The Letter:
In the sleepy town of Godric's Hollow, tucked carefully away from the curious view of Muggles, lived the Potters. Easily the richest and most well liked family in all of Britain's magical community, the Potters were exceptionally well known.
Mr. Potter, a tall and striking man of forty, ran the British Branch of Gringotts Bank, while his wife, never having worked a day in her life, remained constantly busy between social calls and her son, to whom one never turned a blind eye if they were wise. James, who even at eleven could be called handsome with his large and messy quantities of black hair and defined features, had something of a talent for attracting trouble wherever he could.
Often spoiled, as he had more relations than he could count, James had grown into a somewhat strong-willed, mischievous boy, who was quite used to getting his way.
The six years past had been filled with many tutors, each of whom had the painful duty of trying to give James some kind of basic non-magic education, whom had numbered about twenty in the whole.
The problem was not that James was not intelligent, on the contrary, he was quite remarkably brilliant, it was perhaps the fact that the youngest Potter found it somewhat hard to pay attention, letting his imagination slide after he had quickly grasped the concept, which the tutors each would immediately punish him for, something James was not altogether fond of. The result was that a series of rather nasty, and somewhat unintentional hexes would befall each teacher, who would resign immediately.
To the relief of all involved, having finished basic education, James was ready for Hogwarts - something he had been waiting for all his life. Having woken up late, James was just enjoying a late breakfast in the dining room alone when his owl swooped in, dropping an envelope next to his plate. James, though possessing a very nice, not to mention expensive owl, never got mail. The problem was that having been tutored, he hadn't really the time to make any new friends, and his Mother never really had the time to arrange play dates. Most of her friends were childless, and any children he did play with tended to be very much like their fathers: cold, impersonal and very law-abiding. James knew that the Blacks, with whom his Father did regular business, had a son his age, but his Father, who absolutely hated the Blacks was convinced that no such boy raised in that house would be welcome to speak with his child.
Still frowning, he turned the envelope over, which was quite clearly addressed to him; James saw something that changed his mood entirely. The Hogwarts Crest, stamped in wax sealing the envelope stared back at him. Without a moment to lose, he viciously ripped the envelope apart and forcefully pulled out the letter.
HEADMASTER: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE (ORDER OF MERLIN, FIRST CLASS, GRAND SORC.)
Dear Mr. Potter
It is my duty to inform you that you have been selected to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Below is your necessary books and equipment. Term begins 1 September, no owls after 31 August, as they will be disregarded.
Yours Sincerely,
Arnold Regnar,
Deputy Headmaster
Heart pounding, James read over the letter and supplies what had to be twelve more times before setting it down and immediately running around the house to find parchment. In his bedroom, a small stack he had been using to track Quidditch scores on contained a few unused rolls.
Dear Dad -
got my letter. I'm in! When can we go to London?
-James
P.S. -- I thought you said Dippet was Headmaster?
His Father did not respond, and after a couple of hours the owl returned, carrying a note from his Mother. He had been very eager to get a response, but seeing his Mother's curvy handwriting across the envelope instead of his Father's loopy scrawl, he opened it with slightly less anticipation.
Dear James -
Your father has written to tell me - he has business to take care of the whole week, but I shall take you instead, tomorrow.
- Virginia Potter
James stared down at his Mother's reply and sighed, tossing it aside and sitting on his bed. It wasn't that he minded his Mother coming; it was more the fact that his Father, who never had any free time at all, had spent weeks promising to take him. Every time the subject was raised, he'd say it again, very casually, and then say again how pleased he was. The rest of the day, he let himself fall into a state of slight depression, staying mainly in his room making things fly around the room, often crashing when he wasn't careful.
He slept in the next morning, having to have his Mother shake him awake with certain forcefulness. "Wake up! Get dressed, it's always busy... especially now. I imagine everyone's getting their things today!"
When he finally came downstairs, readjusting his glasses, James' mother was standing in front of the fireplace, a vase held in her hands.
Pulling out a large handful of Floo Powder, he stepped into the grate and, closing his eyes, said "DIAGON ALLEY!" and threw the dust down at his feet.
There was a flash of green flame, and he was suddenly whirling around, smacking into brick and watching gates fly past. Finally, everything stopped, and he jumped out, wiping dust and dirt off his robes.
