Chapter 4 — Diagon Alley (Part 1)
"Come, take my hand. I'll bring you to Diagon Alley next."
"Is it the spatial magic you used when you arrived earlier?"
Frieren tilted her head as she asked, her pale green eyes suddenly shining with curiosity and excitement.
If she could master such a convenient spell, then in the future she would never again have to stand in long lines at city gates, enduring the guards' painfully slow inspections.
"Yes. This spell is called Apparition. It allows wizards to travel to places they wish to go," Dumbledore explained patiently. "However, to cross such a great distance like this, one usually needs the aid of certain special magical creatures."
No sooner had he finished speaking than a clear cry rang through the air. Accompanied by a small burst of golden flame, a large bird with deep crimson feathers appeared abruptly on Dumbledore's shoulder.
It had long golden tail feathers, and a pair of bright obsidian-like eyes that curiously examined the three unfamiliar faces before it.
"This is Fawkes, my companion—a phoenix. We'll be relying on his power to travel to Diagon Alley."
Dumbledore gently stroked Fawkes's feathers.
"For the overwhelming majority of wizards, long-distance Apparition is both extremely difficult and highly dangerous. Even the most accomplished wizards usually require a helper like Fawkes."
Stark's eyes widened. He leaned in to study the marvelous bird more closely and blurted out without thinking,
"Wow! So this is a phoenix? It's so small… and… its feathers look kind of like they've been singed by fire, a little patchy and bald-looking. It's… uh, kind of ugly."
Fawkes, who had been holding his head high with graceful dignity, instantly turned toward Stark. A very obvious note of displeasure flashed through his dark eyes.
He let out a short, sharp cry, as if protesting, then suddenly launched himself off Dumbledore's shoulder and dove straight at Stark's striking red hair.
"Ow! Ow ow ow!"
Stark immediately burst into pained yelps, flailing both hands wildly over his head as he tried to block Fawkes's seemingly small but surprisingly forceful beak.
"I was wrong! I was wrong! You're not ugly! You're handsome! Very handsome! Your feathers are beautiful! Please stop!"
But Fawkes seemed to hear the insincerity in his voice and pecked even more enthusiastically.
Every now and then, he even gave a few tugs with his claws, making Stark clutch his head and run in circles around Dumbledore in pain. For a moment, the scene became utter chaos.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, Lord Stark didn't mean to insult your companion. He's just bad at expressing himself," Fern said with a small sigh, her tone tinged with helpless resignation.
Dumbledore's eyes were full of amusement. "Fawkes has a bit of a temper, but he is usually very tolerant. Though it seems he is especially sensitive about being called 'ugly.'"
He raised a hand and called gently, "That's enough, Fawkes. Come back now. I believe Mr. Stark has learned his lesson."
Only then did Fawkes elegantly release his grip and fly back to Dumbledore's shoulder. He even took the time to preen his feathers smugly before casting Stark a sidelong glance.
Rubbing the sore spots on his head, Stark muttered under his breath, "This bird has a terrible temper…" But the moment he caught Fern's glance, he immediately shut his mouth.
"Then let us be on our way," Dumbledore said, extending his hand once more.
Frieren grabbed hold of his wizard robes without hesitation, her eyes full of anticipation for this new magical experience.
Fern lightly took hold of Frieren's wrist.
Still rubbing his head, Stark carefully avoided Fawkes's gaze and took Dumbledore's left hand.
Dumbledore felt a sting of pain coming from that hand, then raised the Elder Wand in his right and gave it a wave.
In the next instant, a strange squeezing sensation pressed in from all sides, as though they had been forced into an incredibly narrow rubber tube. Everything before their eyes blurred, and the roar of rushing wind filled their ears.
Frieren excitedly sensed the flow of magic within the shifting space, trying to analyze its underlying principles. Stark, meanwhile, squeezed his eyes shut, his face turning pale—clearly not a fan of the sensation. Though Fern felt some unease at the novel experience, she only frowned slightly, doing her best to adjust to the sudden transport and discomfort.
Almost instantly, the discomfort vanished.
They found themselves in a dim, filthy little alley. The air carried a strange mixture of faint beer, roasted meat, and something vaguely moldy. Before them stood a shabby old pub with a crooked sign that read: The Leaky Cauldron.
Stark immediately staggered to the corner and began vomiting.
"Apparition is way too terrifying," he groaned between retches. "I am never trying that again."
Fern stepped forward and gently patted his back.
At the sight of this, Dumbledore chuckled. "The first experience of Apparition always comes with some degree of discomfort. You'll get used to it eventually."
Frieren, meanwhile, was still immersed in the wonder of the experience she had just had.
After wiping his mouth, Stark looked around. His nose wrinkled at once.
"Wow… so this is the entrance to the magical world? It certainly has character."
Inside the pub sat a scattering of oddly dressed witches and wizards. Seeing Dumbledore, they all cast respectful glances his way and nodded in greeting, while also looking curiously at the three unusual and strikingly composed children following behind him.
Dumbledore smiled and greeted Tom, the innkeeper, then led them through the pub and into a small walled courtyard behind it. Aside from some weeds and a rubbish bin, there was nothing there.
"Remember this," Dumbledore said, drawing his wand and pointing it at the wall near the bin. "Count three up… then two across…"
He tapped the brick lightly three times.
The brick he struck began to tremble violently. Then the surrounding bricks shifted as though manipulated by an invisible hand. A small hole opened in the center, rapidly widening until it became a broad archway leading onto a winding cobblestone street that stretched out of sight.
"Is this magic that splits open walls? It looks really cool."
Frieren curiously reached out to touch the bricks.
"Mistress Frieren, this seems to be merely a product of alchemical magic," Fern said, observing the magical energy radiating from them.
"Ah…"
Frieren immediately looked disappointed. She would not be able to add these marvelous bricks to her collection after all.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley."
Even for Frieren, who had lived for over a thousand years, a trace of amazement passed through her eyes. This was utterly unlike any human marketplace she had ever known.
All along the street stood tightly packed shops of every kind. Witches and wizards in robes moved through the lanes, chatting and buying goods. Owls soared overhead.
So this is a magical marketplace of the future? Fern thought as she took in the scene before her. The scale may be smaller, but it feels much purer.
At that moment, Stark suddenly spoke up.
"What if somebody moves the rubbish bin?"
"Many young wizards ask that question every year," Dumbledore replied. "But there's no need to worry. Old Tom will always move the bin back into place."
"Before we begin purchasing school supplies, we need to make a stop at Gringotts, the wizarding bank. Miss Fern will need to exchange some money into wizarding currency—Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts.
"Hogwarts tuition is covered by the school fund, but books, robes, and other school supplies must be purchased separately. Of course, for young witches and wizards from poor families, Hogwarts will provide a certain amount of financial assistance."
Following Dumbledore, they merged into the bustling crowd of Diagon Alley.
Almost immediately, Frieren's attention was captured by a bookstore piled high with thick, ancient-looking volumes—Flourish and Blotts.
Her steps slowed unconsciously, her gaze clinging to the spines of those books, each one radiating subtle traces of old magical power, as if they were endless treasures of knowledge waiting to be uncovered—knowledge of this unfamiliar magical age.
"Mistress Frieren," Fern said softly, tugging at her sleeve, "let's exchange the money first."