The scenery outside the windshield blurred, shifting rapidly between fields, rivers, ponds, and villages. With magical help, obstacles like trash cans, lamp posts, and mailboxes leapt out of the way as the Knight Bus sped along.
After about twenty minutes, the bus screeched to a halt in a narrow alley. The large bus shrank down to the size of a wooden box, neatly parking in the cramped space — a feat only possible in the wizarding world.
Hagrid stepped off the bus, clutching the corner of a wall for support as he retched noisily.
"Ugh, that ride never gets easier," he groaned, his face pale and unsteady. "Vizet, could you find a place called the Leaky Cauldron for me? I'll catch up."
Vizet stepped into the bustling commercial street beyond the alley.
Though most of the shops remained closed in the early morning, pedestrians hurried along the road, and a variety of vibrant signs advertised fast food restaurants, clothing boutiques, jewelry stores, and cinemas. Yet, no sign of the Leaky Cauldron appeared.
He wandered past a bookstore when, suddenly, a sign materialized out of thin air.
The aged sign was a sharp contrast to the modern, colorful ones around it, its surface marred by soot and scorch marks. Painted on it was the image of a cracked black cauldron.
"Hagrid, is this it?" Vizet called back, pointing to the sign.
Hagrid, still recovering, nodded with a weak wave. "Aye! You'd never guess how old that place is."
"When was it built?" Vizet asked, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.
"Way back in the early sixteenth century," Hagrid mused, his brows furrowing as he thought. "Definitely before the Statute of Secrecy! C'mon, let's go in."
The Leaky Cauldron's centuries of history had left their mark, though less in grandeur and more in the form of stained walls and well-worn wooden floors.
As they stepped inside, the dim bar erupted into cheerful noise. Hagrid seemed to be a regular; patrons waved and greeted him warmly.
"Same as usual?" asked a bald man behind the bar, already reaching for two beer mugs.
"Not today, Tom," Hagrid replied, shaking his head. "I've got business to attend to. Just a motion sickness potion, if you will... Vizet, want anything to eat?"
Vizet glanced at the snacks Luna had packed for him and shook his head. "No, thanks. Luna made sure I'm covered."
The atmosphere in the room shifted. A hush fell over the bar, and the patrons exchanged uneasy glances.
Tom froze mid-reach, his expression wary. "He's Vizet, isn't he? The Obscurial?"
Hagrid groaned and slapped his forehead with a loud smack, his voice booming like thunder. "Oh, for Merlin's sake! He's a good lad! What's with the sudden shift? You were all fine a moment ago!"
Tom flushed and took a step back, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "Apologies. I overreacted."
"Let's not dwell on it," Hagrid said, tossing a silver coin onto the counter and downing the potion in a single gulp. "Time to head out!"
He led Vizet through the bar and into a small, secluded courtyard.
The patio was cleaner than the bar's interior, with only a few weeds and an old trash can disrupting the otherwise tidy space.
"Vizet, pay attention now," Hagrid instructed, gripping the umbrella he always carried. "Count three bricks up from the trash can, then two sideways."
With a firm tap of the umbrella, the brick wall began to tremble and rearrange itself. Moments later, the wall transformed into a wide archway that revealed a lively, bustling street beyond.
Hagrid grinned, gesturing toward the vibrant scene.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley!"
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The morning sun cast a gentle glow over Diagon Alley, illuminating shop signs and bringing out the vibrant colors of the bustling street.
Wizards filled the cobbled lane, their robes swishing as they browsed the shop windows, which displayed an array of fascinating magical items. The scene gave Vizet the distinct impression of attending a lively market from his previous life.
Hagrid pointed toward a gleaming white marble building at the far end of the street. "That's Gringotts Bank," he said. "We'll need to stop there to collect your scholarship."
In the middle of the row of charming shops, Gringotts stood out, its towering structure glistening in pristine white.
Vizet squinted at the entrance, where a small figure stood guard. "Hagrid, is that... a goblin?"
"Sure is!" Hagrid chuckled. "Goblins run Gringotts. Their craftsmanship is unmatched, and their currency's enchantments make it impossible to counterfeit."
As they approached, the bank's grandeur became even more apparent. The two massive bronze doors at the entrance stood open, revealing an inner set of polished silver doors.
An elegantly dressed goblin bowed as they entered, gesturing them forward toward the silver doors.
Vizet's eyes caught a warning engraved on the inner doors:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed.
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
The ominous words reminded Vizet of the warnings from ancient tombs in his previous life, such as the supposed curse of Tutankhamun's pyramid.
Curiosity sparked, Vizet turned to Hagrid. "What happens if a thief tries to break in?"
Hagrid lowered his voice, guiding Vizet further into the hall. "Plenty of ways to deal with 'em! Besides Hogwarts, Gringotts is the safest place in the wizarding world."
He gestured toward the vaults far below. "Touch the wrong door, and it'll trap you inside for good. And the deep vaults? Guarded by trolls... and dragons."
Vizet's eyes widened. "Dragons? Here? Real ones?"
"Of course!" Hagrid beamed, his enthusiasm bubbling over. "Goblins use dragons to guard the most secure vaults. Fantastic creatures, they are! I've always wanted one. Those little cuties are just marvelous!"
Vizet struggled to reconcile Hagrid's affectionate tone with the dangerous, towering creatures he described. Still, Hagrid's detailed knowledge of dragon breeds and their behaviors was impressive — and relentless.
By the time they reached the deepest part of the marble hall, Hagrid was still talking animatedly about his favorite dragon species.
At the reception desk, Hagrid handed over Vizet's scholarship application to a goblin clerk.
"We're here to collect a scholarship," Hagrid said, his booming voice echoing slightly.
The goblin examined the parchment before extending a sharp, nail-like finger. A small flame burst from the tip, igniting the paper. Instead of turning to ash, the burning application left behind a glowing, cursive signature suspended in the air.
"Please wait," the goblin said curtly before hopping down from the desk and disappearing into the shadows.
Vizet took the opportunity to ask, "Hagrid, can I exchange Muggle currency for wizard money here?"
"Absolutely!" Hagrid nodded, rummaging through his pockets. "Underage wizards can exchange up to 50 Galleons a year, and adults can exchange 100."
"Why the limit?"
"Muggle money's too easy to come by, and their banks aren't nearly as secure as Gringotts. A cap keeps things balanced — don't want wizards flooding our economy with Muggle cash."
Just then, Hagrid's rummaging yielded results. "Finally found it!" he exclaimed, holding something up to Vizet.
In Hagrid's large hand lay over a dozen eggs, each the size of a small ball. Their shells shimmered with orange-red patterns, intricate and fiery.
Vizet leaned closer, intrigued. "Are these... magical eggs?"