"Hold your breath. It might hurt a little, but it'll be over soon." Without waiting for Wayne to answer, McGonagall Apparated.
With a loud crack, their bodies spun and vanished as though they had been flushed down a toilet.
Wayne felt the world spin around him. By the time his blurred vision cleared, the two of them had arrived in a narrow alley.
"Apparition," McGonagall explained. "It's one of the ways wizards travel.
It's generally used for relatively short distances.
"The first time is unpleasant, but it gets much better afterward. Are you all right, Mr. Wayne?"
"I'm fine. Just a little dizzy."
Wayne recovered quickly and rubbed his aching temples.
After staying up all night and then going through that, he was already starting to feel sleepy.
Led by McGonagall, the two arrived at the entrance of a pub.
Its door was terribly dilapidated, forming a stark contrast with the record shop and bookstore beside it.
Passersby did not notice the pub at all. Or rather, they had no idea there was even a pub here.
When the two entered and everyone got a clear look at McGonagall's face,
the previously noisy pub instantly fell much quieter. Quite a few wizards even stood up instinctively, looking nervous enough to make Wayne want to laugh.
Most wizards in England had graduated from Hogwarts, and the wizards here had once been Professor McGonagall's students.
Seeing their former teacher now reminded them of the terror of being ruled by Professor McGonagall back then. They were like mice spotting a cat. "Professor McGonagall."
Tom the bartender greeted her with a smile. "Oh, what a handsome little wizard. Is he one of this year's new students?"
Wayne smiled shyly.
Professor McGonagall nodded. "That's right. I'm taking him to buy textbooks and supplies. By the way, Tom, I remember your child is going to Hogwarts this year too, isn't she?"
"Of course." Tom brightened immediately at the mention of it. "Hannah has been waiting for this day for ages, though she'll most likely be a Hufflepuff student."
McGonagall smiled as well. "If the Avery family ever produced a Gryffindor, it would definitely make the front page of The Daily Prophet."
Quite a few people laughed along.
The Avery family was also one of the Twenty-Eight Purebloods. Every member of their family had come from Hufflepuff, without exception, for centuries.
After exchanging a few pleasantries, McGonagall led Wayne past the bar counter into a small walled courtyard. Other than a rubbish bin and some weeds, there was nothing there.
"Three up, then two across," McGonagall muttered, tapping her wand against a brick that was visibly more recessed than the others.
She tapped it lightly three times in total.
The brick began to tremble rapidly. Small holes appeared in it, growing larger and larger until a winding cobblestone path emerged.
"Remember this brick and my movements, Mr. Lawrence. Then you'll be able to come to Diagon Alley by yourself in the future."
Wayne asked quietly, "Professor McGonagall, what if—I mean, what if the rubbish bin gets moved? Or replaced with a larger or smaller one?"
McGonagall's mouth twitched as she stared at Wayne in disbelief. That what if made her nervous.
"Mr. Lawrence, there were once two little wizards who had the same idea as you. They moved the rubbish bin to the other side."
At this point, Professor McGonagall pressed her lips together, and her expression darkened. "Hogwarts received a complaint, and their House was deducted... fifty points because of it."
"After that, the rubbish bin was placed under a Permanent Bonding Charm. It cannot be moved or replaced."
Wayne wisely chose not to ask which House those two genius little wizards had belonged to.
Judging from Professor McGonagall's expression, though, he had a pretty good idea. Following behind the witch, Wayne stepped through the archway and onto the cobblestone path. The CBD of Britain's Wizarding World unfolded before his eyes.
Countless shops lined both sides of the long cobblestone street. Many signs hung crookedly above their doors, while wizards crowded the road. People kept appearing and vanishing with loud popping cracks.
In the distance, a snow-white building divided Diagon Alley into two branching paths. "We'll exchange money first, then buy a wand."
Wayne's eyes never stopped moving as they traveled, darting from one shop to another. McGonagall had seen this countless times, but she still could not help smiling.
