Diagon Alley
Chapter Two : Diagon Alley
Thoughts || “Dialogue” || Letters
Immediately, Hermione felt as though she were an ant being sucked through a too-small tube. Another second after that and her feet landed on the floor, her knees buckled beneath her, and she threw up on the ground.
“I suppose I should have warned you about what apparition feels like." Professor McGonagall said, almost as an afterthought.
You don't say.
"It becomes easier the more you do it. Students aren’t given instruction until their sixth year, with those who are already 17, or turning 17 before the year has finished being qualified to take the Apparition exam and earn their license.”
“Why would anybody want to do that?” Hermione asked, standing up slowly. Looking up, she saw the Professor wave her stick again, and this time the mess that had originally been Hermione’s dinner had vanished.
“Conveniency, Miss Granger.”
Okay, magic is officially the coolest thing ev—woah.
She’d finally seen where they were. Brightly lit shops lined both sides of the darkening high street they were standing on, but there weren’t any cars to be seen. Or buses. Or even bicycles. The people were wearing cloaks and pointy hats, and some had sticks in their hands, others tucked behind their ears or holding their hair up in a bun, but all were walking leisurely and without a care in the world.
“And welcome to Diagon Alley. You’ll have time to walk down the high street and take in the sights, so to say, but first, we must open up a Gringotts vault for you. Come,” the older woman instructed, turning Hermione to face the tall, white marble building that they stood on the steps of, and moved to go inside.
Hermione’s legs moved of their own accord as she was escorted towards the building—she was too distracted trying to take it all in. On either side of the large bronze doors were what must have been goblins. Two of them, to be exact. Dressed in the same red and gold uniform, each holding dangerous-looking spears in one hand.
Upon entering those doors, they encountered a pair of silver ones that had words engraved on them.
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.
“Do they catch a lot of people trying to break in and rob them?” Hermione asked after reading that warning.
“Not that I’m aware of. Hardly anybody is willing to cross the goblins. Only those who have nothing to lose—or enough power to do anything they want to do and silence those who would complain.” Professor McGonagall explained, leading Hermione to one of the tellers.
Hermione spun in a circle, looking all around the atrium in the bank. The marble walls were lined with open-flame torches, one on either side of each of the many doors leading out of the atrium. Casting her eyes upward, Hermione noticed the ceiling was a glass-dome roof, and the sun was just beginning to set. It was when she cast her eyes back into the atrium itself that Hermione noticed the Professor had left her behind to approach the teller furthest from the entrance doors and rushed to join her again.
“My name is Minerva McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts and I have an appointment with the Leader Ragnok regarding a Hogwarts scholarship recipient,” she said in a clear tone.
The goblin regarded the pair with clear disdain, but nodded all the same and motioned them to follow him through the door behind him.
“Follow.”
Hermione followed Professor McGonagall, who followed the goblin.
The hallway they travelled down was long and winding with rough-cut stone walls and more of the same torches lining the walls.
Left, right, right, left, right, left, straight, right, left - no right. Shit.
Hermione lost track of the way they travelled, almost suspecting the goblin was leading them in circles, but before long they were halted before an ornately carved wooden door, inlaid with gold detailing.
Well when you’re the leader of the only bank in the magical world, why wouldn’t you have the most impressive door in the entire building?
The goblin that led them in and around the cavernous halls of Gringotts Bank knocked on the aforementioned door. A guttural, throaty noise sounded from behind it, and so the goblin led them in.
The room itself was not a room that met the expectations of poshness set by the door it hid behind - if one ignored the furniture within. The walls more closely matched that which the halls that led to the room were made from, all clearly having been carved from stone, rough and jagged and asymmetrical. They also, however, mostly hid behind floating shelves holding all sorts of priceless treasures and heirlooms on them. The desk looked to be made from the same type of wood as the door, with the same elegant gold detailing, and what Hermione guessed were filing cabinets, lined the wall behind the desk. The chairs were equally as elegant; high-backed with what looked to be velvet cushioning and carved armrests.
Another goblin, this one adorned in all types of ostentatious jewellery, sat behind the desk in a plush-looking shiny leather chair.
“Ah Deputy Headmistress, this is our newest scholarship student?” the goblin asked, in much better English than Hermione expected.
“Yes, I do believe that Miss Granger, here, has the right to Hogwarts' emancipatory scholarship fund.”
