Hali was brimming with curiosity about the magic of this world.
It was different from what she had known before—profoundly so. The extraordinary power permeating the air here was not twisted, corrupted, or steeped in madness. Instead, it felt harmonious, gentle, and complete, as if it were a natural law rather than a force forcibly seized.
Almost like something from a fairy tale.
Aside from the strength the Potion had bestowed upon her, Hali could sense another current flowing within her body. It was similar to spirituality, yet entirely different in nature. Subtle, warm, and responsive, it stirred whenever she focused her thoughts.
Or perhaps it would be more accurate to call it magic.
She silently wondered what other surprises Hogwarts might hold.
Her gaze shifted, and something outside caught her attention.
"Is that a motorcycle?"
The bulky machine parked nearby radiated a unique magical aura—crude yet powerful, wild but dependable. It stood out immediately, even among magical artifacts.
"Haha, yes!" Hagrid laughed heartily. "But not the kind Muggles—non-magical folk—talk about. It's a flying motorbike."
His excitement was obvious at first, but midway through his explanation, his voice faltered slightly. Hali sensed the subtle emotional shift immediately.
She chose not to pry.
Everyone had secrets, and she was in no position to demand answers.
Instead, she tilted her head and asked with genuine curiosity, "What kind of magic does it use?"
"It flies!" Hagrid said proudly.
Flying.
It was a simple word, yet filled with wonder.
In truth, Hali had never truly experienced flight before—not like this. As the motorbike lifted into the air, clouds drifted lazily beneath her feet, and the ground shrank until it became a distant blur. The wind brushed against her face, carrying the crisp scent of the open sky.
Above her was nothing but a vast expanse of blue.
Whenever Hali looked upward, she was certain of one thing: there was no malicious gaze lingering here, no hidden presence observing her from beyond the clouds. For the first time in a long while, she allowed her inborn curiosity to roam freely, unrestrained.
"How is it?" Hagrid asked, his voice raised slightly over the wind. "Amazing, right?"
Most of his attention remained fixed on the small girl seated behind him. Despite the protective magic woven into the bike, he couldn't help worrying that she might slip or lose her balance.
"Careful, Hali…"
When she stood up slightly to better feel the wind, the motorbike wobbled dangerously. Hagrid reached back instinctively, panic flashing across his face.
"It's fine, Hagrid," Hali replied calmly, offering him a reassuring smile.
Demoness Sequence 9—Assassin.
Her physique far surpassed that of an ordinary human. Simply standing to experience flight was far less thrilling than battling atop a storm-tossed deck amid crashing waves and roaring thunder.
Hagrid stared at her for a moment, then muttered under his breath, "All right… you're definitely a Gryffindor."
He had already said it more than once.
As they flew, he talked about Hogwarts and the Sorting Ceremony—the school was divided into four Houses, each with its own traditions and values.
Gryffindor.
Hufflepuff.
Ravenclaw.
Slytherin.
Whenever Hali asked about the specific criteria, Hagrid would shake his head mysteriously and say it was a secret, something she had to experience for herself. Still, from his constant chatter, she had already grasped the general idea.
Gryffindor—reckless brutes.
Hufflepuff—honest souls.
Ravenclaw—bookworms.
Slytherin—ambitionists.
According to Hagrid, her descriptions were crude stereotypes, but not entirely wrong.
"You'll have to find out for yourself," he said with a grin.
As their destination drew near, the motorbike began to descend. With a deafening roar, they landed beside what looked like an entirely ordinary street.
Hagrid dismounted first, then carefully took Hali's hand. She had already told him it wasn't necessary, but in his eyes, she was still a child in need of protection.
"We're here," he said.
He pointed toward a grimy little pub. Its paint was flaking, and the sign above the door read The Leaky Cauldron. Pedestrians passed by without sparing it a glance, as though it didn't exist at all.
Hagrid pushed open the creaking wooden door, and a curious smell washed over them—warm butter, fresh bread, and a faint hint of herbs.
The interior was dimly lit. Several robed figures sat in the corners, murmuring quietly among themselves.
When Hagrid squeezed inside, the low chatter paused. Familiar faces lit up as they greeted him warmly.
"Hagrid! Long time no see!"
"Out early today—business?"
The giant answered each greeting boisterously before nodding toward the girl beside him.
"Haha! Just escorting a first-year to do some shopping!"
The effect was immediate.
At those words, every conversation stopped as if frozen by a spell. The entire pub fell silent.
A new student.
Could it be the Boy Who Lived?
Very likely.
Why else would Hagrid personally escort them?
Dozens of eyes turned toward Hali. Black hair, green eyes… but no scar?
Not a boy.
A girl.
Interest vanished almost instantly, as though someone had flipped a switch.
"Seems I'm quite famous," Hali murmured softly.
She found fame troublesome. Attention attracted danger—and bounty hunters. Heaven knew how many she had dealt with in the past.
"Well, you are the boy—girl—who lived," Hagrid shrugged, leading her toward the back of the pub.
"Indeed, a miracle," he said.
Along the way, he told her about the Dark Lord—You-Know-Who, Lord Voldemort. A murderer responsible for hundreds of deaths, terrifyingly powerful.
Impressive, Hali thought.
So many in a single day? Or perhaps a month? A year?
Worthy of the title Dark Lord.
Of course, his good days had ended with her. Somehow, a baby had reversed his curse.
That baby was Hali.
She preferred believing her parents had sacrificed themselves to finish him.
"If only he were still alive…" she mused silently. She would have liked to make him suffer.
"Right, here we are," Hagrid said.
Before them stood nothing more than a wall and a dustbin. Drawing his pink umbrella, Hagrid tapped a specific brick three times.
"Remember," he said, "up three, across two… tap gently thrice."
The bricks shifted. Stone slid aside, forming an archway that revealed the bustling heart of Diagon Alley.
A lively magical street unfolded before her eyes.
Cobblestones stretched into the distance, flanked by crooked, eccentric shops. The air was thick with the scent of potion ingredients, metal, parchment, and old magic. Owls hooted overhead, wizard chatter filled the street, and enchanted signs clinked softly in greeting.
Strange spirituality flowed through the crowd like an invisible current.
"Amazing," Hali said quietly. "Magic truly surpasses imagination."
Seeing Hagrid's expectant look, she turned to him and smiled—simple courtesy, but sincere.
Her gaze then drifted to the warped buildings. It was a peculiar beauty, one born of architects and builders who had clearly gone mad together.
"Right, Hali—there first!" Hagrid tugged her gently by the arm. "Gringotts, the goblin bank."
"A bank?" Hali paused. "Almost forgot—before we shop, I must tell you something."
She sighed softly. She had grown so relaxed that she'd nearly forgotten a crucial detail.
"As a child, I have no means of earning money," she said calmly. "I'm quite broke."
Her thoughts had been filled with wands—the key tool of magic. In this world, only wizards counted as Beyonders, and a wand was their most vital weapon.
"Oh, dear Hali," Hagrid said quickly. "Your parents left you a fortune!"
Sensing her concern, the kind-hearted giant hastened to reassure her.
"Don't be scared. I'll look after you."
Even children had pride.
"You're a true gentleman, Hagrid," Hali replied sincerely.
She grasped his sleeve, feeling the warmth of his straightforward kindness. It shone as brightly as the Sun.
It reminded her of Mister Sun.
Most important of all—
Hali loved money.