The brick Tom had tapped began to tremble. First, a small hole appeared in the middle, as if something inside were pushing outward. Then the bricks on either side started moving rapidly, sliding away from each other. The opening grew larger and wider.
Leon instinctively took a step back.
A few seconds later, the solid brick wall had transformed into a wide archway.
Beyond the arch stretched a winding cobblestone street that disappeared into the distance.
Compared with the dim, cramped Leaky Cauldron, the avenue before him looked especially bright. Sunlight poured down over the street, shining on crooked shop signs, colorful display windows, and crowds moving back and forth.
The view suddenly opened up.
The cobblestone road curved ahead. On both sides stood crooked little shops, each one different from the next—some tall, some short, some leaning left, some leaning right—as if they had been casually dropped there by different architects at different times. Their windows were filled with all sorts of strange things: books that turned their own pages, spinning orreries, a cauldron bubbling with purple foam, and a pile of quills in uncertain condition.
The crowd surged through the street. Elderly wizards in long robes, children carrying parcels of all sizes, carts piled high with cauldrons. An owl flapped overhead, clutching an envelope dripping ink in its talons.
The air was thick with mixed scents: fresh bread, something like burnt feathers, and a faint sweetness drifting from some unknown sweet shop.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley."
Tom's voice rang out at just the right moment.
Leon came back to himself and turned to look at him.
Tom put his wand back into his pocket and wiped the fingers that had just tapped the brick with that rag, as if there were dust on them.
"Remember where that brick is," he said. "Next time you come, just tap it three times with your wand. If you forget..." He paused. "Then you'll have to come back to the pub and find me. I'm usually there, boy."
With that, he turned and walked back, disappearing through the narrow door leading to the pub.
As Leon walked along Diagon Alley, the books in Flourish and Blotts' display window turned their pages as if deliberately showing off to passersby. Outside Quality Quidditch Supplies hung a broom that slowly rotated in midair, a label on the handle announcing it as the latest model. Several owls swept overhead carrying tied-up parcels in their claws, and one of them flew low enough that its wings nearly brushed Leon's hair.
"Owls don't know how to avoid pedestrians. Common Diagon Alley knowledge," said a passing wizard.
"I can tell, sir," Leon said, ducking his head and drawing his gaze back to the road ahead.
Gringotts.
A towering snow-white building stood at the end of the street, its pure white marble glowing softly under the sunlight, making it stand out among the low surrounding buildings like a monument among hovels. The other shops were all crowded together in twisted, crooked lines, like a gang of drunk dwarves with their arms around each other. Only Gringotts stood perfectly straight.
Its bronze doors stood open, gleaming under the sun. No words were carved on them—only intricate patterns. At the entrance stood a guard on duty.
He was short, with long arms and legs and odd proportions. On his dark face was a pair of deep-set eyes. A long pointed beard hung from his chin, braided into several little plaits, each tied at the end with a small metal ring that clinked in the sunlight.
A goblin. They existed in the Hogwarts Legacy timeline, and they existed in the original era too—the race that managed the wizarding bank. Clever, shrewd, and not especially fond of humans.
The goblin's gaze swept over and paused on Leon's face for a second. "Here to exchange for Galleons?"
His tone didn't sound like a question so much as a confirmation.
Leon nodded.
The goblin gave a perfunctory bow. His attitude was distant, his tone cold.
"Follow me."
He turned and walked inside, and the bronze doors opened silently behind him.
The hall was much larger than it looked from outside. Tall marble columns supported the ceiling, which was painted with intricate designs in gold and deep red, like an enormous spiderweb. Countless goblins sat on high stools with towering ledgers in front of them, quills scratching across the pages. Every now and then, a goblin would stand and head toward one of the side doors, disappearing into the depths of the corridors.
From somewhere came the sound of clinking metal—coins striking one another.
The goblin leading him crossed the hall and headed toward a second door.
This one was silver, brighter than the bronze one outside, bright enough to reflect a person's image. It drew Leon's attention at once. Words were engraved across it.
Enter, stranger, but take heedOf what awaits the sin of greedFor those who take, but do not earnMust pay most dearly in their turnSo if you seek beneath our floorsA treasure that was never yoursThief, you have been warned, bewareOf finding more than treasure there
After reading the final line, Leon stood before the silver door and nearly burst out laughing.
He had already known those words were there, but seeing them in person still made it hard to hold back. Gringotts really had the nerve to issue threats like that.
How many times had this bank been robbed in the original story? Voldemort came. The Death Eaters came. In two years, Harry Potter would come with his friends and escape on a dragon in full view of the entire wizarding world. With that kind of security record—people coming and going as if it were their own backyard—they still dared to carve something like this on the door?
The goblin guide suddenly turned back.
Leon's expression instantly returned to calm.
He was brought to the counter to exchange currency, but he immediately discovered a problem.
There was a limit on how many Galleons could be exchanged using money from the non-magical world. The yearly cap was strict: two hundred Galleons. If someone didn't even have any Muggle money, the school would provide a set of used textbooks and basic school supplies.
From what he remembered, the exchange rate between the Galleon and the pound was roughly five to one, though it varied. The original books never gave an exact figure.
In other words, he could exchange at most one thousand pounds.
Well, there was nothing strange about that. It was only reasonable. Otherwise, among the original trio, the richest one would probably have been Hermione Granger.
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