“With the normal funding, I presume?"
“Assuming she has no qualms with completely leaving the Muggle world upon receiving her O.W.L.s, yes, I think so.”
Professor McGonagall and the Goblin Leader both turned and looked at Hermione.
“Who would give up magic to live in normal London?” Hermione asked rhetorically. Goblin Leader Ragnok smirked at her.
“Who would indeed…”
As it turns out, in order for somebody to open a brand new vault, there’s a bit of blood magic involved. Seven drops of blood for maximum security and a permanent vault with 2,000 Galleons for her first and second years opened in Hermione's name with only one key which the Goblin Leader handed to her on a chain.
“Where do you want to go first, Miss Granger?” Professor McGonagall asked, turning her head to look down at the young girl.
“Well, I’d like to get a basic trunk first—to store all the books I’m going to get today, now that I know I can afford to buy some for background reading—and then actually go and purchase the books, and also some stationery and a journal of sorts as well.”
So I can keep track of how much I spend, and save as much as possible for my second year
“I can take you to the trunk shop to get you a standardized trunk, or I can take you to Mr Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment for a more… specialised trunk. Or both, and you can pick up a catalogue from Mr Wiseacre’s shop for your official Hogwarts trunk. After that, we can go to Flourish and Blotts, and then Scribbulus Writing Implements, and then return to pick up your trunk, pack everything inside, and return you home.”
“Mr Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment sounds better, Professor.”
Professor McGonagall nodded her head and led Hermione to Mr Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment, keeping one hand on the girl’s shoulder during the journey.
Hermione was grateful for it, too, because, had the Professor not, she would have definitely run into some of the evening shoppers. The Alley was incredible. It was, well, magical! There were no other words to describe it. Hermione only wished that she’d come during the day for her first trip. When she comes back next year she’ll have to make it a day trip, so that she can see all the shops open and all the wizards who shop here.
“In you go, Miss Granger.” Professor McGonagall now held the door to the shop open. Hermione smiled gratefully and entered. Sparing a glance down at her supplies list, Hermione could already tick off a lot of the bulkier supplies she would need to purchase on her next trip. Looking around the shop more carefully, however, led to Hermione’s eyes catching sight of the back wall. Or, rather, the trunks currently stacked in front of the back wall. Not seeing the shopkeeper, Hermione ventured in tentatively, slowly making her way towards the trunks. Her head swivelled back and forth as she both took in what the shop sold and also looked for the shopkeeper.
The voice came out of nowhere, making Hermione jump and let out a frightened squeak.
“You must be the muggleborn student Professor McGonagall sent me an owl about! Welcome! My name is Mr Wiseacre, but you can call me Mr W. if you wish.”
“Oh! Yes, yes that’s me. I was just wondering, Mr Wiseacre... What types of trunks do you sell?” Hermione took her hand off of her now-steady heart with a sheepish smile.
Not everybody who shouts at you is angry with you, stupid… and not everybody who’s angry with you is Mum.
“Oh, well, you see, I sell all sorts of trunks! One compartment, all the way up to small-flat trunks!”
“You mean to say you can fit an entire flat inside of a trunk?”
“It takes a near week to get all the enchantments and runes perfect, but yes. I have done it before.”
“Wow…”
Mr Wiseacre clapped his hands together, grinning, and asked; “So, what sort of trunk were you looking for?”
“Well… I don’t start Hogwarts for another year, and my parents aren’t really pleased with me at the moment and are only letting me get my books - which I’m fine with! I love reading! But I’d like a relatively… simple trunk to store them all in, and keep under my bed. Can it be enchanted to be super-lightweight and to also shrink for like half an hour or so?”
“Of course! I have just the thing. Were you planning on purchasing the books before you pick up the trunk?”
“I think that would be best, yes. That way I can put them in the trunk and then get you to shrink it for like half an hour so I can get it home without my parents noticing how much I’ve bought.”
Mr Wiseacre had pulled out a small notebook and was chewing on the end of his quill, looking to be deep in thought.
“I’ll get you started with a standard-sized one-compartment trunk. Black dragon leather on the outside, stainless steel on the corners, did you want the feather-light charm to be permanent?”
“Yes please,” Hermione answered. A nod and some scratching on the notebook were all she received as a response.
