Harry woke to the soft crackle of fire burning.
For a second he wondered if the night before had been one long, heavy dream.
Maybe he would open his eyes and see Penutia shouting at him as always.
*Tap tap*
A sharp tapping hit the window.
He sat up and Hagrid's heavy coat fell off him. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over,
Hagrid himself was asleep on the collapsed sofa, and there was an owl rapping its claw on the
window, a newspaper held in its beak.
Not a dream, then.
The tapping came again.
This time harder.
Harry froze.
When Harry opened the window, the bird swooped inside, landed heavily on Hagrid's stomach, and dropped a newspaper right onto him.
The owl then fluttered onto the floor and
began to attack Hagrid's coat.
"Hagrid!" said Harry loudly. "There's an owl -"
"Pay him," Hagrid grunted into the sofa.
"What?"
"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets."
Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets... bunches of keys, slug pellets, balls of
string, peppermint humbugs, teabags… finally, Harry pulled out a handful of strange looking
coins.
"Give him five Knuts," said Hagrid sleepily.
"Knuts?"
"The little bronze ones."
Harry counted out five little bronze coins, and the owl held out his leg so Harry could put the
money into a small leather pouch tied to it.
Then he flew off through the open window.
Hagrid unfolded the paper, yawned, and rubbed his eyes.
Harry looked straight at Hagrid, as if remembering a thought that had been waiting its turn.
"Um, Hagrid?"
"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.
"I haven't got any money, and you heard Uncle Vernon last night… he won't pay for me to go
and learn magic."
"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. "D'yeh think yer
parents didn't leave yeh anything?"
"But if their house was destroyed -"
"They didn' keep their gold in the house, boy! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank."
"Wizards have banks?"
"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."
"Goblins?"
Harry didn't know what to say.
"Gringotts is run by goblins," he explained. "Nasty little buggers, mind yeh, but clever. Wouldn't want ter cross one. They say the high security vaults are guarded by dragons."
Harry let that sink in. But not for long because,
"Dragons guard the vaults? They are real?"
"Course they are," Hagrid said, far too cheerfully. 'Always wanted one meself. Lovely creatures.'
Harry didn't think he would survive seeing a dragon, but the information had been given, so he held onto it.
He sat down and thought about this while Hagrid read his newspaper, the Daily Prophet.
"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turning the page
After a moment, another question arrived naturally, "The Ministry of Magic? What do they do?"
"Oh, they mostly make a mess o' things," Hagrid said. "Cover up magical accidents, keep Muggles from noticin' odd bits. Put laws on things. That sort." He rowed the conversation along without ceremony. "Fudge, the Minister, sends Dumbledore owls askin' advice every five minutes."
Ahh yes, the bureaucrats relying on better men to do their thinking.
They left the hut soon after, climbing into the small boat Hagrid had 'borrowed' the night before.
The sea was calmer now, though still choppy enough that Harry nearly lost his balance.
Hagrid muttered something under his breath; the boat surged forward faster than oars should allow.
Harry stared. "Was that... was that magic?"
Hagrid cleared his throat. "Might've been. Shouldn't've done that."
He didn't sound remotely apologetic.
They had reached the station.
There was a train to London in five minutes' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand 'Muggle money,' as he called it, gave the bills to Harry so he could buy their tickets.
People stared more than ever on the train.
"Still got yer letter, Harry?" he asked as he counted stitches.
Harry took the parchment envelope out of his pocket.
"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."
Harry unfolded the parchment.
Books.
Robes.
A wand.
A cauldron.
Potions kit.
All sorts of items. Items he has never really seen in life.
He finished reading, unsure. Hagrid watched him with a steady expression that worked better than reassurance.
----
Harry had never been to London before.
Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way.
They turned onto a narrow street of shops and brick walls. Harry didn't find it impressive enough. So much that for a moment he started questioning everything again.
There was othing magical about the alley, neither anything remarkable.
Harry wondered if Hagrid had made a wrong turn.
Then Hagrid stopped in front of a small, shabby looking pub wedged between a bookshop and a record shop.
"The Leaky Cauldron," Hagrid said. "Famous place."
"That's… a pub?" Harry asked.
"Aye," Hagrid said. "Come on, then."
He pushed the door open.
Warmth hit them first.
Then the smell of smoke and old wood.
Tom the barman stepped forward. "The usual, Hagrid?"
"Can't," Hagrid said. "Hogwarts business."
Before any further conversation could happen, the bar tender seemed to recognise Harry.
"Bless my soul," he whispered.
"Is it... It's Harry Potter."
The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.
Just for a moment. After that there was chaos.
Heads turned.
People paused.
A short man behind the bar blinked twice.
Harry had never been the center of anyone's attention, not wanted attention, anyway...and the room filled too fast with greetings for him to catch up.
Harry felt hands shaking his, people saying his name quietly, as though it might vanish if they spoke too loudly.
Someone patted his shoulder.
Someone bowed.
It was strange, unsettling, and for the first time in his life, though not entirely unpleasant.
Then a man in a purple turban approached, wringing his hands.
"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."
"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how
ppleased I am to meet you."
"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"
"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he would rather not think about it.
Harry wasn't actually confident about the professor being the best at the task he was supposed to.
But before he could further have a conversation, other people joined them. They wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry to himself.
It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all.
At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.
"Right," Hagrid said. "Time yeh saw where yeh'll be buyin' yer school things."
He led Harry through the pub, toward a small brick wall in the back courtyard.
Hagrid lifted his umbrella and tapped,
One brick, another, third,
and then...
The wall folded open like something waking from a long sleep.
Beyond it, sunlight struck cobblestones and signs and towers of books and copper cauldrons and a hundred impossible things.
"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."
He grinned at Harry's amazement.
They stepped through the archway. Harry looked quickly over his shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall.
The real fun was about to begin.