The following morning, Maurise woke early.
After a simple wash and brush-up, he made his way to the parlor only to find that Harold was already there, waiting for him. The orphanage director was pacing the floor nervously, a habit he seemed unable to shake. He glanced at the wall clock every few seconds, clearly vibrating with anticipation for the upcoming trip to Diagon Alley.
"I have been waiting for ten minutes," Harold said, smoothing his tie with a practiced hand. "Do you need to pack anything?"
"No," Maurise replied.
He had, however, tucked his wand into his pocket. It was currently useless for casting spells, of course, but it made him feel significantly more like a wizard.
He noticed that Harold had made a special effort today. The man was wearing a freshly pressed suit, and his hair had been combed within an inch of its life. He looked suspiciously dapper.
They walked briskly to the entrance where the car was parked.
Harold patted the bonnet with a swell of pride. "Do you see this beauty? A 1980 classic model... sure, she is older than you are, but she runs smoother than most new cars on the road."
Maurise knew absolutely nothing about automotive brands, but the vehicle certainly looked expensive. He wondered briefly if running an orphanage was a more lucrative business than he had assumed.
Pondering this potential embezzlement, Maurise climbed into the passenger seat. Harold slid in beside him, inserted the key, and fired up the engine.
"Right then. Off we go," Harold announced enthusiastically.
Thirty seconds passed. The car did not move.
"Are we waiting for a parade?" Maurise finally asked. "Or has the engine died?"
"No, the car is fine, kid." Harold tapped his fingers rhythmically on the steering wheel and whistled a low note. "Actually, I am waiting for you. You see, my car can go anywhere, provided the driver knows the destination. I, for one, have no idea where in London one finds a place called Diagon Alley."
Maurise suddenly realized his oversight. He had never actually told Harold the specific location.
However... there was a slight problem.
"Mr. Green, I hope you have a firm grip on your temper."
"Why?"
"I am not entirely sure where Diagon Alley is either."
Harold slowly turned his head. He took a deep, stabilizing breath, clearly straining to maintain his patience.
"Hold on," he said, massaging his temples. "Are you telling me you do not know where it is?"
"You catch on quickly," Maurise said calmly.
Just before Harold could explode, Maurise quickly added, "But I remember that it is next to a very large bookstore and a record shop."
Harold stared at the boy, convinced he was being mocked but lacking the evidence to prove it.
"We cannot navigate London based on a bookstore and a record shop, Maurise," he said coldly.
"That is all the information I have," Maurise said, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Perhaps we could drive around? I am sure I will recognize it if I see it. A large bookstore next to a record shop cannot be a common combination."
Harold stared at him for a few long seconds, trying to gauge if this was a prank. Finally, he let out a defeated sigh and gripped the steering wheel once more.
"Fine. We will start at Charing Cross Road," he muttered, shifting gears. "That is where most of the bookstores in London are. Let us hope we do not have to turn the entire city upside down."
Fortunately, luck was on their side. They did not have to search for long.
The Leaky Cauldron sat squarely in the middle of Charing Cross Road.
Although Harold's eyes slid right past the grubby little pub as if it did not exist, Maurise was able to guide him inside. To Harold, it felt as though he had taken two steps on the pavement and was suddenly transported into a completely different, dimly lit world.
"Ignore the strangers," Maurise whispered, repeating the advice Professor McGonagall had given him.
Harold, looking thoroughly spooked, obeyed immediately.
They walked single file through the bar and out into the small, walled courtyard in the back. It looked exactly as it had before... just weeds, a trash bin, and a brick wall.
"Three up... two across," Maurise murmured.
Harold held his breath as he watched Maurise draw his wand and tap a specific brick in the wall three times.
The brick quivered. It wriggled. In the middle, a small hole appeared, growing wider and wider until the bricks folded back entirely to create an archway.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Maurise said softly.
Harold looked around, his mouth slightly agape. Despite his best efforts to remain composed, he felt a surge of childish excitement.
He had walked down Charing Cross Road a dozen times in his life, yet he never imagined such a place was hidden right under his nose.
This is the magical world.
He watched a snowy white owl swoop down from the sign above Eeylops Owl Emporium. Nearby, outside a cauldron shop, a copper kettle was humming a tune entirely on its own. The air was filled with strange, spicy, and delightful scents that made his spirits lift.
"We should look around," Maurise interrupted his reverie. "By the way, how much cash did you bring?"
Harold instinctively clamped a hand over his wallet pocket, eyeing the boy suspiciously. "What do you need money for?"
"Ticket price," Maurise said with a straight face. "You did not think a guided tour of the magical world was free, did you?"
Harold's eyes widened in disbelief. "You never mentioned an entrance fee. And... do wizards even accept normal money?"
"I recall you mentioning an allowance yesterday," Maurise said, already walking toward a snowy-white building that towered over the little shops. "We are going to Gringotts. They can exchange your Pounds for Galleons and Sickles, the wizarding currency. I need to buy a few things that are not on the school list. Follow me."
Harold hurried to catch up. "Do they take credit cards?"
Pushing through the bustling crowd, they arrived at the bronze doors of Gringotts Wizarding Bank.
A uniform line of goblins stood near the entrance.
This was Maurise's first time observing the creatures up close. They were shorter than he had imagined, with swarthy, clever faces and long fingers. Their pointed ears stretched backward, and their eyes glinted with a sharp, calculating light.
Honestly, they were a bit ugly.
As the pair passed, the goblins bowed low.
"They seem very polite," Harold whispered to Maurise, looking nervous. "Are they... human?"
"They are goblins," Maurise replied.
They entered the vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in ledgers, weighing coins on brass scales, and examining precious stones through eyeglasses.
Maurise led Harold directly to a counter that appeared to be handling currency exchange.
"Hello?"
Maurise had to tilt his head all the way back to see over the ledge. At his height, it was the only option.
The goblin looked up from a massive ledger, his face impassive. "What business do you have?"
"I need to exchange some Pounds Sterling for Galleons, sir," Maurise stated.
The goblin looked Maurise up and down, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. He nodded knowingly. "A Hogwarts first-year? Muggle-born, I assume?"
"Does it matter?" Maurise frowned slightly.
"Indeed it does," the goblin said, tapping his long fingers on the marble. "If you were not a new Hogwarts student, we would not exchange your currency. Muggle money is useless to us. We only provide this service as a courtesy for incoming students raised in the non-magical world."
"Fine. I am a Hogwarts student," Maurise confirmed.
The goblin made a scoffing sound through his nose and pulled out a set of delicate scales. "Per regulations, the maximum you may exchange is fifty Galleons."
Fifty Galleons. Maurise felt a pang of disappointment.
However, it made sense. If there were no limit, the arbitrage possibilities would be endless. Earning British Pounds was significantly easier than earning gold Galleons, after all. If wizards could just swap paper money for gold at will, the economy would collapse before lunch.
"Fifty will have to do," Maurise sighed.