Harry followed Hagrid away from the Leaky Cauldron's dim, smoky interior and into the small, square walled courtyard behind the bar. It was a disappointingly ordinary space, paved with cracked asphalt and dominated by nothing more impressive than a stack of empty barrels and a solitary, dented trash can.
Hagrid paused before the dull brick wall. It was an unassuming structure, perhaps three stories high, slightly damp, and completely unremarkable. He reached into the vast confines of his coat pocket, retrieving not a mighty staff or a dazzling wand, but a small, battered, pink umbrella.
"Sebastian told me you've seen Diagon Alley before, Harry, but never been through the proper entrance," Hagrid rumbled, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space. "Young wizards raised in the Muggle world usually come this way the first time. It's traditional, see."
Hagrid then began to meticulously count the bricks in the wall, his thick finger tapping with unexpected precision. "Right, third brick up… from the dustbin… and five across…"
"Now, don't blink, Harry," Hagrid advised, holding the umbrella aloft.
Harry's breath caught in his throat. He stared, wide-eyed, as Hagrid tapped the specific brick three times with the tip of the umbrella.
The effect was instantaneous and breathtaking. The tapped brick wobbled—then shivered—and then, with a sound like grinding geological plates and a low, resonant groan, the wall began its impossible transformation.
Bricks at the center seemed to come alive, moving with an eerie, coordinated intelligence. They swiveled, folded, and vanished, spiraling inward and away from each other. The shifting geometry of the wall created an expanding hole, a wide, cobbled archway large enough for Hagrid to step through comfortably.
This passage opened directly onto the familiar, glorious view of Diagon Alley.
"There we are! Welcome back, Harry," Hagrid said, giving Harry a light, friendly tap on the forehead that nearly knocked his cap off. "Oh, almost forgot the formality."
Hagrid dug into his pocket and produced a parchment, sealed with the embossed crest of Hogwarts. "Your official acceptance letter. It's supposed to be delivered by owl, but seeing as I'm here and you're here, might as well read it."
Harry quickly broke the wax seal. He scanned the lists: robes, school books, cauldron, and the standard allowance for a pet. He looked up at Hagrid.
"Hagrid, I think I have everything ready from Sebastian, but the pet section is still open. Any suggestions?"
Hagrid laughed—a loud, joyful bark that bounced off the brickwork. "Pets! You've come to the expert on all things furry and scaly! First off, forget the frogs. Utterly out of fashion, no utility."
"Cats are fine if you like a bit of mischief and hair on your robes. But my strong advice is the owl. Essential for a future professional. It's a message courier, a lifeline, and a status symbol."
"Deliver messages?" Harry asked, surprised. "Aunt Mia gave me a two-way mirror earlier. She said I could communicate with her and Sebastian through that."
"A two-way mirror?" Hagrid muttered, clearly impressed. "High-end, ancient alchemy, that. Very clever of Mr. Swann. But that's the problem, see—a two-way mirror only works for the two specific people it's enchanted for. It's a closed system."
Hagrid leaned in, emphasizing his point. "You'll be making friends, allies, and connections, Harry. You'll need to send letters and documents to more than just two people. You need a scalable communication network. An owl is absolutely essential for the kind of life you're walking into."
The need for a scalable network settled in Harry's mind as they proceeded down the bustling, crooked street. Hagrid abruptly halted them in front of a massive, snow-white marble building.
"Right, next priority: Gringotts," Hagrid announced, puffing out his chest. "I'm here on official business for Professor Dumbledore today, and I have something highly secret to collect. But first, you need to access your vault."
As they stepped through the impressive bronze doors, Hagrid gestured toward the finely carved warning etched into the stone archway above the entrance.
"Gringotts is run by the Goblins, Harry. And they are paranoid, absolutely convinced everyone is after their treasure, which, to be fair, they guard like no other. That's why they put that warning on the door. Only a lunatic would think of robbing Gringotts."
"But why, Hagrid? What makes it so safe?"
Hagrid's eyes lit up with the kind of crazed adoration Harry had already come to recognize. "Why? Because the most sensitive vaults are miles deep, down in the earth, and the final key areas are guarded by Fire Dragons!"
"Dragons, Harry! The cutest, the most beautiful, the most magnificent creatures in the whole world! If I could, I'd have a flock of them in my garden."
Harry blinked, processing the linguistic dissonance: Fire Dragon. Cutest. Beautiful. He momentarily imagined the immense, shaggy half-giant lovingly stroking the snout of a monstrous, scale-covered beast, cooing, "There's my little furry friend!" The mental image, surprisingly, did not seem incongruous with Hagrid's personality, but it did send a small shiver of realization down Harry's spine about the man's eccentric worldview.
Pushing that thought aside, Harry followed Hagrid into the Gringotts Great Hall.
