Stepping through the brick archway into Diagon Alley alongside Carrefour, Shiro couldn’t help but marvel slightly at the sight.
Because it was early morning, the streets were mostly deserted, and the tightly packed shops along the thoroughfare were only just beginning to open.
Yet, a thoroughly mind-boggling scene unfolded right before his eyes.
All the merchandise seemed to have suddenly come to life, hopping and skipping out of the shop doors on their own to settle neatly into the display areas outside.
The scattered pedestrians walking about were entirely distinct from the ordinary people of the outside world; the vast majority wore wizarding robes of various colors, seemingly oblivious to the summer heat.
Behind him, Carrefour set off to execute the task Shiro had previously assigned: visiting Gringotts to withdraw every single knut of his savings.
Like a specter, the puppet slipped away into the distance without making a single sound.
Shiro shifted his gaze toward a towering, snow-white building situated deep within Diagon Alley–Gringotts Wizarding Bank.
According to the original storyline, Dumbledore’s Sorcerer’s Stone, as well as one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes, Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup, should currently be stored safely within its subterranean vaults.
*Once my strength increases a bit more, I’ll find an opportunity to fish that Horcrux out,* Shiro murmured to himself, resting a hand against Death March strapped to his back.
If he wanted to live a peaceful, unbothered life in the British wizarding world, Voldemort’s Horcruxes were loose ends that absolutely had to be dealt with.
Leaving a Dark Lord lurking in the shadows, waiting to scheme behind his back, was a recipe for sleepless nights.
Pulling his Hogwarts shopping list from his pocket, Shiro scanned the street, looking back and forth to locate the corresponding shops.
Fortunately, he had arrived early enough to avoid the suffocating shoulder-to-shoulder crowds that usually choked the alley during peak hours.
Inside a general apothecary and sundries shop, Shiro purchased an oversized trunk along with various required school supplies.
Since he needed to keep his Zanpakutō drawn so Carrefour could remain manifested to withdraw the gold, he chose to pack Death March securely inside the heavy trunk.
After all, walking down a public street with a massive blade strapped to one’s back was bound to cause misunderstandings.
Next on the list was a student’s standard wardrobe.
Shiro stepped inside a shop called Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.
The moment he pushed open the door, a squat, smiling witch stepped forward to greet him.
“Oh, what a surprise today!
You diligent young wizards are certainly arriving early this morning.
You are the second young student to come in for a fitting today, though that sweet little thing has already popped out to buy his other necessities.”
Shiro blinked in mild surprise.
He hadn’t expected another incoming first-year to be out purchasing school supplies at this hour.
He didn’t dwell on it for long, though; his primary objectives in entering this world were simply to master magic and terminate Voldemort.
He fully expected that making friends here would be just as difficult as it had been at the orphanage.
“Three sets of plain work robes, please, along with one plain pointed hat, a pair of protective gloves made from dragon hide, and a winter cloak with silver fastenings,” Shiro requested, reading off the precise requirements from his parchment list.
As Madam Malkin grabbed her tape measure and stepped behind him to take his dimensions, Shiro casually added, “By the way, is it possible to weave a protective charm–something like the Shield Charm–directly into the fabric?”
Madam Malkin froze mid-motion, blinking in bewilderment before letting out a soft, amused chuckle.
“Oh, sweetheart, my shop only provides ordinary wizarding attire.
If someone were truly capable of enchanting clothes with a permanent Shield Charm, I imagine the Ministry’s Aurors would be scrambling over one another to buy them out.”
Then, as if a sudden thought occurred to her, her smile faded, and she spoke with an earnest, reassuring gravity.
“Besides, Hogwarts school rules strictly forbid fighting, dear.
You don’t need to worry about being bullied at school.”
*So Hogwarts strictly forbids fighting, does it…* Shiro mused inwardly.
If he recalled correctly, the main protagonists of the original story practically made a career out of brawling inside the castle, occasionally even resorting to dark magic.
