CH 3: A Day in Diagon pt. 1 (Patreon)

David stared at his reflection in the mirror before undoing his tie in a huff. Fumbling his way through another attempt at a decent knot he thought about how little he was looking forward to his trip to the Alley today. Diagon Alley was the absolute heart of Wizarding Britain and the location of half of David’s worst memories.

The summer before his seventh year stood out as the lowest. Prior to that summer, both sides of the war had respected the unspoken taboo that some parts of Britain were neutral ground. Nobody struck at Diagon, Mungo’s, or Hogwarts, too worried of radicalizing the population against them. As a result, families still went shopping in the Alley when the school letters were delivered, even if they rushed through their lists a little quicker and a little quieter. 

It was ill luck that his parents had decided to visit Gringotts that day, as he was getting fitted for a new set of robes. A day earlier or later and they would’ve been just fine. Instead, they were one of the dozens of wizards and witches that lay dead on the ground after what was, until then, the most public Death Eater attack of the war. 

It was revealed afterwards, in the trial for the few captured Death Eaters, that the attack was completely unplanned and a bit of a disaster for the Traditionalist forces. A group of seventh year Gryffindors had crossed paths with their Slytherin counterparts and words were exchanged. Words that escalated to drawn wands that escalated into an exchange of spellfire. What nobody could’ve known–although David always thought they should’ve been able to guess–was that one of the Slytherins was a freshly marked Death Eater. When it became clear that the little duel was going against them the kid panicked and pressed his mark, summoning in masked reinforcements.

What had started as little more than a schoolboy brawl quickly spiralled beyond all bounds of reasonability as first battle-hardened Death Eaters apparated in, quickly followed by Aurors and other Ministry jackboots. Before the sun had set, the flagstones of the alley ran red with the blood of magicals and a critical taboo had been shattered. The war would enter its final, frenzied state, best remembered by Voldemort’s inferi attack on the Hogsmeade weekend before Samhain.

David hadn’t loved his parents like a child normally loves a mother or father–he had a first set of parents that he remembered as having served that role–but they were his family and he cared for them deeply. Between the attack that left him an orphan and the empty spaces in the crowds that it seemed only he could see, where his muggleborn friends used to live, he had soured on the alley. What had driven him from it entirely was Wizarding Britain’s dogged fixation to repair everything to exactly what it looked like before the attacks.

One day he had been walking through the Leaky only to be struck by the lack of any evidence that the horrors of the war had ever occurred. No new buildings, no memorials, no scarring on the pavements. The sheer willful blindness sent him briefly into a deep melancholy before he vacillated into an incandescent rage. He had nearly drawn his wand in anger and it was only through a herculean effort of self control that he had instead twisted on his heel and departed Diagon with a sharp crack.

These days, if David needed to purchase something magical he would do it either by owl order or by crossing the channel to the French magical district. The only British magical buildings he had physically entered in the last seven years were Gringotts and the Ministry. And always through their entrances in the muggle world. 

Now he would be forced to make his return because he couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut. 

He sighed and took in another glance at the mirror. The man staring back at him was the same, utterly unremarkable specimen it always was. Lightly tanned skin, slightly stooped frame, a head of wiry brown hair kept short–long hair was for supremely powerful wizards or supremely idiotic ones–, and blue eyes not quite pale enough to be interesting and not so vivid as to be striking. He was dressed in his standard Wizarding Business attire: Pressed khaki slacks, a light blue button down, and a tie. The tie he had enchanted to switch colors and patterns randomly, taking inspiration from Dumbledore’s sense of fashion; the man was one of the only wizards David had met that understood magic was supposed to be fun. At the moment the tie was an eye-watering purple and orange plaid.

Thrown over the back of a chair was his outer robes, the set he never went anywhere he might run into magicals without. They were woven out of acromantula silk and David had paid extra for the seamstress to sew dozens of small pockets all along the inside. Along the hems of the robe one could see finely worked runes in silver thread. Resting next to them was his staff. It wasn’t technically a magical staff, it contained no core of a magical beast, but it was a nifty piece of equipment that he had spent uncountable hours tinkering on and was loath to go anywhere without. Besides, it completed The Look and David was a firm believer that a wizard must look the part. 

Finally wrestling the tie into place, he took one last look around his house to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything as he slipped on his rings and necklace. David had long accepted he would never have the reflexes or spell repertoire of a dueler. Instead, he leaned heavily on enchanted jewelry and clothing to offer up some initial protection from a surprise attack, allowing him time to respond with a few of his nastier tricks or–more likely–flee as quickly as he could. 

