Whispers in Diagon Alley

"Master James?"

"Coming!" Eleven-year-old James Potter threw down the book he had been experimentally pushing further and further over the edge of his bedside table and sped out of his room. He sprinted down the hallway and leapt down the staircase three steps at a time, his unruly jet-black hair bouncing around his ears. Turning the corner rapidly, he skidded to a halt just in front of a wizened, humanoid creature with long, tan ears sticking out from either side of his head. The house-elf did not quite reach James' waist, but Winthrop's stern-looking expression would have intimidated anyone not familiar with the better sides of his personality.

"Master's mother and father are waiting," the house-elf said in his high-pitched voice, hands clasped firmly behind the embroidered dish-towel he used as a toga-like covering.

"Okay," James responded unconcernedly. "That's it?"

Winthrop raised one white, bushy eyebrow. "Masters Fleamont and Euphemia have been waiting for over half an hour, and Mistress finally sent Winthrop to get you. Something about a letter." Confused, James continued to stare blankly down at him until Winthrop's eyebrow rose another quarter of an inch.

"Oh!" James exclaimed, eyes wide. "That letter, you mean?"

"Master and Mistress have not opened it yet. Anyway, since Master's legs appear to be working spectacularly," Winthrop responded slyly, shifting his eyes towards the glazed wooden stairs, "Winthrop thinks the journey to the kitchen should not be long."

"Oh, bite me," James retorted good-naturedly as he dashed around the house-elf and towards the kitchen. His mother greeted him at the entrance just as he reached the door.

"How about you sit down and have your breakfast?" she asked, her wrinkles around her smiling mouth and eyes clearly pronounced in the early morning light as she ushered him into the room behind her. Allowing her to push him along, James shoved his round-shaped glasses further up his nose and took his usual seat next to his father at the head of the mahogany table.

"Winthrop mentioned a letter?" James asked as he eagerly loaded toast onto his plate.

"Did he?" his father answered distractedly, engrossed in the morning edition of The Daily Prophet. "What letter is that?"

James paused, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth, staring questioningly at his father. The aging man peeked around his newspaper and grinned at James, taking a sealed envelope from his lap and handing it to him. As James' heart began to beat again, he quickly read the address.

To Mr. J Potter

Potter Cottage

Godric's Hollow

West Country, England

Excitement rushed down James' spine, and he quickly tore the envelope open.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 5 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

"Excellent!" James exclaimed, turning the page over to skim the required items for new students.

"Your father and I are so proud of you!" his mother exclaimed, hugging his torso tightly. "We'll get your items today in Diagon Alley. Now you hurry up and eat your breakfast while I get ready." She ran her fingers through her son's hair as he shoved the remainder of his toast into his mouth. Glancing at The Daily Prophet to look at the news, he almost caught a glimpse of the inside cover before his father noticed and hastily folded the paper closed. As he placed it under the table, James sat back in disappointment and pushed up from his chair.

"Wait a minute, James," his father called as he started to run off, smiling apologetically. "I have a surprise for you." Sitting down again expectantly, James fidgeted in his seat as he waited. Folding up his paper, his father reached underneath his chair and pulled out a wrinkled package and placed it on the table.

"What is it?" James asked.

"Open it and see," his father urged, sitting on the edge of his seat eagerly.

Obeying immediately, James grabbed the present and tore the paper away, revealing a folded, simple-looking cloak. Confused, he shook it out; it was much too long for him to fit in, and it shimmered with a silver light when it moved.

"Here, give it to me," his father spoke up, growing impatient with excitement as he crinkled The Daily Prophet behind him and pushed his chair back. Handing the cloak over, James watched as his father paused dramatically. Winking once at his son, he flung the fabric over his head and completely vanished from the kitchen. When James let out an amazed gasp, he threw the cloak off again and extended it to his son.

"It's my old Invisibility Cloak," his father explained as James took it and tried it on. "My father gave it to me when I went to school, and his father gave it to him before that. It got me into plenty of adventures at Hogwarts, and it even saved my hide a few times. I think you'll find some use for it at school."

"Thank you!" James exclaimed, throwing his arms around his father and squeezing tightly.

"Ooh, watch it!" he protested, wincing and prying himself free. "My ribs aren't exactly young anymore."

"Are you ready, James?" his mother suddenly called from out of view.

