Doris Crockford shakes Sarah's hand one last time, and Hagrid leads them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there's nothing but a trash can and a few weeds. He grins at Sarah.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh—mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

"I still didn't quite expect all that. Do you know how they recognized me?"

"Th' scar, you bein' with me, the date. It made sense."

"Why would people recognize my scar?"

"Mark o' powerful dark magic. They know."

"So people have some sort of aura-sense that lets them detect residual dark magic in my scar?"

"Nah, they jus' know what it looks like."

"So all powerful dark magic leaves lightning bolt marks?"

"Most powerful dark magic leaves no marks—anyway, yeh can ask these o' Professor Quirrell at school." He then turns to look at the brick wall. "Three up... two across..." he mutters. "Right, stand back, Sarah."

She stands back.

He taps the wall three times with the point of his umbrella. The brick he touched quivers—it wriggles—in the middle, a small hole appears—it grows wider and wider—a second later they're facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twists and turns out of sight.

"Welcome," says Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

Sarah looks around smiling.

Hagrid leads Sarah through, and the archway shrinks instantly back into solid wall. The sun shines brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons—All Sizes—Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver—Self-Stirring—Collapsible, says a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," he says, "but we gotta get yer money first."

"Did my parents leave me money or is there a scholarship find for orphans that I'll be using?"

"Yer parents had money, aye. Quite a lot."

"That's good to know."

They walk on, passing by a myriad stores and shops. A plump woman outside an Apothecary is shaking her head as they pass, saying, "Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they're mad."

A low, soft hooting comes from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium—Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about Sarah's age have their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," one of them says, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand—fastest ever—"

There are shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Sarah's never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon...

Sarah soaks in the ambiance, nothing in particular stands out as needing questioning.

Eventually: "Gringotts," says Hagrid. It's a snow-white building that towers over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, is a humanoid, about a head shorter than Sarah. He has a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and very long fingers and feet. He bows as they walk inside.

Sarah bows back. Then looks around the lobby.

"That's a goblin," Hagrid whispers to Sarah once they're clear of earshot.

Now they're facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them: 

Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.

"Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," he says.

Sarah nods gravely.

A pair of goblins bow them through the silver doors and they're in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins are sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There are too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins are showing people in and out of these. Hagrid makes for the counter.

"Morning," he says to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Ms. Sarah Potter's safe."

"You have her key, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," says Hagrid, and he starts emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkles his nose.

Sarah is a little confused as to why Hagrid has her key but she supposes it isn't too important.

He eventually finds it: a tiny golden key. "Got it!" he says, and holds it up.

The goblin looks at it closely. "That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," he says importantly, throwing out his chest. "It’s about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin reads the letter carefully. "Very well," he says, handing it back to Hagrid.