"I would never let Albert waste his time learning such boring parlor tricks. Do you expect him to become a magician in the future?" Daisy channeled her inner lawyer, pointing out sharply, "With all due respect, I have grave concerns about Albert's future. A graduation certificate from a magic school must be indistinguishable from worthless paper in the ordinary world. That is, assuming you actually issue graduation certificates."
"Every qualified graduate from Hogwarts can find a decent job in the wizarding world, so you needn't worry about that," Professor McGonagall explained.
Having witnessed magic firsthand, Daisy knew she could no longer deny its existence, but she intended to make one last attempt: "Albert, I feel Eton College is a much better choice—it's a spot you earned entirely through your own hard work. If you want a career in finance, you really shouldn't go to some Hogwarts; it certainly won't allow your talents to shine."
Herb looked at his wife and sighed helplessly to himself, knowing full well how much Daisy opposed Albert going to Hogwarts.
"Son, make your own choice. We respect whatever you decide."
"With all due respect," McGonagall cleared her throat and explained, "Hogwarts teaches underage wizards how to control and use magic. Besides, if magic gets out of control, it can lead to some rather unpleasant incidents."
"Well, it seems I have no choice!" Albert raised an eyebrow, though in truth, he had already made up his mind long ago.
"But, Albert..." Daisy wanted to say more, but Nia interrupted her.
"Ma'am, can I go to Hogwarts too?"
"Only children who are eleven years old and have received a Hogwarts acceptance letter can study there," Professor McGonagall refused gently.
"Nia, you aren't eleven yet." Albert stroked his younger sister's head and turned to Professor McGonagall to ask, "Where should I go to buy my supplies? And what about that ticket? Where am I supposed to catch the train?"
Did this count as agreement?
Professor McGonagall let out an involuntary sigh of relief and told Albert the general route to the Leaky Cauldron. "You are bound to see it, even though the Muggles around you cannot... Muggles refers to ordinary people who do not understand magic. By the way, the landlord's name is Tom. As for how to get to Diagon Alley, you can ask Tom, and he will be more than happy to guide you."
"As for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, it is located in the barrier between Platform 9 and Platform 10 at King's Cross Station. Walk right through it and you'll be there."
"Taking a train to a wizarding school—isn't that utterly ridiculous? Are all your flying carpets broken?" Daisy asked with sharp sarcasm.
"Daisy." Herb gave a light cough and handed the notes he had just taken to Professor McGonagall to avoid missing any crucial information.
"Then we shall see you at Hogwarts on September first, Mr. Anderson." Professor McGonagall prepared to leave.
"Professor, could you turn that back?" Albert pointed at the teacup that had been transformed into a rat.
"Oh, of course!" Professor McGonagall waved her wand, and the rat turned back into a teacup.
After Albert saw her out, Professor McGonagall simply vanished with an Apparition.
"She disappeared?" Herb stared incredulously at the spot where Professor McGonagall had been standing just a moment before.
"Dad, are we going to London tomorrow?" Albert asked.
"Oh, oh, tomorrow we go to London to buy supplies," Herb said in a daze.
"I want to go too." Nia tugged on her father's hand pleadingly.
"Next time," Albert shook his head. "I'll go get familiar with the place first, and next time I'll take you and Mom along. I'll buy you a gift when I get back."
"Hate you, Albert is the worst." Nia stomped off, looking thoroughly aggrieved.
Albert helplessly spread his hands toward Herb and turned to re-enter the living room; there were still two people, one big and one small, waiting to be placated.
Chapter 4 Diagon Alley
"Albert, are you sure we haven't come to the wrong place?" Herb was comparing the map in his hand, yet he couldn't find the pub Professor McGonagall had mentioned.
"We need to find the bookstore first; the bookstore is right next to a record shop." Albert raised a finger to point at the large bookstore ahead, noting that the record shop was immediately adjacent to it.
"This is it? But I..."
"—can't see where the pub is?" Albert finished the sentence for him.
Had he not been specifically looking for it, he would never have paid any attention to the small pub standing next to the large bookstore.
People hurrying past didn't even give it a glance—which of course included his father, Herb.
"I can see the pub already. Do you remember what Ms. McGonagall said?"
"Muggles can't find the pub?" Herb muttered, "I hate the word Muggle."
