The next morning, as the first rays of sun touched the lush gardens of the Strange estate, Professor McGonagall was already standing at the front door. Stephen waited for her, frowning. He couldn't understand how this woman, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere yesterday, intended to transport them to this so-called "Diagon Alley." No car, no hint of teleportation, which he had read about in old science fiction novels. He had already prepared his notebook for observations, confident that he was about to witness another example of magical inefficiency.
McGonagall, dressed in her unchanging green robe and with her stern but familiar posture, simply stated:
"We'll be using the Floo Network, Mr. Strange. It's the quickest way."
Stephen stared at her.
"The Floo Network? You mean... through a fireplace? Forgive me, Professor, but I don't see any fireplace in the living room capable of accommodating two adults, let alone using it for transportation. And even if so, how does it work? Is it teleportation? Or space-time distortion? What's the principle of operation?"
McGonagall merely sighed. She took a small pouch from her robe pocket and extended it to Stephen.
"Take this, Mr. Strange. It's Floo powder. When I step into the fireplace, you'll follow me, throw this powder at your feet, and loudly, clearly pronounce: 'Diagon Alley!' Don't get it wrong."
Stephen took the powder, examining it critically. It smelled like ordinary chalk and looked completely unimpressive.
"Floo powder? And what compound is this? What's its chemical composition? And why does it allow travel? You must be joking. I'm not getting into some fireplace with this... chalk. I need explanations, not childish instructions!"
McGonagall seemed to be at her limit. Her patience, already not boundless, was wearing thin.
"Mr. Strange," her voice became even colder than usual. "Do you wish to go to Diagon Alley? This is the only way I am prepared to offer you right now. If you wish to travel by your own means, I can leave you here. I assure you, Hogwarts does not force anyone to attend."
Stephen pursed his lips. His eyes sharply scanned her face, trying to find signs of bluff. He knew she wasn't joking. This woman was stubborn, and, to his annoyance, she possessed real power, as proven by the cat. He couldn't miss such an opportunity.
"Fine," he ground out through clenched teeth. "But if I get dirty or break anything, you will be held responsible."
Stephen reluctantly approached the fireplace in the living room. It was large enough, but still looked quite ordinary. McGonagall went first, tossing a handful of Floo powder. Green flames immediately enveloped her, and she vanished with a soft "whoosh!"
Stephen, taking a deep breath and tightening his grip on the pouch of powder, stepped in after her. It was completely abnormal and illogical. But he had to know how it worked. He threw the powder at his feet, feeling a strange warmth, and loudly, as if addressing an audience, declared:
"DIAGON ALLEY!"
Green flames immediately engulfed him. He felt a strange sensation, as if his body was stretching and twisting, like he was passing through a very narrow tube. Bright colors swirled around him, and he heard a strange noise, like whistling wind and the hum of distant voices. It was unpleasant and disorienting.
A moment later, he tumbled out of another fireplace, staggering. He was almost knocked off his feet by a stout wizard with a trolley full of books.
"Watch it, young man!" the wizard grumbled.
Stephen had to exert effort to avoid falling. The air here was completely different: it smelled of dust, something sweet, and a little rotten. He looked around. He stood in the middle of a bustling street where chaos reigned. The street was narrow, crooked, and looked very old. Strange shops with bright signs lined both sides, and people in unusual clothes—robes, pointed hats—bustled about. Some carried strange objects resembling brooms or something even odder. The cacophony of voices, laughter, jingling coins, and strange sounds like someone's spells filled the air. There were so many people here. Too many people.
McGonagall stood beside him, looking utterly unfazed.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Mr. Strange," she said calmly. "Here you will find everything you need for your studies."
Stephen took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. He felt lost and irritated. This place was too disorganized and noisy.
"This is... dreadful. There are too many variables here. How can one possibly concentrate on anything? And how are we supposed to find what we need in this... bazaar? My list, Professor, consists of very precise items. I have no intention of wasting time searching and interacting inefficiently with this crowd."
McGonagall merely sighed, her lips tightening. She pulled a scroll from her pocket.
"First things first, Mr. Strange, we need to get your money. First stop—Gringotts."
Stephen frowned.
"Money? What money? And what is Gringotts? I have no currency here that would have any value in this... place. And I expected the school to provide me with everything necessary."
McGonagall turned and looked at him in a way that made Stephen involuntarily take a step back.
"Hogwarts provides education, Mr. Strange. The cost of supplies is your responsibility, as it is for all students. And Gringotts is the wizarding world's bank. You can exchange money there."
Stephen tried to remember. He had almost never seen his own money; all his expenses had always been handled by his trustees. He had always assumed he simply had an unlimited account.
"Money from my trustees? But I've never had cash. All my accounts... were always managed by them. I'm sure they've ensured I have funds wherever I am. But how is Gringotts connected to my banking system? Do they work with regular banks?"
McGonagall apparently decided that explanations were futile. She simply took his hand, which was completely unexpected and unpleasant for Stephen, and led him through the crowd.
"Just follow me, Mr. Strange."
Stephen had to clench his teeth. This place was a nightmare for him. The noise, the smells, the crowd, the touch of a stranger's hand... But he had to learn. He had to understand. This was a new phenomenon, and he had to decipher it.