I don't own any of these characters. Really shouldn't have to say that. Can't imagine J.K. cruising fanfiction on a regular basis.

A tear in the dimensional fabric of the universe manifested itself in front of a small, run-down pub on a London city street. Three figures appeared, stepping through the green void and onto the pavement. Several passersby stopped and stared in shock as the portal shrunk and vanished.

"Wow, Rick, I've never been to England before," Morty said, watching in awe as a red double-decker bus rounded the corner and stopped to pick up passengers.

"Yeah, well, it's no*ought* really that impressive when you've seen countless planets and alternate dimensions," Rick replied, swigging from a flask he kept in his lab coat pocket. "How are you, Harry? Happy to be back?"

"Not particularly," the black-haired boy replied, glancing around nervously. Although he knew the likelihood of bumping into his aunt and uncle while here was slim, he couldn't help but feel paranoid. He turned and looked up at the sign of the bar they had portaled to. "The Leaky Cauldron?" He read, raising an eyebrow.

"Is this where we're supposed to go?" Morty asked.

Rick shrugged. "Dumbledick said this where Oregon Alley is located."

"It's Diagon Alley, Rick," Harry corrected.

Morty chuckled, "Wow, really? That's kinda funny, like a play on words, you know?"

Rick groaned. "Yeah, Morty, clearly we're dealing with some cleverclogs, here."

They pushed open the door and entered the musty pub. Inside a variety of eccentrically dressed characters too unimportant to the main story to be described more thoroughly sat at tables and stools, drinking tankards of grog or whatever the fuck it was they served. Rick walked up to the barman and whistled. "Give me a whiskey."

"We've only got firewhiskey," the barkeep, whose nametag said 'Tom', replied, dropping a scuzzy dishrag onto the countertop.

"Whatever, one of those."

Tom took out a glass and filled it halfway with liquid from a red bottle marked 'flammable'. Rick grabbed it and downed it in a flash. He smacked his lips and shrugged. "Not bad," he replied, before burping a fireball across the room. "Smokey."

"Are the kids yours?" Tom asked, motioning to Morty and Harry.

"The former, unfortunately, the latter implausibly," Rick said. "Harry, take Morty and go find this Alley place, buy your supplies, I'll see you in a bit. Yo, Barkeep! Which of those bottles behind you can get me fucked up the quickest?"

Harry shrugged and followed the barman's finger towards a door in the corner of the bar. Along the way, a small, turbaned man stopped them. "H-h-h-Hogwarts students by any ch-ch-chance?"

"Fuck off," Harry said, brushing past the stunned wizard and through the door.

They found themselves in a small alley, enclosed at one end by a high brick wall. "Wow, color me impressed," Harry said, glancing around. He walked to the wall and examined it closely. "Seems to be solid."

"Maybe there's a trick to get it open?" Morty suggested.

Harry noted that one of the bricks had several nicks on its surface, as though it had been struck many times by a small wooden object. He gently gave it a knock with his knuckle. Almost immediately, the bricks began to fold in on one another, creating an archway.

Before them ran a long cobblestoned street, lined with old brick and half-timbered buildings, their ground-level shops bustling with men, women and children in long cloaks.

"A real Dark Age vibe going on," Harry said, watching as a man walked past pulling a small wagon full of garbage. "I really hope they've heard of indoor plumbing."

They walked down the street, Morty occasionally stopping to peer in store windows excitedly. They lingered for a while outside a toy shop, Morty staring in wonder at a broomstick ("Wow, way to adhere to stereotype," Harry muttered), and Harry observing the numerous contraptions and mechanical toys that seemed to never need winding.

"How can they do that?" Harry asked, pointing to a tin bird that flew lazily in a cage, no strings or wires attached.

"Magic, I guess," Morty said.

"But how? It's defying the laws of physics!"

Morty shrugged, "So? Rick defies the laws of physics at least twice a week."

"But at least then there's some sort of convoluted explanation as to how he does it. This just breaks the rules without apologizing for it."

"Rick's never explained his work to me."

"It would take far too long to explain anything to you."

"You say that like I'm an idiot."

"You are, at least unfairly compared to me and Rick."

They walked on. In Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, Harry seemed to perk up, chemistry being a strong suit of his. After filling up several bags worth of ingredients, he was stymied at the cashier counter.

"What's this?" The cashier asked, holding up a British pound note.

"Money," Harry explained patiently, "People exchange it for goods and services, last I checked."

"We only take Galleons, Sickles and Knuts," the shopkeeper replied apologetically.

"Okaaayy," Harry replied, "And where do I go to exchange this?"

"Gringotts."

Exasperated, Harry and Morty left the shop. It wasn't hard to find Gringotts. It was hard to miss. The imposing, snow-white edifice building towered over the rest of the street.

"Whoever built this was compensating for something," Harry muttered.

His musing proved correct as they stepped inside. Morty's eyes boggled in surprise as a hideous little creature walked past them. Harry, unperturbed, approached the teller's booth and slammed a handful of pounds in front of the bemused Goblin.

"I'd like to convert this money into whatever it is you call currency here."

The goblin examined the greenbacks nonchalantly, tabulating the transfer rate in his head. "Yes, Mr…"

"Sanchez, nee Potter."

The goblin gave a squeak of surprise and asked for a moment to consult his supervisor. Harry turned to Morty. "So, are they supposed to be Jews?"

"What?" Morty replied, stuttering. "Jeez, Harry, I don't think you can generalize a whole race like that."

"That's not what I'm saying," Harry replied shortly, "I mean, look at them, they're short, long-nosed, love money, and seem to control the country's distribution of wealth. It seems like a really offensive characterization to me."

"Gee, Harry, I don't think you should read into it too much. I don't think there's an Anti-Semitic message being conveyed in this instance. It all seems circumstantial."

"I guess, over-analysis can sometimes lead to dark territory. That's like studying a children's book series and interpreting it as a work of Satanist propaganda."

Morty laughed. "Yeah, who'd be stupid enough to do that?"

"Christian stay-at-home moms."

They were interrupted by the appearance of the (and definitely not Anti-Semitic) goblin bank teller and his manager, whose gold-plated name tag read 'Griphook'. "Mr. Potter?" Griphook asked, leaning in to glance at the boy's scar. "I oversee your family account. If you are interested, I'd like to go over the contents of your trust fund with you."

Harry was interested. "A trust fund? Are we talking rich white kid summering in Cape Cod trust fund?"

The goblin smiled. "All that, with interest."

"Check me out, I'm Scrooge McDuck!" Harry shouted as he dove into a pile of galleons with childish glee.

Griphook sighed and glanced over at Morty. "You won't believe how often I have to hear that."