Holding his son's hand, Herb let Albert lead him forward. A few seconds later, he saw the legendary Leaky Cauldron.
It was a dirty, cramped little pub.
"I hate this place. It's so filthy."
"Me too. Let's go in!"
Putting away the expression of distaste on his face, the father and son pushed open the door and stepped into the pub one after the other.
Dirty, messy, gloomy.
That was their joint verdict on the pub. Inside sat a number of men and women who looked rather eccentric, mostly elderly, wearing ridiculous top hats that looked utterly farcical.
If this group of people were to walk down an ordinary street, they would undoubtedly attract countless stares; yet here, it was the Andersons who stood out as the odd ones out, shining as brightly as a single ray of light in the dark.
Herb immediately composed himself, walked over to the counter, and spoke tentatively to the bald old man, "Mr. Tom?"
"A young wizard from a Muggle family?" Tom looked Albert up and down before lifting his head to offer Herb a smile. "You're wanting to know how to get to Diagon Alley?"
"Yes, Mr. Tom, Professor McGonagall said you could guide us to Diagon Alley." Albert likewise appraised the old man before him, forcing a polite smile onto his face.
"Of course, please follow me." Tom stepped out from behind the bar and motioned for the two of them to keep up.
The three of them came to a small, enclosed courtyard behind the pub, where there was nothing but a brick wall, a dustbin, and a few empty wine barrels.
"This dustbin stays right here. You need to count up three bricks, then across two—right here is the brick." Tom pointed with his finger to the exact spot he had just tapped, then drew his wand and tapped the brick three times. Turning to Albert, he said, "When you get your own wand, you'll be able to open the entrance to Diagon Alley yourself. Remember, tap it three times with your wand."
The brick old Tom had tapped began to quiver, and the brick wall shifted in a most eerie fashion. A small hole appeared right in the middle, rapidly growing larger until, within mere seconds, it formed an archway in front of the three of them that was wide enough for them to walk through.
A cobblestone street stretched out ahead from beneath their feet, flanked by shops on both sides, with numerous wizards walking to and fro and peddlers calling out their wares.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Tom smiled at the two of them.
"Mr. Tom, how are we supposed to get back later?" Herb asked.
"When you've finished your shopping, just do what I did just now to open the door," Tom answered Herb's question with great patience, not forgetting to remind them, "Oh, and you'd best go to Gringotts first to have the goblins exchange your money for Galleons. Muggle currency cannot be used here. Just head straight down this way, and that white building over there is Gringotts Wizarding Bank."
"Thank you for the advice, Mr. Tom."
"Have a pleasant time." Tom smiled and waved at the two of them before turning back toward the pub; he genuinely enjoyed this job.
As soon as Tom left, the entrance vanished, turning back into a solid wall.
"Let's go. Time to change some money." Herb took a deep breath.
"It feels completely different here." Albert looked around at the surrounding shops and smiled at Herb, "It gives me the feeling of having stepped back a century in time."
"To be honest, I'm starting to doubt the wisdom of letting you go to Hogwarts. Maybe Daisy's persistence was right after all." Herb gave a soft sigh. Though the wizarding world was wondrous, it constantly gave him the uncanny sensation of being entirely out of touch with the times.
"Dad, I don't necessarily have to live in the wizarding world forever," Albert couldn't help rolling his eyes as he reminded him, "My main reason for going to Hogwarts is to master this miraculous power."
"Ah, I suppose you're right." Herb's mood improved slightly at that. The two of them wove through the crowd and headed toward Gringotts.
Just as Tom had described, it was a snowy-white building, and standing beside the burnished bronze doors was a diminutive figure—a goblin.
"They really are something else." Herb's expression was somewhat stiff; this was the first time he had ever laid eyes on a humanoid creature other than a human.
Albert, by contrast, didn't mind at all, inspecting the goblin's appearance: short stature, pointed beard, slender fingers and toes, and a dark complexion—a creature utterly devoid of any aesthetic appeal.
As they entered, Albert noticed the goblin bow to them in greeting.
Further in stood a second set of doors, these made of silver with inscriptions engraved upon them. Herb drew closer to examine them carefully, reading aloud: "Enter, stranger, but take heed Of what awaiteth the sin of greed, For those who take, but do not earn, Must pay most dearly in their turn..."