His Mother had been right. The whole place was more crowded than he had ever seen it. It was hard even to see where shops began and ended.
Behind him, he heard his Mother make a slightly smoother entrance, and had no need to wipe anything off her clothes. She emerged, smiling.
They pushed themselves through the crowds until she brought the both of them in front of the Cauldron Shop. "You did remember your supply list, didn't you?" she demanded. She had spent all of yesterday, and a good portion of this morning reminding him and it was with a slightly disgruntled air that he removed it from his pocket, showing her. "Well, I was just making sure," she said, looking at her son with exasperation. "Look, I'll stop off to Gringotts to get your gold, but you start getting your things. I'll be back in a moment, popkin." He tried to duck, but she caught him, leaving a rather large smudge of red lipstick across his cheek.
Still scrubbing furiously at it, he entered the shop. The whole place was very brightly lit and cheery. Every inch of the place was piled with cauldrons. Shelves contained smaller ones, but there were a few that James could have fit his whole body into, not to mention most of his worldly possessions. Gold, silver, steel, pewter, and one section, which appeared to be the only empty part of the store had a small sign saying "invisible", something that James had overlooked before he stubbed his toe, trying to examine a tiny gold one encrusted with jewels on the shelf above.
Frowning at the sign, he walked on. "School Standard" cauldrons were a little ways away. All pewter, they were clearly the least interesting in the shop, but he had little choice in the matter. A large circle of chattering students were crowded around them, and James squeezed in and grabbed his own.
The shopkeeper was clearly busy. Walls of students were packed around his cash register, eagerly purchasing their own cauldrons.
James slowly made his way to the back of the room, and sat down on a small stepladder that had been left there. His Mother, he knew, would be a while, and as he couldn't exactly go looking for her with an unpaid cauldron in his hands, he waited.
A handsome dark-haired boy, a little apart from everyone else caught his attention immediately. He kept throwing shifty looks at the manager while he very slowly and cautiously made his way over the invisible cauldrons section. Easily avoiding where the cauldrons supposedly were, the boys hands fell on the small gold cauldron James had been looking at earlier. From all the way across the room, sitting by the door, James watched his progress carefully. Casting a few more guilty looks over his shoulder, he gingerly placed the cauldron in his robes' pockets and slowly made his way to the door.
"You didn't pay for that," James said casually, looking up at the boy as he approached.
He looked up at James, somewhat startled and then worked to regain a kind of composure. "So? What's it to you?"
"Nothing, it's just - well, I imagine that's worth a lot."
"Yeah, I suppose it is," he said, keeping his voice cool, but his eyes were glazed with fear. His hand had retreated into his robes, and James could tell he was gripping onto the cauldron, as though afraid it would start giving off some kind of alarm. "What are you going to do, snitch on me?"
There was something about the boy he couldn't help but like, even as he was scowling unpleasantly. James never snitched on anyone. It wasn't that he was desperate for friends, but he broke the rules so often he didn't really think it his place to reprimand others.
Instead, he smiled, an expression that faded fast as he looked in back of the boy. "No. But I'd be more careful -- you've been spotted."
They both turned to see the manager marching over, looking livid.
"Give it here!" he yelled, so that everyone in the store could here. "Give it here, you nasty little thief."
James had always had something of a talent for flying charms. He had no real idea why, but other than Transfiguration; it was what came most easily to him. It occurred to him that it would be quite a bit more fun to help the boy than to rat on him, especially since the shop owner looked as though he were nearing a hearth failure.
Quickly and quietly, while the manager was too distracted yelling at the boy, James managed to manoeuvre the cauldron out of his pocket (the boy had obviously let go, due to the shock of being face-to-face with a bright purple man spraying spit everywhere), around the manager, below his eyesight and back across the room, to its original position, jewels glittering with a soft sort of innocence. Although trying to pay attention, James was sure that the boy had seen everything, because he was clearly not paying any attention to the manager. After yet another spit shower, however, his thoughts were pulled immediately back, and seemed to be turning a soft sort of scarlet himself.
"I swear, I don't have it!" he yelled.
"Liar! I saw you, you were right there - " he turned, pointing at the shelf, and as he did so, he looked as if he had been struck dumb. It was just where it had been before, appearing as if it hadn't been touched.
