"This... Mr. Dumbledore, how is he related to me?" Harry was startled. His parents' inheritance was in that man's hands?
Hagrid didn't think anything of it and proudly began to explain, "He's not a relative, but he is the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the greatest white wizard!"
Harry nodded.
He didn't doubt that truly great people existed in this world.
However, he had seen too much human treachery and too much good mixed with evil. He hadn't even met this Mr. Dumbledore, so it was hard for him to let go of his suspicion.
And this concerned his parents' inheritance.
Money was hard to earn!
Working himself to the bone taking on contracts across a few estates wasn't even enough to pay for forging a single silver sword.
"So when are we going to get my parents' inheritance?" Harry asked. Realizing that might sound a bit improper, he quickly changed his tune, "I mean, when are we going to go purchase these supplies?"
Hagrid glanced outside. "It's getting late. Let's go tomorrow."
"You grew up with Muggles, so you probably don't know much about the wizarding world. Let me explain it to you properly."
This was a demi-human with a strong urge to express himself.
At least he had a much better temperament than a troll's big tongue.
Hagrid told Harry many things.
How very exceptional his parents were, and how great Dumbledore was—he himself had unfortunately been expelled in his third year, and being allowed to stay at Hogwarts was entirely thanks to Dumbledore.
As well as the fact that Harry was a universally famous hero in the wizarding world, the legendary Boy Who Lived, the Savior.
A protagonist-like existence from chivalric romances.
This also made Harry realize a fact.
In this world...
Wizards had almost no interaction with Muggles—ordinary humans in wizard parlance. Even their currency was different.
In Hagrid's words, this was for the protection of Muggles.
Yet Harry felt a pang of sorrow.
He thought of the sorcerers persecuted by the kingdoms and the Eternal Fire—if the Conjunction of the Spheres never happened again, and monsters and evil spirits were gradually cleared away.
I'm afraid the fate of witchers and sorcerers would end up just like the wizards here, hiding as much and as quietly as possible in the shadows of society.
Oh, no...
Witchers probably wouldn't last until then.
Without monsters, probably no one would be willing to undergo that cruel, agonizing mutation.
The next day.
Harry woke up early and ran five laps around the entire block. A body was always a witcher's most important weapon. When he returned, he ate two sausages—the kind Hagrid brought, where a single one was almost as thick as his forearm—and milk was an absolute must.
When all of this was done, a sleep-eyed Hagrid woke up from the living room.
After washing up, he led Harry toward Diagon Alley.
Just as Hagrid had said, in the wizarding world, he truly was a celebrity—he had never been treated with such warmth in his entire life.
People rushed over one after another, wanting to shake his hand, but Harry didn't grant their requests; a witcher was never someone with a sociable disposition.
After dealing with these pleasantries,
Hagrid led him to a small courtyard and chattered away as he explained, "From here, three bricks up from the trash can, then two across—"
"Once you've bought your wand, tap this brick three times."
"Harry, stand back a bit."
He picked up his pink umbrella and gently tapped the brick three times.
The bricks began to quiver, rapidly retreating to both sides to open up a wide archway leading onto a cobbled path.
Illusion?
No...
This didn't look like the kind of illusions sorcerers used.
Was it an application of that thing called Transfiguration?
"Welcome to Diagon Alley." Hagrid raised his arm and led Harry inside. "Do you have your letter?"
Harry nodded.
"We have to go to Gringotts first, that's the wizards' bank. The inheritance your parents left you is all in there. Only after we withdraw the money can we go buy other things."
Although wizards were separated from humans,
it didn't have that heavy medieval feel to it. The streets were clean, the shops were quirky without feeling cramped, and all sorts of bizarre things appeared before Harry's eyes.
Flying brooms, wandering pets.
What caught his eye the most, however, were the materials—powdered narcissus root, daisy root, mandrake...
Along with some materials he had never heard of before, yet whose mere names made his heart skip a beat—dragon liver, dragon blood, unicorn hair, diricawl feathers...
What kind of potions could be brewed with these? Could they concoct sword oils?
It really made one curious.
Gringotts was the grandest building in Diagon Alley. It was Harry's first time seeing a goblin—they looked very much like the gnome clan in the witcher's world, though he hadn't interacted with them personally, he had seen portraits.
He experienced firsthand just how crazy the wizarding world's transportation was.
It was hard to imagine that something traveling at such lightning speed could be a form of transportation—even more thrilling than being snatched up by a griffin and doing sit-ups in the sky.
And he saw his parents' inheritance.
A pile of gold, along with mounds of silver and copper coins.
Unlike Hagrid, who looked battered and drooping with exhaustion, Harry was somewhat excited. Although he wasn't sure what the purchasing power of the currency was,
still...
An ounce of dragon liver only cost seventeen Sickles.
Dragons, even draconic creatures, couldn't possibly have materials on them that were very cheap. This money was more than enough to forge a pair of swords.
He swept a hundred Galleons into his pouch, along with some stray Sickles and Knuts, and walked out of Gringotts with his head held high, full of vigor and pride.
He had lived this long and had never been this rich.
"Harry, I'm afraid we have to go buy your robes first." Hagrid pointed to a shop across the street hanging a sign that read "Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions." "I need to go to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink to steady my nerves. That damned cart is just too hateful."
Harry nodded. "Of course."
"I'll wait for you in the shop."
Hagrid breathed a sigh of relief and left as if fleeing for his life.
Harry pushed the door open and entered alone. A plump, yet genial witch came up to greet him, "Hogwarts first-year? Here to buy your robes, are you?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
"Then stand right here, and I'll take your measurements." Madam Malkin pointed to a footstool nearby. Seeing Harry step up onto it, she waved her wand, and a soft measuring tape sprang up like a snake and began to dance around him.
"Need it a bit bigger?" Madam Malkin asked familiarly. "You young wizards always grow up fast."
"Thank you, ma'am, I think that's very necessary." Harry nodded. "There's one more thing I'd like to trouble you with. Do you know if there's a blacksmith's shop in Diagon Alley?"
"A blacksmith's shop?" Madam Malkin looked up in puzzlement. "Why are you asking about a place like that?"
Harry replied very directly, "I want to forge a pair of swords."
"Swords?" Madam Malkin was momentarily stunned, then burst into giggles. "Are you hoping to get into Gryffindor? A sword in one hand, a wand in the other?"
"It's a pity, though, there's no blacksmith's shop in Diagon Alley. You could perhaps ask your parents to use Transfiguration to transfigure a pair for you."
"Of course, I'd hope you could transfigure them yourself."
"Gryffindor's Head of House is a famous Transfiguration master, and so is Mr. Dumbledore—he's also an alumnus of Gryffindor House."
"Come to think of it..."
"You people in Gryffindor all seem very adept at Transfiguration."
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
Gryffindor equaled the School of Transfiguration?