Chapter 6 — The Alley Behind the Wall

Harry had offered his hand while I was still trying to reconcile him with the name. I took it, hoping the delay hadn’t been quite as obvious as it felt. ‘Oswald Mercer,’ I said. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘Harry Potter.’ His grip was tentative, and he glanced towards Hagrid before letting go. Whatever he expected from an introduction in the magical world, he seemed no more certain of the procedure than I was.

For years of my other life, this place had existed in arguments, edited clips and jokes about missing Hogwarts letters. I remembered people wishing they could be ordinary Muggles here, provided that meant magic was real somewhere nearby. Now I was standing in a pub with the boy whose name had belonged to those stories, and the absurdity of it caught me unexpectedly in the throat.

I pulled him into a quick hug. It seemed a perfectly reasonable response for approximately the time it took to do it, after which Harry went rigid and reminded me that he hadn’t shared any of that experience. To him, a stranger had just grabbed him.

‘Sorry,’ I said, releasing him. ‘That was on behalf of a lot of people you’ve never heard of. They’d be very pleased to meet you.’

‘Do they usually hug people they haven’t met?’ Harry asked. He had taken a small step back, which was fair enough. I would have been considering something less polite.

‘Only when they let enthusiasm interfere with their manners. I’ll try to warn you next time.’ That earned the beginning of a smile, and I decided to regard it as a successful recovery rather than test my luck again.

Hagrid laughed. ‘Look at yeh two,’ he said. ‘James an’ Ken would’ve liked this.’

That stopped me preparing another joke. Harry’s smile faded too, and for a moment neither of us seemed to know what to do with the names. Our fathers had known each other; now we were meeting without them, introduced by a man who could remember both. I wished I had known what to ask Hagrid while the opportunity was in front of me.

Emma touched my shoulder. ‘I’ll leave you with Mr Hagrid,’ she said. ‘I’ve some errands to do, and you’ll be busy enough with your list. Listen to him, please.’

‘I intend to. He knows where the entrance is.’ I looked round the pub, still unable to see any sign of the street we had come to visit. ‘That gives him a considerable advantage.’

‘And please keep him from buying anything that explodes,’ Emma told Hagrid. She was smiling, but I recognised the warning underneath it. This was the same woman who had recently had to inspect our garden wall for banana.

‘I’ll do me best,’ he said. His brief hesitation suggested that this might eliminate more of the shopping district than she realised.

Emma kissed my forehead and went towards the door. I watched her leave, resisting the urge to wipe my forehead in front of everyone. Then I turned back to Hagrid with the question I had been saving since the letter arrived.

‘Where’s Diagon Alley? I’ve spent the last two days trying to imagine it.’

‘Round the back,’ he said, collecting himself and his enormous coat. ‘Come on, then. Before yeh wear a hole in the floor waitin’.’

Harry followed him with enthusiasm that suggested I wasn’t the only impatient one. We went through the pub into a small courtyard occupied by bins, barrels and a brick wall. I looked for a passage between the obstacles and found none. Unless the shops were very much smaller than advertised, we had reached a dead end.

‘Are we going through that?’ I asked, indicating the wall. It was easier to sound confident now that I had watched enough impossible things happen to expect another.

Hagrid produced a battered pink umbrella. ‘Needs a bit o’ magic,’ he said, moving to the dustbin and beginning to count bricks. ‘Now, where was it… They ought ter put a mark here.’

‘On the secret entrance?’ I asked. The umbrella was attracting more of my attention than his counting. ‘Is that what you use instead of a wand?’

‘Never yeh mind.’ Hagrid checked his count again, preventing me from getting a closer look. ‘Meant a mark for wizards. Save havin’ ter do this every time.’

He tapped one brick three times. Something shifted inside the wall, and I stepped back as the bricks began to move. Instead of falling, they turned aside, opening a gap which widened into an arch. Through it I could see a cobbled street full of colour, movement and people who had no idea that I was currently forgetting how to speak.