"Go on, now," his father encouraged, pushing James toward the door. "Stay with your mother and make sure she doesn't get lost."

Dashing out of the door and down the hall, James hurried into the lounge, where his mother stood waiting by the fireplace with her purse in hand. Spotting the Invisibility Cloak in his fist as he approached, she clicked her tongue and shook her head.

"I told him to wait to give you that," she complained. "I don't think a school-aged boy should be trusted with it."

"He said it helped him get out of trouble," James protested, bunching up the Cloak and stuffing it into the pocket of his robes.

"I've gotten him out of more trouble than that Cloak could ever dream of," his mother remarked while she reached for the top of the fireplace and removed a small bowl of powder. "We're using the Floo network to get to the Leaky Cauldron," she informed him, taking a pinch of the powder before giving the bowl to her son. "Follow right behind me."

Stepping into the empty fireplace, she threw the powder at her feet and said, "The Leaky Cauldron!"

As soon as the sparkling dust touched the ground, emerald flames burst upwards from the floor and enveloped her, leaping up to the top of her gray head and covering her completely. However, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the fire died out, taking James' mother with it. Unconcerned, James stepped into the fireplace where she had stood just seconds ago.

"The Leaky Cauldron!" he repeated, taking care to speak loudly and enunciate his destination properly. When the powder he had thrown flared up around him, he felt no heat as an invisible force sucked his body through space and threw it out again in a fireplace of a cozy pub. Staggering out with the momentum of his journey, he grasped his mother's hand to keep him from falling forward and pulled himself upright.

"Hello, Euphemia!" an old witch called out from a table in the corner of the pub, where she was sitting with a younger wizard.

"Hello, Gillian," James' mother answered with a smile, leading James towards the speaker. As he walked closer, James recognized the witch as Gillian McGoosh, a sporadic visitor of his parents'.

"Hello, James, how are you doing?" Gillian asked him.

"Fine, thank you," he responded, and the wizard at her table turned around to face the newcomers. He had a spiky mess of dark hair which did not quite make it down to his square jaw, and his lips curled upward in a welcoming smile. Scattered blotches on his forehead and chin suggested he had once had a bad case of acne as a youth.

"I was just talking to Rookwood here about the events at the Ministry," Gillian was telling James' mother amiably. "You know, the protests against non-magical folk have certainly been causing a lot of trouble for the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee—"

"Maybe such topics shouldn't be discussed around young ears," James' mother suddenly interrupted, covering James' ears with her hands. Although he shook her off, Gillian had already nodded apologetically and placed her hand over her mouth.

"Of course," she amended, and she turned to James instead. "My goodness, but haven't you grown since the last time I saw you? How old are you now?"

"Eleven," he answered, and she let out a happy gasp.

"So you're here to get your first wand, is that it?" He nodded, and Gillian clapped her hands together excitedly.

"It seems like only yesterday I was getting my first wand as well," Rookwood said, standing up and extending his hand towards James' mother.

Taking it, she asked, "Augustus, isn't it?"

He smiled and nodded. "And you must be Euphemia Potter," he guessed. "Your husband is still admired at the Ministry."

"Well, he certainly knows how to make an impression," James' mother replied politely. "I just have to be satisfied when it's a good one."

All the adults laughed appreciatively. "Well, it's about time I head off," Rookwood told Gillian. "But remember what I said: it's not our place to get involved. Phoenixes of a feather should stick together, I always say."

Tilting her head to the side, James' mother narrowed her eyes. "Do you mean the—" She broke off and glanced at her son, who pretended not to be interested. "Do you mean those without magic? The Muggles?" she continued in a swift whisper. "Shouldn't we be doing all we can to stop the attacks?"

"Of course," Rookwood answered, waving his hand dismissively as James watched out of the corner of his eye. "But there's only so much we can do, and we have to think of the Statute of Secrecy. When all's said and done, the best protection for the Muggles is to separate them from magic of any sort. What they don't know can't hurt them." At this, James' mother made a small disparaging noise, but Rookwood did not seem to notice as he raised a hand in farewell. "A pleasure."

As he walked off, Gillian smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Euphemia. He's well-meaning enough, but his ideas on Muggle protection can be a bit old-fashioned." Breaking off, she beamed at James and clasped his hands. "Have a wonderful time at Hogwarts, James. Make your parents proud."

