Even after a century, the Leaky Cauldron was still as dirty and cramped as Harry remembered.
As he pushed the door open, a strong smell of alcohol mixed with cigarette smoke hit him at once. The air was thick and noisy, filled with overlapping voices—just as it had always been.
Nearly everyone inside seemed to know Hagrid. At the sight of his towering figure crossing the room, several patrons raised their mugs and called out greetings.
"The usual, Hagrid?" asked Tom, the barman, polishing a glass behind the counter.
"Not today, Tom. I've got urgent business," Hagrid replied, giving Harry's narrow shoulder a gentle pat before announcing loudly, "I'm taking Harry to Diagon Alley."
The moment the name was spoken, the chatter in the pub died instantly.
Silence fell like a spell. Every eye turned toward Hagrid—or rather, toward the small boy with round glasses standing beside him.
"My word… is it really you?" Tom murmured.
The glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor. He hurried out from behind the bar, seized Harry's hand, and shook it vigorously, his eyes shining with tears.
"Harry Potter! It's an honor—an absolute honor! Welcome… welcome back!"
Harry was stunned—and deeply embarrassed.
For a fleeting moment, he wondered whether, even a hundred years later, people still remembered his role in suppressing the Crematoria or the goblin uprising. If they recognized him, did that mean—
Before he could finish the thought, more witches and wizards crowded around, eager to shake his hand.
"It's an honor, Mr. Potter!"
"I've waited years for this!"
"My heart's racing just seeing you!"
Harry had no idea how to respond.
Sensing his discomfort, Hagrid quickly pulled him aside.
"Excuse us, everyone," Hagrid said firmly. "I still need to take Harry to Diagon Alley to buy his school supplies."
With that, he rescued Harry from the crowd.
"See?" Hagrid said with a grin. "Told you—you're famous."
Harry smiled back, then asked casually, "Why are they acting like that?"
"Why?" Hagrid gave him a dramatic pat on the back. "You defeated the most terrifying Dark Wizard of the century! You've earned that respect!"
Ah… so that was it.
Harry nodded slowly, feeling a mix of relief and understanding. At least no one had mistaken him for the other Harry Potter—the one from a hundred years ago.
Time was a forbidden subject in the wizarding world. The mere notion of returning to one's youth was enough to drive people mad.
Moreover, "that Harry" had been known as the heir to ancient magic—hardly a secret in his era. Dark wizards had once attacked students openly, coveting such power.
Harry had no reason to believe the dark wizards of this age were any better.
Now back in the body of an eleven-year-old, his magical power had regressed drastically. Against an ordinary dark wizard, he might still manage—but if someone like Lanlock were to appear again…
That would be far beyond his current abilities.
So he made a silent decision: this secret must remain buried.
"Count three bricks up, then two across… that's it… now step back a bit, Harry," Hagrid instructed.
Harry seemed distracted, lost in thought. Assuming he was still shaken by the attention in the pub, Hagrid smiled and repeated, "Harry? Are you listening?"
"Oh." Harry blinked, returning to himself.
They were already standing before the brick wall behind the Leaky Cauldron. Harry took Hagrid's umbrella, counted quickly, and tapped the wall three times.
The brick quivered, slid aside, and a small hole appeared, widening until it formed a broad archway large enough for Hagrid to pass through.
Beyond it stretched a winding cobblestone street that seemed to go on forever.
"You've got an excellent memory," Hagrid said cheerfully. "Welcome to Diagon Alley."
Harry handed back the umbrella, hesitated, then admitted, "Hagrid… I don't have any money."
"Ha!" Hagrid laughed. "Don't tell me you think your parents didn't leave you an inheritance. We'll sort that out right now. Let's head to Gringotts."
The bank looked exactly as Harry remembered.
A flight of white marble steps led up to two towering bronze doors. A goblin in a scarlet uniform trimmed with gold stood guard and bowed as they entered.
Beyond the first doors lay a vast hall, and farther in stood a second set of silver doors bearing an inscription:
Enter, stranger, but take heed:
Of what awaits the sin of greed.
For those who take but do not earn
Must pay most dearly in return.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned—beware:
You'll find not riches, but despair.
"As I said," Hagrid remarked, "anyone who tries to rob this bank must be mad."
They approached the counter. Among the busy goblins, Hagrid found one who appeared momentarily free.
"Good morning," Hagrid began. "We need to—"
Before he could finish, the goblin let out a sharp, piercing shriek.
"Who?! Who did you say?!"
The entire hall seemed to freeze. Nearby goblins stopped their work and turned to stare.
Hagrid wasn't surprised. After all, it was only natural that the wizard who defeated the Dark Lord would be famous even among goblins.
What he didn't know was that the boy beside him had "saved" the wizarding world more than once.
"Harry Potter," Hagrid repeated.
"Harry Potter?!" the goblin squeaked. "I know it's Harry Potter! But which Harry Potter?!"
A low hum spread through the hall as goblins whispered excitedly among themselves.
"Which Potter?" Hagrid frowned. "Of course it's the Harry Potter. The one who defeated the Dark Lord. He's starting school this year, and I've brought him to withdraw money from the Potter family vault."
At last, the goblin sighed in relief.
"Ah… that Harry Potter. I knew it." He straightened, regaining his professional composure. "Very well. Do you have the vault key?"
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