The sensation was exactly like being forced through a very tight, very cold garden hose. John landed on his feet with a dull thud, his stomach performing a slow, nauseating somersault. 'It doesn't get easier the second time either, professor' thought John while trying to swallow the bile that threatened to greet others. They were standing in a dim, cramped pub that smelled of old spilled wine and damp wood.
"The Leaky Cauldron," McGonagall announced, smoothing her robes as if she hadn't just compressed them both into a singular point of space. "A doorway of sorts to the magic world."
John surveyed the peeling wallpaper and the toothless man scrubbing a glass with a rag that looked older than the building. "It has its appeal," he said, his voice flat.
The barman, a hunchbacked fellow named Tom, looked up with a wide, gappy grin. "Ah, Professor McGonagall! The usual? Or perhaps something for the lad? He looks like he's seen a ghost."
"No thank you, Tom. We're on a schedule," McGonagall replied firmly, guiding John toward the back.
"I'm fine," John added quietly, avoiding Tom's overly eager gaze.
They reached a small, walled-in courtyard containing nothing but a dustbin and a few weeds. McGonagall pulled out her wand and began tapping specific bricks in the wall. Three up… two across…
"Awfully easy code for a secret entrance" John remarked, though his heart did a small, involuntary hop as the bricks began to quiver and spin.
The wall folded away, revealing a cobbled street that stretched as far as the eye could see, packed with shops selling things that definitely shouldn't exist. The air hummed with a chaotic, vibrant energy, a complete departure from the gray silence of his life.
The streets were paved with dark, uneven cobblestones which seemed to twist and undulate beneath the ceiling of impossibly tall, crooked buildings. None of the structures obeyed the laws of Muggle architecture; shop fronts leaned precariously, supported by invisible beams, and windows glittered with perpetually shifting displays.
It was all intensely colorful, a chaotic masterpiece painted with a palette of chrome, emerald, purple, and gold. Banners embroidered with unknown runes flapped overhead, while shoppers in their fashion of long cloaks of varying colors seemed to give it a retro vibe.
McGonagall led the way with a determined pace. "Welcome, Mr. Smith," she said, her voice cutting through the noise. "This is Diagon Alley where you will be getting all the school supplies for the next 7 years. We are heading to Gringotts Wizarding Bank first to open your account and apply for a common welfare fund."
"What's that?" asked John, having never heard of this before.
"It's a program initiated by joint efforts of the ministry and the headmaster to better assimilate muggleborn to the wizarding world. It includes no tuition for three generations of the family applicable for muggleborns and orphans."
John was surprised by it. "Hogwarts has tuition!" he exclaimed.
"Ofcourse like every school does, don't muggle schools also have it?" asked Professor McGonagall with confusion.
"No, no ,of course they have, I just never expected a magical school to have it too." said John nervously.
The professor didn't seem to mind this and continued to lead the way as John trailed behind, his head on a swivel as he absorbed all the wonders around him. He noticed a cauldron shop displaying stacks of copper, pewter, and silver pots—Potage's Cauldrons. Next to it, an apothecary reeked of sulfur and exotic spices, its jars filled with everything from shrunken heads to vials of shimmering, unsettling liquids.
'It's very beautiful.' John observed dryly, dodging a small wizard on a toy broomstick.
She pointed her chin toward a particularly garish shop front adorned with giant, motorized spectacles. "That, should you require any assistance with the mandatory reading list, is Flourish and Blotts."
They passed a shop dedicated entirely to quills and parchment, its owner looking like a bewildered raven in a waistcoat. Then came Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, where a group of wealthy-looking teenagers were being fitted in billowing, expensive velvet.
McGonagall stopped abruptly before a looming, snow-white marble building that dwarfed all the colorful shops around it. Its doors were flanked by two armed goblins, who stared out at the chaos with fierce, unblinking intensity.
"Gringotts," McGonagall announced. "Run by goblins. The safest place in the world for anything you wish to keep private. Here is where you will handle most of your transactions for the coming years."
They entered the building as the goblins seemed to mind their own business. "Opening an account for the first year and exchanging the currencies." said the professor with the same sternness she commanded during her lectures.
The goblin in front of them was annoyed before opening a ledger and asking for all sorts of details regarding John, from his height, age, and weight, to even taking a drop of his blood.
"The account has been opened under a joint saving vault, your locker number is 39###4. Please keep the key safe and it will be 3 galleons as the opening fee which will be deducted from the transacted amount of 100 galleons." said the goblin while handing him his key.
The whole process was fascinating yet very different from what John had expected. "Wasn't I supposed to get my own vault?" asked John. 'At least that seemed to happen in all the fanfiction I read.'
The question seemed to amuse the goblin while the professor tried to hold her sigh. "Keep dreaming lad, maybe you will be able to own one when you are a hundred haha…."
Seeing him not being taken seriously annoyed John more than it should have. 'I am not a kid.' Seeing that the goblin no longer seemed to entertain him, he left Gringotts with Professor McGonagall by his side.