Chapter 12 - In Good Company
London, England, 2015
"Put these on."
Jack Sparrow took the pair of tinted glasses from Owen Harper's hand and squinted at them. They reflected his face back at him, perfectly mirrored. Owen slipped his own pair on and walked on, pushing his way through the busy street.
"No. They don't go with my attire."
"Your modern-day Long John Silver thing?" Owen retorted. "Put them on."
"What are we doing in..." Jack put them on. He stopped. "Jesus, mate, did you see..."
"Yes," Owen said, without moving his head. "I see it."
A building had erupted from pavement, squeezing itself into place between two neighbouring establishments. A wooden sign sprouted from the brickwork, and creaked in the city breeze.
"The Leaky Cauldron?" Jack read, slowly. Owen grabbed his arm.
"Don't look like you're surprised, don't look like you're new, don't look suspicious. Blend."
Jack pulled his arm back and sniffed, raising his head. He strode after Owen as they pushed their way into the tavern.
"Ahoy there, Skeletor. We still in London?"
Owen's eyebrows furrowed above the mirrored glasses.
"Skeletor?"
"The undead thing," Jack said, waving a hand. He looked around. A dwarfish figure pushed past his leg, grumbling. A woman picked at a wart on her nose, cackling slightly. She leered at Jack.
"I'm not undead," Owen hissed. "I'm just...technically not alive at the present moment. It's complicated. Don't draw attention to it."
They began to tread a path through the bustling tavern. A man in a pointed hat smoked a pipe, pensively. As Jack watched, he reached into the folds of the moth-eaten grey sack of rags he was wearing and drew out a small, dark brown frog, wriggling and kicking as he dangled it between greasy finger and thumb. He ate it, suddenly, biting down with small, rotting teeth. Jack winced.
They emerged, suddenly, into the crisp air of the outside. A small, empty back-alley, outside the tavern, that led onto a plain brick wall. Owen approached the brick wall with the air of a bomb disposal technician.
Jack looked from Owen to the tavern door behind them, and frowned. He breathed in.
"What in the name of the Mother Mary was that?"
Owen didn't look up. "The glasses let you see the things non-magical people usually can't."
Jack waved a hand. "Didn't quite explain anything there, mate."
"That was a wizarding bar."
"Ah," Jack nodded. That was enough. He'd seen stranger.
"Got it."
Owen stepped back. Jack noticed it and took a step back. Then the wall started shifting.
"Wizarding wall?"
"Yeah."
The bricks settled into place. Owen and Jack stepped out into the sunlight of a busy wizarding street.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Owen grinned, mirthlessly. "We get the Cloak and get out. I hate being here."