There was something strange about Diagon Alley, that day. As I walked through it, my ears prickled with the unfamiliarity of the atmosphere, and my eyes were wide with surprise. The sound of shoes clacking on the pavestones and cloaks swishing around as people walked was normal, and I ignored it. There was nothing particularly strange about that sound.
What was strange was the gurgling, hubbub of chatter. For the first time in a long, long time, Diagon Alley was bustling with laughing, grinning, gossiping people.
Harry Potter had killed He Who Must Not Be Named, and suddenly the whole Wizarding world had come out of hiding and arrived in Diagon Alley, ready to celebrate and share their terrifying, tragic stories. The Leaky Cauldron had been full, bursting to the seams of chattering customers whilst Tom had looked on with a well-deserved beam.
Gone were the days when people walked quickly and made eye contact with no one. Gone were the days when Diagon Alley was eerily quiet – the cobbled lane had finally been restored to its full, victorious glory.
I smiled then, as I gazed upon the people. Then I grinned; then I outright laughed. It was a great feeling after such a long time without laughter.
But it wasn't all happy. Some shops were empty, their owners either dead or fled. Others were destroyed – their owners bankrupt – victims of Death Eater cruelty. One shop, in particular, was closed; a small crowd of teenagers like me peering in to work out what had happened.
Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had a large sign on the door, which read,
CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE
And there was no sign of life. The shop windows which had showed wonderful scenes and displays that made the viewer 'oooh' and 'aahhh' were empty, and inside the shop was dim and lonely. I could still remember the first time I came there. The windows had showed a miniature London whilst several Aviatomobiles (flying toy cars) had whizzed around above it. Inside each car there had appeared to be a tiny Harry Potter and some red haired guy. Another time a group of lilac Pygmy Puffs had been performing Muggle Magic Tricks and wearing tiny black top hats.
The memories were a ridiculous contrast to the empty, forlorn windows that stood before me now. The other Hogwarts students around me were wondering aloud what had happened – even during the war the little joke shop had stubbornly stayed open, bringing a smile to even the saddest of passers-by.
"I heard one of the Weasleys got his girlfriend pregnant!" Someone said loudly, and the crowd rippled with laughter. I alone remained silent, staring at the shop. I had just noticed the small, dark window above the one we were all peering in. A figure stood there, looking out at the rain-washed street that was barely illuminated by the winter sunlight.
The figure had red hair and impossibly sad eyes.
His sad eyes blinked, and I could have sworn they seemed wet. He stood at the window, alone and immobile.
The street seemed to grow silent as I watched him, although of course everyone kept on talking. I felt as though I was looking at something I shouldn't be, for this boy with his tragic look and hopeless face seemed like he only looked like that in private, as if he hid his pain from those who loved him.
The curtains twitched as he moved away, falling to block the sight of that room and that boy. The spell was broken, Diagon Alley loud and cheerful once more, and myself as the only one who had witnessed him –
That boy with sad eyes.