Over the years he had amassed a decent collection of enchanted equipment. Some he bought and others he enchanted himself. Oh he could never go around calling himself an enchanter–his work all depended on being imbued with his blood, making it impossible for anyone else to use and deeply illegal for anyone at all to own–but there was enough overlap in the discipline with warding for him to muddle through. 

David clicked his tongue as he realized there were finally no more excuses to delay his departure. Grungingly he shoved on his dragonhide boots and stomped out to his car. He had told the Smithwicks to meet him at King’s Cross station in London and didn’t envy the nearly three hour drive they had in front of them. He would drive a mere thirty minutes north to Southwold before apparating to London directly. That should be enough to misdirect any Ministry stooges tracking apparation. They would assume that someone took an unregistered portkey from the Netherlands over to Britain before hopping over to London for whatever reason. Wizards rarely looked beyond the first explanation in David’s experience. 

A quick bludgeoning charm to convince the engine to turn over and David was on the road, the radio tuned to catch the newest release from R.E.M..

A quiet crack deposited David in the shadows of King’s Cross station. Stomping the sand from his departure spot off his boots he briefly began attempting to find the Smithwicks in the crowd before he remembered he was a wizard. A muttered point-me later and he was quickly making a beeline for the family. 

It was only a matter of minutes before he found the mother and daughter. Emily lit up when she saw him and began tugging on her mothers sleeve. Sarah gave him a warm smile as he approached the pair. “David, there you are! I was just beginning to wonder where you were.” She took in his outfit, “Aren’t you supposed to keep your world secret? It’s a… fetching ensemble but not terribly subtle.”

David gave a light chuckle, “I’m casting a mild notice-me-not charm so most people will just ignore me. The only reason the two of you pierced its veil was because you knew to look for me. Besides, it’ll draw less attention in Diagon Alley if the two of you have an obviously wizard escort.” He eyed the two of them before nodding in satisfaction at their outfits. He had told them to wear their Sunday best, guessing that would be the most witch-adjacent clothes the pair owned. He was pleased to see he had guessed correctly.

“How are we getting to Diagon, Mr. Hull? Emily asked, as the trio wound their way through the throngs of people in the station. David refrained from answering until they made it to the entrance, not wanting to talk over the hum of the crowd and squeals of trains braking into the platforms.

“Well,” he said as his nose wrinkled in the exhaust-ridden air, “there are a few ways to get there, but one of the fastest should be the Knight Bus.” Having said that he waved his wand sharply once, to seemingly no effect.

“What’s the Knight Bus?” Sarah began.

Before he had a chance to answer, the universe took the opportunity to do the job for him. With an emphatic bang, a triple-decked fluorescent purple bus emerged impossibly from nowhere, drawing a shriek from Sarah and manic laughter from Emily. The bus screeched to a halt in front of the trio before the doors clattered open and a man dressed as a caricature of a Victorian chimney sweep hopped out. 

“Welcome to the Knight Bus!” he crowed, “Me name’s Stan Shunpik and I’ll be your conductor this fine evenin’! Where abouts would ya like to be gettin’?”

David shot a questioning look at the midday sun before writing it off as a lost cause. “Three for the Leaky Cauldron, Mr. Shunpike, standard tickets.”

“Ohhh, Mr. Shunpike! I like the sounds of that! That’ll be thirty three sickles.”

David handed the man two Galleons and waved the Smithwicks on board, ignoring the doubtful look Sarah was giving him. He quickly ushered the pair to one of the rolling chairs before grabbing one for himself, knowing what was about to occur. Sure enough, he had barely fastened his sticking charm before he heard Stan at the front of the bus say, “To the Leaky! Take it away Ern’!”

The drive from King’s Cross to the Leaky was mercifully short, so it was only five minutes of being thrown around as the bus made its way through London helter skelter. Like every other time David had ridden the infernal machine, it was a whirlwind of turns, hops, and dimensionally confused skids. More than once they leaped onto the sidewalk to avoid traffic, although what made the drivers choose the sidewalk over defying the laws of physics or vice versa remained indecipherable. 

Not soon enough they came to a shuddering halt in front of the Leaky Cauldron and the doors were flung wide again. Miraculously, Ernie only set off a quarter of the car alarms on the street. 

“This be your stop,” Stan said, “thank ya for choosing the Knight Bus, and we hope you consider us for all your wizarding transport needs!” He ushered the three of them to the sidewalk before slamming the door behind them. The last David heard was his muffled cackling before the bus vanished with another loud bang, leaving a disappointed Emily and her slightly frazzled mother.

“That was… unique,” Sarah panted, “is wizarding transport always so… enthusiastic?”

