"Hagrid?" Professor McGonagall paused for a moment, clearly searching her memory. "I do not recall him being assigned to visit any new Muggle-born students this year."
"Yes, well, he came with our savior, Mr. Harry Potter," Old Tom said, lowering his voice with great mystery and almost childlike excitement. The moment the name left his mouth, several heads in the Leaky Cauldron turned at once.
Professor McGonagall's expression softened with understanding. "Harry. Of course."
"We'll keep an eye out for them in Diagon Alley," she said with a nod. Then she turned to Roger, her tone returning to its usual brisk precision. "Come along. We should purchase your textbooks and your wand."
When Roger heard that Harry Potter was also in Diagon Alley today, curiosity stirred in him at once. For a moment, he wanted to use the simulation and see whether he could run into the famous Boy Who Lived. Perhaps something interesting would happen.
Where Harry goes, trouble is rarely far behind, Roger thought. Then, after a brief pause, he quietly gave up on the idea.
He only had 2.3 magic points, and he was not about to waste them on someone else's destiny. Harry Potter could float past like a Dementor for all he cared; Roger had his own future to secure. After saying goodbye to Old Tom, Professor McGonagall led him through the pub and out to the small walled courtyard behind it.
"Count three bricks up from the dustbin, then two across," Professor McGonagall said, drawing her wand. "Tap the brick three times, and the entrance will open."
"Tap it three times," Roger murmured.
He knew this part of the story by heart, but knowing something and seeing it happen before his eyes were very different. The brick wall shivered, then began to shift. One brick folded back, then another, and another, until a hole spread wider and wider into a tall archway.
Beyond the opening lay a crooked, glittering street that seemed to breathe magic from every window and cobblestone. Signboards swung above shops, owls hooted from somewhere nearby, and the distant chatter of witches and wizards drifted toward him like music from another life. For the first time, Roger felt the wonder of the magical world without bars between him and it.
"Professor McGonagall," he asked suddenly, "what happens if the dustbin gets moved?"
"That is a very good question, child," Professor McGonagall said approvingly. "In fact, the dustbin has a charm on it that restores it to its proper place. If someone deliberately moves it, it returns automatically."
"I see." Roger nodded with genuine interest.
"Besides," Professor McGonagall continued, "since the entrance was established, no one has had any reason to move it. Witches and wizards who come and go know perfectly well that it marks the entrance to Diagon Alley."
"And even if someone did manage it," she added with a rare hint of amusement, "there are other ways in. The Leaky Cauldron's fireplace and Floo Powder, for instance. Wizards generally find their way to where they need to be."
Once they entered Diagon Alley, it was impossible to miss the crooked white building towering over the center of the street. It rose above the surrounding shops like a pale stone mountain, narrow, uneven, and unmistakably important.
"Roger, that is Gringotts," Professor McGonagall said, pointing toward it. "The wizarding bank. It is run by goblins, and many witches and wizards keep their gold, silver, important documents, and valuables there."
"Goblins run the bank?" Roger asked, widening his eyes just enough to sound like a curious child. "Without wizards watching over them, aren't people afraid of being robbed?"
"The Ministry of Magic and the goblins are both confident in Gringotts' security," Professor McGonagall replied. "It has some of the most advanced anti-theft enchantments in the wizarding world. Very few places are considered safer."
"Would Gringotts have magical artifacts inside?" Roger asked, his tone bright with expectation.
"There are certainly ancient and precious items stored there, but most vaults contain family gold, contracts, heirlooms, and official documents," Professor McGonagall said. "For example, the Hogwarts assistance fund is held at Gringotts. It allows students from Muggle families, or students with special circumstances, to exchange a certain amount of money each year until they graduate."
She looked down at him. "Considering your situation, the school board has agreed to grant you one hundred Galleons."
"So much?" Roger stared at her in surprise, but quickly gathered himself and declined politely. "Professor McGonagall, thank you very much for your kindness and the school board's kindness, but I've already borrowed money for school from Mr. Malfoy."