"I don't know how..." he began. "Fine! Fine!" he said, aware of a few people now giggling slightly. He lowered his voice so that only James, the boy and the manager could her. "I don't know how you did it, boy. but if I ever see you in here again." too enraged to finish his own sentence he stomped back to his cash register, throwing vicious looks in the boy's direction as he did.
"Hi," said James, as the boy's gaze returned to him, looking somewhat amazed. "I'm James."
A slow smile crept over his acquaintance's features. "Sirius -- Sirius Black." "Which makes you James Potter, right?"
James nodded. He didn't ask how Sirius knew his name.
"My Dad said Mr. Potter had a son - I'm not to "fraternize with you, though," he said, his grin widening. But Sirius looked far from worried. "Dad doesn't really like your Father, says you're Muggle-lovers." Then, off James' slightly offended look, he added, "My Dad's an idiot, well, all the Blacks are. Y'know, my uncle was the one who tried to pass that Muggle- hunting bill," he informed him. The subject of his family appeared to be one Sirius spoke often of, and never very well.
Saving James from the opportunity to reply to a subject he wasn't sure he really liked all that much, Mrs. Potter walked through the shop door.
"Here you are, darling - that ought to get you through shopping, and I've added some for school, just in case, you know..." she looked up and spotted Sirius. "Hello," she said curtly. James couldn't tell whether or not she knew who he was, but at any rate, she didn't seem to think very highly of his appearance. "Well, shall we be off?" she asked.
James tried to keep his reluctance from showing on his face, but Sirius caught it anyhow. James had suddenly pictured his Mother marching him into Madam Malkins and making him try on all the hideous robes she usually insisted he buy, many of which were shades of purple and blue.
"Excuse me, ma'am, but would it be all right if he came with me? You see, I'm really quite lost, and I was hoping James here could show me around, I'm not often in London, my parents aren't fond of the city."
"Well..." she said, her brow furrowed. She knew her son had very little opportunity to make friends, and it was this, perhaps, which made her agree. "Fine. But you're to meet me at the grate at exactly four."
After promising his Mother he would, James and Sirius strode back onto the street. The crowd was thinning slightly, and just in front of him, James could make out the words Madam Malkins Robes for All Occasions. Pointing it out to Sirius, they both grudgingly made their way over, trying not to smack anyone with their cauldrons (and failing). Unlike the cauldron shop Madam Malkins was quite airy and spacious. Several cheery sales witches were rotating around the room inquiring after the customers with slightly plastered grins.
"Oh hullo," said one, who had snuck up on them unaware. "New students? Oh, well you'll need your robes fitted, won't you? Just behind that curtain, dear -- I'll tell Madam Malkin. She'll be in a moment."
She glided off, leaving them to cast slightly amused looks at each other as they made their way past the green velvet curtain she had pointed out.
The room was entirely purple, and it gave the impression that you had strolled into a giant grape. Two purple pedestals were stuck in the centre, and surrounding them was walls and walls of sewing supplies. Tape measurers, scissors (which, they found out, nipped at your fingers if you got too close), boxes and boxes of different shaped needles, one as big as Sirius's forearm, and rolls and rolls of fabric and thread of every colour and description (but with quite a bit of purple).
It was several minutes before Madam Malkin joined them, but when she finally burst through the curtain she had a smile no less clown-like than all of her helpers. A squat, greying curly-haired witch hidden under a rather extravagant indigo robe with scarves and shawls surrounding. It was a wonder in this heat how she could even stand it, but she didn't seem to notice or care she was dressed for January in July.
"Up in the centre, dears, up in the centre."
They both stood on individual pedestals. Immediately lines of tape measure flew at them, and began curling themselves around, taking measurements. It had all been rather quick. Once the measurements had been taken, the tape returned to Malkin, where she made interested noises for a few minutes before fabric began to shoot itself off the shelves and be cut by the many snapping scissors. Needles much the same threaded themselves and sewed, and all of their robes were done quite quickly. Handing them each a pile, she indicated where the cash register was at the back of the room, and patted both on the back somewhat forcefully.
"What next?" Sirius asked, after paying for his robes, and shoving them in his cauldron.
