The meal ended with both men thoroughly satisfied, host and guest alike.
Old butler Anthony’s hired chef team had been flawless.
Every dish arrived plated like a Michelin-star French masterpiece—elegant, artistic, and gone after two or three bites.
Dumbledore set down his sixth dessert of the night with visible regret.
Back in the living room, he finally spoke.
“Even though I’m sure you already know exactly how to reach Diagon Alley and buy everything you need, I still think a young wizard’s first trip there should come with a proper guardian.
What do you say, Isaac?” “My honor, Professor Dumbledore.” No time to linger.
Dumbledore led him straight out to the quiet street in front of the house.
“In the wizarding world, most people travel by the Knight Bus.
Stand on the curb, wave your wand, and it appears.” He didn’t draw his own wand.
Isaac gave him a puzzled look.
Dumbledore winked, mischievous as a schoolboy.
“Of course, at my age the Knight Bus’s… vigorous style might be a bit much.
So, Isaac—grab my wrist.” The world went black.
A crushing pressure slammed in from every direction.
Isaac’s chest locked like an iron band.
He couldn’t breathe.
His organs compressed.
Eyeballs shoved backward.
Eardrums driven deep into his skull.
It lasted one heartbeat.
Then the pressure vanished and he felt spat out of a giant rubber tube.
Most first-timers vomited or blacked out from Side-Along Apparition.
Isaac simply flexed his hands and feet, shaking it off like nothing.
“Remarkable adaptation,” Dumbledore said, clearly impressed.
“You’re quite suited to this magic.” Over a century of living had given the old wizard certain insights.
He didn’t need Legilimency to read the signs.
“No,” Isaac replied, voice flat.
“I’ve just been through worse.” When his prophetic gift first woke up, he’d been young, reckless, and too stupid to say no.
He’d taken every vision that came—every possible future, every branching timeline.
Harry Potter’s story alone had thousands of variations.
Fanfiction branches?
Countless more.
It was like Doctor Strange staring across the multiverse.
As a transmigrator who wasn’t actually a child, he’d cut it off before it destroyed him.
Still, that single session left him bedridden for days.
Grindelwald had laughed himself hoarse—probably because the old man had suffered the exact same overload once.
Compared to that sensory avalanche, Dumbledore’s Apparition felt almost gentle.
Even years later the memory made Isaac’s stomach twist.
It had taught him the most important lesson in magic: caution.
Caution kept him from hunting down a wand early.
Caution stopped him from practicing spells alone.
Caution meant he’d seen Diagon Alley a hundred times in visions but never once set foot there until today.
His last life had already shown him how fast the world could change.
Without needing supplies like a wand, the Alley hadn’t held much pull.
But now that he was here… Isaac realized Dumbledore hadn’t used the usual route—no Leaky Cauldron, no tapping bricks.
They had Side-Along Apparated straight onto Diagon Alley’s main street.
The place was packed.
School starting soon, and this was the beating heart of British wizarding life—loud, bright, alive.
“So… we heading to Gringotts first to swap some cash for galleons?” Isaac pulled out his wallet.
It was thick with every pound he’d earned telling fortunes on the streets of Barnet.
Those wealthy residents tipped generously.
His ancestors had drilled the lesson into him long ago: never harm others, but always keep a backup plan.
Grindelwald’s support was generous, yet Isaac liked having his own exit money on him at all times.
Just in case.
“Living in our world does require funds,” Dumbledore said, “but our first stop isn’t Gringotts.
Muggle-born students may exchange up to a hundred galleons a year in pocket money at the bank.
We’ll handle that at the end of the day.” “Right now, let’s visit our first destination—Flourish and Blotts.” He said it so casually.
Isaac had to bite back the envy.
A hundred galleons just for spending money?
Ron Weasley would probably burst into tears on the spot.
Dumbledore started walking.
Isaac fell in beside him.
That was when the full weight of the man at his side hit him.
Nearly every wizard and witch on the street recognized Dumbledore instantly.
They called out warm greetings, then their eyes shifted to the platinum-haired boy walking with him.
One older wizard smiled broadly.
“Professor Dumbledore!
Personally escorting a new student to Diagon Alley this year?
That’s a first!”