CHAPTER FIVE
had to do was keep close behind him. They passed book shops and
music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere
that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an
ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there really be piles
of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really
shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might this not all
be some huge joke that the Dursleys had cooked up? If Harry
hadn’t known that the Dursleys had no sense of humor, he might
have thought so; yet somehow, even though everything Hagrid
had told him so far was unbelievable, Harry couldn’t help trusting
him.
“This is it,” said Hagrid, coming to a halt, “the Leaky Cauldron.
It’s a famous place.”
It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn’t pointed it
out, Harry wouldn’t have noticed it was there. The people hurrying
by didn’t glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one
side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn’t see the Leaky
Cauldron at all. In fact, Harry had the most peculiar feeling that
only he and Hagrid could see it. Before he could mention this, Ha-
grid had steered him inside.
For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old
women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One
of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talk-
ing to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a
toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they
walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and
smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, “The
usual, Hagrid?”
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