"Lunch," said James, listening to the low growls of his stomach as they both mounted the cobblestone street again, looking with certain distinction at the ice cream parlour across the way.
"Great idea."
They sat under a brightly coloured umbrella, finishing off giant banana splits and watching the other customers shoving their way up the streets, children and purchases in tow.
James couldn't quite explain it, but for the first time in his life, he felt as if he wasn't under the thumb of his Mother and Father, forcing him to think about his future when he hadn't even started school yet. He didn't tell Sirius this, but there was something about this boy that made him feel entirely at ease.
It didn't take long for the subject to turn to Quidditch teams, something James very much enjoyed. They spent ten minutes arguing loudly (and drawing the attention of many of their neighbouring eaters) and cheerfully about England's chances against Brazil, and whether or not Ireland had a prayer this weekend against Australia.
"Look, mate, the Wimbourn Wasps are good, but only because of Bagman," Sirius was explaining. "I mean, he's amazing, but the whole team's pretty much resting on him, you seen their seeker? Should've retired ages ago."
"What about Hall? He's not bad..."
"Hall? Hall couldn't block the rings if his life depended on it -- if Bagman hadn't shot that Bludger straight at Ivanoskovich's head on Thursday, it would've been all over."
James took another bite of his sundae, looking around. His attention was caught by what was clearly a Muggle family making their way carefully up the street, dressed in some of the strangest clothes James had ever seen. The Father was wearing plaid trousers and a large tweed vest, while the mother was wearing what looked like a robe, only it flared out at the bottoms, and had strange little straps that fell all over her shoulders. Their daughter, a pretty girl with dark red hair that fell down to her waist, looked sensible enough. It was clear they had just paid for robes, as she was now head-to-toe in black fabric with a Hogwarts crest stamped on the front. And just behind her, scowling miserably and looking at everything as though it was about to jump out and attack her was a very thin, blonde pig-tailed girl with a neck that seemed to reach up forever.
The redhead was eyeing everything was great excitement, every now and then travelling further up the street and squealing, dragging her parents to look at something.
"I dunno," said Sirius, watching James' line of vision. "My parents don't really think their type should be allowed."
"What do you mean?" asked James, turning his attention back to the brooding, dark-haired boy in front of him, whose lips were dotted with melted ice cream and sprinkles.
"Well... I'm not really sure. But they seem to think that everything would just be a lot simpler if it was just wizarding families."
"But it's not really fair, is it?" James asked, looking at him, his face slightly hardened. He had clearly been brought up on the opposite side of things. "I mean, they're just as magic as we are, probably - and if they don't get the proper training - I mean, they could hurt others - it just doesn't seem fair."
"Didn't say I thought like that -- I said my father did. Besides, if all Muggle-born's are as pretty as her, I have no problem," he added, glancing as the girl disappeared into the wand shop. Shortly after Florean Fortescue cleared their plates, they filled the next few hours running up and down the street, stopping to get their supplies in various shops as an afterthought. Weighed down with bags they returned to the grate, each with far less money than they had before. James' mother was waiting, tapping the pavement impatiently with her shoe.
"Had a good time, James?" she asked, barely giving Sirius a second look.
"Yeah, Mum."
"Okay, let's get going," she said briskly, reaching for the pot of Floo powder next to the grate.
James turned, and waved at Sirius. "Send me an owl -- or, I guess I'll see you in September!" he called.
Sirius waved back, still grinning broadly, pulling a strand of dark hair out of his eyes.
"See you!"
The next month was agony. James thought September the first would never arrive, and he would be stuck in perpetual August for the rest of his life. Luckily, to relieve the boredom, Sirius and he wrote almost daily, mostly to argue over Quidditch, but quite a few other subjects they managed to squeeze in at the bottom
James -
Dad keeps going on about how he wants me to be in Slytherin -- can you believe it? I wouldn't be caught dead in that house -- I'd run away or something. Did you hear about the Wasps? UNBELIEVABLE!!! Why'd Bagman have to go and get a broken arm? He's useless!! Talk about useless -- you seen his replacement? Got to go, mate -- Mum's calling -- I think she found the dung bombs I've been hiding. Darn -- I was going to do some serious damage when we got to school. Oh well! Write Back!!!
