THE WITCHING HOUR ➸ h. potter

2 - diagon alley

It had been a few days since the strange letter had arrived at the front door of our house. A few, very hectic days. My mum has been telling me a lot more about the wizarding world, and yesterday, a woman came to our house — someone named Minerva McGonagall. She claimed to be a teacher at Hogwarts and said that she had come to let me know how to get to a place called "Diagon Alley."

It was a place where you could buy wizardry things like wands, spell books, and cauldrons, apparently. I still wasn't sure that I believed the whole thing. But I had said yes, and there was no going back if it all really was real. The woman had told me to go to a place called the "Leaky Cauldron."

A tiny, grubby-looking pub. It wasn't very far from where we lived. The people hurrying by didn't even glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side of the pub to the record shop on the other, as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron, at all. In fact, I had the most peculiar feeling that only Mum and I could see it.

But how could that be true? If only wizards and witches could see it, then how could Mum? Minerva had said it was a famous place, but for a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking from tiny glasses of Sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top-hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut.

The bartender smiled at us, making me want to run away all the more. "Aye, you! New around here? No matter, want to get to Diagon Alley? First year at Hogwarts?"

Swallowing hard, I nodded, walking up to the counter. "Hello, uh, yeah. I'm . . . this will be my first year at Hogwarts. Do you know how to get to Diagon Alley?"

He laughed, "Well, of course, I do! Follow me."

The man, who I now know was called Tom, led us through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash-can and a few weeds.

He smiled, "Now, where's my wand gone . . .?"

"Your — your wand!? Right — I mean, yeah." Hearing those words still sounded absolutely insane to me. But as each second passed, I got more and more certain that they weren't lying. That magic may actually be real.

Tom, meanwhile, was counting the bricks on the wall above the trash can.

"Three up. . . two across. . . " he muttered, "Right, stand back then."

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his wand, which he had apparently found already.

The brick he had touched quivered — wriggled. In the middle, a small hole appeared. It grew wider and wider, and a second later, they were facing an archway large enough, even for a giant! An archway to a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Tom, "to Diagon Alley."

He grinned at my amazement. We stepped through the archway. I looked over my shoulder and saw the archway instantly shrink back into solid wall.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. "Cauldrons — All Sizes — Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver, Self-Stirring, Collapsible" said a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needing one," said Tom, "but you got to get your money first."

I wished I had about eight more eyes. I turned my head in every direction as Mum and I walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once; the shops, the things outside of them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, complaining, "Dragon liver, seventeen sickles an ounce?! They're mad . . . !"

Tom had said goodbye to us, having had to go back to his job.

I suddenly looked at my mum, "Wait — money? Don't we already have money?"