"Professor, where is Diagon Alley?"
"In London, Charing Cross Road in Westminster. There's a place there called the Leaky Cauldron — the most famous landmark of the wizarding world. Once you pass through the Leaky Cauldron, you'll arrive at Diagon Alley."
Professor McGonagall answered without even thinking — likely a question she had answered countless times.
"London, Charing Cross Road, the Leaky Cauldron," Andrew repeated the address. "Alright, Professor, I've got it. So how are we getting there?"
"The Knight Bus, Floo Network, Apparition, or Muggle transportation," Professor McGonagall nodded at Andrew. "If we were in London, I'd suggest using Muggle transport. But since we're far out and there's no major Floo Network node nearby, we'll Apparate."
"Apparate? You mean — using a spell to move someone from one place to another?" Andrew didn't forget to keep up his chatterbox persona. "That sounds like an incredible spell…"
"Most students try to learn it after they come of age. But yes, it requires a solid foundation in magical knowledge and power," McGonagall nodded. "Grab my arm, Taylor, and don't let go under any circumstances — or we'll have a problem."
Andrew obeyed without hesitation. He wasn't foolish enough to act on his own when facing the unknown.
"Close your eyes, Taylor. Ready — one, two, three."
With the final word, an overwhelming darkness enveloped Andrew, followed by a crushing pressure — like he was diving into deep ocean water, with force coming at him from every direction.
But the discomfort quickly faded. McGonagall's voice came promptly, "Alright, you can open your eyes now, Mr. Taylor. That was an excellent Apparition experience."
Even in that intense discomfort, Andrew could tell that McGonagall's voice was circling him — as if inspecting something.
"Is something wrong, Professor?"
"No, everything's fine. Nothing to worry about, Mr. Taylor," she said firmly. "I was just doing a routine check for Splinching — it's a common issue if you don't hold on tightly."
"Just like you said — one of the consequences of improper magic use?"
"Exactly, Taylor," McGonagall nodded. "Now, focus on what's ahead. This is the Leaky Cauldron."
Long heard, now seen.
The name McGonagall didn't immediately bring "magic" to mind without the "Professor" title, but the Leaky Cauldron? That was another story.
Andrew turned his gaze to the pub — or rather, the tavern. Compared to the bookstore and record shop on either side, it lived up to its name.
"Perfect for a hidden entrance," Andrew commented. "People around don't seem to notice it — or us suddenly appearing. Is this another kind of magic?"
"More than one kind, in fact. The tavern and the land in front of it are protected by multiple concealment charms. But we need to head in quickly or we'll interfere with others entering." McGonagall nodded. She had changed her mind.
Keen observation, sharp reasoning, and good self-restraint. Those outweighed his earlier quirks.
They quickly entered the tavern.
Andrew noticed that the moment the patrons saw Professor McGonagall, the temperature in the bar seemed to drop at least ten degrees — maybe more.
The rowdy drinking, loud debates, and hearty laughter vanished completely, like someone had cast a silencing spell.
Even more strange, most of the patrons seemed to involuntarily bow their heads — as if their necks couldn't bear the weight anymore.
Under this atmosphere, even Andrew, trying to stay in character, dared not say a word. He followed quietly behind McGonagall.
While she greeted the bartender, Andrew noticed several glances thrown his way — quickly withdrawn — but the tavern remained quiet enough to hear a pin drop.
In fact, it wasn't until they exited through the back door that voices began to slowly rise again. But even when they reached the wall at the back, the area remained eerily silent.
"Here," Professor McGonagall pointed at the wall. "Three bricks up from the left, two inwards — tap with a wand."
That instantly snapped Andrew's wandering thoughts into focus. He memorized the bricks. As McGonagall tapped them, the bricks started to shift rapidly, opening into a wide passageway.
"This is Diagon Alley," she said, handing Andrew a money pouch — from a very tiny handbag. Judging by the way the flat pouch had held a much larger volume, this was clearly magical.
"This is the school fund — seventy Galleons to buy books, a wand, robes, and supplies. After that, you'll receive thirty Galleons a year for additional materials — though you'll probably have to buy some used books."
AN: According to canon, Dobby was paid 10 Galleons per week. Wands are likely subsidized by the Ministry. The exchange rate fluctuates, but for rough estimation, about 5 pounds = 1 Galleon. In 1991, the UK minimum wage was £2.45/hour; doctors earned ~£850/week, dentists even more.
"The coins in the bag are Galleons. Seventeen silver Sickles make one Galleon, and twenty-nine bronze Knuts make one Sickle."
"The list of required items is in this letter," she added, handing him another envelope. "Take a look."
Andrew tucked the pouch under his left arm and opened the letter with his right. The first page was mostly formalities, but he still read it carefully before flipping to the second page — the item list.
Course textbooks, robes, cauldrons and potion materials (he noted there was a potions class), a wand, even a telescope.
"Excuse me, Professor," Andrew began cautiously, calculating the costs of specialized books. "Can wizarding currency be exchanged with ordinary money?"
"Of course. We recruit suitable students from the Muggle world every year. However, there's a limit to how much one person can exchange annually. Income source must be declared to ensure legality — though Muggle-born students are exempt from this until graduation, with school certification."
"The current rate is seven pounds to one Galleon."
AN: As confirmed in interviews, the exchange rate is variable