Harry, dragging his luggage, passed through a wall, and when he opened his eyes again, he was already in the Muggle train station's main hall.
Above him hung the signs for Platforms Nine and Ten.
No one paid attention to Harry's sudden appearance.
Some early-departing young wizards were already leaving with their parents.
He saw a group of people with striking red hair—that was their shared trait. Harry spotted George and his three brothers. The two middle-aged adults must've been their parents. A girl with faint freckles on her face stole a glance at Harry and quickly turned away when she realized he had noticed.
Harry took a deep breath.
Then he stepped out of the bright, spacious station.
Bustling crowds, vibrant life, and streams of cars flowing endlessly.
Harry raised his hand to hail a yellow cab.
Once inside—
"Where to, lad?" the driver asked, glancing back at Harry's two large suitcases.
"I'm not running away from home," Harry said bluntly.
"What are some good hotels in London?"
The driver was quite helpful and began listing: "The Red Carnation Hotel, The Ham Yard Hotel, the Shangri-La, the InterContinental, The Green Hotel…"
After thinking it over, Harry decided on the Charlotte Street Hotel.
It was a five-star hotel with a prime location, great for tourists visiting London.
It was only a ten-minute walk from the famous British Museum, and less than four kilometers from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, just a few streets away.
Expensive—but very comfortable.
A few minutes later, Harry arrived.
The hotel's interior was beautifully decorated, quite luxurious.
Harry stepped through the revolving doors into a bright, spacious lobby.
The reception desk was so high that Harry's head didn't even reach over the counter, and the receptionist sitting behind it hadn't even noticed him.
He raised his hand and tapped the marble surface. Only then did they look down and notice him.
"Little guy, is there anything we can help you with?" one of the women stood up, smiling as she addressed Harry.
"A room," Harry replied succinctly.
"Do you have a reservation?"
"No."
She handed him a beautifully printed card listing the prices of the hotel's various suites.
Harry glanced at it. "I'll take a deluxe suite."
There was also a presidential suite available, but Harry wasn't the type to blow money unnecessarily. Booking a room with three bedrooms just for himself would've been pure waste.
Even so, the staff still gently reminded him, "The deluxe suite is quite expensive."
After all, Harry was just a small child staying alone at a fancy hotel—it didn't exactly seem normal.
"I have money," Harry said coolly.
The staff: "…"
Harry pulled out his ID from between his legs (his waistband, presumably), and paid the deposit.
"I want a sunny room facing the street."
"Certainly. Please wait a moment." The receptionist entered the info into an old-fashioned computer and looked for a room that met Harry's request.
She awkwardly called out, "Mr. Potter… your room is 305."
Harry accepted the shiny golden room key and walked away with his luggage.
Little Cutie, who had been rolling around on the floor, immediately jumped up and scampered after him.
Harry looked speechlessly at the five-star hotel's elevator—it was one of those old folding-door types that clattered loudly when closed.
Although it was bright and clean inside, it was still very outdated. In twenty years, even the most basic apartment buildings would have elevators far better than this.
But for this era, it was top of the line.
Suppressing his urge to complain, Harry stepped in.
The elevator shook slightly, then slowly began to rise.
He found his room on the third floor and went in.
The living room had a white carpet. The two bedrooms had wooden floors. The walls were covered in pale blue wallpaper. The room came with a full set of furniture: table and chairs, lamps, counters, a television, a radio, a wardrobe—everything one could need. Overall, it was simple and comfortable, a place where one could truly relax.
Harry walked around and checked the layout. He was very satisfied.
Even though it was the height of summer and the sun set late, it was already eight or nine in the evening. Harry didn't feel like going out.
This wasn't a maglev train—he'd just gotten off a bumpy ride. He felt sore and exhausted. All he wanted now was to collapse onto that big, luxurious bed and get some serious sleep.
He stripped down, too lazy even to shower, and dove into the bed.
Soon enough, Harry: "zzzzz…"
…
He didn't wake up until the sun was high in the sky.
It was such a good sleep—his mind felt crystal clear.
As soon as he opened his eyes, Harry's head felt sharp and focused.
He glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand—it was already 11 a.m.
He got up and walked to the window, yanking open the curtains with a whoosh.
Blinding sunlight poured in, flooding the room. Harry stood by the window, closed his eyes, and basked in it for a while.
Then, just as he was about to head into the bathroom for a shower, he remembered—he didn't have any clean clothes to change into. His old clothes were getting a bit tight.
Harry sighed. "If only I had someone to run errands for me."
With no choice, he got dressed, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and left the hotel.
After walking a few steps along the street, he spotted plenty of shops. He walked into one that looked upscale and sold branded clothes.
He browsed around a bit, then pointed to several outfits he liked. "This one, that one… and that one too. One of each."
Harry returned to the Charlotte Street Hotel with seven or eight shopping bags, took a shower, changed clothes, and put on a pair of stunning white sneakers.
Looking in the mirror, Harry couldn't help but feel a little jealous—damn, that guy in the mirror's good-looking.
But now he had a dilemma with his long hair. Back when he was younger and couldn't control his magic, his hair would grow wild no matter how often he cut it. Eventually, in frustration, he just let it grow.
It did look great—no question about that.
But it also brought some minor annoyances. At school, everyone was used to it, and there were plenty of other "special" kids, so his long hair didn't stand out much. But ever since he'd returned to London yesterday, he'd noticed how much attention it drew. The amount of people turning to look at him? Off the charts—250% return rate. And he planned to stay in the Muggle world for quite a while, so this was bound to keep happening.
But now that he could control his magic, he didn't have to worry about his hair growing back right after cutting it.
So Harry started seriously considering getting it cut.
Still… it was hard to let go.
That hair was the very source of his charm and flair.
Eventually, Harry figured—eh, whatever. He could always grow it back again.
…
So when he walked out of the barbershop, his eye-catching long hair was gone, replaced with a clean, sharp short haircut.
Harry rubbed his head uncomfortably. No wonder they say "long hair, short insight"—cutting it really did make his head feel cooler and clearer.
Now, dressed in his sporty outfit, Harry looked exactly like any other twelve-year-old Muggle boy.
But as he walked down the street, he still noticed plenty of people sneaking glances at him—and they were all women.
What the heck? Harry was baffled.
Was something still off?
After thinking it over, Harry finally figured it out—what made him different from other boys his age…
He was handsome.
So Harry straightened his back and puffed out his chest, confidence overflowing.
Go ahead, look all you want—you still can't have me.
…
And so, Harry arrived at the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron.
He stood outside, pondering an idea he'd had for a long time—and now was finally the time to act on it.
Though he didn't know if it would work.
Harry took one step forward—leaving the Muggle world behind.
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