Chapter 7: The Diagon Alley Lead
December's breath cut through London like a blade, and Adam Wright had never been more grateful for the cold. It kept him sharp, focused, alive with purpose as he stood across from Charing Cross Road, staring at something that shouldn't exist.
The Leaky Cauldron.
Two months of tracking wizard sightings, following half-glimpsed robes through London's maze of streets, had led him here. To this dingy pub with its crooked sign and grimy windows, squeezed between a record shop and a bookstore like an afterthought. Muggles walked past without a glance, their eyes sliding away as if the building didn't exist.
But Adam could see it. His stolen knowledge let him pierce whatever veil kept it hidden from ordinary sight, and his heart hammered against his ribs with recognition. This was it. This was the entrance to everything he'd been denied.
"Thirty feet. That's all that separates me from the magical world."
He'd been watching for three hours, hidden in a coffee shop doorway with a newspaper he couldn't read through his excitement. Wizards and witches came and went with casual ease: a woman in emerald robes that shimmered like scales, a man carrying an owl cage that hooted softly, a family with an excited child clutching a wand box from Ollivanders.
Each figure that disappeared through that unremarkable door was another knife twist of longing. They belonged. They had the right to exist in both worlds, to walk through barriers as if they were made of mist instead of stone.
Adam folded his newspaper with careful precision and stepped into the street.
The Leaky Cauldron's door handle was tarnished brass, worn smooth by countless hands. It felt real beneath Adam's palm—solid, ordinary, inviting. Through the grimy window beside it, he could see the warm glow of firelight and the blurred shapes of patrons enjoying their evening drinks.
He pushed.
Nothing happened.
Adam pushed harder, throwing his shoulder against the wood. The door remained immovable, not locked but simply refusing to yield. It was like pushing against the concept of a door rather than the physical thing itself.
"No. No, not again."
Through the window, he glimpsed Tom the Barkeeper glance toward the entrance, frown with mild confusion, then return to polishing glasses. The man could sense something wrong but couldn't see its source. To him, Adam simply didn't exist.
Panic clawed at Adam's throat. He tried everything his desperate mind could conjure: "Alohomora!" whispered with all his concentration (the lock wasn't the problem), brute force applied until his muscles screamed (the door stood immovable as a mountain), even attempting to Apparate inside (he lacked the skill, and it wouldn't work anyway—the wards would prevent unauthorized entry).
Nothing. The magical world was rejecting him again, just as Platform Nine and Three-Quarters had rejected him months ago. Ancient wards recognized him as Muggle, as someone without permission to enter their sacred spaces.
Adam's legs gave out. He slumped to the cold pavement across the street, staring at the pub that contained everything he wanted and nothing he could touch. Tears of frustration froze on his cheeks before they could fall properly.
"I'm right here. I'm literally right here, and they still won't let me in."
The System interface flickered in his vision, offering comfort he didn't want: [Daily Mission Available: Cause Minor Chaos. Reward: 15 SP]. As if fifteen System Points could heal the wound of being rejected by an entire world.
Movement in his peripheral vision made Adam look up. Two figures in traveling cloaks had emerged from the Leaky Cauldron—wizards, obviously, from the way they carried themselves and the careful way they scanned the street. Their eyes found Adam almost immediately.
One of them frowned. "Odd. That boy's been staring at the Cauldron for over an hour."
"Muggles shouldn't be able to see it," the other replied. "Unless..."
They approached with the casual authority of law enforcement. Aurors, Adam realized with growing dread. Ministry officials who specialized in exactly this sort of problem.
"Boy," the first Auror called out, his voice carrying false warmth. "What are you looking at?"
Adam's mouth opened and closed like a fish pulled from water. This was his chance—his only chance—to explain everything. To tell them about the transmigration, the System, his desperate need to belong somewhere in the magical world.
"I know about the magical world!" he began desperately. "I need to—"
But the words that came out were: "I know about the PURPLE DANCING WORLD! I need to—BUY BANANA WANDS FROM SINGING TEAPOTS!"
The Aurors exchanged glances. The second one raised his wand partially, keeping it hidden from Muggle view but ready for action.
"Confundus charm malfunction?" the first suggested. "Possible Obliviate needed. The boy's mind seems scrambled."
"They're going to erase me. Again."
Adam ran.
He sprinted down Charing Cross Road like his life depended on it—which it probably did. Behind him, he heard the Aurors calling for him to stop, but their pursuit was halfhearted. To them, he was just a confused Muggle child, not worth serious effort.
But Adam knew better. He'd felt Dumbledore's mental violation, survived an Obliviate that should have left him an empty shell. He wouldn't let them try again.
His knowledge of London's maze-like streets served him well. He ducked through alleys that barely existed on maps, took shortcuts through buildings that connected to other buildings, used every trick Old Tom had taught him about staying invisible in a city that didn't care whether you lived or died.
Only when he was certain no one was following did Adam stop running. He collapsed in his current hideout—a storage room above a closed restaurant—and tried to process what had just happened.
The magical world wasn't just locked to him. It was actively dangerous for him to approach. Even getting close enough to touch their barriers brought Aurors down on his head, ready to scramble his brain until he forgot magic existed.
But there was an option. Something he'd been eyeing in the System Shop for weeks but hadn't been able to afford: False Wizarding ID - 1,000 SP. Official documentation that would fool the Ministry's systems, creating a magical identity from whole cloth.
Adam opened his Status screen: SP: 650. Not enough. But getting closer.
"Three hundred and fifty more points. Two weeks if I work every mission, maybe less if I take bigger risks."
He started planning immediately. Every SP would go toward the False ID. No impulse purchases, no safety net expenses, no matter how tempting the alternatives might be. When he approached the Leaky Cauldron again, he'd be ready.
The System chimed: [Daily Mission: Cause Minor Chaos. Reward: 15 SP].
Adam accepted and began planning small acts of magical mischief. Every point mattered now. Every mission brought him closer to a new identity, a new chance.
Next time he touched that door handle, it would recognize him as someone who belonged.
Even if that someone was a lie.
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