--Sirius
In the sleepy town of Godric's Hollow, tucked carefully away from the curious view of Muggles, lived the Potters. Easily the richest and most well liked family in all of Britain's magical community, the Potters were exceptionally well known.
Mr. Potter, a tall and striking man of forty, ran the British Branch of Gringotts Bank, while his wife, never having worked a day in her life, remained constantly busy between social calls and her son, to whom one never turned a blind eye if they were wise. James, who even at eleven could be called handsome with his large and messy quantities of black hair and defined features, had something of a talent for attracting trouble wherever he could.
Often spoiled, as he had more relations than he could count, James had grown into a somewhat strong-willed, mischievous boy, who was quite used to getting his way.
The six years past had been filled with many tutors, each of whom had the painful duty of trying to give James some kind of basic non-magic education, whom had numbered about twenty in the whole.
The problem was not that James was not intelligent, on the contrary, he was quite remarkably brilliant, it was perhaps the fact that the youngest Potter found it somewhat hard to pay attention, letting his imagination slide after he had quickly grasped the concept, which the tutors each would immediately punish him for, something James was not altogether fond of. The result was that a series of rather nasty, and somewhat unintentional hexes would befall each teacher, who would resign immediately.
To the relief of all involved, having finished basic education, James was ready for Hogwarts - something he had been waiting for all his life. Having woken up late, James was just enjoying a late breakfast in the dining room alone when his owl swooped in, dropping an envelope next to his plate. James, though possessing a very nice, not to mention expensive owl, never got mail. The problem was that having been tutored, he hadn't really the time to make any new friends, and his Mother never really had the time to arrange play dates. Most of her friends were childless, and any children he did play with tended to be very much like their fathers: cold, impersonal and very law-abiding. James knew that the Blacks, with whom his Father did regular business, had a son his age, but his Father, who absolutely hated the Blacks was convinced that no such boy raised in that house would be welcome to speak with his child.
Still frowning, he turned the envelope over, which was quite clearly addressed to him; James saw something that changed his mood entirely. The Hogwarts Crest, stamped in wax sealing the envelope stared back at him. Without a moment to lose, he viciously ripped the envelope apart and forcefully pulled out the letter.
HEADMASTER: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE (ORDER OF MERLIN, FIRST CLASS, GRAND SORC.)
Dear Mr. Potter
It is my duty to inform you that you have been selected to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Below is your necessary books and equipment. Term begins 1 September, no owls after 31 August, as they will be disregarded.
Yours Sincerely,
Arnold Regnar,
Deputy Headmaster
Heart pounding, James read over the letter and supplies what had to be twelve more times before setting it down and immediately running around the house to find parchment. In his bedroom, a small stack he had been using to track Quidditch scores on contained a few unused rolls.
Dear Dad -
got my letter. I'm in! When can we go to London?
-James
P.S. -- I thought you said Dippet was Headmaster?
His Father did not respond, and after a couple of hours the owl returned, carrying a note from his Mother. He had been very eager to get a response, but seeing his Mother's curvy handwriting across the envelope instead of his Father's loopy scrawl, he opened it with slightly less anticipation.
Dear James -
Your father has written to tell me - he has business to take care of the whole week, but I shall take you instead, tomorrow.
- Virginia Potter
James stared down at his Mother's reply and sighed, tossing it aside and sitting on his bed. It wasn't that he minded his Mother coming; it was more the fact that his Father, who never had any free time at all, had spent weeks promising to take him. Every time the subject was raised, he'd say it again, very casually, and then say again how pleased he was. The rest of the day, he let himself fall into a state of slight depression, staying mainly in his room making things fly around the room, often crashing when he wasn't careful.
He slept in the next morning, having to have his Mother shake him awake with certain forcefulness. "Wake up! Get dressed, it's always busy... especially now. I imagine everyone's getting their things today!"
When he finally came downstairs, readjusting his glasses, James' mother was standing in front of the fireplace, a vase held in her hands.
Pulling out a large handful of Floo Powder, he stepped into the grate and, closing his eyes, said "DIAGON ALLEY!" and threw the dust down at his feet.
There was a flash of green flame, and he was suddenly whirling around, smacking into brick and watching gates fly past. Finally, everything stopped, and he jumped out, wiping dust and dirt off his robes.
