The Leaky
Cauldron The Leaky
Cauldron Welcome! C'mon in for a snack or a delicious drink! We sell ice cream cones, too for lil' pints like you! :)
You say, "No thanks, I, er ... I have to buy another quill at Flourish and Blotts!"
You say, "Sure, what's on the menu?" and step inside.
A short wizard glares at you. You glance at the menu. Nothing looks familiar ... maybe that's a good thing. You wonder if you should ask for a glass of ButterBeer. Just then, you see a young boy. He doesn't look a lost as you are, but he doesn't look like he's from Hogwarts, either. He's certainly not clutching Hogwarts: A History! Do you want to strike up a conversation?
You pay for your drink, and sit down next to a nervous House Elf. Hmm, it wouldn't be wise to ask it about the weather, would it? The ButterBeer tastes good, but you decide you've had enough of The Leaky Cauldron and ...
"I'm from Hogwarts ... Where are you from?"
"Hogwarts?" The boy squints at you.
"Yeah."
"Well, I go to another school, but we try and keep the name secret."
You stare at him. "Why?"
"I'm not really even from this area," the boy continues. He has sandy hair, but dark eyes. "My father's here on business, so he let me come. But my little sister had to tag along, too."
"Do you like Diagon Alley?" You ask, "There's a lot of shops, huh?"
"My favorite has been Flourish & Blotts. I like to read."
"That's not my favorite subject," you admit, "I never manage to do my homework in time."
"I get perfect marks."
"Oh."
"Well, maybe I'll see you around. Here comes my dad!"
"OK, bye!"
On closer inspection, you realize it's just rocking back and forth and humming, "Oh, Susana ... I came from Alabama with my banjo on my knee." Sheesh!
These rooms are more crowded, and there are stacks of chairs against the wall. The wall is a dull, almost fading gray. People are laughing, and you can't hear much over the din. You notice two men in velvetly black gowns arguing fiercely in the corner. One of them is waving a copy of The Daily Prophet.
The Leaky Cauldron, you mutter, I wonder how it got its name?
"Oh, 'tis a story alright!" The voice startles you. An older woman with a fuzzy handbag and blue glasses smiles, and folds her hands. "I'll tell you ..."
"It all started with the old owner, Mr. Crockenheimer," she begins, "Yes, that was 'im."
"What did he do?" You ask, as her dramatic pause drags longer and longer.
"Oh, yes, mind me, he ... well, he ... he did a lot! Most certainly, quite a bit! He built this old place 'imself. It's all made o' magic, that's the rumor. Then, he couldn't figure out what to name it. An' one lonely night, he was brewin' mashed potatoes in his cauldron ..."
"What?" You exclaim, "Mashed potatoes?"
"Yes, he was a balmy old soul," the women says, shaking her head, "Mashed potatoes in a cauldron!"
Er, you think, time to leave. Definately, but you can't decide where to leave to.
You excuse yourself as politely as possible and hurry back to Diagon Alley
Suddenly, you spy something on that dull, fady wall, just below an old clock. It's a crack. But more than that, it's a key-shaped crack. There's also a crack shaped like beetle. You reach up to rub one, wondering where it will take you. But which one do you choose? Hopefully, your choice won't have any drastic consequences, but you'll probably end up somewhere else. Maybe you can solve this mystery!
Now, you go for . . .