After nodding, he joined his mother on the way out of the Leaky Cauldron through the back door. Looking up at her face inquisitively while they walked through the narrow alley, he tried to read her expression as she glanced down at him and smiled weakly.

"I'm sorry, James," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder and squeezing once. "There's just been a lot of things going on lately, but nothing you have to be worried about."

Stopping when they reached a dead-end, she reached into the pocket of her fur overcoat and pulled out her wand, a short, curly piece of dark wood. Starting at a garbage bin set against the wall, she counted three bricks up and two across before tapping the chosen spot with her wand. Immediately the bricks parted in the middle to form a hole, which grew in size until there stood an archway large enough for a person to walk through. Grabbing his mother's hand, James carted her through the entrance before it sealed up behind them.

Breathing in the smell of roasting chestnuts and smoke from a nearby wizard's pipe, he smiled as the noise of bartering shop vendors greeted his ears. A myriad of menageries, bookstores, and appliance shops ran down the winding street, the largest and most prominent building standing at the end, where the road forked off into separate shopping districts; supported by massive stone pillars, Gringotts Wizarding Bank oversaw the activities of the shoppers and passersby bustling beneath its shadow, and James began to grow excited at the familiar sight. Only a little above his head and to the right sat the metal plaque on the wall announcing their location: Diagon Alley.

"Where to first?" James' mother asked, conjuring a scroll of parchment with her wand and looking at it. "We have to get you a wand of course, but you can also choose an owl or a cat or a toad to bring to school, and Flourish and Blotts will have all of your textbooks—"

"Let's get my wand first!" James interrupted.

"All right," she laughed, tucking the scroll away into her pocket. "Off to Ollivanders, then. He has the best wands this side of the Ural Mountains—possibly the best in the world."

Holding out her hand, he led James down the street towards an old building farther down the alley. Passing a sales-witch with a tray full of fire-spitting beetles, they stopped when they reached their destination and opened the door with a creak. Immediately struck by the tightness of the enclosed space, James looked around at the dozens of shelves lining the back of the shop, all filled with small, slender boxes. At their entrance, a small bell rang and called a rather stringy man to the front desk.

"Welcome." Ollivander bowed slightly. "A wand for the young one, I presume? His first?" When James' mother nodded, the shop-owner bent down to extract a tape measure from a hidden drawer.

"Which is your wand arm?" Ollivander inquired of James, stepping out from behind the desk, and James extended his right. With a flick of his wand, Ollivander sent the tape measure shooting upwards to James' shoulder, and it extended and retracted to capture the length of his fingertips while the shop-owner turned to pull out one of the boxes from a back shelf.

"Try this one," he ordered James wheezily, handing over the wand from inside the box and watching intently with wide, silver eyes. James took it and lowered his eyebrows in concentration before lifting his arm and waving it.

"No, I'm afraid it won't do at all," Ollivander said quickly, seizing the wand and dropping it onto the floor unceremoniously. "This one." He handed James another, and he had barely touched it when Ollivander took it back. "Now this: very fine, dragon heartstring, ten and a quarter inches . . ." Again James grasped the wand, but Ollivander immediately snatched it back. "Try this one," he commanded instead, extending a replacement.

The ritual went on for a full ten minutes, Ollivander growing more excited and James more frustrated with each failed attempt. Beginning to wonder what the shop-owner was watching for, James gave his new experiment an impatient shake and almost cried out when a couple of red sparks flew from the tip. In front of him, Ollivander nodded sagely.

"Eleven inches, mahogany, phoenix feather, surprisingly firm," he quoted by memory. "A very fine wand—fit for a stubborn, talented, and protective owner. Use it well, child," he said, bending down to retrieve a handful of discarded wands. Wondering about the wizard's last statement, James fingered his wand thoughtfully as Ollivander turned to his mother.

"That'll be seven Galleons," he told her, and she reached into her purse to retrieve the payment. After giving him seven gold coins, she and James exited the shop as Ollivander gave a parting bow.

As soon as the door closed behind them and left the wizard standing alone behind his desk, James turned to his mother. "Can I go choose an owl now?" he asked eagerly.

"So it's going to be an owl?" his mother questioned.

"Yes," James stated firmly. "That way it can carry my mail for me."