His Mother had been right. The whole place was more crowded than he had ever seen it. It was hard even to see where shops began and ended.
Behind him, he heard his Mother make a slightly smoother entrance, and had no need to wipe anything off her clothes. She emerged, smiling.
They pushed themselves through the crowds until she brought the both of them in front of the Cauldron Shop. "You did remember your supply list, didn't you?" she demanded. She had spent all of yesterday, and a good portion of this morning reminding him and it was with a slightly disgruntled air that he removed it from his pocket, showing her. "Well, I was just making sure," she said, looking at her son with exasperation. "Look, I'll stop off to Gringotts to get your gold, but you start getting your things. I'll be back in a moment, popkin." He tried to duck, but she caught him, leaving a rather large smudge of red lipstick across his cheek.
Still scrubbing furiously at it, he entered the shop. The whole place was very brightly lit and cheery. Every inch of the place was piled with cauldrons. Shelves contained smaller ones, but there were a few that James could have fit his whole body into, not to mention most of his worldly possessions. Gold, silver, steel, pewter, and one section, which appeared to be the only empty part of the store had a small sign saying "invisible", something that James had overlooked before he stubbed his toe, trying to examine a tiny gold one encrusted with jewels on the shelf above.
Frowning at the sign, he walked on. "School Standard" cauldrons were a little ways away. All pewter, they were clearly the least interesting in the shop, but he had little choice in the matter. A large circle of chattering students were crowded around them, and James squeezed in and grabbed his own.
The shopkeeper was clearly busy. Walls of students were packed around his cash register, eagerly purchasing their own cauldrons.
James slowly made his way to the back of the room, and sat down on a small stepladder that had been left there. His Mother, he knew, would be a while, and as he couldn't exactly go looking for her with an unpaid cauldron in his hands, he waited.
A handsome dark-haired boy, a little apart from everyone else caught his attention immediately. He kept throwing shifty looks at the manager while he very slowly and cautiously made his way over the invisible cauldrons section. Easily avoiding where the cauldrons supposedly were, the boys hands fell on the small gold cauldron James had been looking at earlier. From all the way across the room, sitting by the door, James watched his progress carefully. Casting a few more guilty looks over his shoulder, he gingerly placed the cauldron in his robes' pockets and slowly made his way to the door.
"You didn't pay for that," James said casually, looking up at the boy as he approached.
He looked up at James, somewhat startled and then worked to regain a kind of composure. "So? What's it to you?"
"Nothing, it's just - well, I imagine that's worth a lot."
"Yeah, I suppose it is," he said, keeping his voice cool, but his eyes were glazed with fear. His hand had retreated into his robes, and James could tell he was gripping onto the cauldron, as though afraid it would start giving off some kind of alarm. "What are you going to do, snitch on me?"
There was something about the boy he couldn't help but like, even as he was scowling unpleasantly. James never snitched on anyone. It wasn't that he was desperate for friends, but he broke the rules so often he didn't really think it his place to reprimand others.
Instead, he smiled, an expression that faded fast as he looked in back of the boy. "No. But I'd be more careful -- you've been spotted."
They both turned to see the manager marching over, looking livid.
"Give it here!" he yelled, so that everyone in the store could here. "Give it here, you nasty little thief."
James had always had something of a talent for flying charms. He had no real idea why, but other than Transfiguration; it was what came most easily to him. It occurred to him that it would be quite a bit more fun to help the boy than to rat on him, especially since the shop owner looked as though he were nearing a hearth failure.
Quickly and quietly, while the manager was too distracted yelling at the boy, James managed to manoeuvre the cauldron out of his pocket (the boy had obviously let go, due to the shock of being face-to-face with a bright purple man spraying spit everywhere), around the manager, below his eyesight and back across the room, to its original position, jewels glittering with a soft sort of innocence. Although trying to pay attention, James was sure that the boy had seen everything, because he was clearly not paying any attention to the manager. After yet another spit shower, however, his thoughts were pulled immediately back, and seemed to be turning a soft sort of scarlet himself.
"I swear, I don't have it!" he yelled.
"Liar! I saw you, you were right there - " he turned, pointing at the shelf, and as he did so, he looked as if he had been struck dumb. It was just where it had been before, appearing as if it hadn't been touched.
