After returning to Moonlight Fortress, Harry skillfully dismounted from his flying broom. His movements were steady and practiced, looking nothing like a beginner.
Albert watched him with clear amusement and nodded approvingly.
"It seems you have quite a talent for flying."
Harry froze for a moment, clearly unaccustomed to praise. He held the broom awkwardly in one hand, unsure what to do with the other, before finally scratching the back of his head.
"I… I don't really know. It just kind of happened."
Albert smiled and turned toward the castle entrance.
"Get ready. We're going to London."
Harry blinked in surprise and hurried after him.
"Uncle Albert… am I coming too?"
"Of course you are," Albert replied casually as he headed for the second floor. "Otherwise, who's going to help me carry all the things I buy?"
He didn't even turn around as he called out loudly,
"Lucifer, bring me some money."
A figure slowly emerged from the fireplace, flames curling around his silhouette.
"How much?" Lucifer asked calmly.
"One—no, make it two."
Lucifer nodded, then glanced at Harry with faint confusion.
"Aren't you cold?"
Only then did Harry realize he was still half-dressed. His thin frame was exposed, his clothes barely hanging together, making him look more like a wandering beggar than a child. In truth, given that he often went hungry, the comparison wasn't far off.
About ten minutes later, Albert came downstairs wearing a khaki coat that fit him perfectly.
Harry stood up quickly.
"So… how are we getting there?"
Albert walked over to Lucifer. Lucifer opened his mouth and casually spat out two solid gold bricks. Albert slipped them into his sleeve, and the metal vanished as if swallowed by magic itself.
"By flying, of course…" Albert said without thinking.
Then he paused.
Flying directly into London would almost certainly attract the attention of the Ministry of Magic.
He frowned slightly and turned back.
"Lucifer, do we have any other transportation?"
Lucifer thought for a moment.
"There's a shuttle and a glider in the basement."
"…."
Harry stared at him in disbelief. He didn't know what a shuttle was, but a glider sounded even worse.
"No," Albert said decisively. "Something less conspicuous. Something with wheels."
Lucifer tilted his head.
"A carriage?"
Albert fell silent.
After a long pause, he looked down at Harry and sighed.
"We may have to use the method you'll like the least."
Harry's heart skipped.
"What method?"
"Teleportation."
Albert smiled faintly and placed a firm hand on Harry's shoulder.
"I haven't been to London many times, so I don't remember most locations clearly. There's only one place where I can guarantee we won't get stuck inside a wall."
Harry's face went pale.
"…Where?"
"Big Ben."
Before Harry could react, the air exploded into motion. Space itself seemed to collapse inward around Albert's body.
In the next instant, they vanished.
London.
Westminster District.
At the very top of Big Ben, two figures suddenly appeared in a violent rush of wind.
Harry's mouth fell open.
Below him flowed the River Thames, reflecting the gray London sky. Nearby stood the massive outline of the Houses of Parliament. Everything felt unreal, like a dream painted onto the world.
Then the freezing wind hit him.
Reality came rushing back.
Albert paid no attention to Harry's shock. His eyes scanned the streets below, quickly locking onto a quiet, empty alley.
In another flash, they vanished again.
West of Trafalgar Square, inside a deserted alleyway, Albert led Harry out.
Harry nearly collapsed. His face had turned a deep, unhealthy red as he struggled to recover from the back-to-back teleportations.
Albert, on the other hand, was perfectly fine. He waved casually at a passerby at the end of the alley and asked for directions.
By the time Harry caught his breath, Albert was already sitting inside a classic black London taxi.
Harry hurried in after him.
Albert handed him a scarf.
"This is…?"
"Cover the scar on your forehead," Albert explained calmly. "And when we arrive, if anyone asks your name, tell them you're Harry Jones."
Harry hesitated.
"Why?"
Albert shook his head lightly.
"Trust me. It's safer that way. Your name… carries certain meanings."
"What meanings?" Harry asked, suddenly curious.
"I only know a little," Albert admitted. "But in the wizarding world, Harry is the name of a very famous person."
The kind of famous that attracted crowds.
Albert didn't think the boy beside him was anything special—just a poor, unlucky child.
But the world didn't always agree with him.
They got out near Charing Cross Road. After only a few steps, Harry noticed something strange.
An old pub.
It looked ancient, worn down, and completely out of place, squeezed between two brightly renovated bookstores. Yet the crowds passing by didn't even glance at it.
Harry immediately understood.
Ordinary people couldn't see it.
Inside the pub, the tall man and the small boy instantly drew attention. Their pairing was far too mismatched.
Albert looked like the head of some rising wizarding family.
Harry, by comparison, looked like a servant.
More than one patron silently wondered: Doesn't he even own a house-elf?
A hunched old man approached them.
"Guests from afar," he said warmly. "Do you need help? Are you heading to Diagon Alley, or would you like a drink?"
"I'd appreciate directions to Diagon Alley," Albert replied politely.
"Of course. Follow me."
The old man led them into a small courtyard behind the pub. There was nothing there except a trash can and some weeds.
Harry watched curiously as the man pulled out a small wooden stick.
"From the trash can, count three bricks up… then two across."
He tapped the brick twice.
The wall trembled.
The bricks began to shift and separate, forming a widening hole. Within seconds, a tall stone archway appeared, revealing a long, winding street paved with cobblestones.
"If you need to exchange money, follow the road to the fork and you'll find Gringotts," the old man said. "My name is Tom Abbott. Feel free to come back for a drink later."
Albert nodded.
"Thank you."
They stepped into Diagon Alley.
Harry's head was constantly moving as he tried to take everything in.
Shops selling owls.
Dragon liver.
Stacks of spellbooks.
Quills, parchment, potion bottles, glowing orbs.
It was overwhelming.
Even Albert felt a rare sense of amazement. Wizards usually lived in isolation; a place like this was uncommon.
Soon, they reached Gringotts.
A towering white building rose above the surrounding shops, its bronze doors gleaming.
A goblin stood outside.
He was shorter than Harry, with a sharp face, long fingers, and a pointed beard—exactly like the goblins from children's stories.
Goblins running a bank… Albert thought. Humans really trust them?
Inside, they approached an empty counter.
"I'd like to exchange some gold," Albert said.
The goblin didn't look up.
"Gold is always valuable. Forty Galleons per ounce. How many ounces?"
Albert hesitated.
"I think you misunderstood."
He pulled out two massive gold bricks.
Clang.
The galleon the goblin had been playing with dropped to the floor.
His eyes locked onto the gold bricks.
With trembling hands, he tested the purity using magic, then weighed them carefully.
"Fifty-three ounces… that's…"
The abacus clicked rapidly.
"Two thousand one hundred and twenty Galleons," the goblin said, beaming.
Albert smiled faintly.
Harry stared in silent shock.
Their wizarding journey had truly begun.
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