Harry stepped out of the house and made his way toward the park near Magnolia Crescent. Reaching the park, he pulled out his wand and prepared to call the Knight Bus.
He held out his wand pointing towards the road and waited for a few moments.
There was a deafening BANG, and Harry threw up his hands to shield his eyes against a sudden blinding light…
When the light cleared Harry saw a triple-decker, violently purple bus, which had appeared out of thin air. Gold lettering on the windshield read: The Knight Bus.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening." said the guy named Stan Shunpike.
"What's your name?" Stan asked.
"Tom Riddle," said Harry, as it was the first name that came to his mind.
"Listen, how much would it be to get to the Leaky Cauldron?"
"Eleven Sickles," said Stan, "but for thirteen you get hot chocolate, and for fifteen you get a hot water bottle and a toothbrush in the color of your choice."
Harry pulled out some money from his pocket and handed it to Stan. He and Stan then lifted his trunk, with Hedwig's cage balanced on top, up the steps of the bus.
There were no seats; instead, half a dozen brass bedsteads stood beside the curtained windows. Candles were burning in brackets beside each bed, illuminating the wood-paneled walls.
"Take it away, Ern," said Stan, sitting down in the armchair next to Ernie's.
Harry readied himself and grabbed onto whatever he could to stop himself from falling.
Another tremendous BANG and the bus lurched forward. Through the dark window, Harry watched the scenery rush past, changing streets faster than he could keep up.
To pass away time Harry decided to read the newspaper.
BLACK STILL AT LARGE
Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.
"We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge this morning, "and we beg the magical community to remain calm."
Fudge has been criticized by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis. "Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an irritable Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it—who'd believe him if he did?"
While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun—a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other—the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like the one twelve years ago when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.
Harry continued reading the rest of the paper.
Ern slammed on the brakes and the Knight Bus skidded to a halt in front of a small and shabby-looking pub, the Leaky Cauldron, behind which lay the magical entrance to Diagon Alley. "Thanks," Harry said to Ern.
He jumped down the steps and helped Stan lower his trunk and Hedwig's cage onto the pavement.
Harry quickly made his way inside the Leaky Cauldron.
"There you are, Harry," said a voice. Harry looked up at the owner of the hand on his shoulder. In truth, he had anticipated this encounter with Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself.
Fudge grasped Harry's shoulders with a theatrical concern and guided him toward a private room. Harry let himself be steered down the narrow passage behind Tom's lantern. They entered a small parlor where Tom, efficient as ever, clicked his fingers to ignite a fire in the grate before bowing himself out.
"Sit down, Harry," Fudge said, gesturing toward a chair by the fire.
Harry settled into the seat, doing his best to look wary. Fudge shrugged off his pinstriped cloak and tossed it aside, then hitched up his bottle-green trousers and plopped down opposite Harry.
"I'm Cornelius Fudge, Harry—the Minister of Magic."
Harry nodded politely. He knew that already, of course; he'd seen Fudge before, though he'd been under his dad's Invisibility Cloak at the time.
"Well, Harry," Fudge said, letting out a sigh that sounded a bit too dramatic, "you've had us all in a real panic, I don't mind telling you. Running off from your aunt and uncle's house like that! I'd started to think… well, never mind that now. You're safe, and that's what counts."
He pushed a plate of biscuits toward Harry. "Here—eat something. You look dead on your feet. Anyway… we've sorted out that unfortunate business with Miss Marjorie Dursley. Sent a couple of Accidental Magic Reversal Department folks over to Privet Drive a few hours ago. But, well… there was a bit of a hiccup. I'm sorry about that."
Harry raised his eyebrows, looking as innocent as he could manage. "What happened, Minister?"
Fudge's face shifted into that practiced look of regret. "Ah, well," he said, voice low. "When one of the obliviators tried to remove your aunt's memory of the incident, an accident happened. Due to his carelessness, her mind was damaged beyond repair."
Harry's eyebrows shot up in a mix of surprise and concern. "Wait—seriously? Her mind's… damaged?" He shook his head, sighing like he felt bad. "I didn't mean for that to happen."
Inside, though, Harry was positively glowing with triumph.
"It's all right, child," Fudge said, patting Harry's shoulder with mock sympathy.
Harry let the silence stretch a moment before rubbing his eyes with his sleeve and giving Fudge a small, thankful smile. "Well… thanks for telling me, sir."
"It's quite all right, Harry my boy. So, all that remains," said Fudge, "is to decide where you're going to spend the last two weeks of your vacation. I suggest you take a room here at the Leaky Cauldron and…"
"Hang on," blurted Harry. "What about my punishment?" continuing his role as a grief-stricken teenager who had done something wrong.
Fudge blinked. "Punishment?"
"I broke the law!" Harry said. "The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry!"
"Oh, my dear boy, we're not going to punish you for a little thing like that!" cried Fudge, waving his hand impatiently. "It was an accident! We don't send people to Azkaban just for blowing up their aunts!"
But this didn't tally at all with Harry's past dealings with the Ministry of Magic.
"Thank You very much, sir," Harry said with a grateful smile, inwardly he was happy to get away without even being suspected.
"Well then, what's all the fuss about?" laughed Fudge. "Now, have a crumpet, Harry, while I go and see if Tom's got a room for you."
Fudge strode out of the parlor and Harry stared at his receding back.
Fudge came back, accompanied by Tom the innkeeper.
"Room eleven's free, Harry," said Fudge. "I think you'll be very comfortable with just one thing, and I'm sure you'll understand… I don't want you wandering off into Muggle London, all right? Keep to Diagon Alley. And you're to be back here before dark each night. Tom will look out for you, ok?"
"Of course, Sir" Harry replied smoothly with a charming smile, which he learned from Tom.