"I don't know how..." he began. "Fine! Fine!" he said, aware of a few people now giggling slightly. He lowered his voice so that only James, the boy and the manager could her. "I don't know how you did it, boy. but if I ever see you in here again." too enraged to finish his own sentence he stomped back to his cash register, throwing vicious looks in the boy's direction as he did.
"Hi," said James, as the boy's gaze returned to him, looking somewhat amazed. "I'm James."
A slow smile crept over his acquaintance's features. "Sirius -- Sirius Black." "Which makes you James Potter, right?"
James nodded. He didn't ask how Sirius knew his name.
"My Dad said Mr. Potter had a son - I'm not to "fraternize with you, though," he said, his grin widening. But Sirius looked far from worried. "Dad doesn't really like your Father, says you're Muggle-lovers." Then, off James' slightly offended look, he added, "My Dad's an idiot, well, all the Blacks are. Y'know, my uncle was the one who tried to pass that Muggle- hunting bill," he informed him. The subject of his family appeared to be one Sirius spoke often of, and never very well.
Saving James from the opportunity to reply to a subject he wasn't sure he really liked all that much, Mrs. Potter walked through the shop door.
"Here you are, darling - that ought to get you through shopping, and I've added some for school, just in case, you know..." she looked up and spotted Sirius. "Hello," she said curtly. James couldn't tell whether or not she knew who he was, but at any rate, she didn't seem to think very highly of his appearance. "Well, shall we be off?" she asked.
James tried to keep his reluctance from showing on his face, but Sirius caught it anyhow. James had suddenly pictured his Mother marching him into Madam Malkins and making him try on all the hideous robes she usually insisted he buy, many of which were shades of purple and blue.
"Excuse me, ma'am, but would it be all right if he came with me? You see, I'm really quite lost, and I was hoping James here could show me around, I'm not often in London, my parents aren't fond of the city."
"Well..." she said, her brow furrowed. She knew her son had very little opportunity to make friends, and it was this, perhaps, which made her agree. "Fine. But you're to meet me at the grate at exactly four."
After promising his Mother he would, James and Sirius strode back onto the street. The crowd was thinning slightly, and just in front of him, James could make out the words Madam Malkins Robes for All Occasions. Pointing it out to Sirius, they both grudgingly made their way over, trying not to smack anyone with their cauldrons (and failing). Unlike the cauldron shop Madam Malkins was quite airy and spacious. Several cheery sales witches were rotating around the room inquiring after the customers with slightly plastered grins.
"Oh hullo," said one, who had snuck up on them unaware. "New students? Oh, well you'll need your robes fitted, won't you? Just behind that curtain, dear -- I'll tell Madam Malkin. She'll be in a moment."
She glided off, leaving them to cast slightly amused looks at each other as they made their way past the green velvet curtain she had pointed out.
The room was entirely purple, and it gave the impression that you had strolled into a giant grape. Two purple pedestals were stuck in the centre, and surrounding them was walls and walls of sewing supplies. Tape measurers, scissors (which, they found out, nipped at your fingers if you got too close), boxes and boxes of different shaped needles, one as big as Sirius's forearm, and rolls and rolls of fabric and thread of every colour and description (but with quite a bit of purple).
It was several minutes before Madam Malkin joined them, but when she finally burst through the curtain she had a smile no less clown-like than all of her helpers. A squat, greying curly-haired witch hidden under a rather extravagant indigo robe with scarves and shawls surrounding. It was a wonder in this heat how she could even stand it, but she didn't seem to notice or care she was dressed for January in July.
"Up in the centre, dears, up in the centre."
They both stood on individual pedestals. Immediately lines of tape measure flew at them, and began curling themselves around, taking measurements. It had all been rather quick. Once the measurements had been taken, the tape returned to Malkin, where she made interested noises for a few minutes before fabric began to shoot itself off the shelves and be cut by the many snapping scissors. Needles much the same threaded themselves and sewed, and all of their robes were done quite quickly. Handing them each a pile, she indicated where the cash register was at the back of the room, and patted both on the back somewhat forcefully.
"What next?" Sirius asked, after paying for his robes, and shoving them in his cauldron.
