Harry awoke with the dawn, his eyes remaining closed as he acclimated to his surroundings. The surreal events of the preceding day cast doubt upon the boundaries of reality, as if he could, by sheer will, turn them into the ephemeral remnants of a dream.
"It must have been a dream," he reassured himself, attempting to anchor his thoughts in the ordinary. "A giant announcing a school for wizards. I'll open my eyes, and my cupboard will greet me."
A persistent tapping interrupted Harry's silent deliberations, prompting a sinking feeling within him.
"Aunt Petunia, no doubt," he mused, though he resisted the urge to open his eyes, unwilling to relinquish the vestiges of a pleasant dream.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Fine, I'm getting up," Harry muttered, slowly sitting up and inadvertently dislodging Hagrid's heavy coat that had been draped over him. Sunlight now flooded the hut, and the tempest from the previous night had given way to a serene morning. Hagrid lay sprawled on the sofa, peacefully asleep. The source of the tapping revealed itself as an owl, rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper clenched in its beak.
Ron, wearing a slight smirk, remarked, "Not quite a dream, was it, mate?"
Harry scrambled to his feet and went straight to the window and jerked it open, his heart pounding with relief as he realized his fantastical encounter was not a mere figment of imagination. The owl gracefully entered, dropping the newspaper atop Hagrid, who remained blissfully unaware. Harry attempted to shoo the owl away, only to be met with a feisty snap of its beak.
"Harry! There's an owl—" he began, interrupted by Hagrid's gruff response, "Pay him."
"Oh, Merlin, Hagrid," McGonagall sighed, shaking her head in exasperation.
"What?" Harry questioned.
"He wants payment for delivering the paper. Look in the pockets," Hagrid explained.
Hagrid's coat, seemingly composed entirely of pockets, yielded an assortment of peculiar items. After a brief search, Harry unearthed a handful of peculiar-looking coins.
"Give him five Knuts," Hagrid instructed with a yawn.
"Knuts?" Harry queried.
"The little bronze ones."
As Harry counted out the coins, the owl extended its leg, allowing him to deposit the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. With that, the owl gracefully departed through the open window. Hagrid, now fully awake, stretched and declared, "Best be off, Harry. Lots to do today. Gotta get up to London and buy all your stuff for school."
Amidst the wizard's coins, a troubling thought crept into Harry's mind. "Um, Hagrid? I haven't got any money, and you heard Uncle Vernon last night. He won't pay for me to learn magic."
"Don't worry about that. Do yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?" Hagrid pondered, scratching his head. "But if their house was destroyed—"
"They didn't keep their gold in the house. Nah, the first stop for us is Gringotts, the wizarding bank."
"Wizards have banks?" Harry inquired.
"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."
"Quite the random information drop, Hagrid," James quipped, eliciting a light chuckle.
Harry's sausage that Hagrid had given him earlier slipped from his fingers. "Goblins?"
"Yeah. So you'd be mad to try and rob it. Never mess with goblins, Harry. Gringotts is the safest place in the world for anything yeh want to keep safe—except maybe Hogwarts. As a matter of fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway, for Dumbledore. Hogwarts business," Hagrid proclaimed proudly. "He usually gets me to do important stuff for him. Fetching you, getting things from Gringotts—he knows he can trust me, see."
The Golden trio exchanged smirks at the irony of the safest places being not as secure as believed. Murmurs of agreement and disagreement rippled through the room as people expressed their thoughts on Hogwarts and Gringotts.
"Hogwarts is feeble, but Gringotts truly deserves the title of the safest place in the world."
"The half-breed speaks nonsense," Lucius declared confidently. "Gringotts may be somewhat secure, but it cannot claim the title of the safest place in the world. Hogwarts is certainly not safer."
"For once, Uncle, you speak something with a semblance of truth," his niece whispered, her voice carrying a quiet resonance that cut through the room.
"Got everything'? Come on, then"
The morning sun cast a golden glow on the rocks as Hagrid emerged, prompting Harry to follow the giant onto the now tranquil shore. The storm's remnants lingered in the boat that Uncle Vernon had hired, causing water to pool at the bottom.
Harry's curiosity got the better of him as he asked, "How did you get here?" while scanning the horizon for another boat.
"Flew," Hagrid replied casually, prompting Harry's eyebrows to shoot up in surprise.
"Flew?"
"Yeah - but we'll go back to this. Not supposed to use magic now that I've got yeh."
"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Harry inquired, his mind now grappling with the mystique surrounding the wizarding bank.
"Spells - enchantments. They say there are dragons guarding the high-secretory vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way—Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger trying' to get out, even if yeh did manage to get yer hands on summat," responded Hagrid, his words carrying the weight of the mysterious depths beneath the city.
The mention of dragons ignited a spark of excitement in Charlie, who couldn't contain his joy. Across the room, smiles flickered at the sight of innocent joy.
"Oh no, please tell me he does not go and do something with Dragons. He is going to be hurt," Molly almost begged her other children knowing how clumsy her son already was.
Ginny, however, seemed more fascinated than worried, her attention locked onto Charlie. "It's so weird seeing Charlie like this," she remarked, brushing off her mother's apprehensions. Molly taking that as a yes to her question closed her eyes as if already preparing herself.
