The run-down streets were almost deserted, but when they arrived at the miserable little underground station they found it already full of early-morning commuters. As ever when he found himself in close proximity to Muggles going about their daily business, Mr Weasley was hard put to contain his enthusiasm.
‘Simply fabulous,’ he whispered, indicating the automatic ticket machines. ‘Wonderfully ingenious.’
‘They’re out of order,’ said Harry, pointing at the sign.
‘Yes, but even so …’ said Mr Weasley, beaming at them fondly.
They bought their tickets instead from a sleepy-looking guard (Harry handled the transaction, as Mr Weasley was not very good with Muggle money) and five minutes later they were boarding an underground train that rattled them off towards the centre of London. Mr Weasley kept anxiously checking and re-checking the Underground Map above the windows.
‘Four more stops, Harry … Three stops left now … Two stops to go, Harry …’
They got off at a station in the very heart of London, and were swept from the train in a tide of besuited men and women carrying briefcases. Up the escalator they went, through the ticket barrier (Mr Weasley delighted with the way the stile swallowed his ticket), and emerged on to a broad street lined with imposing-looking buildings and already full of traffic.