Robes flashed past the shops. Cauldrons hung outside a doorway, owls called from their cages and signs swung above buildings which seemed to lean into the conversation below. The alley continued beyond what I could see, offering more of all of it. My bedroom experiments had taught me that magic could happen; here was an entire place where people expected to get on with their day surrounded by it.

‘Welcome ter Diagon Alley,’ Hagrid said. He stood aside to let us look, apparently enjoying the effect considerably more than the pub’s first impression.

‘I was worried it would all look like the Leaky Cauldron,’ Harry said. He was already moving towards the arch. ‘This is much better.’

I went through beside him. For the first few minutes I tried to listen to Hagrid and inspect every window at the same time, which mostly resulted in learning the names of shops I had already walked past. Harry wasn’t doing much better. Between us, we made progress down the street exceptionally slow.

Quills wrote in one window without anyone holding them. In another, brass instruments turned under their own power, and a stack of books snapped at a passing hand from behind a cage. I was still trying to see whether the cage was locked when a broomstick display drew me away.

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The broom was sleek and polished, with the sort of finish which made its purpose seem entirely separate from sweeping floors. Harry nearly walked into me when I stopped. He read the name on the display aloud: Nimbus Two Thousand.

‘Hagrid says they fly,’ he told me. ‘Properly fly. We came to London on his motorbike, and that flew too.’

‘You have a flying motorbike?’ I turned towards Hagrid, temporarily losing interest in the broom. Emma’s car had served us very well that morning, but I could see room for improvement.

Hagrid looked pleased. ‘Got Harry here, didn’t it?’ he said. ‘Now, we’re meant ter be buyin’ school things, you two.’

‘I’m reconsidering my transport arrangements,’ I said. Harry laughed and returned to examining the broom. I followed his gaze down to the price and discovered that, whatever the exchange rate might be, flight was not being offered as a modest household convenience.

‘First-years can’t bring their own brooms anyway,’ I reminded him. ‘It was on the list. We’ll get flying lessons at school.’

‘You read all of it?’ Harry asked. He looked back up at the broom, reluctant to abandon it just because Hogwarts had an inconvenient rule.

‘Several times. Anything that tells me I’m not allowed a flying broomstick deserves close inspection.’ I moved away before Hagrid had to come back for us. Buying books first had made sense before I knew what else the shops offered, and I ought to remember why.

As we walked, the extraordinary things in the windows became oddly practical. There were different models of broomstick, people comparing their prices and customers arguing about how well they handled. The owl seller had feed to sell as well as owls. Outside the cauldron shop, pots of different metals hung ready for somebody who presumably knew which one they needed.

I began looking for names from Ken’s notes. Most of the ingredients meant nothing to me yet, but seeing people buy roots and powders across ordinary counters made the problem feel less impossible. Some of the things I needed might be available once I learnt how to ask for them. Runebark would be harder; nothing about this cheerful street contradicted Dad’s warnings about finding that.

Beside me, Harry stopped studying the windows. He waited until Hagrid finished pointing out a shop, then asked, ‘How am I supposed to buy all this? I haven’t got any money.’

His voice had lost its excitement. I didn’t know what his family had told him before sending him off with Hagrid, but apparently it hadn’t included a useful answer to that question. ‘I could lend you some,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to miss getting your things.’

‘No, thanks.’ Harry answered quickly, almost before I had finished. ‘It’s kind of you, but I don’t want to owe you money.’

‘Fair enough,’ I said. I had been his acquaintance for only a few minutes and had already surprised him with a hug. Perhaps adding a financial arrangement was moving rather fast.

Hagrid spared us further negotiation. ‘Won’t need to,’ he said. ‘James an’ Lily left yeh money, Harry. It’s waiting at Gringotts.’

Harry stopped walking. ‘They left me money?’ he asked, looking at Hagrid as though he might have misheard something essential.

‘Course they did.’ Hagrid pointed ahead, and I followed his hand to a white building which stood above the smaller shops around it. ‘That’s where we’re goin’. Get what yeh need for school.’

