the bustling hall behind for a silent world of secrets and power.
The journey was a blur of twists and turns, of rickety carts and echoing tunnels. When they finally stopped, they stood before a massive bronze door. Hagrid turned to them.
"The goblin currency is a bit different, and it's used as common currency among wizards," he explained. "See, you've got your Galleons, which are gold—they're the biggest coins. Then there's the silver Sickles, seventeen of them to a Galleon. And finally, you've got the bronze Knuts, twenty-nine of them to a Sickle. Got it?"
Alister's mind processed the information, creating a mental diagram of the currency conversion. The goblin, Griphook, tapped the door with a long, sharp nail. It swung open, revealing a breathtaking sight.
Piles of gold, silver, and bronze coins shimmered in the dim light. Mountains of wealth stretched before them, gleaming in the torchlight. Alister stared at the gold, his mind processing the sheer value of it all.
The shine earned a loud gasp from Astra.
"Your parents were very... financially secure," Hagrid said with a wide smile as he started shoveling a generous amount of gold into a small leather bag. He then handed the bag to Alister.
Alister took the bag, the weight of the gold feeling oddly comforting. He looked at Astra, who was simply staring at the coins with wide, amazed eyes.
This fortune would help him skip many complicated processes. With resources like this, his path forward had just become significantly clearer.
(END OF CHAPTER)
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