“My, he certainly has a presence. I reckon he’ll turn out to be a great wizard.”
“Of course, of course! No one could doubt it—that’s the Boy Who Lived!”
“Remember? He saved the wizarding world, saved every last one of us!”
Harry greeted each of them warmly, feeling as though he were back in the Caribbean, receiving the pirates’ respect.
No, this was even more exaggerated!
Perhaps he was more like the King of Jerusalem right now.
Whether Knights Templar, Knights Hospitaller, or local lords, all would gladly kneel on one knee before him to kiss the back of his hand!
Heh!
He was a scoundrel!
A pirate who made people tremble in fear!
Just then, Dumbledore raised a single hand, holding it up briefly.
Yet the noise in the pub seemed suddenly smothered under a damp cloth, dropping level by level until only the soft crackle of glowing embers remained in the fireplace.
“Very well, friends. I must take Mr. Potter to buy his school supplies. We shall have plenty of opportunities to meet again later.”
His gaze swept over everyone’s face.
The hands reaching out halfway were drawn back, the surrounding circle dispersed, and everyone backed away to sit in their original places.
No one spoke, save for the scraping of a few chair legs against the floor.
Harry followed Dumbledore through the pub’s back door and into a narrow alleyway.
The smell of aged ale faded from the air, replaced by the scent of brick walls and damp ash.
“You carry quite a bit of weight in the wizarding world,” Harry remarked casually, though he couldn’t help feeling a surge of emotion inside.
The old man before him was perhaps even more formidable than he had estimated.
Dumbledore did not reply, instead tapping a few bricks on the wall lightly with his wand.
“Remember these bricks. Once you have a wand of your own, you will be able to enter Diagon Alley from this pub by yourself.”
“Diagon Alley?”
Harry committed the positions of those bricks to memory.
“A gathering place for wizards?”
“Indeed. Welcome back to the wizarding world, Harry.”
Accompanied by the slightly complex tone in Dumbledore’s voice, the bricks he had just tapped began to wriggle continuously, as though they had come alive.
They forced their way through the rest of the brickwork, exposing an archway that looked like a doorframe.
And on the other side of the arch, a long, winding alley was revealed—
Gentle light poured over a cobbled street scattered with dust and scraps of paper.
The narrow street was packed tightly with shops on both sides; shop windows held piles of cauldrons, astrolabes, bundles of quills, and rolls of parchment.
Men and women dressed in robes walked by—some carrying cages, some holding stacks of books piled right up to their chins, and others strolling while sipping hot, steaming drinks from cups.
Yes, just as Mr. Dursley had said, judging by their dress and behavior, this was indeed a bunch of freaks!
Of course, Harry was a freak, too.
He liked being a freak.
“I’m looking forward to this. So, let’s hurry up and buy a wand.”
In a rare display, Harry showed a eager side.
After all, this was what he had been seeking all along.
All this time, he had believed his power was granted to him by the Sword of Triton, just like Blackbeard’s.
But after last night’s conversation, he understood that wasn’t the case.
He was a wizard himself.
It was just that he lacked a wand—something akin to the Sword of Triton—to channel and guide his inner strength.
“Before that, we ought to stop by Gringotts to withdraw some money,” Dumbledore replied.
“Your parents left an inheritance for you, Harry. In fact, throughout your school years, you won’t need to worry about money at all.”
As they stepped forward, people along the street turned to look.
Their eyes held curiosity, respect, joy…
a mix of many emotions.
Aside from those, Harry could also sense a few cold, indifferent glares.
Such glares felt remarkably jarring amidst the warmth he had experienced all along the way.
“Is that him?”
“Is it the…”
“The Boy Who Lived—?”
Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Harry followed Dumbledore through the alley amidst a chorus of greetings.
They arrived before a snow-white building looming high above the surrounding shops, where a figure in a scarlet uniform trimmed with gold stood beside the gleaming bronze doors.
“Gnomes,” Harry muttered under his breath.
“They are goblins. Gnomes are far more animalistic and lack human-like intelligence,” Dumbledore explained as usual, leading him inside.
Even though he had been continuously observing Harry, perhaps due to his role as an educator, he was always accustomed to answering questions.
They stepped through the doors, the marble floor beneath their feet polished bright enough to reflect their images.
A row of counters stretched out on either side, behind each sat a goblin—some scribbling in ledgers, others fiddling with weights on brass scales.
The goblins behind the counters were far older than the guard at the entrance.
Deep wrinkles were carved into some of their faces like knife cuts, and sparse, wispy white strands lay across their bald pates.
When the two entered, the goblins slid down one by one from their high stools, stood on the floor, and bowed slightly.
Their eyes rested on Dumbledore, not on Harry.
Harry felt that his title as the “Boy Who Lived” seemed utterly worthless in the eyes of these goblins.
Beside the tallest counter, the oldest goblin moved down at a sluggish pace.
A pair of small, round, gold-rimmed spectacles sat on the bridge of his nose.
“Good morning, Professor,” he greeted first, bowing before he spoke, his voice sounding like sandpaper grinding together.
Then, he shifted his gaze toward Harry.
“The Boy Who Lived… Professor, are you here to inspect the Potter vault?”
“Yes, Gorlik,” Dumbledore nodded slightly.
“I have brought Mr. Potter to make a withdrawal for his school expenses. We shall be using the vault left by his parents this morning. Here is the key.”
He pulled a key from his pocket and handed it over.
“Afterward, I shall also need to visit Vault 713 to retrieve something inside.”
Harry said nothing, merely observing as he stayed close to Dumbledore’s side.
He was completely unfamiliar with everything in the wizarding world.
Until he became accustomed to all this and possessed a certain amount of power, he needed to crouch down quietly and wait.
Just as he had done aboard the Queen Anne’s Revenge, waiting in silence.
What was presented before Harry’s eyes next was not a series of heavy, solid safes, but rather a winding tunnel.
Blazing torches illuminated the passage, where a small railway track ran beneath.
The old goblin at the lead blew a whistle, and a small cart came hurtling toward them along the tracks.
Very, well, ancient.
Harry offered a tactful evaluation in his mind.
Rather than a bank or a vault, this looked far more like a mine shaft—and weren’t these goblins essentially mine workers?
“…Is the geological structure here stable?”
Sitting on the oddly structured cart as it hurtled continuously through these subterranean caves, Harry turned his head to ask Dumbledore.
A place like this reminded him of certain dangerous treasure hunts, where in such an environment, the greatest enemy was actually nature itself.
“Rest assured, I am here,” Dumbledore reassured him softly, his words carrying a sense of weight.
The cart ground to a halt before a small door in the passage.
The old goblin stepped forward and unlocked it with the key.
Harry saw the fortune his parents had left for him: mounds of gold coins, bars of silver, and mountains of bronze coins.
“…Looks decent enough?”
He was slightly taken aback.
This wealth was far more than he had anticipated.
Perhaps gold wasn’t a particularly expensive luxury item for wizards?
“Harry, you may use this to hold your money.” Dumbledore handed over a small bag.
Harry didn’t speak, nor did he take the bag.
Stepping down from the cart, he walked into the vault and examined the items inside.
Aside from money, there was only money—no famous paintings, gems, or similar collectibles.
Perhaps—
“Do you have a larger bag, Mr. Dumbledore?” Harry turned his head.
“I want to take all of this money with me.”