Chương 4: Diagon Alley

I stumbled carefully down the stairs, gathered my presents from the cafeteria, and retreated into my bedroom. Should I change? I looked at the dress I had just been gifted. It was the most formal outfit I had, but wizards in the books were supposed to be fashion blind in regards to muggle clothing. Would anyone actually care if I stayed in something comfortable? I was currently in flannel pajamas because it was my birthday.

I was wearing panties because I had no alternative, and thankfully I wasn't developed enough to need a bra. Going to Diagon Alley in just this… Yeah, that was probably too much. My thoughts went to Hermione. She was almost never punished despite breaking just as many rules as Harry and Ron. Feigning compliance for increased freedom and privileges in the long-term was clearly the way to go. The greatest secret to breaking rules is to always look like you're following them. Better safe than sorry. It's just clothing.

My lingering discomfort over gender and body-stealing didn't matter right now. I'd wear the frilliest magical-girl outfit imaginable if it got me closer to magic. Diving deeper into femininity for a positive initial impression on a teacher was an easy decision. I changed quickly. McGonagall took longer than I would've liked talking to Ms Parish, but her demeanor hadn't significantly changed between now and then.

"You look lovely dear." Despite myself, I perked up a bit at that. I hadn't exactly been ugly in my past life, but boys never received many compliments on their appearance unless they put absurd amounts of effort into it. Effort that was better spent elsewhere. My time as Lyra hadn't been much different so far, with only that nurse and Father Rubens giving me any.

"Thank you Professor. Are we ready to go?"

"Yes, we'll just need to step out of sight." She held out her hand to me and gave an encouraging smile as I 'eagerly' grabbed hold; playing up my childish act for her benefit. We set off down the driveway.

"Professor, was it a coincidence you came today? On my birthday?" I couldn't help but wonder. Hagrid took Harry to Diagon Alley on his birthday, but the first letter had arrived at least a week before that, implying the letters weren't sent with the intent to arrive on a specific date. To my surprise, McGonagall nodded.

"I did indeed plan to arrive today specifically for your birthday, It's a little earlier than we typically send out book lists—we only just confirmed the appointment of our latest Defence Against the Dark Arts professor—but whenever we have a muggle-born student with a birthday in the summer months, I try to schedule whomever arrives for the introduction to coincide with the day. I received my own acceptance letter on my birthday and the experience always stayed with me."

"Your birthday is around now, Professor?"

"Oh no, I was born in autumn." What? Is the letter system different for students with magical parents? To my mild frustration, McGonagall didn't elaborate further. It wasn't that important, so I dropped it. Instead we stopped at an empty spot just out of view from the House's windows. I looked around theatrically, knowing what was coming.

"Where's your car, Professor?" Sometimes it was best to let a person have their reveal.

"Witches have better ways of getting around, dear." A hint of teasing crept into her polite smile, "Just hold on tight." McGonagall's arm tried to twist away and I redoubled my grip. Everything went black; I was pressed very hard from all directions. I couldn't breathe, like iron bands were tightening around my chest; My eyeballs were being forced back into my head; My eardrums pressed like I had just dived to the bottom of a pool. Then, it was over.

We were standing in the side area of a dimly-lit, dirty-looking pub. I stumbled at the suddenness of the sensations and the abrupt change in environment.

"It takes a bit to get used to, doesn't it?" McGonagall said, "No getting around the convenience however. Welcome to London."

"London, Professor?" I gasped out, not acting this time as I needed to catch my breath.

"Is this a magic shop then?"

"No. This is an inn. The Leaky Cauldron. It's the main access point to Diagon Alley, the wizarding shopping district. If you step outside those doors there, you will be on Charing Cross Road. A simple enchantment is on the front of the store, dissuading muggles– ahh, that is, non-magical people—from taking interest in the place." As she spoke, another person apparated nearby and walked up to the bar. I couldn't recognize anyone in the dining area. They were all older. Well beyond school age.

