Professor McGonagall noticed Loren and Hermione's unusual excitement but assumed it was simply the thrill of stepping into the magical world for the first time. She didn't comment, instead leading the group toward the Leaky Cauldron.
To the four adults, however, it looked as though they were walking into a narrow alley that had suddenly appeared between two tightly packed shops. The little alley stood out as oddly out of place.
As they approached it, peculiar thoughts started creeping into their minds:
"Did I leave the gas on at home?"
"Did I lock the door before we left? Maybe I should go back and check, just in case of burglars."
Such thoughts pressed in on them, urging them to turn back.
McGonagall caught the signs at once. With a flick of her wand, those nagging doubts vanished from their heads.
Just as Mr. Angus and Mr. Granger were about to comment, Loren and Hermione gave them a push straight into the Leaky Cauldron. Their wives could only laugh helplessly and follow them inside.
Guided by McGonagall, everyone entered the pub.
Loren looked around. The Leaky Cauldron was exactly as he remembered it—like a memory come to life.
In the corner, a few old women were drinking; one of them puffed on a long pipe. Perhaps they were drinking sherry, as the book described, though Loren couldn't resist the odd thought that it certainly wasn't anything like Haibara Ai's.
Nearby, a man in a tall hat was chatting with the barman. Loren studied the barman carefully—balding, wizened, like a shriveled walnut—exactly as the novels had described.
When they stepped in, the chatter around the room died down. After all, most of the patrons were Hogwarts folk, and the professor's presence commanded respect.
"Drink, Professor McGonagall?" the barman asked, holding up a polished glass.
"Not this time, Tom. I'm guiding new students today. Another time," she replied briskly, leading the group past the bar to a small walled courtyard.
As they crossed, Loren glanced around, hoping to spot Professor Quirrell—the first villain of the series, in his earliest guise. But he was nowhere to be found; perhaps because today wasn't Harry Potter's day to visit Diagon Alley.
Still, Loren mused, "What about those old women, or that man in the hat? Do they come here every day, like clocking in for work?"
Before his imagination carried him too far, McGonagall called them over.
The little courtyard contained nothing but a rubbish bin and some weeds. The two fathers were looking around in confusion, trying to guess where the magical entrance might be. The mothers stood beside McGonagall, equally baffled.
"Loren, Hermione, come closer. I'll show you how to open the way into Diagon Alley."
She stood by the bin, wand raised, and explained,
"Three bricks up… two across… tap three times."
She rapped her wand against the wall. At once, the brick she struck shivered and began to shift, creating a small hole that widened into an archway. Beyond it lay a cobbled street, winding away into the distance.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley."
She stepped through with them, glancing back as the arch shrank and solidified into a wall again.
The first shop they saw was a cauldron shop, with stacks of cauldrons outside beneath a hanging sign.
"The archway looks just like that old Harry Potter game I once played," Loren thought, "but the wall sealing up again is closer to the novels. Especially with the cauldron shop right beyond—it's exactly as described."
While he was musing, McGonagall's voice cut in,
"You'll need to buy a cauldron. But first, we must exchange money."
She led them down the bustling street.
The two fathers gawked in every direction, wishing for eight eyes to take it all in. The mothers, meanwhile, focused more on the witches passing by, whispering about their robes and marveling at their smooth, porcelain-like skin.
Hermione was wide-eyed, scanning everything for magical wonders. Shop windows overflowed with broomsticks, spellbooks, quills, jars of strange organs, bizarre trinkets—plenty to meet her wildest expectations.
Loren too observed, but with a more reflective eye. To him, the scene was a blend of novel, film, and game—familiar, yet altered.
"Gringotts," McGonagall announced at last, leading them to a tall, snow-white building towering above the shops.
They climbed the marble steps toward the gleaming bronze doors, where a goblin in crimson-and-gold uniform bowed stiffly. Passing through, they entered a second silver door engraved with a warning:
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.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
Another perfect match to the novels. Loren had to bite back the urge to summon his system and ask just what was going on—but now wasn't the time. Too many eyes, too many ears. Tonight, perhaps.
Inside, goblins hurried about in a vast marble hall, weighing coins, examining gems, recording ledgers. Countless doors led elsewhere, with goblins guiding wizards and witches this way and that.
Their escort goblin brought them to a counter, then left.
"We need to exchange pounds for Galleons. Two students' allowances," McGonagall said.
"New term," the goblin muttered, not even glancing up. "Always the same. Five pounds to a Galleon. Two hundred pounds maximum per student."
Mr. Angus and Mr. Granger laid down the notes they had prepared. The goblin inspected them, set them aside, and pulled two pouches of Galleons onto the counter.
The fathers opened them at once, counting eagerly, while McGonagall explained:
"Gold coins are Galleons. One Galleon equals seventeen silver Sickles, and one Sickle equals twenty-nine Knuts. Forty Galleons is more than enough for a student—Hogwarts provides food and lodging."
Loren already knew the conversion rates, but hearing them again made him wince. Britain had decimalized its currency in 1971; yet the wizarding world clung stubbornly to its ancient system.
When McGonagall finished, Loren addressed the goblin directly:
"Can gold and gemstones be exchanged for Galleons?"
The goblin finally looked up. "Of course. Hard currency. How much?"
Loren set his backpack on the counter.
"All of it."
He tipped it out. Dozens of glittering gems and small lumps of gold tumbled across the counter.
McGonagall stared at the Anguses in shock. Mr. Angus only shrugged.
"They're Loren's. Ever since he was eight, he always seems to come home with gold or jewels."
McGonagall's mind flickered with suspicion—did the boy have Niffler blood?
The goblin's eyes gleamed. "Four thousand Galleons. Fine quality, though small. Larger stones would fetch more."
Excitement filled his face.
"As you are exchanging so much, we will also provide you with a free enchanted pouch to carry it all. Or, of course, you could deposit it here at Gringotts—the safest place in the wizarding world."
"Convert it all. I'll take it with me. I have shopping to do," Loren said flatly, ignoring the suggestion. He trusted goblins no more than their greed required.
Another goblin arrived to escort them to a private chamber while the first retrieved the coins. It didn't take long before they returned with a pouch stuffed with four thousand Galleons. Their eagerness showed just how much they had profited—but Loren hardly minded. Most of the gems, after all, had been "handcrafted" in his alchemy lab the night before.
After McGonagall verified the sum with magic, the deal was done.
Now Loren's purse practically burned with impatience. It was time to hit Diagon Alley for a grand shopping spree.
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