“Permanent feather-light charm means runes carved on the outside, underneath the hide… Shrinking charm isn’t an issue… Okay, your total cost is going to be… one hundred and fifty Galleons.” Mr Wiseacre said, looking up from the notebook.
Damn. It’s probably going to cost way more when I get my proper trunk.
“That’s not a problem. Do I pay you now, or when it’s been finished?”
“You can pay it in full now, or half now, half later.”
“Okay, I’ll just pay everything right now.” Hermione concentrated on the amount she owed and felt her coin purse fill up with the requested number of gold coins.
Wow. I love magic.
“This should be a hundred fifty. If it isn’t, I’ll pay the rest once I’ve returned from the bookshop.”
“Very good. Your trunk shouldn't take longer than an hour.”
“Thank you so much,” Hermione grinned, making her way out of the shop. Professor McGonagall stood outside the door, waiting. “Where can I buy stationery again, Professor?”
“That would be Scribbulus Writing Instruments, of course. Come, come. Follow me.”
Hermione obliged, following the older witch down the cobbled alley and further away from Gringotts Bank than Hermione had ever been. They stopped, suddenly, outside a rather small, somewhat run-down shop. That aesthetic did, however, match most of the alley, so Hermione reserved judgement until after they entered.
“Don’t let the exterior fool you, Scribbulus sells only the best wizarding stationery there is to offer.”
Hermione sighed happily when the scent of paper and ink hit her nose.
Hermione, ever the stationery snob, took almost a full hour picking out four journals, some loose-leaf parchment, pots of ink, and a quill set for beginners.
The total cost was just under six galleons, which was perfect for Hermione, as she couldn’t wait to splurge and buy all the books she could carry.
“Follow me, Miss Granger. I’ll lead the way to the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts.”
Upon walking through the doors, Hermione spotted a stack of shopping baskets. She picked one up and made her way through the stacks of books on the floor towards the section labelled “Hogwarts” where she easily found all the textbooks on the supplies list, as well as every textbook for the following six years - or so she assumed. Hermione found and pulled out all eight first-year textbooks, as well as some second (and third) year textbooks (The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 2), Numerology and Grammatica, Ingredient Encyclopedia, and Ancient Runes Made Easy.)
Moving on, Hermione spotted a few intriguing book titles but reluctantly left them on the shelves out of fear of the Professor’s reaction. The same unease that prevented Hermione from mentioning the snakes, prevented her from purchasing any safe/unassuming books for outside-of-school-reading.
I’ll just get them when I come back for the rest of my supplies next year.
After almost half an hour of browsing the shop, Hermione’s, surprising but not unappreciated, magically enlarged basket was filled. *Legislative Guide to the Proper Use of Magic, Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, Hogwarts: A History, Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, Healing at Home with Herbs*, and *Practical Household Magic* all joined the basket of textbooks.
Slowly but surely, Hermione made her way to the front of the store where an older man stood with a boy who looked around Hermione’s age, talking to the man behind the till. Hermione gladly set her basket on the ground, loudly, which resulted in all three males turning to look at her. The boy smirked and gave her a once over before studying the books on the top of her basket.
“Muggleborn?” he asked, nodding to the basket. He had light-brown hair that was short but long enough to curl at the ends, light-coloured eyes that had, what she thought was a bit of cheek, and a cool, if not disinterested, air about him that didn’t quite seem to fit. Hermione wouldn’t realise the glint in his eyes was almost constantly maniacal until later.
“Yeah, do you have a problem with that?”
“I would, but you seem to be trying to assimilate, so I s’pose not. Not with you, at least. You start next September?”
“I do, yes. I suppose you do as well?”
“Something like that,” the boy answered vaguely, then turned to face the older man next to him. “Father, do I have your approval to show her some of the more... objective history books that are sold here?”
“Go on, Theodore.” The man Hermione had thought to be the boy’s grandfather shooed them both away.
“Excellent. Follow me, muggleborn.”
Hermione knew that, logically, she probably should have been more cautious, but that somebody who grew up in this new world was helping her settle and not stand out was not an opportunity she wanted to pass up.
“So. What’s your name, then?” the boy, Theodore, asked her while leading her through the shelves into a corner of the room Hermione had been too cautious to venture into.
“Oh! Right! How terribly rude of me. I’m Hermione Granger.”
“Granger, you say? Any relation to Hector Dagworth-Granger?” the boy asked, suddenly more interested in her than he had been before.
