Chapter 15: Diagon Alley

Robert and Tom walked silently through the muddy streets of London.

Tom pressed his newsboy cap tightly in place, surprised it hadn't been blown into the sewer during their chaotic escape.

Robert clutched his backpack, relieved that the gold coins inside were still safe.

"That snake… it said it used to be human and was drawn to me because I spoke Parseltongue. But how is that even possible?" Tom was the first to break the silence after recovering from the encounter.

"Tom, you have to accept that there are many strange and magical things in this world. Just because we don't understand them doesn't mean they don't exist," Robert replied calmly.

He actually knew Nagini's story well but couldn't tell Tom—there was no way to explain how he knew.

Nagini had once been a kind and gentle woman, but she was cursed by a rare bloodline affliction. Born with a blood curse inherited from her maternal lineage, she could transform between human and snake forms. But as she aged, the curse would eventually consume her, stripping her of her humanity, her memories, and leaving only a beast behind.

At this point in time, Nagini was not yet the deadly serpent who would one day serve Voldemort as a Horcrux. Robert speculated that she was on the verge of permanently losing her human self, occasionally regaining consciousness before the curse pulled her deeper into its grasp. Their encounter had likely been one of those fleeting moments when her true self resurfaced.

Tom remained quiet for a while before murmuring, "I have a feeling I'll see her again someday."

Robert turned to him, slightly surprised to see a flicker of pity in his eyes.

"Maybe… but we need to get stronger quickly. Otherwise, the next time you meet her, you might not make it out alive," Robert warned.

With that, he hopped onto a tram that had just pulled up, and Tom quickly followed.

Since they didn't have to walk, they arrived at their destination much faster this time.

Robert noticed pedestrians ahead of them taking odd, deliberate detours as if avoiding something. Then, he saw the reason—a shabby sign that read The Leaky Cauldron.

He exchanged glances with Tom before heading toward the old pub.

Tom nervously brushed the dust off his clothes. They were both disheveled from their earlier fall into the sewer, and a faint stench clung to them.

Just as Tom frowned, contemplating where they could change, he suddenly felt a cool sensation sweep over him, like a gentle breeze.

To his astonishment, all the grime and odor were gone.

He turned to Robert in surprise.

Robert, meanwhile, was inspecting his own clothes while silently casting a spell.

"Scourgify."

The next second, he, too, was spotless.

"Robert… I've wanted to ask you this for a long time." Tom lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "Did you always know you were a wizard? And where did you learn how to use magic?"

"No, I've just been experimenting. Haven't you realized by now? Magic is subjective," Robert answered smoothly.

Tom's suspicion wasn't unexpected, but Robert wasn't about to reveal the truth. In reality, even without a spellbook, he had figured out how to test and replicate various magical effects through trial and error.

"Magic is… subjective," Tom repeated thoughtfully, his mind turning over the concept.

"Come on, we should head inside. A whole new world is waiting for us." Robert patted Tom's shoulder before leading the way into the Leaky Cauldron.

The pub's interior did not surprise him. It was just as he had imagined—small, cramped, and a bit grimy.

Yet, despite its dingy appearance, it was bustling with activity. Wizards and witches of all sorts filled the space, chatting over drinks, their backgrounds as varied as their robes.

Robert made his way to the bar, where a middle-aged man with a receding hairline was polishing a glass.

"Excuse me, how do we get to Diagon Alley?" Robert asked.

The bartender set down the glass and peered at them.

"Oh… you must be this year's new Hogwarts students. First time in Diagon Alley?"

Tom and Robert nodded.

"Well then, follow me."

They trailed after the bartender as he led them toward a back door. Along the way, several patrons greeted him.

"Tom, got anything to eat? I'm starving—I could eat a whole cow! Oh, and a glass of sherry while you're at it!"

"Hold on, Joum. I need to take these two to Diagon Alley first."

"Oh? Are they Muggle-born?"

"Yes, yes…"

The bartender, also named Tom, led them out to a small walled courtyard behind the pub.

Tom hesitated before asking, "What does 'Muggle-born' mean?"

"Hm? Your professor didn't explain it to you?" The bartender frowned. "Muggles are people without magic. A Muggle-born is a witch or wizard born into a non-magical family. You two aren't from wizarding families, are you? If you were, you'd have been here before."

"No, we're definitely Muggle-born. We were just curious about the term," Robert answered quickly.

"Oh, I see…" The bartender didn't seem particularly interested. He turned toward the brick wall and took out his wand.

"Start from this trash can," he instructed. "Count three bricks up, then two across… and tap."

Knock. Knock. Knock.

With a slight rumbling sound, the bricks shifted and rearranged themselves, creating an arched doorway leading into a bustling street.

Robert stepped through first, and before them stretched Diagon Alley.

The cobblestone street was lined with shops of all shapes and sizes, their windows displaying everything from cauldrons to broomsticks. The air buzzed with excited chatter as wizards and witches moved about, shopping for school supplies or daily essentials.

"Well, now you know how to get in and out of Diagon Alley," said the bartender. "I'll leave you to it."

Before heading back inside, he added, "Stay on the main street—don't wander into Knockturn Alley. It's dangerous."

Once the entrance sealed behind them, Tom suddenly said, "I don't think I'm really Muggle-born. My father must have been a wizard. My mother wasn't, but… if she had been, she wouldn't have died so easily."

"Well, we're both from the orphanage now. That makes us Muggle-born by default," Robert pointed out.

"…Maybe. But I'm going to find out the truth about my father one day." Tom pulled out their shopping list. "What should we buy first?"

"Our wands, of course. But first, we need to exchange some money." Robert patted his backpack.

Meanwhile, a few kilometers away, a small house was surrounded by police.

The two-story building was severely damaged, its walls tilting dangerously.

"Sheriff, we found the traffickers tied up, but…"

"But what?" asked the mustached officer.

"Well… the floor collapsed, and several of them fell. They're injured—and completely terrified."

A tall, thin man stepped out of the crowd. The officers didn't react as he moved past them, as if he were invisible.

Dumbledore entered the ruined house, his gaze sharp. He closed his eyes briefly, sensing the lingering traces of magic.

Then, suddenly, he opened them again, his expression shifting.

"…It's them?" he murmured. "How could it be them?"

A flicker of worry crossed his face before he jumped into the sewer through the collapsed floor.

Ignoring the foul stench, he carefully examined the area. Then, he bent down, reaching into the muck.

When he stood, a dark green scale lay in his palm.

"…Nagini?" His frown deepened. "Has she finally fallen?"

His expression darkened further.

If they encountered Nagini…

Dumbledore tucked the scale into his pocket.

With a loud crack, he vanished.

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