'Diagon-what?' said Uncle Vernon, looking up from his morning newspaper. 'I told you,' he said, 'we're not going until the day after.'
'But this is important,' Harry explained. 'I'm supposed to meet my friends... We need to get all our things for school — they're going to be there on Wednesday.'
'Can't you just do that by yourself?' Uncle Vernon asked. 'Anyway, I don't think we'll have time for detours... Dudley wants to visit the Rock Museum of Britain.'
Harry groaned. This conversation was not turning out as he'd planned. 'Please,' he said, in the politest voice he could muster. 'I really need to be there... I need to get all of my spellbooks for the year, otherwise I —'
'Shh — shh — shh!' said Uncle Vernon, blocking his ears quickly with his palms. He didn't like hearing words like spell and magic.
'So can we go on Wednesday, then?' Harry asked.
Uncle Vernon shook his head firmly, and replied with a simple, 'No.' Then he took a deep breath and kept on reading the morning news.
'This isn't fair,' Harry complained.
Uncle Vernon merely grumbled in reply.
***
The trip into London was not a very fun ride at all. In spite of protests from Aunt Petunia, Dudley had decided to bring along his snare drum, and he kept banging on it loudly as they passed through Chertsey and Egham.
Harry quietly seethed the whole way, still frustrated that he was missing out on seeing his friends. He'd sent letters to Ron and Hermione, telling them he'd be at Diagon Alley a day late — but his snowy owl, Hedwig, still hadn't returned with their replies.
A short while later, Uncle Vernon parked outside at a large, grey building — this was the headquarters of Grunnings, the drill company he worked for.
'All right,' said Uncle Vernon, as they all stepped out of the car. 'Now, I've got a very important meeting with some customers from Finland, so Petunia —'
RAP! RAP! RAP!
Dudley was banging angrily on his drum. 'What about the rock museum?' he asked. 'You said we'd be going there today!'
'Yes, we will,' Uncle Vernon replied. 'But we're going after... Now, Petunia, I want you to —'
He still couldn't finish his sentence, however, because Dudley was still banging loudly at the snare drum. Uncle Vernon hung his head for a moment, unsure what to do, but he eventually got so fed up with Dudley that he snatched away both his drumsticks.
'Er — Uncle Vernon,' said Harry cautiously, as Dudley let out a soft whimper. 'Can I go where I need to go? To Diagon Alley? It's just a few minutes down the road — I can walk there myself...'
'What?' Uncle Vernon snapped. 'I told you, we don't have time for detours.'
'But you're going to be busy,' Harry pointed out. 'This way, it won't be wasting your time... And I know how to get there... I've been there before.'
Uncle Vernon looked vexed as he pondered Harry's suggestion — he seemed very reluctant to let Harry do what he wanted to do. But in the end, he gave a stiff nod.
'Don't take too long,' he said. 'And don't go where you're not supposed to. If you're not back by two,' he added to Harry, 'we're driving off without you.'
Harry nodded in reply.
'Two,' Uncle Vernon repeated firmly, 'or you can figure out how to get home on your own.'
***
It had been a while since Harry had entered Diagon Alley through the brick archway that lay at the street's end. Last summer holidays, he'd stayed with Ron's family for a few weeks, and they'd all travelled to Diagon Alley via Floo Powder. But as Harry had ended that journey lying on a dusty floor in Knockturn Alley, he was quite sure that Floo Powder wasn't really for him.
Harry made his way through the Leaky Cauldron, hiding his face so he wouldn't be recognised, then he ducked out the back to a cramped, little courtyard. He went over to the wall nearest the dustbin, tapping on the right brick three times — soon enough, the gateway had opened.
He couldn't help but grin as the scene unfolded before his eyes. The narrow, cobbled street was just as Harry remembered it: there were shops selling animals, and shops filled with books, and an ice-cream parlour where Harry remembered buying sundaes with his friends.
His face fell slightly as he thought about Ron and Hermione, though, now that he wouldn't be seeing them until the start of term. If only Hedwig had managed to deliver his message in time... but his owl was nowhere to be seen...
He gazed at the sign above the nearest shop, which read Eeylops Owl Emporium — Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown and Snowy. Behind the shop window were brass cages filled with owls: there was a snowy one in the centre which looked just like Hedwig — right down to the feather and the beak. It looked so remarkably like Hedwig, in fact, that Harry came to a sudden realisation —
The owl in the shop window belonged to him.