Chapter 6: Diagon Alley

Harry politely replied, “Hello, Professor Quirrell.”

“Harry, I’ve never heard anything about you before—I suppose you live in the Muggle world,” Quirrell said, his speech still slow, as if his throat were a tube of toothpaste and each syllable had to be painfully squeezed out.

“If Muggle is the opposite of magic, then I suppose you’re right—though we usually call it ‘modern society,’” Harry answered.

“Just a matter of terminology, it doesn’t matter. I’m actually very curious about the Muggle—modern world; we can talk more about it later.” As he spoke, Quirrell patted Hagrid. “Now go on, don’t keep them waiting.”

“All right, Professor Quirrell.” Hagrid nodded and led Harry through the pub into a small courtyard.

“Professor Quirrell talks slowly, doesn’t he?” He grinned at Harry.

“Is he always like that?”

“Quirrell was an excellent student, but he had a slight stammer. After traveling for a year, he came back and mostly cured it—I think he did it to better handle his teaching duties.” As he spoke, Hagrid tapped his umbrella against the wall.

Indeed, speaking slowly was better than stammering. Harry mused vaguely—he’d heard some people stammered because they were too intelligent, their tongues unable to keep up with their minds.

“Three up… three across…” Hagrid muttered softly, “Right, step back, Harry.”

He tapped the wall three times with the tip of his umbrella.

The brick began to tremble; then the center of the wall writhed violently, a small hole appearing and growing larger. A second later, an arch wide enough for Hagrid to pass through stood before them.

The arch led to a cobbled street that curved forward until it vanished from sight.

“Welcome to Diagon Alley,” Hagrid said.

Harry felt a strange mix of emotions—he couldn’t help wondering if there were some intricate mechanical structure hidden within the bricks, yet his intuition told him this was pure magic.

Diagon Alley was bustling: shops sold cauldrons, owls, and brooms. Harry guessed the brooms must fly—and sure enough, he heard two children say one was “the fastest Firebolt 2000.”

“Here we are—Gringotts.” Hagrid pulled Harry, who had been gazing in wonder, to a snow-white building where two tall, thin, short creatures stood at the entrance.

“They’re goblins,” Hagrid whispered.

Harry followed him through two doors into a marble hall. He noticed a window labeled “Currency Exchange for Muggle Money,” and he felt his wallet in his pocket, itching to exchange some.

“This is Harry Potter’s vault key—we need to withdraw some money,” Hagrid said. “And here’s a letter from Mr. Dumbledore regarding Vault 713.”

Harry noticed that when Hagrid produced the letter, his posture straightened instantly—he looked immensely proud.

“What’s Vault 713 about?” Harry asked curiously.

“A very important little item. I must take it back to school for Dumbledore to manage,” Hagrid said mysteriously. “But I can’t tell you what it is.”

“I guess it’s some powerful magical artifact,” Harry said offhandedly.

Hagrid’s expression changed abruptly. He cleared his throat. “Ahem—I forgot to tell you, wizarding currency is one Galleon to seventeen Sickles to four hundred ninety-three Knuts. You can withdraw twenty Galleons—that should be enough for everything you want today.”

Harry smiled and dropped the subject of Dumbledore’s secret mission. He obediently followed Hagrid and the goblin guide underground, then boarded a cart to the vaults.

The goblin opened Harry’s vault, revealing piles of gold coins and even more silver and copper. Hagrid pulled out a small bag and helped him fill it with gold, then said to the goblin, “Now let’s go to Vault 713.”

“Wait,” Harry said. “I won’t come. Meet me back here when you’re done.”

He felt that since Vault 713 involved some wizarding secret, it was better to avoid suspicion. He could use the time to count how much wealth his parents had left him.

Hagrid looked uneasy. He mumbled, “You’d better come along—because Dumbledore… uh… I’m not comfortable leaving you alone here.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said. He was used to Hagrid mentioning Dumbledore—he could see Hagrid deeply respected the headmaster. “Whatever Dumbledore asked you to do must be important. It might not be appropriate for a child like me to see it. I’ll wait here for you.”