"Lunch," said James, listening to the low growls of his stomach as they both mounted the cobblestone street again, looking with certain distinction at the ice cream parlour across the way.
"Great idea."
They sat under a brightly coloured umbrella, finishing off giant banana splits and watching the other customers shoving their way up the streets, children and purchases in tow.
James couldn't quite explain it, but for the first time in his life, he felt as if he wasn't under the thumb of his Mother and Father, forcing him to think about his future when he hadn't even started school yet. He didn't tell Sirius this, but there was something about this boy that made him feel entirely at ease.
It didn't take long for the subject to turn to Quidditch teams, something James very much enjoyed. They spent ten minutes arguing loudly (and drawing the attention of many of their neighbouring eaters) and cheerfully about England's chances against Brazil, and whether or not Ireland had a prayer this weekend against Australia.
"Look, mate, the Wimbourn Wasps are good, but only because of Bagman," Sirius was explaining. "I mean, he's amazing, but the whole team's pretty much resting on him, you seen their seeker? Should've retired ages ago."
"What about Hall? He's not bad..."
"Hall? Hall couldn't block the rings if his life depended on it -- if Bagman hadn't shot that Bludger straight at Ivanoskovich's head on Thursday, it would've been all over."
James took another bite of his sundae, looking around. His attention was caught by what was clearly a Muggle family making their way carefully up the street, dressed in some of the strangest clothes James had ever seen. The Father was wearing plaid trousers and a large tweed vest, while the mother was wearing what looked like a robe, only it flared out at the bottoms, and had strange little straps that fell all over her shoulders. Their daughter, a pretty girl with dark red hair that fell down to her waist, looked sensible enough. It was clear they had just paid for robes, as she was now head-to-toe in black fabric with a Hogwarts crest stamped on the front. And just behind her, scowling miserably and looking at everything as though it was about to jump out and attack her was a very thin, blonde pig-tailed girl with a neck that seemed to reach up forever.
The redhead was eyeing everything was great excitement, every now and then travelling further up the street and squealing, dragging her parents to look at something.
"I dunno," said Sirius, watching James' line of vision. "My parents don't really think their type should be allowed."
"What do you mean?" asked James, turning his attention back to the brooding, dark-haired boy in front of him, whose lips were dotted with melted ice cream and sprinkles.
"Well... I'm not really sure. But they seem to think that everything would just be a lot simpler if it was just wizarding families."
"But it's not really fair, is it?" James asked, looking at him, his face slightly hardened. He had clearly been brought up on the opposite side of things. "I mean, they're just as magic as we are, probably - and if they don't get the proper training - I mean, they could hurt others - it just doesn't seem fair."
"Didn't say I thought like that -- I said my father did. Besides, if all Muggle-born's are as pretty as her, I have no problem," he added, glancing as the girl disappeared into the wand shop. Shortly after Florean Fortescue cleared their plates, they filled the next few hours running up and down the street, stopping to get their supplies in various shops as an afterthought. Weighed down with bags they returned to the grate, each with far less money than they had before. James' mother was waiting, tapping the pavement impatiently with her shoe.
"Had a good time, James?" she asked, barely giving Sirius a second look.
"Yeah, Mum."
"Okay, let's get going," she said briskly, reaching for the pot of Floo powder next to the grate.
James turned, and waved at Sirius. "Send me an owl -- or, I guess I'll see you in September!" he called.
Sirius waved back, still grinning broadly, pulling a strand of dark hair out of his eyes.
"See you!"
The next month was agony. James thought September the first would never arrive, and he would be stuck in perpetual August for the rest of his life. Luckily, to relieve the boredom, Sirius and he wrote almost daily, mostly to argue over Quidditch, but quite a few other subjects they managed to squeeze in at the bottom
James -
Dad keeps going on about how he wants me to be in Slytherin -- can you believe it? I wouldn't be caught dead in that house -- I'd run away or something. Did you hear about the Wasps? UNBELIEVABLE!!! Why'd Bagman have to go and get a broken arm? He's useless!! Talk about useless -- you seen his replacement? Got to go, mate -- Mum's calling -- I think she found the dung bombs I've been hiding. Darn -- I was going to do some serious damage when we got to school. Oh well! Write Back!!!
--Sirius