Curious as ever, Harry couldn't help asking:
"Hagrid, you're huge. How come they're all acting like they can't see you?"
Hagrid gently ruffled Harry's hair with his big, rough hand.
"That's the Confundus Charm, Harry. Yeh'll learn it in fifth year. Right now a spell like that'd be a bit too tricky for yeh."
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
He could already see a dozen ways to use a charm like that and made a mental note to master it as soon as possible.
As for "too tricky", he tossed that comment straight out of his mind. He was the future Sorcerer Supreme—there wasn't a spell in this world that could stump him.
Before long, the two of them reached Charing Cross Road in Westminster, London. On one side of the street hung a grimy little sign, so dirty that grease and soot had half-obscured the letters spelling out "The Leaky Cauldron".
Harry frowned, feeling mildly offended.
This pub clearly didn't care much about hygiene. Kamar-Taj, by contrast, was spotless. Didn't wizards have cleaning spells?
Once they stepped inside the Leaky Cauldron, the mess was even worse. Harry glanced around in curiosity, but what he saw only deepened his discomfort. The place looked stuck in the Middle Ages. There wasn't a single piece of modern equipment in sight.
That discovery made his expression tighten. He suddenly realised that the wizarding world might be very different from what he'd imagined.
What was wrong with these wizards? Why hadn't they brought in any modern Muggle technology? The Sorcerer Supreme was always preaching progress—always pushing to adopt whatever devices mortals invented.
Kamar-Taj had been one of the very first places to get Wi-Fi when it was invented.
Did the wizards here really think magic could solve absolutely everything?
No.
Locking yourself away and refusing to change only led to ruin. If you wanted to protect Earth, you had to use every tool available—technology included.
Come to think of it, the recently kidnapped Tony Stark was one of the most famous people in the tech world.
Hagrid seemed well liked; as soon as the Leaky Cauldron's patrons spotted him, they all called out greetings.
The way things went next, though, caught Harry off guard. After Hagrid introduced him, the patrons acted like someone had just dropped a priceless treasure in their midst. They crowded around, staring curiously and greeting him one after another.
Harry remembered what Hagrid had told him on the way—that he'd once saved the wizarding world, that he was the prophesied saviour.
He hadn't been particularly surprised. For a sorcerer as outstanding as he was, becoming a saviour felt almost normal. The Sorcerer Supreme had told him long ago he was destined for greatness.
But seeing the way these wizards reacted, Harry finally realised that the title of "saviour" meant something far more intense to them than he'd thought.
He even saw a witch of about sixty keel over in a faint the moment she recognised him.
Just then, another wizard stepped up to shake his hand.
He looked a bit odd: his head was wrapped in a turban, giving him a vaguely Indian look.
Then again, strange-looking people were common among wizards, so Harry didn't think much of it at first.
But the moment he clasped the man's hand, his pupils shrank sharply, and a flash of pure killing intent blazed up in his young green eyes.
The wizard was still stammering out his introduction:
"P-Po-Potter, v-very pleased t-to m-meet you. I'm Quirrell, the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts."
Harry didn't greet him with the same warmth he'd shown the others. Instead, he was weighing up whether he should draw the Sacred Sword of the Vishanti right here and cut the man down.
Even if he could only access thirty percent of his magic, with his body reinforced by power he could absolutely decapitate this frail professor at this distance.
And why was he thinking like that?
Because he could sense an evil soul clinging to the back of Quirrell's head.
That aura was disturbingly familiar. The sorcerers who had betrayed Earth to serve dimensional demon gods had radiated exactly the same kind of foul energy.
They had committed endless slaughter; their souls were filthy beyond redemption, the kind of currency demons prized most.
But Harry soon forced the killing urge back down.
He had only just arrived in the wizarding world and knew almost nothing about how things worked here. There might be more to this than it seemed.
No matter how chaotic the wizarding world might be, they surely wouldn't hire a genuine Dark wizard as a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
He decided to investigate quietly first. If he confirmed that Quirrell really was evil, he wouldn't hesitate to wipe him out.
So he gave Quirrell a bright smile, as if nothing were wrong, and spoke in the same polite tone he'd used with everyone else.
"Hello, Professor Quirrell. It's very nice to meet you."
Once Harry had finally escaped from his flock of "fans", he followed Hagrid to a brick wall behind the Leaky Cauldron.
Hagrid glanced down at him and explained:
"Watch closely now, Harry. Up three bricks, then across two—there. It's openin' up."
The wall slid aside in both directions. First there was a narrow crack, then it widened until it formed an archway big enough even for Hagrid to walk through comfortably.
They moved forward, and a broad street opened up before them, bustling with witches and wizards. The scene matched the descriptions Harry had read in books about the hidden magic world.
Hagrid gave Harry a playful wink.
"Well, Harry, this is Diagon Alley. What d'you think? Welcome to the wizarding world!"
He'd expected Harry to jump with excitement—but instead, Harry showed no enthusiasm at all. If anything, he looked disappointed.
Hagrid was taken aback. Worried, he asked:
"What's wrong, Harry? D'you feel sick? Maybe yeh need a bottle o' Pepperup Potion."
Harry shook his head, turning down the offer. His gaze swept over Diagon Alley—the so-called heart of wizarding Britain—with open disappointment.
"Hagrid, there's something I don't understand…"
Hagrid met his clear green eyes and gestured for him to go on.
"Why is the wizarding world so backward? Muggle technology is already very advanced. Why hasn't the wizarding world adopted any of it at all?
"And why is Diagon Alley so cramped and run-down? Hasn't it ever been expanded or improved?"
Hagrid clearly hadn't expected those questions. He was a straightforward man, not someone who could spin a polished answer. All he could do was scratch his head.
"It's always been like this," he said at last. "Looks like that's somethin' yeh'll have ter figure out for yourself.
"Come on, Harry—we've got ter go to Gringotts first an' get the money your mum and dad left yeh. Then we can buy the rest of yer things."
Harry sighed inwardly and followed.
By this point, he'd lost most of his expectations for the wizarding world.
Whatever the reasons, any power that refused to reform and move forward would eventually be swept aside. Even the mythical Asgard had learned that lesson—let alone the wizards of this world.
Harry silently made up his mind. Once he understood how this wizarding society really worked, if he had the power to do it, he would change it.
He would transform this wizarding world.