"Albert, are you sure we're in the right place?" Herb asked, squinting at the map in his hand. He couldn't find the pub Professor McGonagall had described.
"We need to look for the bookstore first," Albert explained, pointing ahead. "Next to it is a record shop, and beside that… the pub."
Herb looked up at the large bookstore and the record store next to it, frowning. "Are you sure? I don't see any—"
"—pub?" Albert finished for him, a faint smile on his face.
If he hadn't been paying close attention, he wouldn't have noticed it either—a small, rather shabby-looking pub nestled between the two shops. Pedestrians walked right past without a second glance. Naturally, Herb had missed it completely.
"I already see it. Remember what Professor McGonagall said?"
"Muggles can't see the pub clearly…" Herb muttered reluctantly. "I really hate that word—Muggle."
Albert tugged his father forward, and within seconds they stood before the sign of the Leaky Cauldron.
It was small, grimy, and dimly lit.
"I hate it here," Herb frowned. "It's filthy."
"Me too… but let's go in."
Suppressing their discomfort, father and son pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Dusty. Cluttered. Dark.
That was their first impression. The place was filled with oddly dressed men and women, most of them elderly, wearing outdated cloaks and ridiculous-looking top hats. If they walked down a normal London street, they would've drawn every eye—but here, they looked strangely… ordinary.
Herb composed himself and approached the bar, where an old, bald man was polishing a glass.
"Mr. Tom?" he asked cautiously.
"A young wizard from a Muggle family, are you?" Tom said, his eyes twinkling as he glanced at Albert before nodding to Herb. "You're here for Diagon Alley, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir. Professor McGonagall said you could show us the way," Albert replied politely.
"Of course, follow me," Tom said, stepping out from behind the counter.
He led them into a small, quiet courtyard at the back of the pub. There was nothing there but a brick wall, a rubbish bin, and a few empty barrels.
"This bin will always be here," Tom explained. "From it, count three bricks up and two across—that's the one you tap." He placed his hand on the brick, drew his wand, and tapped it three times. Then he turned to Albert. "Once you have your own wand, you can open it yourself. Just remember—three taps."
The brick Tom touched began to rumble and shift. The wall folded back like gears turning, revealing a small opening that widened into a stone archway within seconds.
Beyond it lay a bustling cobblestone street.
Shops lined both sides, cauldrons stacked in windows, owls hooting softly from cages, and witches and wizards bustling about with shopping bags. Street vendors called out their wares, and the air smelled of parchment, sweets, and magic.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Tom said with a smile.
"Mr. Tom, how do we get back later?" Herb asked.
"Just tap the same brick—exactly as I showed you." Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "You should visit Gringotts first to exchange your money. Muggle currency isn't accepted here. Go straight ahead—the white building at the end is Gringotts Wizarding Bank."
"Thank you, Mr. Tom."
"Have a pleasant day," he said, waving as he turned back into the pub.
As soon as he left, the archway sealed itself, becoming a brick wall once more.
"Come on—we should exchange money first," Herb said, taking a deep breath.
"This place feels like we've stepped a hundred years back in time," Albert said with a smile, taking everything in with wide eyes.
"To be honest, I'm starting to doubt whether sending you to Hogwarts is a good idea. Maybe your mother was right," Herb said quietly. The wizarding world, magical as it was, felt strangely outdated.
"Dad, I'm not going to live here forever," Albert chuckled. "I just want to learn magic."
"That… does make sense," Herb admitted, relaxing slightly as they walked toward the white marble building of Gringotts.
Just as Tom said, the bank stood tall and imposing. Beside the bronze doors stood a short creature—sharp features, long fingers, dark skin, and a pointed beard.
"A Goblin," Albert thought.
"They're… quite something," Herb said stiffly. It was his first time seeing a non-human being.
The Goblin bowed as they entered.
Another set of silver doors stood ahead, engraved with strange warnings. Herb leaned in to read:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed…
Herb frowned. "What, are wizards so good at robbing banks that they need poems to scare people off?"
Albert nearly laughed. "How much are you planning to exchange?"
"About a thousand pounds," Herb whispered. "If it's not enough, we can get more."
Albert nodded. "That should be around two hundred Galleons. It's enough."
Inside the grand marble hall, Goblins sat behind high desks, writing in ledgers and weighing coins. Herb explained they wanted to exchange Muggle money. They were guided to a counter and handed a parchment detailing the currency system:
1 Galleon = 4.95 pounds
1 Galleon = 17 Sickles
1 Sickle = 29 Knuts
Herb handed the parchment to Albert. "So, 200 Galleons is…?"
"£990," Albert replied.
"Please exchange 200 Galleons," Herb told the Goblin, handing over the neatly counted bills.
The Goblin nodded, rang a bell, and another Goblin brought a heavy bag of coins.
"We don't accept too much Muggle money," he said, answering Albert's curious question. "But moderate amounts are fine."
Herb held a shiny gold coin between his fingers, eyes wide. "I didn't expect them to be real gold…"
After the coins were counted and confirmed, the two of them stepped back out into the sunlight, pockets jingling.
The sound of Galleons clinking softly against each other seemed to whisper the same thing:
Hurry up… spend me.