Professor McGonagall Was Terrifyingly Formidable

"Professor, where is Diagon Alley?"

"Charing Cross Road in Westminster, London. There's the Wizarding world's most famous landmark there, The Leaky Cauldron. Once you pass through The Leaky Cauldron, you'll reach Diagon Alley."

Perhaps because she had answered the question so many times, Professor McGonagall replied without even needing to think.

"Charing Cross Road in Westminster, London. The Leaky Cauldron," Andrew repeated the location. "All right, Professor, I've got it down. So how do we get there?"

"By Knight Bus, Floo Network, Apparition, or Muggle transportation." Professor McGonagall looked at Andrew and nodded. "If we were in London, I would recommend Muggle transport. But this is rather far away, and there are no major Floo Network hubs nearby, so we'll Apparate there."

"Apparition? You mean—using a spell to move someone from one place to another?" Andrew did not forget his chatterbox persona. "That sounds like an incredibly impressive spell..."

"Most students try to learn it when they come of age, but it does require sufficient magical knowledge and magical power as a foundation." Professor McGonagall nodded. "Take hold of my arm, Taylor. Do not let go under any circumstances, or we'll have some trouble."

Andrew readily complied. He would never act presumptuously in the face of the unknown.

"Close your eyes, Taylor. Ready—one, two, three."

As the final word left her lips, intense darkness engulfed Andrew, followed by a severe crushing sensation. It was like diving into the sea, with pressure bearing down on him from every direction.

But the discomfort soon faded. Professor McGonagall's voice quickly reached him. "All right, you may open your eyes now, Mr. Taylor. A very successful Apparition."

Even amid that powerful discomfort, Andrew could still tell that Professor McGonagall's voice was circling around him, as though she were inspecting something.

"Is something wrong, Professor?"

"No, everything is intact. There is nothing to worry about, Mr. Taylor." Professor McGonagall's tone was extremely certain. "I was merely conducting a routine check for splinching. It is a problem that can easily occur if you fail to hold on tightly."

"One of the consequences of improperly using magic, just as you said at the beginning?"

"Exactly, Taylor." Professor McGonagall nodded. "But now you can turn your attention elsewhere. This is The Leaky Cauldron."

He had long heard of it.

The surname McGonagall, without the title of professor, was hardly enough to make one think of the Wizarding world. But The Leaky Cauldron was different.

Andrew turned his gaze toward the bar before him—or rather, the tavern. Compared with the bookstore and record shop next door, it truly lived up to its name.

"A very suitable concealed entrance."

That was Andrew's assessment. "The people around it seem unable to notice it, and they're also ignoring our sudden appearance. Is that another kind of magic?"

"More than one. This tavern and the land in front of it are protected by most of the concealment spells available. But we need to enter quickly, or we may interfere with others coming in." Professor McGonagall nodded, then changed her mind again.

His powers of observation and reasoning were both up to standard, and he had self-restraint. Compared with that, those minor issues were nothing.

They quickly entered the tavern.

Andrew noticed that when the people inside realized Professor McGonagall had entered, the temperature in the tavern seemed to drop by at least ten degrees—perhaps more.

The boisterous shouting over drinking contests, the conversations that nearly sounded like arguments, and the hearty laughter all vanished without a trace, as though someone had cast a spell forbidding sound in this place.

What was more, over half the drinkers seemed to have been hit by some strange curse. Their necks naturally bent downward, as if they could no longer bear the weight of their own heads.

In such an atmosphere, even Andrew, who wanted to maintain his persona, did not dare say anything. He simply followed obediently behind Professor McGonagall.

As Professor McGonagall greeted the tavern owner, Andrew noticed quite a few furtive glances sweep over him before quickly turning away—but the tavern remained so quiet that one could hear breathing.

In fact, it was not until Professor McGonagall led Andrew out through the back door that the sounds in the tavern gradually began to rise again. Yet even after Professor McGonagall brought Andrew before a wall, the noise behind them remained frighteningly low.

"Here." Professor McGonagall pointed at the wall. "Starting from this side, three up and two in. Tap it with your wand."

Andrew's wandering thoughts immediately focused. He memorized the brick, then watched as Professor McGonagall lightly tapped her wand and the bricks began moving rapidly, quickly opening up a broad passage.

"This is Diagon Alley." As she spoke, Professor McGonagall handed Andrew a money bag—from a very delicate little handbag. Judging by its appearance, that shriveled money bag could hold four of those handbags. Clearly, this was another kind of magic.

"This is the school's dedicated fund: seventy Galleons, for purchasing books, a wand, school robes, and teaching supplies. After that, you'll receive thirty Galleons each year for additional books and teaching materials—you don't have quite enough money, so you'll probably have to buy some of your textbooks secondhand."

(According to Dobby's originally established wage of 10 Galleons per week, and with wands most likely subsidized by the Ministry of Magic, their price cannot serve as a benchmark. Exchange-rate issues are supplementary information outside the story, and since there is a patch tying the five Pounds Sterling-to-one-Galleon ratio to changes in the exchange rate, the ratio will not be set at five to one based on Britain's 1991 minimum hourly wage of 2.45 Pounds Sterling. Incidentally, doctors earned around 850 Pounds Sterling per week at the time, while dentists earned even more.)

"The gold coins in the bag are Galleons. Seventeen silver Sickles make one Galleon, and twenty-nine Knuts make one Sickle."

"The items you need to purchase are listed later in the letter." As she spoke, Professor McGonagall handed Andrew another letter. "Take a look first."

Andrew tucked the money bag beneath his left elbow and opened the letter with his right hand. He theoretically did not need to read the first page, but he still studied it seriously for a minute before turning to the list on the second page.

Books for every subject, school robes, a cauldron and ingredients for brewing potions—he noticed that there was such a class—a wand, and even a telescope.

"Excuse me, Professor." Thinking of how much professional books cost, Andrew asked with a pained expression, "Can Wizarding world currency be exchanged for ordinary currency?"

"Of course. We recruit suitable students from the Muggle world every year, but there is a yearly exchange limit for each person, and you must declare the source of your income to confirm that it was not illegally obtained. However, Muggle-born students are exempt from filing that declaration until graduation, though they require certification from the school. The current exchange rate is seven Pounds Sterling for one Galleon."

(Important things bear repeating: the original interview clearly stated that the exchange rate fluctuates...)