“I’ve been told broom riding isn’t too bad, if you have the stomach for it,” David said, as he led the pair to the entrance to the leaky cauldron, “I never developed a taste for it. As to the rest, the answer is yes, unfortunately. They’re all uniquely unpleasant in their own special ways.”

“I thought it was brill!” Emily cheered, “it was like the best roller coaster ever!”

David suspected she may enjoy riding a broom more than he ever had if that was her take away of the Knight Bus. Ignoring the quizzical looks Sarah was shooting at him as he led them into what appeared to her a solid wall, he opened the door for the pair and heard her gasp. He couldn’t blame her. From her perspective an ancient timber pub more appropriate in a historical village then downtown London appeared as if by, well, magic.

“Muggle-repelling wards, strong ones at that,” he said in way of explanation, dropping his own aversion charms in the process. “Keeps the average Londoner from stumbling into our world by accident–most of the time, anyway.” He escorted the Smithwicks through the perpetually dingy pub floor, hoping to make it through unaccosted.

“David? Is that you? I haven’t seen you in years laddie! How have you been? Did you get yourself a wife and daughter you didn’t tell ol’ Tom about?”

Rats. How did Tom even remember who he was? David couldn’t recall the last time he had entered Diagon through the Leaky and not one of the apparition points. Wizards; it really boggled the mind at times.

“‘Lo Tom,” David turned to face the barkeep with a sigh. By his side Sarah was smiling in amusement while Emily tried to take in everything she could at once. “No, I didn’t get married. This is Mrs. Smithwick and her daughter Emily. I’m escorting them through Diagon Alley for the first time as a favor.”

“Sarah Smithwick, it’s a pleasure to meet another wizard.” Sarah stuck out her hand in greeting. David was quietly amused to see how flustered she got when Tom kissed it instead of shaking it like he imagined she was anticipating.

“The pleasure is all mine, madam! It’s always a joyous day when another muggleborn gets to see the alley for the first time.” Turning back to face David, Tom quickly started on his favorite pastime after remembering every witch or wizard that had graced British soil this century: gossip. “Did ya hear about that mess at the Quidditch Cup? Just terrible what some hooligans tried to do.”

David hummed in acknowledgement. Hooligans was an interesting way to describe terrorists, but euphemisms were often the order of the day in the wizarding world.

Tom continued unabated, not bothered by David’s lack of engagement. In fact he wasn’t even looking at the group anymore, having instead started cleaning a series of mugs (by hand!) as he said, “Good thing we got Amelia up in the DMLE. She’s a good lass, she’ll straighten things out in no time. I knew she was meant for big things the first time I saw her, I did!”

Ah yes, Amelia Bones. She had been a fellow Hufflepuff, although five years David’s senior in school. She was a powerful witch and had embodied the house traits well, for the good or the ill. David had met few witches that worked harder than she did, but her dogged loyalty to bigoted Ministry laws and the party line left much to be desired.  

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” David said, not sorry at all. He knew that Tom could gossip for hours uninterrupted. “But we must be going, before Emily sets us all on fire in her impatience.”

“Ah, right you are! You all have a good day. Be sure to enjoy it little lady, you will remember this one for the rest of your life!”

The party waved farewell to the man and made their way to an enclosed alleyway behind the bar that terminated in a brick wall. David pulled out his wand before turning to Emily. “Watch closely,” he said, “once you have a wand of your own this will be how you get into the alley to do your shopping.” Satisfied to see the girl and her mother were watching his hand intently, he slowly and deliberately tapped out a pattern on the bricks. Nothing happened for a moment and then the wall shuddered before peeling apart to reveal Diagon Alley in all its glory.

A wide flagstone walkway stretched nearly a half mile, paved in stones of every color, creating a dizzying collage beneath shoppers feet. Shops flanked both sides of the street, some looking much like the store fronts on High Street, others being ramshackle wooden constructions that leaned impossibly out into the street. Laughter and the scent of honeyed nuts filled the air from one of the myriad of vendors hawking their wares from little individual stands. In the shade of one the buildings David spotted a pair of kneazles lazying in the summer heat. 

Even though it was late in the school shopping season the street was still packed with witches and wizards of all ages. There were government types returning from their lunch break in their humorless black robes, a gaggle of children pressed against the glass of Quality Quidditch Supplies, and scores of witches and wizards dressed in the fashion of the day. 

Overhead there was a constant rustling of owl wings as they darted to and fro, most making their way to The Daily Prophet building or one of the several businesses that allowed a customer to send letters without an owl of their own. 

It looked, David thought melancholically, exactly like he remembered it looking on his first trip.

