Chương 10: Chapter 11 : Diagon Alley I

Professor McGonagall came back a few days later to escort them to london to buy his school supplies. His mother had already dropped Sofia off at daycare, as it would be an inconvenience to carry a toddler through the magical equivalent of a market. At first, Tyson had assumed they were going to go by Apparition. That assumption died the moment he saw the taxi parked outside. His disappointment had been immeasurable and his day was ruined. He had wanted to experience Apparition again, properly this time.

The first accidental magic instance had been too sudden, and too disorienting for him to make sense of what had happened. Naturally, he voiced his doubts. Not directly, of course. He didn't exactly know the proper term for it yet. But he had pointed out that if wizards could "teleport," then why waste time sitting in traffic like normal people? Even his parents had looked interested when he brought it up. Professor McGonagall had shut that down quickly.

She explained, with the dry patience of someone who had clearly answered this question far too many times, that Apparition—especially Side-Along Apparition—could cause severe disorientation, nausea, fainting, and, in many unfortunate cases, vomiting. That had killed his parents' enthusiasm immediately. His mother looked pale just hearing it while his father had muttered something about the taxi being perfectly fine. And that had been the end of the discussion. So now they sat in a taxi instead.

The ride passed quietly, broken only by the occasional question from his parents and McGonagall's brief answers. Tyson spent most of it staring out the window, watching the city gradually grow denser as they approached London. Eventually, the taxi came to a stop. After a few minutes of walk, they found themselves standing in front of a rundown little pub squeezed tightly between two modern-looking buildings. Its faded wooden sign read: The Leaky Cauldron.

'So this is the legendary Leaky Cauldron?' Tyson raised a brow. There was nothing impressive about it to speak of. If anything, it looked like it hadn't been repaired in decades. Dust streaked the windows, the paint on the door had almost entirely peeled away, and the crooked sign hanging above looked like one strong gust might finish it off. It was hard to believe this was supposed to be the entrance to the hidden center of magical Britain. What caught his attention more was the way everyone else ignored it.

People walked past without sparing it a glance. Their eyes slid over it as if it simply didn't exist. A few unconsciously shifted their path to avoid getting too close. Tyson immediately suspected some sort of Muggle-repelling charm at work. His father noticed too.

"They're ignoring it." Professor McGonagall gave a small nod.

"Muggles people rarely notice places build by wizards unless their attention is specifically drawn to it." His father frowned at that, visibly unsettled. Tyson understood why. The idea that something could exist right in front of you and still be impossible to notice was unsettling. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. McGonagall led them inside. The moment Tyson stepped through the door, he realized the inside wasn't much better. Dim lighting.

Low wooden beams. Ancient furniture worn smooth by age. The air smelled of stale ale, damp wood, and smoke. It felt old and not in the charming way. In the 'this place has seen things' kind of way. A handful of witches and wizards sat scattered throughout the pub, speaking quietly amongst themselves. Their conversations quited down the moment they entered, every eyes turning in their direction. Upon noticing Professor Mcgonagal at the front, Tyson noticed more than one person sit up straighter. Respect? Or fear?

Probably both. Behind the bar stood a thin, slightly hunched man with wispy white hair and a wide, toothless grin. His eyes brightened the second he saw McGonagall.

"Professor McGonagall!" he greeted cheerfully, wiping his hands on a rag.

"Its been a while."

"Good afternoon, Tom," McGonagall replied with a nod.

"Business doing well?"

'Tom,' Tyson noted.

'The Leaky Cauldron's bartender.' Tom's gaze shifted toward Tyson and his family.

"First year?" Tyson nodded. Tom grinned wider.

"Always exciting, the first time." His mother gave an awkward smile. His father stayed close, still eyeing everything like he expected someone to reveal it was all an elaborate prank. McGonagall led them through the pub, past a narrow hallway, and out into a small brick courtyard behind it. Tyson's focus sharpened instantly. This was it. McGonagall raised her wand toward the wall.

"The entrance to Diagon Alley is hidden here." She glanced at Tyson.

"Pay attention, Mister Steward. You'll need to remember this." She pointed to a section of brick.

"Three up from the bin. Two across. Tap it three times." Her wand struck the brick. Tap. Tap. Tap. At first, nothing happened. Then the bricks trembled. The wall shuddered. Tyson watched as the stones twisted and folded inward, rearranging themselves like pieces of some impossible mechanism. The opening widened, spiraling outward until solid brick became an archway. And beyond it unfolded an entirely different world. Diagon Alley. Tyson stepped forward, eyes widening despite himself.

Before him stretched a narrow cobbled street that looked like it had been ripped straight out of another century. The buildings leaned over each other, cramped and crooked, upper floors jutting outward like they were fighting for space. Old, uneven, but somehow sturdy. And alive. The street buzzed with movement. Owls flew overhead carrying letters and parcels. Witches and wizards in flowing robes pushed through the crowd carrying cages, bags, and all kinds of odd packages.

Pointed hats showed up often enough to satisfy every ridiculous stereotype Tyson had ever heard. The shop windows were stranger still. Potions bubbling on their own. Silver instruments spinning without touch. Enchanted trinkets glittering under candlelight. Things Tyson couldn't even begin to identify. It looked less like reality and more like a fantasy novel made real.

"Incredible," his father breathed. His mother looked just as stunned, her eyes wide as she turned from one sight to another. Tyson wasn't doing much better. McGonagall paused beside them, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley." Tyson took a slow breath and stepped forward, his parents following behind. This was the beginning of his journey into the wizarding world!... Diagon Alley was absurd. Even a single pet shop had enough strange creatures to keep Tyson occupied for an hour. Owls perched neatly on wooden stands, their eyes carrying more intelligence than Dudley. Though that wasn't exactly fair... for owls to be compared with a piglet. Cats sprawled across the displays like they owned the place.

Guess cats being boss bitches was universal. Rats darted around iron cages, while bats hung upside down from the rafters, twitching in their sleep. It looked exactly like the sort of place an eleven-year-old obsessed with magic would dream about. If some fantasy nerd from his old world saw even half of this place, they'd probably skip puberty entirely and have an orgasm on the spot. And that was just one shop. The entire alley radiated wonder.

His parents spent most of their time looking around like tourists who had accidentally wandered into another dimension. Tyson wasn't much different. Knowing about Diagon Alley and actually standing in it were two completely different things. Still... At this point, he was fairly certain he wasn't the protagonist. Things were going far too normally. No sudden encounters. No dramatic run-ins with famous names. No Harry. No Ron.

Not even Draco Malfoy showing up out of nowhere to start a blood feud with him that would somehow last until the end of the fic. What a letdown. Eventually, after stopping every few minutes to stare at something bizarre, they reached the place McGonagall had been leading them toward. Gringotts Wizarding Bank. The building looked like an architectural argument. Part ancient temple and part medieval fortress. Towering white stone columns framed the entrance, polished so clean they almost reflected light.

Standing beside the massive bronze doors were two figures in gold-trimmed uniforms. Goblins. They were short, barely reaching his father's waist, with long fingers, pointed ears, and sharp eyes set beneath oversized heads. Their noses were hooked, their features sharp enough to look almost predatory. His mother and father slowed in their steps, openly gawking. Tyson couldn't blame them since he was gawking along with them.

Their eyes remained glued to the green and wild dwarfs until Professor McGonagall finally led them through the doors and into the bank.