Lucas was about to ask another question when he spotted the lone abandoned stone house standing in the middle of the wasteland.
Half the roof had caved in.
The windows were black hollows, like eye sockets in a skull.
“Uh… I’ve heard about this place,” Lucas said quietly.
“Professor, the villagers all say it’s haunted.”
“There aren’t any ghosts here,” Professor Sprout said, her voice dropping low.
She gave a soft sigh.
“This used to be the home of a nice wizard couple.
Kind people.
But during that disaster more than ten years ago…”
She didn’t finish.
She pushed open the creaking wooden door.
Dust and cobwebs covered everything inside.
Broken furniture lay scattered.
Only the stone fireplace in the center of the living room still looked solid.
Lucas wanted to ask what disaster she meant, but Professor Sprout had already drawn her wand.
“Scourgify!”
A small whirlwind shot from the wand tip and swept every speck of dust out of the fireplace and off the hearth.
She waved again.
A few pieces of rotten wood flew in and caught fire with a whoosh.
“Watch this, Lucas.” She pulled out a small cloth bag, pinched a tiny handful of glittering silver powder, and held it up.
“This is Floo Powder.
Easy.
Grab a pinch, toss it in—the flames turn green.
Step inside and say your destination loud and clear.
Remember: ‘The Leaky Cauldron.'”
She demonstrated.
The powder hit the fire.
With a roar, emerald flames exploded upward.
“I’ll go first and wait for you.”
Professor Sprout handed Lucas the bag, stepped into the fireplace, and called out clearly, “The Leaky Cauldron!” Her body twisted in the green fire and vanished.
The flames settled back to ordinary orange.
So cool, Lucas thought.
He copied her exactly, tossed in the powder, and stepped into the green blaze.
A hot rush hit him—like sliding into a bath just a little too warm.
“The Leaky Cauldron!”
The green flames roared.
A huge force yanked him into a spinning tunnel.
Fireplace after fireplace whipped past.
He felt like a sock in a dryer.
Before he could even shout, another shove sent him stumbling out of a hearth.
He was about to smack face-first onto the greasy wooden floor when warm hands caught him.
He blinked up into Professor Sprout’s kind smile.
“You made it, Lucas.
We’re here.”
“Oh, a new Hogwarts student!” a raspy voice said beside him.
Lucas turned, still dizzy, and saw a bald, wrinkled old man who looked like a dried walnut wiping the bar with a rag.
He grinned at Lucas.
Professor Sprout brushed ash off Lucas’s robes.
“This is the pub owner, Mr.
Tom Abbott.
Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron.”
“Thanks, Professor.
Hello, Mr.
Abbott.”
Lucas looked around.
Dim, grimy bar.
People in odd clothes sat at stained wooden tables sipping drinks of murky colors and talking low.
The air smelled of cheap booze and stale spices.
Professor Sprout didn’t linger.
She led him straight out the front door.
Noise slammed into them—car horns, footsteps, London voices.
They stood on Charing Cross Road.
One second I was in the Scottish Highlands, Lucas thought.
Now I’m in London.
“Remember this spot, Lucas.” Professor Sprout pointed at the shabby little pub squeezed between a bookstore and a record shop.
To the Muggles walking past, it looked completely invisible.
“This is the doorway between the two worlds.”
She took him back inside, past the bar, and into the small courtyard behind the pub.
“Memorize the secret so you can come alone later.” She raised her wand and tapped a brick on the wall above the trash can—three rhythmic knocks.
The bricks rippled like water and pulled back.
An archway opened.
The world Lucas had dreamed about for weeks crashed into view.
A cobblestone street curved ahead, packed with the strangest shops he had ever seen.
Windows held self-stirring cauldrons, floating brooms, waving mannequin dummies in colorful robes, stacks of dried animal parts, and spell books wrestling one another for the best display spot.
The air swirled with smells: clean parchment, sweet candy and cakes, and the sharp, weird tang of herbs and strange ingredients pouring from the apothecaries.
Witches and wizards in flowing robes strolled along, laughing and chatting.
“Welcome to Diagon Alley,” Professor Sprout said, smiling as she patted his shoulder.
“We’ve got time to explore.
First stop—Gringotts.
We’ll exchange your Muggle money for Galleons.”
She had just finished explaining the odd exchange rate—Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts—when the bank came into view.
A towering white marble building rose higher than every shop around it.
Bronze doors gleamed.
A goblin in a scarlet uniform stood guard.
Even though Professor Sprout had already described goblins to him, seeing a real one up close made Lucas stare.
They looked like storybook dwarves—dark-skinned, sharp-eyed, long-limbed, and anything but cuddly.
How many intelligent races are there in the magical world?
Lucas wondered.
And what kind of food cultures do they all have?
He stepped past the second silver door etched with a warning poem for thieves and entered the huge, echoing hall.
Long counters stretched out.
More than a hundred goblins sat behind them.
Gold, gems, and coins clinked nonstop.
One goblin spotted Professor Sprout and Lucas and flashed a wide, toothy smile.
“Professor Sprout of Hogwarts—welcome, welcome!
This distinguished gentleman is new.
Here to open an account and make a deposit, yes?”
“Excuse me,” Professor Sprout said.
“This is a new Hogwarts student.
We need to exchange some Muggle currency for Galleons.”
The goblin’s smile froze solid.