Once they entered the back courtyard, Dumbledore lowered his voice.
“Truth be told, Minerva thought I was slacking off in my office and insisted on finding me something to do.
But don’t tell anyone else.” Elavin: “…” So it turns out you were forcibly kicked out to work!
And yet outside you made it sound so grand, playing the good headmaster who cares about his subordinates.
Shameless.
They stopped in front of a trash bin in the courtyard.
Dumbledore then used his practiced technique to teach Elavin how to tap the bricks.
“Remember this spot.
Three bricks up, two bricks inward, then tap three times.” After three taps, the bricks before them seemed to come alive, shifting left and right, flipping in and out, gradually opening a passageway.
Elavin didn’t rush forward.
Instead, his eyes immediately went to the trash bin.
“What would happen if I moved this thing?” Dumbledore clearly hadn’t expected that question.
He paused for several seconds.
“Well…
it would make things very difficult for people trying to come in after us.
So I’d recommend against it.” “‘Better not do that’ clearly meant it was possible.” Elavin silently filed that answer away.
“Come to think of it, why don’t you just put a mark on that brick?” “Because that wouldn’t be mysterious enough for young witches and wizards coming here for the first time.” So that was the reason?!
Well, it did make some sense.
Tapping an unmarked brick let Muggles experience the wonder of magic.
Tapping a marked brick would only make them think it was some kind of high-tech mechanism.
The two walked one after the other into Diagon Alley.
“Welcome… to Diagon Alley!” As soon as Elavin stepped through, the passage snapped shut behind him, the bricks sealing together as if nothing had ever been there.
He turned around and saw another trash bin sitting there — clearly meaning the way out was the same, tapping bricks.
Diagon Alley was a cobblestoned street lined with old, quaint shops full of classical charm.
Not everyone here wore wizard robes — some looked like ordinary people, making the whole place feel more like a bizarre cosplay convention.
Listening closely, the voices of shopkeepers, customers, and owls all mingled together in a noisy clamor.
Sniffing the air, he could pick up the strange smells of various potions mixing together.
“Ugh…” “What is that smell?!” “Don’t you wizards bathe?!” Elavin quickly covered his nose.
Back at the Ritz London — where even the bathrooms smelled like perfume — this place felt unbearable.
But this Diagon Alley…
How to put it — it was worse than stinky mandarin fish that had been pickled for years.
“Of course, wizards bathe, Yakute!” Dumbledore said cheerfully.
“I bathe three times a month — at the very least!” “Three times a month?!” Elavin couldn’t help but yelp.
“Our orphanage director — that 80-something-year-old grandmother — bathed more often than that when she was alive!” Dumbledore said softly, “Young ladies generally like to be clean.
I understand completely.” “…” Fair enough.
To this centenarian, an 80-year-old woman really was just a “young lady.” Seeing Elavin fall silent, Dumbledore laughed heartily as if he’d won a victory.
“Haha, relax.
Take a deep breath and get used to it slowly.
Feeling dizzy from the smell of the wizarding world your first time is normal.” “…Old fossil, did you switch channels or something?” After half a minute, Elavin finally adjusted to Diagon Alley’s odor.
“Where are we going now?” “To buy your school supplies, of course.” Dumbledore gestured for Elavin to follow and strode forward.
“You saw the list attached to your acceptance letter, didn’t you?” Elavin nodded, pulled the envelope from his pocket, and checked the list again.
“Need to buy a wand, robes, books, and various equipment.” “But…” He stopped walking and turned his pockets inside out.
“As you can see, I don’t have a single penny on me.” The place he’d been living — that old, run-down small-town orphanage — had been demolished by the local government months ago, after the orphanage director had passed away peacefully of old age.
The younger children had either been transferred to other orphanages or adopted.
But someone as old as Elavin wasn’t welcome anywhere, so he’d had to leave on his own.
Luckily, by then he had already awakened his system, which at least meant surviving in London wasn’t completely hopeless.
On his first draw he’d gotten [Bisca] and the Requip Magic: Handgun ability.
Otherwise, surviving in a big city like London might have been a real challenge.
“That’s all right, my boy.” “Hogwarts has a special fund to assist students in your situation.” Elavin’s eyes lit up.
“Financial aid?
How much?” Dumbledore held up four fingers.
“400 pounds?” “No, 40 gold Galleons.” Elavin’s expression turned peculiar again.
That same analytical, one-brow-up, one-brow-down look.
He had no idea what 40 Galleons could buy.
Dumbledore explained.
“Wizards use different currency from Muggles: gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts.
One Galleon is 17 Sickles, and one Sickle is 29 Knuts.
At current exchange rates, one Galleon is roughly five pounds.” “So, 40 Galleons would be…
uh…
200…
right, 200 pounds!” “In any case, it’s enough for all your equipment, wand, and robes.
Though you might need to buy second-hand textbooks.” Why did he sound so uncertain?!
And was your arithmetic really that bad?!
“Second-hand books?
That works!” Seeing that Elavin wasn’t put off by the idea of second-hand books, Dumbledore felt a surge of relief.
This child was indeed more mature than his peers, just as he’d suspected.
“I thought a boy your age would want everything brand new.” “Second-hand books are actually pretty good.” Elavin lifted his chin and shared his perspective.
“If the previous owner was a bad student, their book might be as good as new.
If the previous owner was a good student, even better — their book would probably be full of highlighted key points.” “Either way, I come out ahead.
That’s just efficient thinking.” In his previous life, over 90% of university students had either used or sold second-hand books, so Elavin didn’t find it off-putting at all.
“As far as I’m concerned, what really matters is the knowledge inside the book, not whether it’s new or old.
As long as it’s not falling apart with missing pages, I could even accept a book full of graffiti.” “But since these are wizarding textbooks, I assume they’re not that easy to damage, right?” Dumbledore’s gaze filled with admiration once again.
“You’re not wrong about that.” Not materialistic, but placing greater value on “knowledge” itself…
Had he been mistaken?
Perhaps this young wizard wasn’t a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff, but a Ravenclaw?