Chapter 4: Diagon Alley

"Albert, are you sure we're in the right place?" Herb was carefully studying the map in his hands, but he couldn't find The Leaky Cauldron that Professor McGonagall had mentioned.

"We need to locate Flourish and Blotts first. The entrance to the pub should be nearby," Albert said, pointing at the large bookstore ahead. Next door stood a record shop.

"This is it? But I—"

"—can't see the pub?" Albert finished for him.

If he hadn't been paying special attention, he might have missed it too. The pub looked old and shabby, squashed between its larger neighbors, and passersby barely noticed it—even Herb himself had overlooked it at first.

"Do you remember what Professor McGonagall told us?" Albert asked.

"She said Muggles can't see it," Herb muttered, frowning. "I don't like that word—Muggle."

Herb let his son lead him forward, and the moment they crossed the threshold, the hidden Leaky Cauldron came into view.

It was a dimly lit, grubby little pub.

"This place is filthy," Herb muttered, wrinkling his nose.

"Agreed. But let's go in."

Suppressing his distaste, Herb followed Albert inside.

The pub smelled of stale ale, and its patrons—a strange collection of men and women in long robes and eccentric hats—were engaged in hushed conversations. A few wizards looked up as they entered, their eyes lingering on Herb with mild curiosity before turning back to their drinks.

Had this odd-looking group been out on a busy London street, they would have attracted considerable attention. Here, however, it was Herb and Albert who felt out of place, like intruders in a hidden world.

Herb quickly composed himself and approached the counter, addressing the bald, toothless old man behind it. "Excuse me—are you Tom?"

The barman gave him a knowing smile. "Another young wizard from a Muggle family, I see." He turned his gaze to Albert before nodding. "You're looking for Diagon Alley, I take it?"

"Yes, sir," Albert replied politely. "Professor McGonagall said you could show us the way."

"Of course, of course. Follow me."

Tom led them through the pub and out to a small, enclosed courtyard. It was empty except for a few barrels and a large, battered dustbin.

"This bin never moves, so it's a good landmark," Tom said, stepping forward. "Now, watch closely."

He raised his wand and tapped a specific brick three times. "Three up, two across. That's the one."

Albert watched with fascination as the brick began to tremble. A small hole appeared, then widened until an arched passageway stood before them.

Beyond the arch, a winding cobbled street bustled with life. Shops lined both sides, their signs swaying in the breeze, while wizards and witches in flowing robes moved between them, stopping at stalls or chatting in groups.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Tom announced with a grin.

Herb's eyes widened. "This is incredible," he murmured. "But, er—how do we get back?"

Tom chuckled. "Just tap the same brick three times, same as I did. It'll seal up when you go through." Then, lowering his voice, he added, "One more thing—you'll need wizarding money. Gringotts is the white building straight ahead. The goblins will exchange your Muggle money for Galleons."

"Thank you, Mr. Tom," Albert said.

"Enjoy your shopping," Tom said, waving them off before disappearing back into the pub. The entrance behind them melted back into a solid brick wall.

"Let's find Gringotts," Herb said, exhaling sharply.

As they moved through Diagon Alley, Albert took in the strange yet enchanting surroundings. Owls hooted from their perches in a pet shop window, cauldrons were stacked high outside an apothecary, and a group of young witches excitedly examined wands in Ollivanders.

"This place feels like stepping back in time," Albert remarked.

"To be honest, I'm starting to question if sending you to Hogwarts is the right decision." Herb sighed. "Daisy's doubts might not be entirely unfounded."

"Dad, it's not like I have to live here forever," Albert reminded him. "I just want to learn magic—nothing more."

Herb considered this, then nodded. "You're right."

Soon, they arrived at Gringotts Wizarding Bank, a towering white building with massive bronze doors. A goblin in a scarlet-and-gold uniform stood at the entrance, bowing as they passed.

Herb stared. "They're… not human."

Albert studied the goblin's appearance—short, with sharp features, long fingers, and beady black eyes. Their expressions were unreadable, yet something about them seemed calculating.

Inside, another goblin bowed them through a second set of silver doors. These bore an inscription, which Herb read aloud:

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…

"I can't believe they need to put a warning on a bank," Herb muttered. "Just how often do wizards try to rob this place?"

Albert stifled a laugh. "Probably more often than you'd think."

A goblin approached, leading them to a marble counter. "You wish to exchange Muggle money?"

"Yes," Herb said. "I'd like to exchange one thousand pounds into wizarding currency."

The goblin handed him a parchment detailing the exchange rates:

1 Galleon = 4.95 British pounds

1 Galleon = 17 Sickles

1 Sickle = 29 Knuts

Herb frowned. "How many Galleons is that?"

Albert did a quick mental calculation. "About 200."

"Then 200 Galleons, please," Herb confirmed, handing over the cash.

The goblin rang a bell, summoning another who carried a heavy leather pouch. "Your coins, sir."

Herb took the pouch and examined a Galleon, turning the solid gold coin in his fingers. "Actual gold… no wonder wizards use it."

After verifying the amount, they left Gringotts.

As they stepped back into the sunlight, the heavy coins jingled in their pockets—a sound that seemed to whisper: Spend us quickly.