“All right, then stay right here and don’t wander off.” Hagrid left looking puzzled.

Harry roughly counted the vault’s contents: the gold Galleons totaled just under twenty thousand—around nineteen thousand. With the large amounts of silver and copper, the total wealth was likely between twenty and twenty-five thousand Galleons.

As he left the bank with Hagrid, he glanced at the exchange rate: 5.12. That meant his parents had left him roughly one hundred thousand pounds—enough to buy a decent apartment in most parts of London, or to cover Tang Dun’s monthly expenses.

Comparing it this way, Harry no longer felt the initial shock and awe at the piles of gold—he began to think carefully: did the wizarding world have some economic theory of its own?

Outside Gringotts, Hagrid first took Harry to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, then said he’d gotten dizzy from the mine cart and wanted to get something to drink. Harry didn’t see the need to buy robes—many people on the street wore suits. But the acceptance letter required robes as uniform, so he obediently walked into the shop alone.

Madam Malkin wore a pale purple robe, was short and stout, and had a kind expression. Seeing Harry, she beamed. “Dear, you’re a new student at Hogwarts? Good—another student is just being fitted.”

“Oh, I’ll wait then,” Harry said politely. He saw a pale, sharp-faced boy standing on a stool behind him, trying on robes.

“Hi, you’re a new Hogwarts student too?” the boy said.

“Yes,” Harry replied.

“My father’s buying books, and my mother’s helping me pick a wand,” the boy said lazily. “Then I have to drag them to buy a broom—first-years aren’t allowed to bring brooms, so I’ll have to convince my dad to sneak one in.”

“You mean the broom is a flying broom—the tool wizards use for transportation?”

“Transportation?” The boy looked surprised. “Don’t you play Quidditch?”

“No,” Harry said. He thought—if brooms were like cars, Quidditch must be some dangerous racing sport.

“I mean, instead of buying a new broom, you could sneak your family’s old one to school,” Harry said, thinking of Tang Dun’s garage, filled with cars—losing one wouldn’t be noticed right away.

“Wow, you’re clever,” the boy said. “Old brooms aren’t as cool as new ones, but better than nothing—good backup plan. By the way, I’m Draco Malfoy. What’s your name?”

“I’m Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you, Malfoy,” Harry said.

“Pleasure indeed,” Draco straightened his posture and spoke in a grown-up tone. “I suppose you might revive the Potter family.”

“Revive?” Harry mentally noted the word—perhaps he was the descendant of some wizarding noble family.

“Oh, look at that man!” Draco pointed out the window.

Harry turned—Hagrid stood there, holding two ice creams, grinning at him.

“That’s Hagrid—he works at Hogwarts.”

“Is he? I heard he’s a servant,” Draco said.

“Dumbledore trusts him—he might be the headmaster’s personal manservant,” Harry replied. He didn’t know Hagrid’s actual job, so he could only make limited guesses based on Draco’s words.

“I heard he’s a wild man who lives in a hut by the grounds, drinks constantly, and even burns his own bed when he tries to cast magic.”

“From what I’ve observed, that rumor isn’t true,” Harry said, recalling idle gossip among Tang Dun’s servants. “Perhaps other servants, jealous of his favor with Dumbledore, spread these lies.”

“Oh, right—he’s with you now,” Draco realized. “A clumsy servant wouldn’t dare get near Harry Potter. By the way, which house do you want?”

“I think any house is about the same—the important thing is learning,” Harry said. He didn’t know what a house was, but that didn’t stop him from answering.

“Oh, my robes are ready.” Draco took the bag from Madam Malkin. Before leaving, he called to Harry, “I’ll probably be in Slytherin. Looking forward to seeing you there.”

As Harry stepped out of the robe shop, he noticed the ice cream hadn’t melted at all—and once again marveled at the magic of this world.

While buying books, Hagrid explained Quidditch, brooms, the four houses, and his real job: Keeper of the Keys and Grounds.

Harry now realized how absurd his guess about a personal manservant had been. But since Draco had been the one to say “servant,” he decided to treat it as a harmless joke.