Disclaimer: I don't own the story cover, the characters, the locations, or anything else. The credit goes to their respective owners
Chapter Two: Between Worlds
The letter in Harry's hands felt heavier than before, as though it held the weight of an entire new reality waiting to be uncovered. Even now, crouched under the low ceiling of his cupboard with the letter carefully tucked beneath his mattress, the words on the page seemed to pulse in his mind: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Witchcraft. Wizardry. Magic.
His heart pounded in his chest as the words echoed inside him, stirring something ancient, something powerful, deep within. Magic. Real magic. For years, Harry had suspected that he was different, though he had no name for it. Strange things happened around him, unexplainable things. The Dursleys had told him it was all his fault, but now… maybe it was something more.
The Dursleys, of course, would never believe it. If Uncle Vernon saw the letter, he would tear it to shreds, ranting about freakish nonsense. Harry would never be allowed to go to Hogwarts—not if the Dursleys had anything to say about it.
But Harry had a plan.
That night, after the Dursleys had gone to bed, Harry lay awake, his thoughts racing. He knew the Dursleys kept a stash of money hidden away, a small box inside Uncle Vernon's wardrobe. He had seen it plenty of times, but never thought about taking any—until now.
He needed to get to Diagon Alley—the magical shopping district mentioned in his letter—but that meant sneaking away and somehow finding his way to London. The thought was overwhelming, but the idea of staying at Privet Drive, never knowing what could have been, terrified him even more.
The decision was made.
The house was eerily quiet in the early hours of the morning. Harry's heart raced as he slipped silently down the hall toward Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's bedroom. He eased open the door, cringing at the slight creak, and tiptoed inside. The box was exactly where he expected—tucked on the shelf inside the wardrobe. Harry grabbed it with trembling hands and opened the lid. Inside, neat stacks of bills were nestled between old papers.
He didn't dare take too much—just enough to hopefully get him where he needed to go. Stuffing the notes into his pocket, Harry quickly shut the box and slipped back out of the room, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
At dawn, Harry stood outside the house, his heart hammering in his chest. He had done it—he had the money and the letter, and the Dursleys were still fast asleep, none the wiser. But now came the hard part.
The letter had mentioned Diagon Alley, but gave no instructions on how to find it. How was he supposed to get to a magical place if he didn't even know where to start?
Harry wandered down the quiet streets of Little Whinging, his mind racing. Maybe he could ask someone—someone who knew about magic. But how could he find them without giving himself away?
As he reached the bus stop on the corner, he saw an old woman standing there, waiting for the bus. She wore a strange, patched shawl and had a gnarled walking stick. Something about her seemed… different. Almost otherworldly.
Summoning all his courage, Harry approached her. "Excuse me," he said, his voice small but determined. "Do you know how to get to Diagon Alley?"
The woman turned toward him, her wrinkled face softening into a smile. Her sharp eyes twinkled as though she had been waiting for him to ask. "Ah, Diagon Alley, you say?" she replied in a slow, knowing voice. "Been a long time since I've heard someone ask for that."
Harry's heart leapt. "Do you know where it is?"
She nodded. "You'll be wanting the Leaky Cauldron, dear. A pub, hidden between Charing Cross Road and a bookshop. Only magical folk can see it. Get yourself to London and you'll find it."
"Thank you," Harry said, breathless with relief. He had a destination now.
Getting to London was surprisingly easy. Harry used part of the money he had taken from Uncle Vernon to buy a train ticket. As the countryside blurred by outside the train window, he clutched his letter tightly, feeling a mixture of excitement and fear. This is real, he kept reminding himself. I'm going to a school for wizards.
When the train pulled into London, Harry's nerves surged again. He had never been to a place this big, and the crowds were overwhelming. He wandered through the busy streets, searching for the hidden pub, feeling hopelessly lost.
Then, as if by instinct, his feet led him to a quiet, narrow street just off Charing Cross Road. And there it was—The Leaky Cauldron. It was a shabby little building, squeezed between two much more modern establishments. If he hadn't been looking for it, Harry might have missed it entirely.
He pushed open the creaky wooden door and stepped inside.
The interior of the pub was dark and crowded, filled with strange figures cloaked in long robes. The air smelled of old wood and pipe smoke. As Harry entered, several heads turned toward him, and the pub grew oddly quiet.
One of the men at the bar, a tall figure with wild white hair, squinted at Harry before his eyes widened in recognition. "Well, if it isn't young Harry Potter," he murmured in awe. "The Boy Who Lived."
The words sent a ripple of whispers through the room. Harry blinked, confused. "How do they know me?"
Before he could respond, the bartender—an older man with a kind face—hurried over. "Welcome to The Leaky Cauldron, Mr. Potter," he said warmly. "It's an honor to finally meet you."
Harry stared, his mind racing. "You… you know who I am?"
The man chuckled. "Of course! Everyone in our world knows Harry Potter. But you've got business to attend to, don't you? Off to Hogwarts?"
Harry nodded dumbly. "Yes, but… I don't know how to get my things. I don't even have a wand."
The bartender smiled, clearly unfazed. "No worries, lad. You'll need to head into Diagon Alley for that. I'll show you."
The bartender, Tom, led Harry to the back of the pub, where a high brick wall stood at the edge of a small courtyard. Tom tapped the bricks in a strange pattern with the tip of his wand, and Harry watched in astonishment as the wall shifted and rearranged itself, forming an archway into a bustling street beyond.
Diagon Alley.
The sight took Harry's breath away. It was like stepping into another world. The street was lined with tall, crooked buildings, their shop windows filled with strange and wondrous things—cauldrons, wands, broomsticks, and more. Witches and wizards bustled about, chatting excitedly and calling out to one another as they hurried from shop to shop.
Harry stared in awe, his feet moving before he even had time to think. The world around him was alive with magic, and for the first time in his life, he felt like he truly belonged.
But there was something else, too. Something deeper.
As Harry wandered through the cobbled streets, a strange feeling stirred inside him, the same one he had felt in his dreams—the sense of being pulled toward something. Something ancient, powerful, and familiar.
He didn't know it yet, but this was only the beginning. He would soon discover that his journey was far more complex than becoming a wizard. He was part of something much older than Hogwarts itself.
But for now, he had magic to discover, and a world to explore.
