Diagon Alley

Tom led him out the back into the narrow alley. The transition from the warm, lantern-lit pub to the dimly lit back courtyard was stark. The stone walls, worn with age, boxed them in on all sides, and for a brief moment, Harry wondered if he had been led into a dead end.

Tom, however, strode forward without hesitation. He stopped in front of a plain brick wall and gave Harry a knowing smile.

"Now, pay close attention, lad," he said, raising his wand.

Harry's breath hitched as Tom tapped a specific sequence onto the bricks. First, one near the middle, then two below it, then a final tap slightly to the side. The effect was immediate.

The bricks shuddered, rippling outward as though a stone dropped into a pond. Then, just as in his dream, the bricks folded away, shifting and twisting until an archway stood where a solid wall had been. Beyond it, the world seemed to glow.

Harry took a step forward without realizing it, eyes wide with awe.

The street stretched before him, uneven cobblestones glinting under the soft golden light from the shop windows. Tall, narrow buildings leaned together, stacked high with windows and chimneys, each storefront packed with strange and wonderful things.

The air carried a hum of energy, a quiet buzz of magic that made his skin tingle.

Tom chuckled at his expression. "Welcome, Harry, to—"

But Harry barely heard him. He was already stepping through, drinking in every detail.

Something clicked in his mind. If this archway was hidden, if it required magic to open…

He turned back to Tom. "Can I do that myself?" he asked, glancing at the bricks.

Tom shook his head. "Not yet, lad. You'll need a wand for that." He gave Harry a reassuring smile. "But don't you worry, I'll be happy to open it for you anytime you need. Just pop into the pub, and I'll sort it out."

Harry nodded slowly, committing the pattern to memory anyway. He didn't have a wand, but one day he would. And when that day came, he'd try it himself.

Tom clapped him on the shoulder. "I'd stay and show you around, but I've got a pub to run. You take your time, look around, and when you're done, just come back through here. Door's always open for you."

With that, Tom turned and disappeared back into the Leaky Cauldron, leaving Harry standing at the entrance, staring into the hidden world before him.

He took a deep breath.

And then he stepped inside.

The archway shifted behind him, bricks settling back into place as if they had never moved at all. Harry turned, barely breathing, as he took in the sight before him.

It was unlike anything he had ever seen.

The street stretched ahead, lined with towering buildings that leaned slightly, their edges uneven as if they had been shaped by unseen hands. Signs hung from wrought-iron brackets, swaying gently in the air, displaying names and symbols he couldn't yet understand. Lanterns flickered with warm, golden light, casting a glow over the cobbled pathway, which twisted slightly as it stretched deeper into the unknown.

And Harry couldn't take his attention away from the people.

Men and women in cloaks of deep greens, purples, and blacks moved through the street, some carrying bundles wrapped in paper, others chatting in groups. A woman passed with a floating quill scribbling notes on a hovering parchment. A man in long navy robes stepped out of a shop, pocketing a tiny glass vial filled with something that shimmered in the light.

Magic. This was magic.

It was real. It had always been real.

He barely noticed that he was walking forward, drawn deeper into the street, his eyes flicking from shop to shop, taking in every little detail.

A large, cauldron-shaped sign caught his eye. Cauldrons – All Sizes – Pewter, Brass, Copper. Through the window, stacks of gleaming cauldrons sat arranged by material, some stirring themselves idly. A display sign next to them boasted self-heating models, while another, in bold red ink, warned that a certain cauldron was "For Advanced Users Only!"

Further down, another store seemed to sell an assortment of quills, parchment, and ink pots, the window filled with stacks of scrolls tied with thin ribbons. A tiny stand near the entrance displayed shimmering bottles labeled Quick-Drying Ink – Perfect for Rapid Spellwork!

Harry barely had time to take that in before his eyes caught something else.

A wand shop.

It was smaller than the others, its window filled with neatly stacked boxes, some tied with faded ribbons. The sign overhead was peeling, but the name Ollivanders was still legible.

Harry shivered, a strange feeling running through him at the sight. The very air around the shop seemed different, charged with something unseen.

Something about it made him uneasy, though he couldn't explain why.

And then, just ahead, he spotted a store that made his breath hitch.

Books.

It was larger than most of the other shops, with high windows filled with towering stacks of books, their spines gilded, some glowing faintly. The door was propped open, and a faint rustling noise drifted out as if the books themselves were shifting.

Harry's feet carried him toward it before he even decided to move.

The shop smelled of ink and parchment filled the air. Inside, bookshelves stretched high, nearly touching the ceiling. Ladders lined the walls, some shifting as if they had minds of their own.

Harry turned in a slow circle, taking in the sheer amount of knowledge that surrounded him.

A book with silver lettering caught his eye A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration and next to it, another labeled Curses and Counter-Curses.

His fingers itched to reach out, but a sharp thought struck him.

Hermione.

She should see this too.

The idea of walking these aisles with her, of uncovering real knowledge instead of myths and legends, made him step back. He wanted to explore, but not alone.

His gaze drifted over the shelves once more. A heavy, leather-bound book rested on a pedestal near the counter, its pages fluttering as though an invisible wind were flipping through them.

A shopkeeper sat behind the counter, nose buried in a scroll. For a brief moment, Harry considered asking a question, anything, but the thought of drawing attention to himself stopped him. He wasn't ready for that.

Not yet.

A clock chimed somewhere in the distance, shaking him from his thoughts. He had been here too long.

The Dursleys were waiting for him, and surely they noticed he was gone by now.

Heart pounding, Harry turned away from the books, forcing himself to leave the shop. It was harder than he expected.

As he stepped back onto the street, he caught sight of a store selling robes, another filled with broomsticks, and one with a gleaming display of potions in glass bottles. He wanted to stop at each one, to examine everything, but the lack of time pressured him.

He had to go.

There was so much more, shops he hadn't even begun to take in, people dressed in outfits he could hardly understand.

But for now, he had what he needed.

As he slipped back through the shifting archway and the pub onto the London streets, he felt the weight of a secret settle in his chest.

He had found it. And soon, he would return.