"You bowed to me in a shop, once."

"She remembers!” cries Dedalus Diggle, his top hat falling as he turns to look around at everyone. "Did you hear that? She remembers me!"

More people want to shake her hand—Doris Crockford keeps coming back for more—until a pale young man makes his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes is twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" says Hagrid. "Dorea, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter," stammers Professor Quirrell, grasping Dorea's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."

"Likewise! I look forward to taking your class."

Quirrell laughs nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looks terrified at the very thought. 

Vampires are real?

"Yes, I am."

"O-o-of course."

But the others won't let Professor Quirrell keep Dorea to himself. It takes almost ten minutes to get away from them all. 

At last, Hagrid manages to make himself heard over the babble.

"Must get on—lots ter buy. Come on, Dorea."

"Oh, of course," she says, a little glad to get away from the crowd.

Doris Crockford shakes Dorea'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 her.

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

"They all loved me," she observes softly.

"Aye, an' why wouldn't they? Yeh saved 'em, far as they're concerned."

"I don't even remember."

"They do."

"Yeah."

He then turns to look at the brick wall. "Three up... two across..." he mutters. "Right, stand back, Dorea."

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."

"Wow."

He leads Dorea 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."

"Makes sense."

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 Dorea'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 Dorea'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...

She--does not stare. Openly.

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 Dorea. He has a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and very long fingers and feet. He bows as they walk inside.

"Who was that?" she asks quietly.

"That's a goblin," Hagrid whispers to her 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.