He allowed the Smithwicks a moment to take it in before ushering them towards their destination on the other end of the alley: an edifice of white marble and gold. A monument to all things commerce if you were feeling poetic, a fortress in disguise if you were feeling cynical. Gringotts. 

“There’s so many wizards,” Sarah said in amazement.

The crowds actually looked thinner than David remembered but he nodded in agreement anyway, “Aye, but you have to remember, this is the vast majority of Wizarding Britain’s storefronts.” He continued his explanation as they wove their way through the crowd. “Some eighty percent of all sales are done on this street or one of the connected alleys. There are a few exceptions like Hogsmeade in Scotland or Wales supposedly has its own small business district, but this is more or less it.” 

He discreetly summoned the back of Emily’s dress to keep her from knocking into a man dressed in lime green robes and carrying a sword at his hip in her distraction. “So when you consider everyone here spread across the whole of the U.K. it suddenly feels a lot smaller.”

Sarah made a noise that David supposed could be an agreement. He was enjoying watching the mother and daughter alternate between scrunching their faces in disgust as they walked past the various apothecaries and pet stores in the alley and sniffing hungrily when they drew even with Fortescue’s. Eventually they approached Gringotts.

“Now remember, be respectful of the goblins,” he said, “they’re a prickly bunch but they’ll treat you exactly as fair as the law requires them to, so long as you don’t offend them.”

“Goblins!?” They both shouted.

“Ah, did I not mention that?” David scratched his head in embarrassment, “It all feels normal after a while. My apologies.”

“Why are there goblins staffing your bank?” Sarah asked as she eyed the two halberd carrying guards at the top of the stairs nervously. 

“The history books say it’s because of a complex network of treaties spanning numerous failed rebellions." David scoffed in disgust as they ascended the marble steps to the massive open door into the bank, “I figure it’s class warfare one-oh-one. Keep the muggleborn and the poor angry at the goblins and other sentient races and they won’t turn their attention to the pure-blood leaches sitting at the top.”

Amusingly, one of the goblin guardians grunted in agreement. Before Sarah could interrogate him further he directed her over to the currency exchange desk. Behind them Emily followed, mouth agape as she took in the numerous weapon-carrying and armor-clad beings straight out of a fantasy novel. David was amazed at his luck to recognize the goblin working the counter.

“Bragnuk, fancy seeing you here!”

“I am a goblin, Mr. Hull,” Bragnuk sneered, “where else would I be?” Before David could think of something witty the goblin continued, “Now is there any reason you’re bothering me.”

David stepped aside and gestured to Sarah. Nervously she pulled out a stack of bills and placed them on the counter. “I would like to have these exchanged for Galleons.”

“Hogwarts letter?” Bragnuk asked in disgust.

Taken aback, she gestured for Emily to fetch it from her purse. While Bragnuk was painstakingly counting the bills and verifying each one wasn’t a forgery David took the chance to explain: “Ministry policy requires the Goblins to exchange up to two hundred Galleons for Pounds at a one Galleon to five Pound ratio every year a child is in Hogwarts. It’s criminally low but it keeps muggleborns like your daughter from being priced out.” Seeing her nodding in understanding he continued, “however, Gringotts is always happy to take Galleons and give a wizard or witch Pounds, long after they’ve graduated. At the same rate of course.”  

This drew a grin that would’ve looked just as at home on a shark from Bragnuk. “Gringotts is always happy to serve, Mr. Hull,” the goblin said, “Now will that be all?”

“Ah perhaps an expandable coin pouch so Mrs. Smithwick isn’t carrying two hundred Galleons loose in her bag.”

Seeing the woman in question nod her assent, Bragnuk took two Galleons off the top of the pile and placed a black leather pouch on the desk. “Mr. Hull,” he said, as Sarah began to place the coins in the bag, “another request for warding has been submitted to Gringotts. They are unwilling to pay for goblin-quality. Should I send it your way again?”

David considered the request briefly. He didn’t have any other major restoration work scheduled for August, and the Smithwicks shouldn’t require his help after today. “Aye, that would be good. Send me an owl with the details and I will reach out to the client. As always Gringotts can expect its five percent finders fee.”

“Very well, now if that is all, there are other customers in line.” 

There weren’t.

“Goodbye Mr. Bragnuk!” Emily said, drawing a disdainful sneer from the being. Turning to David she stared up at him with wide eyes. “Where to next, Mr. Hull?”

“I figure we get you a trunk, something enchanted unlike the ones I’m selling. After that we’ll just work our way down your list.”

“Brill!” She beamed.

David watched as the rambunctious child skipped out of the bank, waving at every goblin as she passed by and wished he had thought to bring a pepper up potion. Maybe he would get one when they were buying her potion supplies.