Hermione, Engulfed

Chapter 3: Unusual Animals

It was official. Without too much fuss, Hermione had taken on the role of a future Hogwarts student. The first step was to take the train into London. The sky was a fuzzy gray color, with light peeking through at the edges. Hermione worried about the coming rain, but Mrs. Figg was unbothered. Mr. Shacklebolt was to meet them in Diagon Alley later in the day, as he had some kind of wizarding business to attend to first. Hermione didn't know much about what wizards and witches got up to in their day-to-day. She had never wanted to know before, as she had been determined to stay well away from all that scary nonsense, but today she found herself feeling curious. As she and her nan were making their way through a crowded London street, she ventured to ask.

"What exactly does Mr. Shacklebolt do for a job, nan? He seems to have an awful lot of free time, with how much time he spends at the house."

"That's confidential," Mrs. Figg answered, putting her hand on Hermione's back to steer her into the dingy doorway of an inn.

So much for that.

For eleven in the morning on a Wednesday, the inn was shockingly crowded. Despite the heat of the day, nearly every person in the place wore a cloak, and a few had even gone so far as to wear a pointed hat. The one exception to this that Hermione could see was the bartender, who, with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows and his two top buttons open, was sweating tremendously nonetheless. He gave a friendly greeting to both of them and didn't seem to register the oddity of a child being in his establishment.

"We don't really fit in, do we?" Hermione said quietly. She and Mrs. Figg were dressed in normal, everyday British attire. Well, Hermione was. She had never been one for skirts, so she had on a pair of jeans, a short-sleeved shirt, and sneakers. Mrs. Figg wore a long floral dress with a thick tweed jacket over top, and unseasonably furry boots. (Better than her usual carpet slippers). "Do you suppose they're thinking badly of us?"

Mrs. Figg matched Hermione's low tone and leaned in closer. "They can think anything and everything they want, but they won't know a single thing as long as they look unless they ask. And even then," Mrs. Figg winked, "we don't have to tell them the truth."

She led the way through the crowd, and Hermione found it easy, suddenly, to ignore the craning necks. They stepped through a back door. They were now in an enclosed space, with a brick wall standing squarely in front of them. Mrs. Figg pulled a stick out of the bag she had slung out of her shoulder. (It was a bulky bag, as Mr. Paws was stuffed inside. He was a clingy creature).

"You have a wand?" Hermione said in shock.

"My mother insisted on buying me one despite my not receiving a letter. In my hands it's about as useful as a bit of string, but you can use it to get us past this wall. Here." She pointed at a particular brick above a trash bin. "All you need to do is tap it."

Hermione did so, and the two of them stepped back and watched as the bricks folded smoothly back to create a wide archway. Stretching out in front of them now was a wide and winding cobbled street, packed with more interestingly-dressed people.

It was the best bit of magic Hermione had seen since Mr. Shacklebolt had zapped a large spider that had made its way onto the ceiling. There was an irrepressible bounce in her step as she walked for the first time into Diagon Alley.

After walking for less than a minute, Hermione had already smelled caramel, woodsmoke, something curiously acrid that made her wrinkle her nose, and the unmistakable and familiar smell of cats. Every shop sign was mysterious and intriguing, and Hermione couldn't decide if she'd rather visit the Magical Menagerie or Flourish and Blotts first. But Mrs. Figg had an agenda. She steered Hermione directly to a shop called "Ollivanders." The two of them looked through a dusty front window to see a group of young wizards and witches, all seeming to be about Hermione's age.