The sheer frequency of their altercations had initially led him to believe that Hogwarts tacitly permitted students to settle their differences in private duels.
Evidently, were school rules simply made to be broken?
“Please make the robes a few sizes larger,” Shiro requested, pointing to his current clothes, which were already stretching tight against his frame.
“I’ve been growing quite rapidly lately.
If we stick to my exact measurements now, I’ll be forced to buy an entirely new wardrobe before the first term is even halfway through.”
Though he was slightly disappointed that wizarding robes couldn’t be custom-enchanted with defensive magic, his rapid physical development was an undeniable reality.
Shiro maintained a strict regimen of Sun Breathing every single day, striving to achieve the level of Total Concentration: Constant.
Once he reached that milestone, his physical constitution would undergo another massive surge, inevitably resulting in structural changes–such as his height.
He had been in the Grey Fog Space for less than a day, yet the sheer influx of raw power had already forced his height upward by several centimeters.
There was no telling how long this physical adaptation would continue.
Madam Malkin looked down at Shiro’s current shirt, which was noticeably missing an entire sleeve, and spoke with a trace of sympathy, “Well, the young ones truly do sprout up overnight these days.
But don’t you worry—if your robes ever get too small, you can always bring them right back to me for alterations.
I guarantee you won’t see a single stitch.”
Clearly, she had mistaken Shiro for a child from an impoverished household.
In reality, Shiro’s actual living conditions prior to this morning had been far more destitute than she could possibly imagine.
If he hadn’t crossed paths with a “generous soul” who practically threw gold at him, he would have been forced to emulate the Weasley family, getting by on secondhand wands and hand-me-down clothes.
Within about ten minutes, Madam Malkin neatly packaged the finished garments and handed the bag over to Shiro.
“Thank you very much,” Shiro said politely, settling the bill and transferring the robes into his trunk.
Stepping back outside the storefront, Shiro exhaled a sigh of relief as he dumped the heavy assortment of bags and parcels onto Carrefour, who had just returned from his successful bank run.
*No wonder those old pureblood aristocrats refuse to grant their house-elves freedom.
Having someone cater to your every need truly feels phenomenal,* Shiro thought, a relaxed smile gracing his face as he reached into Carrefour’s robe pocket to pull out a handful of freshly minted Golden Galleons.
The only thing missing now was a reliable mount.
It was a pity Hogwarts didn’t permit first-year students to bring their own flying broomsticks; otherwise, Shiro could have instantly transformed into a high-flying speed demon.
Not that it mattered strictly for survival–since he could already fly using his own abilities, he had zero risk of tumbling off a broom and plunging to his death.
[LanLi: Flying Sword?
Xianxia?
Wuxia?]
*Perhaps I can pick out a pet capable of carrying a rider,* he considered.
A dragon rider sounded incredibly alluring, even if the dragons of this universe were shockingly underwhelming–essentially functioning as oversized lizards capable of breathing a bit of fire.
Shiro immediately directed Carrefour to guide him toward a shop that dealt in magical creatures: The Magical Menagerie.
Located right adjacent to Gringotts, the shop wasn’t particularly massive, but the sheer variety of animals crammed inside was staggering.
There were tortoises with shells resembling spiral incense coils, tiny cream-colored puffskeins, and owls with strange, antenna-like feathers protruding from their brows.
A few magical creatures possessing distinct supernatural abilities were safely secured inside heavy iron cages to prevent them from escaping or taking a chunk out of the clientele.
The shopkeeper, wearing a pair of thick spectacles, was currently struggling to wrestle a massive, plump ginger cat back into a cage.
The feline was so remarkably round that only half of its body fit through the door, leaving its backside completely stranded outside.
“Jerry, you desperately need a diet.
At this rate, absolutely no one is going to want to buy you,” the young witch sighed, pushing her sliding glasses back up the bridge of her nose in exasperation.