I didn't have strong memories of the Cauldron—not from the books or the movies—so I didn't have much to compare it to. With that said, it didn't really impress me. It was large, old, unsanitary, and somewhat quiet given how empty it was patron-wise. McGonagall let go of my hand once I recovered, and she began walking towards a pair of open double doors opposite the ones leading to the muggle street.

"The Cauldron isn't the only entryway to Diagon Alley, but it's the one you will need to use if you come back with your guardians in future years. Don't worry too much about finding the place, I've left that information with Madam Parish." You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. People took notice of the Professor, but no one stopped us as we walked by. At the back of the inn was a small courtyard with a prominent brick wall.

McGonagall pulled out her wand and quickly transfigured her clothes into robes; or maybe untransfigured them. She turned to me.

"Now for this, you will need to pay attention. Anyone with a bit of magic can access Diagon Alley through tapping the bricks here in a simple pattern." I nodded. She walked through the pattern once and had me repeat it back to her. Then tapped the bricks slowly with her wand. The bricks in the wall pulled back smoothly into an archway wide enough for several people to walk through at once.

"Welcome, to Diagon Alley." The first thing I focused on was the wide cobblestone walkways. Far less cramped than the movie's portrayal. After that initial disconnect with my memories, my attention was drawn to the subtle eye-catching displays of magic adorning the shops. Glowing windows, floating signs, impossible and unstable-looking architecture. I could just glimpse an open-air dining area in the distance with floating colorful parasols above the tables. Clutter was kept off the road for the most part.

The shops themselves, however, were packed so tightly together that a person might have to walk sideways to squeeze through the smaller doors. Many were tiny specialty shops advertising specific enchantments or services. At the far end of the street, an impressive snow-white marble building—Gringotts, I assumed—loomed over a fork in the road. The street was bustling with patrons, nearly all of them wearing robes. The robes weren't all featureless black, either.

I saw surprising variation in colors, cuts, and styles—a fashion culture completely divergent from modern norms. Wizard fashion. A world that intentionally separated itself off from the rest of society. McGonagall gave me a minute to take it all in before ushering me onward.

"Now, I don't have all day. I'll drop you off at Ollivander's for your wand—do some shopping on your behalf—then we'll drop by Second-Hand Robes to get you situated." She took off down the street, leaving me to hurry after.

"The white marble building you see there is Gringotts, the wizard bank," she said first, confirming my earlier assessment.

"They also have money changing services should you need to swap currencies. The staff are goblins, so do be respectful when you have need to visit."

"Why don't you have a wizard run bank?"

"We did a few hundred years ago. Turned into a major debacle due to a serious case of embezzlement. Goblins—for all us wizards have a storied history with them—are very particular with ownership rights. Professor Binns teaches History, and has much more to say on the topic, if it interests you." It didn't. I had too much to think of already, and didn't need additional lessons in how humans tend to make the same mistakes in cycles.

Besides, who wants to focus on the one subject where the professor was even less lively than their subject. McGonagall moved on, and began indicating other shops one after another.

"Mulligrubs Materia Medica. Stay back from those plants Miss Parish; they're a little more lively than what you're used to. The twin apothecaries. Either is an excellent choice for potion ingredients. Floo-Pow. The only licensed producer of Floo Powder in Britain, not that they actually sell any in that shop, or even answer the door… Why they bother to rent a shop, I'll never know. Kiddell's Wonderful Wands. Don't bother with them; Ollivander's is better.

Quality Quidditch Supplies, first-years are not allowed broomsticks without special dispensation–" The list was expansive, and despite my memory and enthusiasm, I was starting to feel genuinely overwhelmed.

