Is There a Blacksmith Here?

"Mr. Dumbledore... is he some kind of relative of mine?" Harry froze. Was his parents' inheritance in that man's hands?

Hagrid didn't think anything was amiss. He proudly began to explain, "No, but he's the headmaster of Hogwarts, the greatest white wizard!"

Harry nodded.

He didn't doubt that great people existed in this world.

But he'd seen too much of people's deviousness, too much good mixed with evil. He hadn't even met Mr. Dumbledore, so it was hard to set his suspicions aside.

Especially when his parents' inheritance was involved.

Money was hard to come by!

After all that hard work, a few contracts from the estates weren't even enough to buy a silver sword.

"So when are we going to get my parents' inheritance?" Harry asked. Realizing that sounded a little inappropriate, he hurriedly corrected himself. "I mean, when are we going to buy all this stuff?"

Hagrid glanced outside. "It's getting late. Tomorrow."

"You grew up with Muggles, so you probably don't know much about the wizarding world. Let me tell you all about it."

He was a... demi-human with a strong desire to talk.

At least he was a lot better than a troll with a big tongue.

Hagrid told Harry all sorts of things.

About how exceptional his parents had been, and how great Dumbledore was—he'd been expelled in his third year, and the only reason he'd been allowed to stay at Hogwarts was thanks to Dumbledore.

He also told him that Harry was a famous hero in the wizarding world: the Boy Who Lived, the savior.

The kind of character who belonged in a knightly tale.

Harry also learned one fact.

This world...

Wizards had almost no contact with Muggles—the ordinary people, as wizards called them. They even used different currencies.

According to Hagrid, this was to protect the Muggles.

But Harry found it rather saddening.

He thought of the sorcerers persecuted by the kingdoms and the Eternal Fire—if there were no more Conjunctions of the Spheres, and monsters and evil spirits were gradually wiped out...

Then the Witchers and sorcerers would probably end up like the wizards here, hiding in society's shadows as quietly as possible.

Oh, no...

The Witchers probably wouldn't last that long.

Without monsters, people probably wouldn't be willing to undergo those cruel, painful mutations.

The next day.

Harry got up early and ran five laps around the entire block. A Witcher's body was always his most important weapon. When he came back, he ate two sausages—the kind Hagrid had brought. Each one was almost as thick as his forearm. Milk was a must, too.

After he'd finished all that, Hagrid woke up in the living room, bleary-eyed.

After washing up, he took Harry to Diagon Alley.

Just as Hagrid had said, Harry really was famous in the wizarding world—he'd never been treated with such warmth in his life.

People kept hurrying over, hoping to shake his hand, but Harry didn't accept their invitations. Witchers had never been the sociable sort.

Once they'd dealt with all the greetings,

Hagrid led him into a small courtyard, explaining as he went, "From here, count up three bricks from the dustbin, then two across—"

"Once you've bought your wand, tap this brick three times."

"Harry, stand back a bit."

He took out his umbrella and tapped the brick three times.

The bricks shuddered, then quickly slid aside, opening up a broad archway that led to a cobbled lane.

An illusion?

No...

This wasn't like the kind of illusion sorcerers used.

Was it some kind of Transfiguration?

"Welcome to Diagon Alley." Hagrid raised an arm and led Harry inside. "Did you bring your letter?"

Harry nodded.

"We need to go to Gringotts first. It's the wizards' bank. Your parents left your inheritance there. We'll need to get the money before we can buy anything else."

Although wizards kept themselves apart from ordinary people,

Their world didn't have a particularly strong medieval feel. The streets were clean, and the shops were quirky without feeling cramped. All kinds of strange and unusual things appeared before Harry's eyes.

Flying brooms, pets darting through the air.

What caught his eye most were the ingredients—asphodel root powder, daisy roots, mandrake stems...

And some ingredients he'd never heard of, whose names alone made his heart pound—dragon liver, dragon blood, Unicorn Hair, Sound-Deadening Bird feathers...

What kind of Potions could you brew with them? Could you make Blade Oil?

It really made him curious.

Gringotts was the grandest building in Diagon Alley. Harry saw goblins for the first time—they looked a lot like the gnomes in the Witcher world. He'd never met one in person, but he'd seen pictures.

He got a taste of just how crazy the wizarding world's transportation could be.

It was hard to imagine that something so dizzyingly fast could be a form of transportation—more thrilling than being snatched up by a Griffin and doing sit-ups in the sky.

And he got to see his parents' inheritance.

A pile of gold, along with a small mountain of silver and copper coins.

Unlike Hagrid, who looked drained and listless, Harry was a little excited, even though he had no idea how much the currency could buy.

But...

An ounce of dragon liver cost only seventeen Sickles.

Dragon materials, even from dragon-like creatures, couldn't possibly be cheap. There was more than enough money here to have a pair of swords made.

He swept a hundred Galleons into his pouch, along with a few loose Sickles and Knuts, then strode out of Gringotts, head held high.

He'd never been this rich in his entire life.

"Harry, I'm afraid we'll have to get your uniform first." Hagrid pointed to a shop on the street nearby, with a shining sign that read "Madam Malkin's Robes." "I need to go have a drink at the Leaky Cauldron to wake myself up. That damn trolley was awful."

Harry nodded. "Of course."

"I'll wait for you in the shop."

Hagrid breathed a sigh of relief and left as if fleeing for his life.

Harry pushed the door open and went in alone. A short, plump, but charmingly warm-hearted witch came to greet him. "A new Hogwarts student? Here to buy a uniform?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, Madam."

"Then stand right here. I'll take your measurements." Madam Malkin pointed to a footstool. When Harry stepped onto it, she flicked her wand, and a measuring tape slithered up like a snake and began circling him.

"Would you like a larger size?" Madam Malkin was very friendly. "You young wizards grow so fast."

"Thank you, Madam. I think that's probably a good idea." Harry nodded. "There's one more thing I'd like to ask you about. Do you know if there's a blacksmith in Diagon Alley?"

"A blacksmith?" Madam Malkin looked up in surprise. "Why do you ask?"

Harry answered directly. "I want to have two swords made."

"Swords?" Madam Malkin paused, then giggled. "Hoping to get into Gryffindor? A sword in one hand, a wand in the other?"

"Unfortunately, there aren't any blacksmiths in Diagon Alley. You could ask your parents to use Transfiguration to make you a pair."

"Of course, I'd much rather you learn to make them with Transfiguration yourself."

"The head of Gryffindor is a famous Transfiguration master, and so is Mr. Dumbledore. He was in Gryffindor House, too."

"Come to think of it..."

"It seems all you Gryffindors are good at Transfiguration."

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

Did Gryffindor mean the Transfiguration faction?

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