He pulled a bulging money pouch from inside his oversized robes. It was heavy enough that it made almost no sound when he shook it. "Mr. Malfoy lent me this. It should be enough."
Professor McGonagall frowned slightly. She had never liked the Malfoy family, and seeing their influence reach Roger this quickly clearly troubled her. "Child, this may not be pleasant to hear, but help from the Malfoys may come with conditions. Have you truly considered that?"
Roger smiled. "Don't worry, Professor. I will use these Galleons carefully. Besides, I believe the Ministry's compensation should arrive within a few days."
Professor McGonagall nodded helplessly. Much of Hogwarts' funding had indeed been helped along by donations from families like the Malfoys, but accepting school donations was not the same as borrowing money from Lucius Malfoy directly. Still, Roger had made his decision, and she would not argue with him in the middle of the alley.
"Very well," she said. "Since you have made up your mind, I will respect your decision. In that case, opening a student vault at Gringotts can wait for another day."
She guided him farther down the street. "Let us purchase your robes and wand first."
There was a more upscale clothing shop in Diagon Alley, but most parents still chose Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions for their children's school things. Madam Malkin's robes were warm, sturdy, and charmed to repair and press themselves under ordinary wear. For a first-year student, that was far more practical than anything fashionable.
Of course, Madam Malkin generally did not sell robes that automatically adjusted to a young wizard's size for all seven years of school. A robe that lasted from first year through graduation would ruin her business. Such clothing could be made, but only if a customer specifically requested it and paid a suitable price.
"Professor McGonagall, I never expected you to bring a young wizard to Diagon Alley personally," a witch in deep purple robes greeted them warmly. She was short, plump, and cheerful, with quick eyes that swept over Roger at once.
After exchanging a few polite words, Madam Malkin turned her attention fully to Roger and began introducing the Hogwarts robes and accessories he would need. "Come along, dear. Let's see what fits you."
She studied Roger with a professional eye, though her smile faltered slightly. It was difficult to imagine how a child his age could be so thin. She found the smallest school robe that should have suited him, but once he put it on, the fabric still hung too loosely from his narrow shoulders.
"No, no, that won't do," Madam Malkin said, shaking her head. "We'll try shrinking it first."
She waved her wand, and the large robe visibly tightened around Roger's frame. Unfortunately, Roger was thin rather than underdeveloped. Once the robe fitted his shoulders, the sleeves and hem became too short, making him look as though he had borrowed clothes from someone who had guessed his size badly.
"My dear, it seems none of the ready-made robes in the shop will do," Madam Malkin said, summoning a measuring tape. "Your school robe, pointed hat, gloves, and cloak will need to be made to your exact measurements."
The measuring tape sprang into the air and wrapped itself around Roger, measuring his arms, shoulders, chest, waist, and height with brisk confidence. Roger stood still and let it work, though the attention made him feel faintly awkward. Madam Malkin noted each measurement, and her expression softened again.
"Darling, would you like a cup of coffee and a short wait, or would you prefer to come back later?" she asked. Her voice was bright, but she could not quite hide the sigh behind it when she thought about what this child must have endured.
"Can it be ready today, madam?" Roger looked down at his thin arms, then up at her with helpless honesty.
"Of course it can," Madam Malkin said at once. "Why not let Professor McGonagall take you to buy your other things first? By the time you return, your clothes should be finished."
"Thank you, madam. I'll leave them in your care."
"Don't you worry," Madam Malkin said with a smile. "Go choose your wand and books. I'll hurry and make sure your new school uniform is ready in time."
Then she gave him a playful look. "And I don't think your wand will need to be remade just because of your size."
Everyone laughed softly at that, and the lightness of the moment eased the tightness in Roger's chest. Professor McGonagall led him back outside and farther down Diagon Alley, toward a narrow, shabby shop near the end of the street.
A single wand rested on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. Above the door, the peeling gold letters on the sign read: Ollivanders, Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
.....
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