Is There a Blacksmith Here?

"This… Professor Dumbledore, what relation is he to me?" Harry asked, surprised that his parents' inheritance was under this man's control.

Hagrid, oblivious to any potential concerns, replied with pride, "Oh, he's not a relative, but he's the headmaster of Hogwarts, the greatest wizard there is!"

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

He didn't doubt that there were truly great people in the world.

But he'd seen enough of the complexities of human nature, the mingling of good and evil. And without even meeting this Dumbledore, it was hard to just set aside his suspicions.

After all, this was his parents' inheritance.

Money was hard to come by!

Even after putting in grueling work for several village contracts, it was barely enough to commission a silver sword.

"So when will we go to collect my parents' inheritance?" Harry asked, then immediately corrected himself, realizing how it sounded, "I mean, when can we go buy those supplies?"

Hagrid glanced outside. "It's getting late. We'll go tomorrow."

"You grew up with Muggles, so you probably don't know much about the wizarding world. Let me tell you a bit more."

He seemed… very eager to explain things.

Better than a troll's endless grunting, at least.

Hagrid went on to tell Harry about many things.

Harry's exceptional parents, how Dumbledore was such a great wizard—how he had saved Hagrid from expulsion in his third year and allowed him to stay at Hogwarts. And how Harry himself was a famous figure in the wizarding world, a hero known as "The Boy Who Lived," a figure straight out of knightly tales.

Harry also learned an interesting fact.

In this world…

Wizards had very little connection with Muggles—the wizards' term for ordinary humans. Even their currency was different.

In Hagrid's view, this separation was for Muggles' protection.

But Harry felt a twinge of sadness.

It reminded him of the sorcerers persecuted by kingdoms and the Eternal Fire. If the spheres ever ceased to intersect and monsters and dark forces were wiped out, the witchers and sorcerers would likely end up hiding in the shadows of society, much like the wizards here.

Oh, no…

Witchers likely wouldn't last that long.

Without monsters, who would willingly undergo such harsh, painful mutations?

The Next Morning

Harry was up early, running five laps around the block. Physical conditioning was always the most essential weapon for a witcher. After he got back, he downed two sausages that Hagrid had brought—each nearly as thick as his forearm—and, of course, some milk.

Once he'd finished all this, Hagrid awoke groggily in the living room.

After freshening up, he led Harry to Diagon Alley.

As Hagrid had warned, Harry was indeed a celebrity in the wizarding world—he had never been greeted with such enthusiasm in his life.

People hurried over, wanting to shake his hand, but Harry turned them down; witchers weren't exactly the social type.

After the rounds of small talk were finally over…

Hagrid led him into a small courtyard, chattering on as he pointed out, "From here, count up three bricks from the trash can, then two bricks to the side."

"When you've bought your wand, knock three times on this brick."

"Harry, stand back a bit."

Hagrid lifted his umbrella and tapped the brick lightly three times.

The bricks shifted, quickly retreating to each side to form a wide archway that led to a cobblestone path.

An illusion?

No…

This wasn't like the illusions sorcerers would use.

Was it some type of magic called transfiguration?

"Welcome to Diagon Alley." Hagrid raised his arm and led Harry through the archway. "You brought your letter, right?"

Harry nodded.

"We'll start with Gringotts, the wizard bank. Your parents' inheritance is kept there. Once we've withdrawn some money, we can get the other supplies."

Though separated from humans…

The wizarding world didn't exactly feel medieval. The streets were clean, the shops quirky but not cramped, and everywhere Harry looked, strange and fascinating things were on display.

Flying brooms, soaring pets.

What caught his eye most, though, were the materials—powdered daffodil roots, daisy roots, mandrake stems…

And some items he'd never even heard of, but the names alone left him awestruck—dragon liver, dragon blood, unicorn hair, augurey feathers…

What kind of potions could these make, he wondered, or could he brew blade oils with them?

The curiosity was intense.

Gringotts was the grandest building in Diagon Alley, and it was Harry's first time seeing goblins—remarkably similar to the goblins of the witcher world. He'd never met one in person, but he had seen pictures.

He also got to experience just how wild wizarding transportation could be.

It was hard to imagine that something so reckless was a way to get around—more intense than doing sit-ups in midair while held by a griffin.

And he finally saw his parents' inheritance.

A mound of gold, and smaller piles of silver and bronze coins.

Unlike the dazed and exhausted Hagrid, Harry was quite exhilarated, even if he wasn't sure of this currency's purchasing power.

Still…

An ounce of dragon liver was only seventeen Sickles.

Materials from dragons or dragon-like creatures weren't exactly cheap, so this should be more than enough to forge a pair of swords.

He scooped a hundred Galleons into his pouch, along with some extra Sickles and Knuts, and strutted out of Gringotts feeling richer than he ever had in his life.

"Harry, we'd best start with your school robes," Hagrid said, pointing to a shop on the street with a sign reading "Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions." "I'll head to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink. That wretched cart was exhausting."

Harry nodded. "Of course."

"I'll wait for you in the shop."

Hagrid sighed with relief and scurried off.

Harry entered the shop alone, where a short, plump but kindly witch greeted him. "Hogwarts, first year? Here to get your robes?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Stand right here, and I'll take your measurements," Madam Malkin said, gesturing to a stool. When Harry stepped up, she waved her wand, and a tape measure slithered around him like a snake, recording his measurements.

"Need a bit extra room, then?" Madam Malkin asked cheerfully. "You kids always seem to grow so fast."

"Thank you, ma'am, that would be wise." Harry nodded, then added, "I wanted to ask you something. Is there a blacksmith in Diagon Alley?"

"A blacksmith?" Madam Malkin looked up in surprise. "What would you need that for?"

Harry replied straightforwardly, "I'd like to forge two swords."

"Swords?" Madam Malkin blinked, then chuckled. "Planning to be the next Gryffindor? A sword in one hand, a wand in the other?"

"But, I'm afraid, there aren't any blacksmiths here in Diagon Alley. Perhaps you could ask your parents to conjure you a pair through transfiguration."

"Better yet, I'd like for you to learn to do it yourself."

"The Head of Gryffindor House is a transfiguration expert, and so is Professor Dumbledore—he was a Gryffindor too."

"So it seems…"

"Gryffindors all have quite a knack for transfiguration."

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

Gryffindor—a house of transfiguration experts?