Diagon Alley
The morning sun bathed the Stark Manor in a golden glow as Minerva McGonagall stood at the imposing front doors, her robes catching the light as she waited for Anthony Daniel Granger, known to the world as Tony Stark. Yet today, he had made a small request: “Call me Daniel,” he had said, with a grin that carried the weight of a private jest. The manor, with its sleek modern architecture and subtle hum of technology, seemed almost incongruous with the robed professor’s presence. But Minerva’s demeanor was steady; she had dealt with stranger sights in her time.
Howard and Maria Granger stood just inside the foyer, their smiles polished but eyes distant. When Minerva asked if they would like to join their son for the trip to Diagon Alley, Howard’s brows lifted in polite refusal.
“We’d love to,” Maria said with a tight smile, “but we have obligations.”
Minerva nodded, suppressing a sigh. It was as she expected.
“Very well,” she said, turning to Daniel, who had an unreadable expression.
The shimmering green flames of Floo powder soon enveloped them, transporting them from the polished floors of Stark Manor to the bustling heart of wizarding commerce: Diagon Alley.
Meanwhile, on a quiet, dreary street at Number Four, Privet Drive, the ground trembled slightly under the thumping footsteps of Rubeus Hagrid. The Dursleys’ living room was pristine, devoid of any warmth, and the towering half-giant’s presence only accentuated the lifelessness of the space. Vernon Dursley’s face was a violent shade of purple as he spat out his refusal.
“Absolutely not! We’re not stepping foot in any of your freakish places!” he roared, his mustache quivering.
Hagrid’s beetle-black eyes flickered with irritation but settled on the tiny figure huddled in the corner. Sage Violet Potter, with her tangle of dark hair and wide, wary eyes, clutched a ragged sweater to her chest. She glanced up at Hagrid with the silent hope of the hopeless.
“Come along, Sage,” Hagrid said, his voice softening as he extended a hand. The little girl’s gaze darted nervously to the Dursleys before she stood and followed Hagrid, almost tripping over her own feet in her haste.
The contrast between Daniel Granger’s confident strides and Sage Potter’s tentative, duckling-like steps was stark. Daniel’s sharp eyes roved over the crowd as they walked past shop windows bursting with magical oddities. Every inch of Diagon Alley thrummed with life, from the glittering robes of passing witches to the vibrant cries of street vendors hawking their wares. He glanced sideways at Professor McGonagall, catching a rare flicker of warmth in her usually stern features. She wanted to uplift his spirits, he realized, and for the moment, the novelty of the place succeeded.
“Gringotts,” McGonagall said, pointing at the imposing white structure that loomed above the shops.
Inside, the goblins—sharp-eyed and meticulously dressed—watched them with inscrutable expressions. Daniel’s natural ease with negotiations and business shone as he addressed the goblins with respect, discussing investments and converting a substantial amount of his muggle wealth into wizarding currency. By the end of their meeting, the goblins regarded him with something like admiration—a rare feat indeed.
“Your business acumen is... refreshing,” one goblin remarked, watching as Daniel deposited significant funds and set up investments with a practiced hand.
“Thank you,” Daniel said, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
The rest of his shopping was no less impressive. He selected first-class materials for his robes, gathered each and every book he could find—from standard textbooks to advanced volumes on magical theory—and purchased a custom, enchanted trunk with vast interior dimensions. The enchanted trunk housed multiple bedrooms, a grand hall, a lavish kitchen, and a library that rivaled the ones in his own home.
Sage Potter’s visit to Gringotts was more subdued. Hagrid handed over a small, rusty key, and Sage’s tiny fingers gripped it with a trembling hand. The goblin’s gaze sharpened as he led them to her vault. Inside, the glitter of coins reflected in her wide eyes. She wanted to ask—about her accounts, her parents, everything—but the weight of years spent being told to stay silent pressed on her. The words came out barely a whisper.
“Hagrid, do you know—”
“No time for dawdling, Sage,” Hagrid said, though not unkindly, patting her shoulder with a hand large enough to engulf her. She nodded mutely, collecting what she needed. Her shopping was simple: the basics for Hogwarts, a plain trunk, and second-hand robes. Yet, amidst it all, Hagrid stopped at Eeylops Owl Emporium and, with a grin, presented her with a snowy white owl.
“Consider it a gift,” he said, beaming.
Sage stared at the owl, tears welling up before she blinked them away quickly. It was the first gift she could ever remember receiving, and her heart swelled with an unfamiliar warmth.
The return to Privet Drive was somber, the joy of the day already dimming as Sage followed Hagrid’s massive frame down the narrow street. As they neared Number Four, a sudden, almost imperceptible jolt surged through her as she brushed past someone—the faint scent of metal and spice lingering for a heartbeat.
She turned, eyes wide, and caught a glimpse of a boy—older, with a confident gait and shaggy brown hair—walking beside a composed woman in a green dress. His dark eyes met hers for a split second, and both felt a spark, a strange, electric thrill. Daniel Granger glanced back, puzzled, only to see the retreating silhouette of a giant man and the back of a small girl.
The fleeting moment passed, leaving behind a tingle that neither could explain but both would remember.