The moment Dudley stepped into the Leaky Cauldron, it was as though he'd crossed into an entirely different world.
Unlike the vibrant, bustling streets of London outside, the pub was dim, cramped, and heavy with stale air, as if it hadn't been aired out in decades. The murky atmosphere clung to the senses, steeped in the scent of old wood and faint traces of smoke.
Dudley's eyes swept the room, taking in the eclectic scene. In one corner, a cluster of elderly witches sat huddled together, sipping tiny glasses of sherry. One puffed on a long, gnarled pipe, wisps of smoke curling around her weathered face. Near the bar, a man in a tattered top hat chatted with the innkeeper, a nearly bald man whose wrinkled face resembled a shriveled walnut.
Amid these seemingly ordinary sights, Dudley's gaze caught on moments of unmistakable magic. A waiter flicked his right hand, and a stack of chairs obediently lifted themselves, neatly arranging atop the tables. Nearby, a young wizard read a book, his finger lazily directing a spoon to stir his coffee in endless circles, the cup untouched.
Incredible magic, Dudley thought, his fascination growing. Through his spiritual consciousness, he sensed energy pulsing deep within these wizards' souls. Those casting simple spells radiated particularly vivid fluctuations, their bodies cloaked in shimmering halos of light. From this, Dudley deduced that magical power resembled spiritual energy, though their methods of wielding it were starkly different.
Beside him, Harry stood frozen, his eyes wide with awe. Though he'd known magic existed, seeing it firsthand was a revelation, far more vivid than any abstract understanding.
"Oh, my God!" Vernon and Petunia, trailing behind Dudley, gasped in unison as they took in the pub's interior. Their startled cries echoed, drawing every eye in the Leaky Cauldron toward them.
"More Muggles," someone muttered nearby. "Must be bringing a Hogwarts first-year to shop."
The wizards and witches seemed unfazed, accustomed to such scenes. Each year, before Hogwarts' term began, Muggle-born students and their bewildered parents would stumble into the Leaky Cauldron to purchase school supplies, their first encounters with magic often met with shock or disbelief.
The innkeeper, Tom, glanced at Vernon's group before his eyes settled on Hagrid. A warm smile spread across his face as he lifted a glass. "The usual, Hagrid?"
"Not today, Tom. I'm on Hogwarts business," Hagrid replied, his massive hand landing on Harry's shoulder with such force that Harry nearly buckled. "Taking Harry here to get his first-year supplies."
Hagrid's booming voice carried through the pub, and in an instant, the chatter and clinking of glasses fell silent. Every head turned toward Hagrid—or, more precisely, toward the scrawny boy beside him.
"Merlin's beard!" Tom exclaimed, peering at Harry. "This is—Harry Potter!"
"Oh, heavens!" Tom scrambled from behind the bar, rushing to Harry and seizing his hand with fervor. "Mr. Harry Potter, what an honor! Welcome back, lad—welcome home!"
The Leaky Cauldron erupted into chaos. Wizards and witches surged forward, eager to shake Harry's hand or catch a glimpse of the famous boy. Harry, overwhelmed, managed only dazed nods, utterly clueless about the fervor surrounding him.
"This kid's that famous?" Vernon muttered, his jaw slack with disbelief.
Petunia, equally stunned, hadn't anticipated Harry's towering reputation in the wizarding world. It seemed every soul in the pub knew his name. Fear crept into their expressions as they recalled how they'd treated Harry over the years. If he chose to retaliate, what could they do?
"No need to worry," Dudley said, observing the scene with keen interest. "Harry wouldn't do that." Harry's prominence in the wizarding world exceeded even Dudley's expectations, sparking fresh curiosity about the Dark Lord's terror all those years ago.
"Darling, maybe we should reconsider this magic business," Vernon whispered to Petunia, his face grim.
"Dad, we're already here," Dudley countered calmly. "How can we back out now? Besides, if Harry ever did want to settle scores, how could I protect you without learning magic?"
Petunia nodded vigorously. "Dudley's right. With our son's talent, he'll surely shine in the wizarding world. He'll outdo that Potter boy in no time," she declared, her voice firm with conviction.
"Hmph." Hagrid, overhearing Petunia, shot her a sidelong glance and snorted derisively.
"Beggin' your pardon," a nearby wizard interjected, his tone sharp, "but Harry hasn't even started at Hogwarts yet, and he's already bound to be the most talented first-year there!"
Other wizards who'd caught Petunia's words glowered at her. To them, comparing a Muggle-born child to the legendary Harry Potter was laughable, an insult to the Boy Who Lived. Vernon and Petunia clamped their mouths shut, cowed into silence, not daring to disparage Harry further.
"Pity you arrived late," Tom said to Hagrid with a sigh. "Harry could've met his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
"Quirrell was here?" Hagrid asked, surprised.
"Aye, had a drink this morning, then left," Tom replied.
"Well, Harry'll meet him soon enough at Hogwarts," Hagrid said with a shrug. "Right, we'd best be off." He raised his voice, gesturing for Harry to bid farewell to the crowd.
"Let's go," Dudley said, falling in step behind Hagrid and Harry as they moved toward the back of the pub.
"Dursley," Hagrid called over his shoulder to Vernon, "your son may not be a Muggle like you, but I'd wager he hasn't got much magical talent rattling around in that head of his."
"My son is the best!" Vernon snapped, his face flushing crimson. Were they not in a wizarding pub, he might have lunged at Hagrid for the slight.
"Hagrid, actually, Dudley's been…" Harry began, wanting to defend his cousin, who'd treated him kindly of late. But memories of Dudley's past bullying stopped the words in his throat, and he trailed off.
"Here we are," Hagrid announced, ignoring Harry's attempt. He led the group to a plain red brick wall at the pub's rear. From his coat pocket, he produced a tattered pink umbrella and tapped its tip against specific bricks in a deliberate pattern.
The bricks quivered, then shifted, grinding apart to form an archway wide enough for several people to pass through side by side.
"Welcome," Hagrid said with a grin, "to Diagon Alley."