"Are you sure this is the right place, Albert?" Herbert asked, frowning at the map in his hand. He turned it sideways, then upside down, but the bar Professor McGonagall had mentioned was nowhere to be found.
"We need to find the bookstore first. There's a record shop next to it," Albert said, pointing to a large bookstore ahead. Sure enough, a small record shop sat adjacent to it, its windows cluttered with vinyls and faded posters.
"This is it? But I…" Herbert trailed off, squinting at the space between the shops.
"…can't see the bar?" Albert finished for him, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
If he hadn't been paying close attention, Albert might have missed it himself. Tucked between the bookstore and the record shop was a grimy, unassuming establishment—the Leaky Cauldron. Passersby hurried past without so much as a glance, including Herbert, who was still scanning the map in confusion.
"I see it now. Remember what Professor McGonagall said?" Albert asked.
"Muggles can't find the bar," Herbert muttered, his tone sour. "I'm already starting to hate that word—'Muggle.'"
Albert chuckled softly, taking his father's hand and guiding him forward. After a few steps, the Leaky Cauldron came into clear view for Herbert, its weathered sign creaking faintly in the breeze. The bar was small, its exterior streaked with dirt and age, looking as though it hadn't been cleaned in decades.
"I hate this place already. It's filthy," Herbert grumbled.
"Agreed," Albert said, wrinkling his nose. "But let's go in."
Pushing aside their distaste, father and son stepped into the Leaky Cauldron. The interior was no better—dingy, dimly lit, and cluttered.
The air carried a faint smell of stale ale and dust. Scattered around the room were patrons who looked distinctly out of place: elderly men and women dressed in mismatched, old-fashioned clothing, some sporting pointed hats adorned with gaudy feathers or peculiar charms.
On the street, they'd have drawn stares, but here, in the flickering candlelight, they seemed oddly fitting, like bright embers glowing in a shadowed hearth.
Herbert steadied himself, his initial shock giving way to curiosity. He approached the counter, where a bald, wiry man polished a glass with a rag that looked as dirty as the bar itself. "Mr. Tom?" Herbert ventured cautiously.
"A young wizard from a Muggle family?" Tom's eyes flicked to Albert, then back to Herbert, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Here to find Diagon Alley, I presume?"
"Yes, Mr. Tom," Albert said, forcing a polite smile. "Professor McGonagall said you could show us the way."
"Of course! Follow me," Tom replied, setting down the glass and stepping out from behind the counter.
The trio made their way to the bar's backyard, a cramped space containing little more than a brick wall, a rusty dustbin, and a few empty barrels. Albert's eyes scanned the area, noting the faint hum of magic that seemed to linger in the air, imperceptible to his father but tingling against his skin.
"This dustbin's been here forever," Tom said, gesturing to the wall. "Count three bricks up from the top, then two across from the bottom—right here."
He pointed to a specific brick, drew his wand, and tapped it three times. Turning to Albert, he added, "Once you've got your own wand, you can open the entrance yourself. Just tap three times, like so."
The brick quivered, and the wall began to shift. A small hole appeared at its center, growing wider with each passing second until it formed a large, arched passageway.
Beyond it stretched a cobblestone street lined with shops, their signs painted with swirling letters and vibrant colors. Witches and wizards bustled about, some haggling at stalls, others carrying armfuls of peculiar goods—cauldrons, rolls of parchment, and jars of unidentifiable substances.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Tom said, his smile widening at their awestruck expressions.
"Thank you, Mr. Tom," Herbert said, still processing the sight. "How do we get back later?"
"Just tap the same brick three times with a wand," Tom explained patiently. "Oh, and you'll need to visit Gringotts to exchange your money. Muggle coins won't do here. Head straight down the street—the white building is Gringotts Wizarding Bank."
"Thank you for your help," Herbert said.
"Have a good day!" Tom waved cheerfully before turning back to the bar, clearly fond of his role as gatekeeper to the magical world.
As Tom disappeared, the archway sealed itself, reverting to a solid brick wall. Albert and Herbert exchanged a glance, both feeling the weight of the strange new world they'd stepped into.
"Let's go exchange some money," Herbert said, taking a deep breath to steady himself.
"This place feels… different," Albert remarked, his eyes darting to the shops around them. A display of self-stirring cauldrons caught his attention, their spoons spinning lazily in midair. "It's like we've stepped back a century."
Herbert nodded, his expression uneasy. "To be honest, I'm starting to question sending you to Hogwarts. Maybe Daisy's right to be skeptical." The magical world was enchanting, but its antiquated charm made it feel out of sync with the modern world he knew.
"Dad," Albert said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, "I don't plan to live in the magical world. I'm going to Hogwarts to learn how to control this power. That's all."
Herbert's mood lightened slightly. "You're right. Let's focus on what we need to do."
They wove through the bustling crowd toward Gringotts, the white marble building looming ahead. At the entrance stood a small, sharp-featured creature in a scarlet uniform—a goblin, Albert realized.
Its pointed beard, slender limbs, and dark, calculating eyes were unlike anything he'd seen before. The goblin bowed slightly as they approached, a gesture that felt more formal than welcoming.
"They're… unique," Herbert whispered, his face stiffening. It was his first encounter with a non-human creature, and it unsettled him.
Albert, unfazed, studied the goblin curiously, noting its lack of conventional beauty. He wondered briefly if his interface could analyze magical creatures, but no notification appeared.
Beyond the bronze doors was a second entrance, this one silver, with an engraved warning. Herbert stepped closer, reading aloud: "Enter, stranger, but take heed of what awaits the sin of greed. Those who take, but do not earn, must pay most dearly in their turn…"
He snorted. "How reckless do wizards have to be to rob a bank that needs a warning like this?"
Albert stifled a laugh, clearing his throat to stay composed. "How much are you exchanging, Dad?"
Herbert considered for a moment. "A thousand pounds. If it's not enough, we'll come back."
Albert nodded. A thousand pounds was a significant sum—roughly a month's salary for most. He quickly calculated: at the exchange rate, it would be about 200 Galleons. "That should cover it."
Inside, the vast marble hall gleamed under chandeliers that flickered with an otherworldly light. Two goblins bowed and led them to a counter on the right, where another handed Herbert a parchment detailing the exchange rates: one Galleon equaled 4.95 pounds, with 17 Sickles to a Galleon and 29 Knuts to a Sickle.
Herbert passed the parchment to Albert. "How much for 200 Galleons?"
"Nine hundred ninety pounds," Albert replied after a quick mental calculation.
"Please exchange 200 Galleons," Herbert told the goblin, pulling the exact amount from his wallet.
The goblin counted the notes with meticulous care. "One moment, please."
"Excuse me," Albert said, curiosity from his past life sparking a question. "Can any amount of Muggle currency be exchanged here?"
"In theory, yes," the goblin replied, its voice clipped. "But we limit large transactions to prevent flooding the market with Muggle money." It rang a bell, summoning another goblin who produced a leather pouch filled with gold coins.
Herbert weighed a Galleon in his hand, marveling at its heft. "Actual gold coins," he murmured, almost to himself.
After verifying the count, they left Gringotts, the pouch of Galleons clinking softly. Albert glanced back at the silver doors, their warning echoing in his mind. Diagon Alley stretched before them, vibrant and chaotic, a world brimming with possibilities—and mysteries he was eager to unravel.