Beans in a Cauldron
"Can't you see it?" asked Jean her mum puzzled. Together with Jean's father, Peter, and brother, Dean, Emma and Jean were on their way to Diagon Alley. Apparently, the entrance could be found in a pub. Only two hours away from their home in Salisbury, the whole Bean family had been excited for a day in magical London.
"No," her mum, Emma, replied. Jean read the letters on the creaking sign of a witch again: Leaky Cauldron. When she touched the front door her family exclaimed their surprise. "Ah, there it is!"
"Good name for a pub," her father praised. Dean scoffed. "A bit on the nose, don't ya think? Like calling a secret society 'There's nothing going on here'." Jean smiled at her brother's sarcastic remark. At the same time, she curiously observed the people around her. Many were wearing funny hats, bundled up in colourful cloaks and scarves, moving cups through the air without even touching them: these people must be witches and wizards. Would she become on of them? She could not picture herself in a pointy hat without letting out a small laugh.
"Now, where is this Digon Ale we have heard so little about?" Her mother searched around, not coming up with an answer. On one side of the room, eight cloaked figures were sat at a table together. Emma set her sights on them. "Best way to learn is to ask!"
Jean's mum had walked across the establishment with the question on her lips, but she had pursed her mouth closed after catching wind of the eery atmosphere the figures emitted. Not to mention the smell: a pungent aroma of asparagus nearly brought the entire Bean family to tears.
"Maybe not them," coughed Peter as he steered Emma by her shoulders to the bar.
"You ought to stop by Gringott's before buying anything!" The Leaky Couldron bartender shook her finger at Bean's family of four. Their faces all held questioning looks, vacantly blinking at the stern woman. Jean's father, Peter, shook out of the stupor and asked: "What would Gringott's be, then? A church?"
Exhaling a frustrated sigh, the bartender exlaimed: "A bank, of course! Pounds and pennies mean nothing to us magic folk. We only trade in galleons, sickles, and knuts."
Beckoning them to follow, she briskly walked to a small door at the back of the pub and turned the knob. It led outside. Behind the door was a small paved area that held the garbage cans. "The only thing supernatural in this place are the smells," whispered Jean to her brother, Dean, while swatting at the air in front of her nose. Dean snickered.
The bartender pulled a wand from her pocket. In a blur, she tapped in a rhytmic pattern on the stones of the far wall. For a blink nothing happened. Then, the ground began to rumble. All the beans clutched the nearest wall, Jean accidentally sticking her hand in an open dumpster and cringing at the feel of decomposing banana peels.
"Is this an earthquake?", she squeaked. Noone replied. The brick wall was slowly shuddering, the individual bricks moving to create an arch. It must have been big enough that even her 6'4" father would not have to duck when passing through.
"Well, are you just going to stand there? Get moving!" The bartender did not spare them another glance as she ran back to the pub. Jean finally fished her hand out from between the slimy garbage and wiped it on Dean's jacket. "Hey!" he exclaimed while grabbing at her, but she had already set foot in Diagon Alley.
"No," her mum, Emma, replied. Jean read the letters on the creaking sign of a witch again: Leaky Cauldron. When she touched the front door her family exclaimed their surprise. "Ah, there it is!"
"Good name for a pub," her father praised. Dean scoffed. "A bit on the nose, don't ya think? Like calling a secret society 'There's nothing going on here'." Jean smiled at her brother's sarcastic remark. At the same time, she curiously observed the people around her. Many were wearing funny hats, bundled up in colourful cloaks and scarves, moving cups through the air without even touching them: these people must be witches and wizards. Would she become on of them? She could not picture herself in a pointy hat without letting out a small laugh.
"Now, where is this Digon Ale we have heard so little about?" Her mother searched around, not coming up with an answer. On one side of the room, eight cloaked figures were sat at a table together. Emma set her sights on them. "Best way to learn is to ask!"
Jean's mum had walked across the establishment with the question on her lips, but she had pursed her mouth closed after catching wind of the eery atmosphere the figures emitted. Not to mention the smell: a pungent aroma of asparagus nearly brought the entire Bean family to tears.
"Maybe not them," coughed Peter as he steered Emma by her shoulders to the bar.
"You ought to stop by Gringott's before buying anything!" The Leaky Couldron bartender shook her finger at Bean's family of four. Their faces all held questioning looks, vacantly blinking at the stern woman. Jean's father, Peter, shook out of the stupor and asked: "What would Gringott's be, then? A church?"
Exhaling a frustrated sigh, the bartender exlaimed: "A bank, of course! Pounds and pennies mean nothing to us magic folk. We only trade in galleons, sickles, and knuts."
Beckoning them to follow, she briskly walked to a small door at the back of the pub and turned the knob. It led outside. Behind the door was a small paved area that held the garbage cans. "The only thing supernatural in this place are the smells," whispered Jean to her brother, Dean, while swatting at the air in front of her nose. Dean snickered.
The bartender pulled a wand from her pocket. In a blur, she tapped in a rhytmic pattern on the stones of the far wall. For a blink nothing happened. Then, the ground began to rumble. All the beans clutched the nearest wall, Jean accidentally sticking her hand in an open dumpster and cringing at the feel of decomposing banana peels.
"Is this an earthquake?", she squeaked. Noone replied. The brick wall was slowly shuddering, the individual bricks moving to create an arch. It must have been big enough that even her 6'4" father would not have to duck when passing through.
"Well, are you just going to stand there? Get moving!" The bartender did not spare them another glance as she ran back to the pub. Jean finally fished her hand out from between the slimy garbage and wiped it on Dean's jacket. "Hey!" he exclaimed while grabbing at her, but she had already set foot in Diagon Alley.