The moment Dudley stepped through the worn wooden door of the Leaky Cauldron, he felt as if he had crossed into another realm entirely. The bustling, modern city outside vanished, replaced by a dim, cramped space where the air hung heavy and stale, smelling of old wood and spilled ale.
Shadows clung to every corner. Dudley's analytical gaze swept the room, cataloging its inhabitants. A few elderly women were huddled in a corner, sipping tiny glasses of sherry, one of them puffing thoughtfully on a long, curling pipe. Nearby, a man in a tall top hat engaged in quiet conversation with the pub's owner, a nearly bald man whose face resembled a shriveled walnut.
Amidst these otherwise ordinary scenes, subtle sparks of magic were woven into the fabric of the place. A waiter raised his hand, and a stack of dirty mugs floated from a table to the bar. Not far away, a young man sat engrossed in a book, his finger gently coaxing the spoon in his cup to spin endlessly, stirring his coffee without a single touch.
How amazing, Dudley thought, his curiosity piqued. Magic here is so… casual. His spiritual senses tingled as he perceived the vibrant energy pulsing within the souls of those around him, especially the wizards weaving simple spells. Their auras shimmered with radiant light. It was clear to him that magic and the spiritual power he knew were kindred forces, differing only in their methods of application.
Harry, beside him, was simply stunned into silence. Knowing magic existed was one thing; seeing it woven so effortlessly into everyday life was another entirely.
"Oh, my God!"
A sharp scream shattered the quiet murmur of the pub. Vernon and Petunia, having followed them inside, were utterly unprepared. Their startled cries echoed through the room, drawing the immediate attention of every patron.
"Two more Muggles," someone muttered into their drink. "Looks like they're bringing a new Hogwarts student to buy supplies." The scene was clearly a familiar one. The regulars were well accustomed to the wide-eyed wonder and open-mouthed shock of those first entering their world.
Tom, the pub's owner, cast a knowing glance at Vernon and Petunia before his eyes settled on Hagrid. A warm smile spread across his face. "The usual, Hagrid?"
"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," Hagrid's booming voice filled the room. He clapped Harry on the shoulder, nearly sending the boy tumbling. "Just getting young Harry here his things."
His words silenced the room instantly. All eyes turned from Hagrid to the scrawny, black-haired boy standing beside him. A hush fell over the pub.
"Good gracious," Tom the barman whispered, peering closer. "Is this… can this be…?" He rushed out from behind the bar, his eyes wide. "Bless my soul. It's Harry Potter!"
The pub erupted.
"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back!"
"It's an honor, Mr. Potter!"
Witches and wizards surged forward, eager to shake Harry's hand, their faces alight with admiration and awe. Harry, completely bewildered, could only stand there as his hand was shaken again and again.
"This kid… he's famous?" Vernon stammered, his face a mask of disbelief. Petunia was equally shocked. A flicker of fear crossed their faces as they exchanged worried glances. After years of treating him like dirt, the thought of what a famous wizard could do to them was terrifying.
Dudley watched the scene with detached interest. Harry's renown was far greater than he had imagined, which only deepened his curiosity about the Dark Lord who had given him that fame. He saw the fear in his parents' eyes.
"Honey, maybe we shouldn't learn magic after all," Vernon muttered grimly.
"Dad, we've come this far," Dudley said, his voice steady and confident. "Besides, if Harry ever did want to get back at you, how could I protect you if I don't have magic of my own?"
Petunia's eyes brightened with a fierce, protective hope. "Dudley is right!" she declared, her voice filled with conviction. "With our son's talent, I'm sure he'll shine in the magical world. He'll definitely be able to beat that boy Harry!"
"Hmph." Hagrid's cold snort cut through the room. A nearby wizard muttered disapprovingly, "How can a Muggle-born child be compared to Harry Potter? It's laughable." The surrounding patrons exchanged disapproving glances. Vernon and Petunia quickly fell silent.
"It's a pity you're a bit late," Tom said with some regret. "You just missed Professor Quirrell. He'll be your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
"Quirrell was here?" Hagrid asked, surprised. "Well, Harry will meet him at school soon enough." He clapped his hands together. "Right, we should be going."
As Harry shyly waved goodbye to the adoring crowd, Hagrid led them toward the back of the pub. He shot a last, disdainful look at Vernon. "Your son may not be a Muggle like you, Dursley, but I doubt he has much magical talent."
"My son is the best!" Vernon puffed up, his cheeks reddening.
Harry opened his mouth to say something in Dudley's defense—his cousin had been decent to him lately—but the memories of years of torment made him hesitate, and he held his tongue.
"Alright, we're here," Hagrid announced, stopping before a solid brick wall in a small, enclosed courtyard.
He ignored their confused looks, took out a shabby pink umbrella from his coat, and gently tapped a specific brick three times. The bricks began to shift and grind, a hole appearing in the center, which grew wider and wider until it formed a magnificent archway.
Through it, they could see a bustling, cobbled street filled with the most fantastic sights they had ever imagined.
"Welcome," Hagrid said, his voice filled with warmth and pride, "to Diagon Alley."
***
(End of Chapter)
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