"Flourish and Blotts. Usually where I'd recommend going for books but they appear to be closed today–" Recognizing the name, I took extra care in examining that storefront. Next to a handwritten 'Closed: To Locate a Shipment' sign, an animated poster advertised a signing for Gilderoy Lockhart's new book, Magical Me, on August 19th. So, I won't be meeting Harry or the Weasleys today. Was that a good thing or a bad one? Good, I decided. I needed time to think.

McGonagall kept at it, acting as a tour guide while I trailed silently behind, trying to retain as much as I could.

"And here we are, Ollivander's." As far as wizarding shops went, it didn't stand out much. It was narrow, worn-down, and in the window there was a single wand resting on an old, faded purple pillow. Peeling gold letters over the door read: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B. C. A scene from the sixth book came to mind; Dumbledore and Harry in Voldemort's horcrux cave. Dumbledore didn't even need the Elder Wand to examine the enchantments in place.'

Bright lights, bangs, and smoke were more often the marks of ineptitude than expertise.' Harry had thought after watching Dumbledore work. I needed a better way of detecting magic and quality if I wanted to excel in this world. Luckily, I was right next to one of the most competent teachers in the entire series.

"Professor, is there a way to sense magic passively? Or to pick up the differences between enchantments and curses?"

"Oh yes. It can be learned—difficult, but straightforward enough to train with consistent effort. We don't require students to learn it because the results vary wildly and the time investment is considerable." She considered for a second, then added, "There are also plenty of easy spells that can do much the same without the painstaking effort."

"But they aren't passive? You'd need a wand?" Dumbledore certainly had the passive version. If it was good enough for him, I would take it.

"Yes, but before you get ahead of yourself with more advanced forms of magic, you should start with the basics." I ignored her.

"Can you teach me? Or—you said it was simple—could you show me an exercise to start with?" She sighed.

"It really is quite simple. Focus on something you know has magic, like your wand, and try to feel it. Try all your senses, and use whichever one feels most natural to you."

"That's it?" That sounded way too easy. Why didn't everyone have a magic sense if that was all it took?

"For the first step, yes. Once you can reliably sense that something has magic, you can start to pick out the nuances in the types of magic around you. Don't think this will be an easy task though. Without specific potions to aid in the skill's development, it will almost certainly take several years of concentrated meditation. Having the will to persist and keep at it will help. One of the core pieces to any magical working is intent." So, years of on-and-off effort just to reach the beginner level.

No reliable way to measure progress. Easier spells already existed. No wonder Hogwarts didn't bother teaching it. I still wanted it. New goal: Look into those potions she mentioned and learn the beginner level as soon as possible. By Christmas, if I can manage it. The spells she mentioned might be easier, but wandless magic couldn't be taken from me like equipment. She chuckled.

"I can see you are determined. Best hurry then and pick up your wand." I nodded and started to head inside, but she held me back.

"One moment. An Ollivander wand costs 7 galleons." She pulled out 7 golden coins and handed them to me.

"One galleon is 17 sickles, and one sickle is 29 knuts. That makes 493 knuts to the galleon. For reference, I believe a galleon is worth somewhere in the realm of £10 pounds sterling by current exchange rates." Or around $14 USD per galleon. Meaning a wand is roughly $100 or £7 0. Didn't Slughorn say unicorn hair sells for 10 galleons per strand?

Inconsistencies like that didn't really bother me when it was just a book—suspension of disbelief and all that—but now that I was here, living in the world, it was harder to ignore. Maybe new students get their first wand subsidized or something? I examined the coins. They appeared to be made of gold. Could I melt one down, sell the metal for British pounds, then convert that money into even more wizard currency? What was the purity? Was there goblin magic in place to prevent that?

Understand the current system before you try to break it. Also, wow, the Weasleys were poor. The scene in the book—Harry seeing their vault at Gringotts with a single lonely galleon—played through my head. Not even the children's home was anywhere near that destitute. Sure, the Weasleys might have more money stored outside the vault, but still…

"Now off you go!" McGonagall said. I shook myself out of my speculations and walked into the shop, coins held in sweaty palms.