Watching Wayne hurry eagerly into Gringotts, McGonagall remembered the question he had just asked.
She had a feeling that this little fellow was not nearly as obedient as he looked.
Compared with the somewhat shabby shops elsewhere in Diagon Alley, Gringotts was undoubtedly the most eye-catching building around.
A pristine white building, gleaming bronze doors, and two Goblins standing outside in crimson uniforms trimmed with gold.
With such pomp, it truly deserved to be called the Wizarding World's only officially designated bank.
Still, wizards were rather baffling. They had actually handed control of their financial lifeline to outsiders.
Wayne remembered that Goblins in history had never been particularly well-behaved. Greedy and despicable, they had launched more than one rebellion and had even coveted Gryffindor's sword.
More than a century ago, they had tried to use the power of Ancient Magic to cause trouble, only to be stopped by a fifth-year transfer student from Hogwarts.
But none of that was Wayne's concern yet.
If the sky fell, tall people would hold it up. When he became one of the tall people someday, if the Goblins caused trouble again, he would crush them with one finger.
After entering the first door, McGonagall and Wayne found a second door before them, engraved with a warning for anyone with ill intentions.
Wayne did not even look at it before ignoring it and entering the marble hall. Around a hundred Goblins sat on high stools behind the counters. Some weighed coins on brass scales, while others examined gems and recorded entries in ledgers.
Countless doors lined the hall, each leading somewhere different. McGonagall brought Wayne to a counter on the far right.
"This is a new student enrolling this year. He needs to exchange for Galleons."
McGonagall was not particularly friendly toward the Goblin, urging him impatiently. The Goblin behind the counter did not care and replied without looking up.
"Each little wizard has an annual exchange allowance of seventy Galleons. The rate is one to 5.75. How much do you want to exchange?"
"Only that much? What can it possibly buy?" Wayne frowned.
"It's actually enough." McGonagall lowered her voice. "After buying all your necessities, you'll still have ten Galleons left as spending money each year."
Thinking Wayne did not understand Wizarding World currency or purchasing power, McGonagall explained further.
"One Galleon equals seventeen Sickles, and one Sickle equals twenty-nine Knuts." Hearing that absurd prime-number exchange rate, Wayne was not too surprised. Britain had a long tradition of such nonsense.
Before 1971, one pound equaled twelve shillings, and one shilling equaled twenty pence. People who were bad at maths were often left dizzy by those complicated exchange rates.
"Fine. Seventy it is." Wayne stopped dwelling on it. He took eight fifty-pound notes from his wallet, placed them on the tray, then added a five-pound note.
The Goblin took them, glanced at them, and crudely stuffed them into a drawer before pulling out a small cloth bag and passing it through the window.
Only after Wayne had put away the money did McGonagall say, "All right. Now let's go buy your wand and the rest of your supplies."
"Er, Professor McGonagall, I know you're in a hurry, but don't be in such a hurry." Seeing that Wayne had no intention of leaving the counter, the Goblin frowned. "You've already exchanged your quota for this year. What else do you need?"
"If you want to open a vault, you don't have enough assets. You can only apply for one once you have more than five hundred Galleons."
Wayne took off his backpack and pulled the zipper open slightly, revealing a glimmer of gold.
"Are you sure you want to discuss this out here?"
The Goblin's eyes widened. With eighty years of working 996 shifts at Gringotts, he knew from that alluring gleam that it had to be gold!
His indifferent attitude instantly turned enthusiastic. He jumped straight out from behind the counter and bowed as he ushered Wayne and McGonagall into a private room.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Wayne poured several gold bars onto the table. The Goblin's breathing grew heavy, and even Professor McGonagall's eyes widened.
No wonder she had thought Wayne's backpack seemed heavy. It had been full of gold!
Unlike Muggle currency, gold was hard currency in the Wizarding World. Whether it was used to mint Galleons or as material for Alchemy and Potions, it was extremely valuable.
Wasn't Nicolas Flamel famous because the Philosopher's Stone he created could not only grant immortality, but also turn stone into gold?