“I’m not sure who that is exactly, but I think Hector is an old family name. Is the-?”
“There you are, Miss Granger!” Professor McGonagall had found the pair of children. She looked… cross?
“You would be the one leading Muggleborns into our world, Minerva.” The boy’s father had appeared behind the Professor.
Did the professor and this man… know each other?
“It’s my duty, Lord Nott. I am Deputy Headmistress, after all.”
“Such formality, Minerva. You wound me. Come, let the children wander, they’ll be year-mates after all. Surely it would be better for the muggleborn to have at least one acquaintance on the Express?”
Hermione watched in wonder as the older man led Professor McGonagall away on his arm with little to no effort.
“They look about the same age. They must’ve attended Hogwarts at the same time. Oh, my name is Theodore Nott Jr., but if you call me Theodore I won’t speak to you ever again for the rest of our lives. Anyways, come on, Granger, let’s get you those books.”
Unfortunately, Hermione only purchased one of the books Nott recommended, mostly because Professor McGonagall interrupted them again and rushed Hermione to the front of the shop to purchase the books she had gathered at that point. The book was written by Eleanor Greengrass, who was the mother of one of Theo’s childhood friends as well as her little sister.
The two parted with a promise to write letters during the year before their first year of Hogwarts began.
“I’ll send you an owl with a list of books you should get when you come back to the Alley, and he’ll wait for your reply, as I’m sure you don’t have an owl of your own.”
“That sounds fantastic. Thanks, Nott,” Hermione offered a small smile before allowing the Professor to lead her away from him and towards the till. He responded with a tilt of his head and a smirk.
After paying for all the books, Professor McGonagall led Hermione back to the Bank to return her magical coin purse to her new vault, and then on to pick up her trunk from Mr W’s shop.
Mr Wiseacre immediately ushered the pair to the workshop in the backroom where Hermione’s first proper school trunk sat on the table. It was shiny, black and had a scaley pattern running throughout it. The corners and lock/latch were stainless steel, and stainless steel ran along the sides and edges and around the rim of the lid and base of the trunk for protection purposes.
“I did give you enough gold, didn’t I, Mr W?” asked Hermione, worriedly.
“Yes, yes, you did, child. Now. Let’s see about getting those books packed and locked away so you can get home.”
I wouldn’t call it a home…
Shaking away her thoughts, Hermione heaved the bag full of books onto the table next to the trunk. She meticulously went through each title and split them up into two stacks - first-year textbooks, and everything else. The first-year textbooks all fit in one line perfectly, but Hermione ended up having to stack the 4 leftover ‘everything else’ books on the top. Then she placed the bag from Scribbulus in the empty space and closed the lid of the trunk. There was tons of room left at the top, but probably not enough for everything else Hermione had to buy.
“Mr W? Could I take an owl-order catalogue with me? To look through and pick what I want my proper Hogwarts trunk to be?”
“Of course! Here you are, child.” He handed her a thick catalogue and Hermione grinned, shoving it inside her new trunk. “Now, this spell will wear off in half an hour. I’m only performing a weak shrinking spell. If I were to perform it at full strength it would last as long as it takes me, or anybody else, to cast the counter-charm. Are you ready?”
Hermione nodded, wide-eyed and eager to see more magic.
“Reducio!”
In a flash of white light, Hermione’s new trunk shrunk down to the size of a matchbox. She quickly snatched it up off the table and stowed it away in her jacket pocket.
“Thank you so much, Mr W. I’ll come by here first to order my new trunk, probably towards the end of July next year.”
“Fantastic! I’ll be sure to keep an eye out. Good evening to you both.”
“Good evening,” Hermione replied, waving.
“Good evening,” Professor McGonagall stated, escorting Hermione out the door and down the cobbled street. After informing Hermione of their means of travelling back to her house - Apparition - she then was instructed to keep a tight hold on the professor’s arm. As much as she despised the feeling, Hermione managed to keep control of herself and her stomach and not throw-up all over the front step.
“This is where I must leave you, Miss Granger. See to it that you retrieve the rest of your school supplies before the first of September next year. Here is your ticket for the school train, and keep in mind that your parents are not to be exposed to any magic once you get a wand.”
“I will, Professor. See you at Hogwarts.”
The Professor nodded her head, spun on the spot, and popped away - presumably back to the school. Hermione sighed, braced herself, and knocked on the front door.