"I really don't understand how hard wizards must rob banks to need warning inscriptions carved right onto the door," Herb muttered under his breath after finishing the passage.
Hearing this, Albert felt a slight urge to laugh and hastily cleared his throat to ask, "How much money are you planning to exchange?"
"This?" Herb thought for a moment before saying in a low voice, "A thousand pounds. If that's not enough, we can always exchange more later."
One thousand pounds was equivalent to a month's salary for most people.
Albert made a quick mental calculation: roughly two hundred Galleons or so. He nodded and said, "I think that should be enough."
Once inside, two goblins bowed to the pair and led them into a towering marble hall. Herb stated that he needed to exchange some money for Galleons.
Another goblin escorted them to a counter on the right and handed Herb a piece of parchment detailing the exchange rate between British pounds and Galleons, as well as the monetary system of the wizarding world.
1 Galleon = 4.95 pounds.
1 Galleon = 17 Sickles; 1 Sickle = 29 Knuts.
Herb handed the parchment to his son and asked, "How many pounds for 200 Galleons?"
"Nine hundred and ninety pounds."
"Please exchange 200 Galleons for me." Herb took 990 pounds out of his wallet and had the goblin convert it into Galleons.
"Very well, one moment." The goblin took the pounds and began counting them.
"Excuse me, Mr. Goblin, can any amount of pounds be exchanged for Galleons here?" Albert asked, voicing a question he had harbored since his past life.
"Theoretically speaking, yes, but we do not accept overly large amounts of Muggle currency." The goblin rang a small bell, summoned another goblin, and issued a brief instruction. That goblin returned with a pouch of gold coins, handed it to Herb, and led them to a side area to verify the count of the Galleons.
"I never expected them to actually be gold coins." Herb toyed with a Galleon between his fingertips and couldn't help letting out a sigh of amazement.
Once the Galleons had been counted and verified as correct, the two of them left Gringotts, pockets jingling merrily with the sound of colliding gold as they walked down the sunlit street, as if urging them to spend the coins without delay.
Chapter 5 A Wand That Brings Good Luck
"Are we buying your Hogwarts school robes, dear?" As soon as they stepped inside the tailoring shop, a plump witch greeted Albert with a beaming smile.
"Yes, ma'am," Albert nodded. "Sorry to trouble you."
"Such a polite young man! Come here, let me take your measurements." Madam Malkin flicked her fingers, and a tape measure, pins, and scissors all flew over toward them, automatically beginning to measure Albert's dimensions. The sight left Herb staring in goggled astonishment.
Getting custom-fitted for clothes was a rather intricate process that took a full half-hour. Madam Malkin told them to come back and pick up the packages after they finished the rest of their shopping.
"Ma'am, in addition to the standard school robes, I'd also like to order a pointed black hat and an ordinary black cloak made to my measurements, but without any name tags. Oh, and please have them wrapped separately." Albert smoothed down his slightly rumpled clothes and spoke to Madam Malkin.
"A pointed black hat and an ordinary cloak?" Madam Malkin looked at Herb in puzzlement, repeating Albert's request.
"Yes," Herb nodded, knowing full well this was meant as a gift for Nia.
"Very well." Madam Malkin didn't waste any extra thought on the strange request, nodding to indicate she understood.
After paying a deposit in Galleons, the two of them left Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions and headed not far away to Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, where they purchased the brass scales, brass telescope, and small glass phials on the list.
In truth, Albert simply handed the list to the shopkeeper at Wiseacre's and stated that he needed everything written on it.
The total came to 13 Galleons, and Albert additionally purchased an hourglass for an extra 2 Galleons.
With the enthusiastic directions provided by Wiseacre, Albert easily located Potage's Cauldron Shop, where they purchased a standard pewter cauldron for 15 Galleons.
Through the shop owner Mr. Potage, they also found the apothecary, where they stocked up on the ingredients needed for Potions class.
The apothecary was by no means a pleasant place; the moment you drew near, you were greeted by a nauseating stench that seemed specially concocted to drive customers away.
The shop was lined with all sorts of bizarre items: jars of herbs, dried roots, and brightly colored powders sat upon the shelves.
Bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and furry claws hung from the ceiling.
Goodness gracious, how on earth did wizards manage to brew these things into potions and actually drink them?
Herb no longer dared to think about it, having just spotted a jar of slugs priced at 1 Galleon.