I let Harry have a moment. Receiving something from dead parents could make a person grateful and angry at once; the notebooks in my bedroom had proved that well enough for me. Whatever he was making of it, he didn’t seem ready for another joke.

Gringotts had gleaming bronze doors and uniformed figures stationed beside them. The stonework was so clean that the building looked almost suspicious among its neighbours. As we approached, I remembered that I didn’t yet understand the money we were about to collect.

‘How does the currency work?’ I asked Hagrid. ‘I don’t imagine they’ll let me pay for those books in pounds.’

‘Galleons, Sickles an’ Knuts,’ he said. ‘Goblins’ll explain the numbers better than me.’

The figures by the doors bowed as we drew nearer. They had long fingers, sharp features and the composed expressions of people who would prefer that we knew our business before entering. Harry lowered his voice to ask about them, and Hagrid confirmed that these were the goblins who ran the bank.

‘They take property serious,’ he added as we reached another set of doors. An engraved warning covered the metal, promising an unpleasant experience to anyone who thought of helping themselves to the treasure below.

‘So do ordinary banks,’ I said. ‘I’ve just never seen one explain its security arrangements in verse.’

Inside, marble floors and brass scales reflected the light from above. Goblins worked behind counters, turning ledger pages, weighing coins and inspecting objects with the absorbed attention of people who had not come to work for conversation. I stayed beside Harry while Hagrid approached the first desk.

‘Harry Potter needs access ter his vault,’ Hagrid said. ‘An’ Oswald Mercer should have family business here too.’

The goblin looked up. ‘Keys?’ he asked, holding out a hand with very little interest in the rest of the introduction.

Harry turned towards Hagrid. For an uncomfortable moment Hagrid didn’t move; then he began searching his coat, producing string, food wrappers and several objects which I hoped would go straight back into the pockets. The goblin moved his ledger away from the accumulating collection. At last a small golden key appeared.

‘Here we are,’ Hagrid said. He placed it in the waiting hand and started gathering his belongings, leaving the counter in considerably less danger of becoming part of his coat.

The goblin examined the key, then turned to me. ‘Oswald Mercer?’ he asked. At my confirmation, a ledger opened by itself and ran through its pages until it reached an entry which apparently settled the matter.

‘Vault Five Hundred and Twenty-One,’ he said. ‘No key required for verified Mercer access.’

‘I have a vault?’ I had known that my family possessed money, but nobody had mentioned a personal door underneath wizarding London. ‘I’ve never been here before.’

‘Looks like Ken planned ahead,’ Hagrid said. He passed a sealed note across the counter while I was still considering the vault. The goblin read it more carefully than anything we had said so far.

‘Vault Seven Hundred and Thirteen as well. Authorisation confirmed.’ He put the note down and summoned another goblin to guide us, apparently satisfied that the interesting part of our visit was now somebody else’s responsibility.

Harry looked at me, then at Hagrid. I was equally curious about the additional vault, but Hagrid forestalled the question with ‘School business,’ and began following our guide. It wasn’t an answer likely to discourage speculation. For now, however, I had a vault of my own to wonder about.

The passage beyond the banking hall led down to narrow tracks. A cart waited there, looking considerably less reassuring than the marble counters above. I climbed in beside Harry; Hagrid occupied most of the remaining room, and our guide set us moving into the tunnels.

The tracks divided, turned and dropped. Wind brought tears to my eyes, and I abandoned any attempt to remember the route in favour of keeping hold of the cart. Harry shouted something beside me which sounded delighted. I would have answered, but my stomach was busy proposing an immediate return to the surface.

We stopped beside a massive door. ‘Vault Five Hundred and Twenty-One,’ the goblin announced, getting out as if the journey had been no more eventful than walking along a corridor.

There was no keyhole. A polished panel shimmered in the centre of the door, and the goblin directed me to place my hand on it. Cold passed over my palm; I withdrew it as locks began turning somewhere inside the stone.

The door moved. Gold light spread across the platform, reaching my shoes before I properly understood what I was seeing. I had been about to ask another question, but it vanished along with every sensible thought in my head.