The boat gently bumped into the harbour wall, and the two of them ascended the stone steps onto the bustling street. Passersby stared at Hagrid, who stood out not only due to his towering stature but also because of his childlike fascination with every day Muggle objects. "See that, Harry? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?"
"The half-breed is going to end up exposing our existence if he keeps going on like this," Lucius, ever disdainful, commented, earning disapproving looks from many, however, none could say anything because Hagrid was not being very discreet.
"Hagrid," panted Harry, a bit as he ran to keep up, "did you see there are dragons at Gringotts?"
"Well, so they say. Crikey, I'd like a dragon."
"You'd like one?"
"Wanted one ever since I was a kid - here we go."
They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes. Hagrid, who didn't understand 'Muggle money' as he called it, gave the bills to Harry so he could buy their tickets. People started even more on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.
"Still got yet letter, Harry? " he asked as he counted stitches. Harry took the parchment envelope out of his pocket.
"Good. There's a list there of everything yeh need."
Harry unfolded a second piece of paper he hadn't noticed the night before and read:
(I'm not going to write what the letter lists. I'm too lazy to and we all know it so...)
"Hagrid," Harry queried, "can we buy all this in London?"
"If yeh know where to go."
Harry had never been to London before and Hagrid's navigation through the city proved entertaining as he grumbled about the size of Underground seats and the slowness of trains. As they ascended a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops, Hagrid marvelled at Muggles managing without magic "I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic."
Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily, all Harry had to do was keep close behind him. They passed bookshops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. It was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people. If Harry hadn't known that the Dursleys had no sense of humour, he might have thought that this was some huge joke that they cooked up.
"This is it," Hagrid declared as they reached a halt. "The Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."
The Leaky Cauldron, though dark and shabby, bore an air of significance. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Harry wouldn't have noticed it was there. People rushed past it without a glance, their eyes moved from the big bookshop on one side to the record shop on the other. Harry, still unsure of what to expect, felt a peculiar sensation that only he and Hagrid could perceive this magical establishment. Before he could voice his thoughts, Hagrid guided him inside.
The pub, initially unnoticed by the busy pedestrians, now unveiled itself as a hub of magical activity. For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of what looked to be sherry. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter ceased as they entered, and all eyes turned toward Hagrid. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"
"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," Hagrid declared, thrusting his hand onto Harry's shoulder, the sheer force causing Harry's knees to buckle.
"Good Lord," gasped the bartender, scrutinizing Harry. "Is this - can this be—?"
The Leaky Cauldron, now eerily silent, hung on the precipice of anticipation.
"Never heard this place go that quiet ever," someone whispered, capturing the rarity of the moment.
"Bless my soul," the old bartender whispered, rushing towards Harry with tears in his eyes. "Harry Potter... what an honour. Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back."
As Harry found himself engulfed in the warmth of unfamiliar yet welcoming faces, the bustling pub transformed into a sanctuary of camaraderie. Conversations reverberated with admiration, and the patrons took turns shaking Harry's hand.
"That's just annoying."
"Do you get that a lot?"
"Nothing like that but yeah."
"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you. Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."
"I've seen you before!" Harry exclaimed, recognizing Dedalus Diggle from a previous encounter. "You bowed to me once in a shop."
"Wow, okay."
"That's not weird at all."
"How did he recognize you?"
"He remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle, gleaming with excitement.
While the greetings continued, a pale, twitchy-eyed man nervously approached. Hagrid introduced him as Professor Quirrell, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, shaking Harry's hand. "C-can't tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."
"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"
"Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," Quirrell muttered, casting a fearful glance around as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter? You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself."
"Seriously, that's the DA teacher."
"He looks scared of his subject."
"That's just low."
"He's scared of students, scared of his subject. This is so stupid."
The whispers circulated as the others refused to let Quirrell monopolize Harry's attention. Eventually, Hagrid steered them away, muttering, "Must get on—lots er buy. Come on, Harry."
In a small, walled courtyard, Hagrid grinned at Harry, proud of the attention they had garnered. "Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you were famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh—mind you, he's usually tremblin'."
"Is he always that nervous?"
"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studying outta books, but then he took a year off to get some first-hand experience. They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit of trouble with a hag—never been the same since. Scared of students, scared of his own subject—now, where's my umbrella?"
Vampires? Hags? Harry's head was swimming with newfound information. Meanwhile, Hagrid was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can. Something that Harry didn't want to ask about in case the answer was there was going to be something ridiculous.
"Three up.... two across...." he muttered. "Right, stand back, Harry."
He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella. The brick he had touched quivered - it wriggled - in the middle, a small hole appeared - it grew wider and wider - a second later they were facing an archery large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.
'Glad I didn't end up asking what he was doing,' Harry mused, stepping into the magical thoroughfare that awaited them.
~~author's rambling ~~
Okay I have decided to start publishing chapters to be shorter that my previous ones. The story so far has been really similar to the story line of the actual book but the next few chapters that's going to be changed. Hopefully anyway.
What are your guys thoughts on my writing style??