Wayne had prepared for both possibilities. If pounds could be exchanged for Galleons without limits, the twenty thousand pounds he had brought could become four thousand Galleons. If not, he would simply smash people with gold.
After some haggling, the Goblin bought Wayne's gold bars for five thousand Galleons.
Wayne could not possibly carry that many Galleons with him, so he opened a vault at Gringotts and deposited forty-eight hundred Galleons.
He kept only two hundred Galleons, along with the seventy he had just exchanged, as spending money. Once the transaction was complete, the Goblin's expression was not very pleasant.
"Mr. Lawrence, you are a natural financier. Perhaps you could come work at Gringotts after graduation."
He had originally wanted to make a fortune off Wayne's ignorance of the market.
But this little wizard was far too shrewd, and with McGonagall helping at his side, there was barely any profit in the deal.
"If I get the chance, I'll come." Wayne beamed. Working at Gringotts would be fine, but he wanted to be the bank president! Only after they left Gringotts did Professor McGonagall sigh.
"Bringing gold to Gringotts... Mr. Lawrence, you're the first little wizard I've ever met who has done that."
"My family just has a little money. It's nothing worth mentioning," Wayne said modestly. Not counting the money he had received from the system lottery,
as a genuine old London aristocrat born under the Union Jack, the Lawrence family's inheritance was an astronomical sum.
Even now, sixty percent of London's real estate was controlled by the royal family and the aristocracy, bringing them substantial rent every year.
Though newspapers kept talking about the decline of the nobility, the age of democracy, and opportunities everywhere,
how could centuries of accumulated wealth be so easily surpassed by ten years of studying? Oh, except for Ding Zhen. He did not even need to study.
Next came the purchase of weapons. No, wands.
Led by McGonagall, the two made their way through Diagon Alley and soon reached their destination.
If Gringotts was the most luxurious building in all of Diagon Alley, then Ollivanders Wand Shop was definitely among the three most run-down shops in the alley.
The dirt on its windows had hardened into grime, making it impossible to see inside. A crooked wooden sign hung above the entrance.
Ollivander; makers of fine wands since 382 BC. Seeing the words on it, Wayne curled his lips skeptically.
More than three hundred years before Christ, this land was not yet Anglo-Saxon territory. Even the Roman legions had not arrived.
The concept of Britain did not even exist back then. Celtic tribes were everywhere. What wand shop could he possibly have opened?
Still, as Britain's only arms dealer,
Ollivander probably did not need to exaggerate his history just to make himself look more impressive, did he? Seeing Wayne hesitate, McGonagall assumed he had been frightened by the battle-damaged decor. She stepped forward to push open the wooden door and reassured him.
"Ollivander is merely... somewhat careless about appearances. But his wandmaking skills are absolutely master-level. Bang!"
McGonagall had not even finished speaking. Perhaps because she was distracted while explaining things to Wayne, she used slightly too much force, and the entire door of the wand shop toppled over.
Great clouds of dust billowed up. Even several chunks of hardened grime fell from the windows, shattering into dust on the ground.
Wayne hurriedly raised his backpack in front of himself to avoid getting covered in dust.
"Professor, are you all right? Pfft! Sorry, I didn't mean to." Only after the dust settled somewhat did Wayne lower the bag. Seeing McGonagall's emerald green robes turned light grey, he could not hold back his laughter.
Laughing at a professor to her face, points +10.
Damn it, stupid system.
Was that really mockery? That was sympathy, all right?
Wayne grumbled inwardly. McGonagall's expression darkened considerably, but an aged voice broke the awkward silence.
"Didn't the door say to open it gently? Why did you—Minerva, it's you."
An elderly man with white hair and beard poked his head out from behind the shelves.
He started with a rebuke, but the moment he recognized Professor McGonagall, a smile immediately appeared on his face.
His speed at changing expressions was truly unmatched.
"Garrick, your shop really ought to be renovated."
Before you continue