It was utterly disgusting.
The boy's father was starting to experience a profound crisis of faith.
Perhaps sending his son to that Hogwarts place truly wasn't such a bright idea after all.
Aside from potion ingredients, Albert also purchased several tools required for potion-making.
After paying, he dragged a thoroughly overwhelmed Herb out of the shop.
"Albert, why don't we just forget it?" Herb pulled Albert a safe distance away from the apothecary and spoke with utmost seriousness, "Let's go to Eton instead."
Albert's cheek twitched slightly, and he shook his head.
"But... the more I think about it, the more unreliable this feels. Maybe Daisy was right." Herb looked at his son with a complex expression.
"We still need some books, a wand, and an owl," Albert looked at Herb and said, "At least don't jump to conclusions before you really understand the wizarding world."
"All right," Herb sighed, feeling somewhat deflated, but nodded in agreement nonetheless.
After purchasing the books on the list at Flourish and Blotts, Albert bought a few extra volumes on the history of the wizarding world.
In truth, Albert would have loved to linger in the bookstore for a while longer, but considering the time, he gave up the idea and instead asked the bookstore manager for a booklist so he could conveniently order more books by owl in the future.
Next, at the stationery shop located next door to Quality Quidditch Supplies, he bought a large quantity of parchment, quills, and ink.
With the helpful assistance of the shopkeeper, they located Eeylops Owl Emporium, situated on the northern side of Diagon Alley and easy to find, with numerous owls perched outside.
An owl was an absolute necessity; without one, he would have no way to communicate with his family.
Herb even chipped in to buy a bag of owl treats and owl nuts.
Pushing the trolley, Herb crossed items off his purchase list one by one until only the wand remained.
Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. was located on the southern side of Diagon Alley, and they had learned its location from the witch running the owl shop.
It was a small, shabby shop.
When Albert pushed open the door, a tinkling bell rang out. The interior was tiny, containing nothing except a single chair.
When Herb pushed the trolley inside, it felt as though it filled the entire space; he sat down on the chair, eating a pumpkin pasty he had just bought from a street stall, while the trolley still held several sweets—also meant as gifts for Nia.
Albert was holding a pumpkin pasty of his own; he was hungry, too.
"Is anyone there?"
"Good afternoon," a soft voice said, and Mr. Ollivander emerged from the back of the shop.
"Hello, sir, I'd like to buy..." Albert put down his pumpkin pasty and said.
"A wand, ah, of course. A Hogwarts first-year."
"Yes, sir."
"By the way, what is your name?" Ollivander seemed to notice the confusion in Albert's eyes and explained, "The Ministry of Magic requires us to keep a record of every wizard who purchases a wand here."
"Albert Anderson," Albert introduced himself.
"Very well, Mr. Anderson." Ollivander pulled a tape measure from his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"
"I'm right-handed," Albert raised his arm.
Ollivander began taking Albert's measurements, starting from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow. The convoluted measuring process left both father and son suspecting that Ollivander wasn't selling wands at all, but tailoring clothes.
"Every wand I make is unique, and wizards always manage to find their most suitable match here," Ollivander chatted away as he measured, though Albert was already beginning to doubt reality when the tape measure started automatically measuring the distance between his nostrils.
Albert reached out and batted the tape aside, walking over to the counter.
Ollivander had already retrieved a wand from the shelves and introduced it: "Hornbeam and phoenix feather, seven inches, quite pliable."
The moment Albert reached out to take it, Ollivander snatched it back.
"Try this one. Ash and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches. A superb combination, nice elasticity."
Albert took it and gave it a flick, with little to no effect.
"Doesn't seem to be the one," Ollivander muttered to himself. "Let's try this..."
Albert tried wand after wand. On several occasions, the wands displayed immense destructive power, blasting the vases on the counter to pieces and giving Herb quite a fright.
"I do enjoy a picky customer," Ollivander fetched yet another stack of wands, smiling as he said, "Redwood and phoenix feather, nine inches, nice springy flexibility."
As Albert accepted the wand, a gentle warmth radiated into his fingertips. With a light flick, red sparks erupted from the tip of the wand, blooming inside the shop like tiny fireworks.
"That's the one," Ollivander cheerfully placed the wand back into its box and smiled at Albert. "Legend has it that wands made of redwood bring good luck to their users."