The car slowed to a stop and Uncle Vernon grunted. "We're here."
Harry nodded absentmindedly, unstrapped his seat belt, opened the car door and stepped out. "Thank you, Uncle Vernon," he said politely. His uncle merely grunted and, the moment Harry closed the door, he sped off. Harry didn't bother watching his uncle's car disappear around a corner, merely turned about to look at the place that supposedly lead to Diagon Alley.
It was a bar of some kind, from the looks of it. A place named the Leaky Cauldron. It was a grubby looking place, and were it not for the fact that Aunt Petunia had given Uncle Vernon very implicit directions, Harry was sure the man would have missed it. This was due more to the fact that no one even seemed to realize it was there. The people hurrying by didn't even glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the place at all. In fact, Harry was quite sure that out of all the people wandering around, he was the only one who could see it.
He wondered about this. Was there some kind of enchantment that made it invisible? A spell that made it so only those who could use magic could see it? It made sense. Harry could feel the hum of magic in the air, emitted from the Leaky Cauldron, sending a pleasant tingle down Harry's spine. The magic of this place was a palpable thing.
With his curiosity running in the forefront of his thoughts, Harry entered the pub known as the Leaky Cauldron. He was unsure of what to expect, but when he saw what the inside looked like, he was most disappointed.
The pub was dark, dank and dirty. There was very little in the way of light, and only a few candles here and there could be seen in the room, casting shadows along the walls and floor in equal measure. The tables were all dusty; they looked like they hadn't been cleaned in months, and the few people he saw sitting around at the tables were equally unkempt. A few old women sat in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. Smoke blew from the mouth of one as she exhaled after smoking from a long pipe. A little man in a top hat talked to the old bartender, who reminded him of a toothless walnut. Harry couldn't help but wonder at these people and their mostly underwhelming looks. Did they have no pride in their appearance?
No one seemed to have noticed him yet. Given how low the lighting was Harry was not surprised; it would be hard to make out the features of those a few inches in front of them, much less someone several feet away. A part of him wished he could stay like this, anonymous. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to associate with these people, men and women who looked like they had no pride in themselves. But he knew that in order to get into Diagon Alley, he would need someone to open the path for him. With this thought in mind, Harry walked over to the bartender and tapped on the bar table to get his attention.
"Excuse me, sir?" Harry started, his words grabbing the man's attention. He would have spoken further, but the moment the old man's eyes landed on him, they widened. The man nearly dropped the cup he was cleaning, his surprise was that great. Harry shifted uncomfortably. The man was looking at Harry Harry like he had just seen god. It was very disturbing.
"Good Lord," said the bartender, "is this—can it be—?"
The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent. The silence unnerved Harry. He could feel the eyes of those around him now on him and the bartender.
"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter… what an honor."
A stiffening of the spine was Harry's sole indication of surprise, and in the darkened room, even someone as skilled as he was in the art of observation would have missed it.
This man knew him. He knew his name. How was that possible? Harry had rarely ventured beyond his parents' cabin when he was in the magical world, and never ventured into the magical world whiled he lived with the Dursleys. Before his parents went into hiding he had gone over to Padfoot's house a couple of times, and once or twice he had gone out to fly a broom with his father. But he had never ventured into Diagon Alley, never been inside of the place known as the Leaky Cauldron. So how did this man know of him?
His questions would, unfortunately, go unanswered. With a speed Harry had not expected the bartender to possess, the man moved from behind the counter to stand directly in front of him. The man who looked like a walnut grabbed his right hand in both of his, shaking it furiously, tears staining his eyes.
Harry could feel the eyes of those around him. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out, the ones drinking sherry had stopped with the glass half raised to their lips, their drinks spilling over the side. The man in the top hat that had been talking to the bartender was gawking at him like he was some kind of circus display, and everyone else in the room held similar looks. This entire situation had just gone from strange to highly disconcerting within seconds.
"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back."
This seemed to be the cue everyone was waiting for. There was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment he was being mobbed by everyone else in the room.
"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."
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