If Swann Manor represented effortless, comfortable opulence, Gringotts represented aggressive, functional wealth. The contrast was striking. The hall was wide, bright, and filled with a cold, unrelenting grandeur.
The floor was polished marble, the enormous columns soared up to a glittering, diamond-like dome, and the light that filtered through the stained-glass windows didn't just illuminate—it seemed to glisten with the promise of gold.
Harry muttered his complaint to himself: This is excessively, overwhelmingly exaggerated.
He then focused on the bank's proprietors. The Goblins were short, pale-skinned, with pointed features and long, clever fingers. Each one was impeccably dressed in a sharp, elegant uniform, scratching rapidly on parchment with long quills. They were not much taller than Harry, but their air of ancient authority made them seem immense.
After Hagrid's curt exchange with a high-seated Goblin Teller, they were ushered past the main desk and into a narrow, dark passageway. They were quickly joined by a Goblin escort and climbed into a small, open-topped mine cart.
The cart launched into the darkness with a violent, stomach-lurching speed. It rattled along tracks deep beneath the city, taking corners at impossible angles, plunging down sheer vertical drops, and speeding through a labyrinthine network of twisting caves.
Harry held on for dear life. This isn't a cart, he realized, grinning wildly despite the terror. This is a vertical acceleration chamber! It's far more thrilling and dangerous than any Muggle roller coaster!
The cart finally juddered to a stop in front of a modest, heavy vault door.
"The key, if you please," the Goblin instructed Hagrid.
Hagrid handed Harry the small, ornate key. Harry stepped forward and placed it directly into the Goblin's outstretched, slender hand. After a series of rapid, intricate clicks, the Goblin pulled the door open.
Harry's breath hitched.
The interior of the vault was a dazzling sight. Instead of a few dusty coins, the chamber was packed floor-to-ceiling with piles of gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts. The sheer volume of wealth was shocking, far surpassing the vague notion of 'money' he had previously possessed. Harry had gone from having nothing to being, quite literally, rich.
A profound, sober sense of responsibility settled over him. He wasn't just wealthy; he was now the custodian of an ancestral fortune.
He grinned, pulling out the small, expandable wallet Mia had given him. He began carefully scooping the heavy Galleons into it, his mind immediately flying to his new family and friends.
This money will buy Aunt Mia a beautiful charm bag. And Sebastian—I need to get him a sophisticated, enchanted watch, something elegant.
And Professor Snape. The thought of his rigorous, demanding instructor made him pause. Snape had given him that beautiful, shimmering golden good-luck potion for his birthday—an incredibly valuable, rare gift that Sebastian had later confirmed was priceless. Harry knew that to reciprocate properly, a simple thank you wouldn't suffice. It needed to be a strategic gift, a demonstration of both appreciation and seriousness.
Later that afternoon, after Hagrid's mysterious, secret business—which involved collecting a very small, very dusty package from a high-security vault—they finished their shopping. Harry, feeling empowered by his newly recognized financial independence, had bought all his school supplies and then made the most important purchase of the day at Eeylops Owl Emporium.
When Sebastian finally collected Harry at the edge of Diagon Alley, Harry was carrying a beautiful, gilded bird cage containing a magnificent Snowy Owl with feathers the color of pure white velvet.
"Is this the official Hogwarts acceptance gift from Hagrid?" Sebastian asked, eyes twinkling, surveying the majestic creature.
"No, I chose her," Harry replied, proudly. "I named her Hedwig."
"A fine choice, Harry. She is beautiful; you must take excellent care of her." Sebastian then paused, tilting his head. "And the gift for Professor Snape? Did you follow my instructions?"
Harry beamed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, corked vial containing a few shriveled, brownish-green sprigs.
"I got Gill bladderwort," Harry declared, pronouncing the name carefully. "The apothecary said it's extremely rare and difficult to harvest, only found in deep-sea caves. It's perfect for highly specialized potions. He'll be delighted!"
Sebastian's grin widened into a look of sheer, calculating delight. Gill bladderwort—a highly valuable, highly temperamental ingredient. Excellent.
"He certainly will be, Harry. A very thoughtful and strategic selection," Sebastian praised. A gift bought with Potter's own inherited gold, delivered as a token of thanks to the man who despises his father.
Sebastian began internally calculating Severus's reaction: Will he feel gratitude? Will he be amused? Or will the sheer, delicious irony of the situation cause his face to twitch with suppressed loathing? The simple transaction had become a wickedly complex psychological experiment. I wish I had a magical camera to film that moment.
He clapped Harry on the shoulder and led him toward the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace.
Quirrell was at Gringotts today, too, Sebastian mused, the reality of the impending school year crashing back into his political thoughts. He was likely trying to secure that dusty, small package Voldemort hid in Vault 713—the Philosopher's Stone.
Sebastian inhaled deeply, the smell of coal dust and magic filling his lungs.
Hogwarts is about to get very interesting indeed.
Philosopher's Stone, I'm coming for you.