"You will write, won't you?"

"Of course I will, mum," James groaned, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Now let's go!" He started off for the Magical Menagerie, but his mother tugged him in the other direction.

"Better go to Eeylop's Owl Emporium," she told him. "They have the best variety of birds."

Turning to follow her, James walked towards the small shop near the end of the street and entered behind his mother. When they stepped inside, a sudden barrage of squawking and hooting met their ears, and James had to turn in a full circle to take in the preening, ruffling owls perched in every corner of the room. A strong musk greeted his nose, but after the first shock of the odor had passed, he decided he rather liked it. After a moment, an old witch about the age of James' mother shuffled out of a back room, her huge eyes resembling the birds' surrounding her.

"Hello!" she squeaked. "Welcome to Eeylop's Owl Emporium. What can I help you with today?"

"My son wants an owl," James' mother answered.

"All right, then," the witch said, gesturing towards the owls. "Have a go—all the best owls around! Screech, barn, tawny, and brown."

Looking around, James eyed the owls as they stared back disinterestedly and turned away to preen their chests. Crunching a few dirty feathers underfoot as he stepped forward, James caught the eye of an especially small owl staring back at him unblinkingly. He tried to stare it down, but it did not flinch, and he grinned.

"This one," he said, pointing.

"Ah, yes," the old witch agreed, waddling forward and rubbing her fingers together. "A Screech owl. Thought someone would buy him soon: he's a real beauty. Only got him four days ago," she babbled, taking the owl off of its perch, and its large ear tufts ruffled in agitation. "That'll be 15 Galleons," she told James' mother, watching eagerly as she began to fish out the money from her purse. "Care for some owl treats and food?"

As his mother followed the shopkeeper around the room, James looked his new pet in the eye. "What shall I name you?" The Screech owl seemed unconcerned, turning away to pick out an unruly feather from his wing. "Feathers? Heartless? McGoosh?" Annoyed, the owl turned to glare at him. "Very well," James spoke after a thoughtful pause. "I'll call you Hardwin. Is that better?" Turning his head back around, Hardwin started preening again, and James took his boredom as a good sign.

"All right, James, we still need to get your schoolbooks," his mother spoke up suddenly, having finished with the transactions. She gave him a silver cage much too big for Hardwin, and she and James exited the shop as the wide-eyed witch excitedly fingered her pay.

When his mother began walking towards Flourish and Blott's bookstore, her eyes fixated on the supply list, James slowed down and tugged her sleeve. "Can I have a look around?" he asked, pointing at the other shops in the alleyway. Surprised, his mother paused and looked at him before smiling.

"Of course you can," she relented, and she dug out a few silver and bronze coins from her purse to hand to him. Taking Hardwin's cage, she instructed, "I gave you four Sickles and fifteen Knuts—that should be enough to buy anything you might want. Meet me here in half an hour, all right?"

"Okay!" James agreed, and he turned around when she continued on her way. Grinning to himself, he started off for Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour when a couple of hushed voices from a nearby store doorway caught his attention.

"Take a look here," a balding man with heavy, black eyebrows told his companion, flourishing a copy of The Daily Prophet so they could both read it. When the younger man made a concerned grunting noise, James stepped a few paces closer and strained his ears.

"Things just keep getting worse," the second wizard exclaimed, shaking his head. "Why, if the Minister doesn't pick up her game—" The rest of his sentence was cut off as he dropped to a whisper. Curious, James quickly ducked into the space between two neighboring buildings and pulled out the Invisibility Cloak still in his pocket, throwing it over his head. Stepping out from his hiding place, he made sure to keep his feet concealed underneath the fabric as he inched closer to the two men and tried to peer over the edge of the newspaper.

"Jenkins sure has a lot on her hands," the older man added, nodding, and James recognized the name of Great Britain's Minister of Magic. "Thirteen Muggle attacks in three weeks is no laughing matter."

Astounded by the numbers, James caught a glimpse of a black-and-white photograph in The Daily Prophet as the man bunched it up. Dressed in dark robes, several wizards silently talked amongst themselves as they stood over a few covered stretchers, moving agitatedly inside the frame. Suddenly James remembered how his father had reacted when he had tried to look at the paper earlier that morning.

"If . . ." The younger man suddenly grew even quieter, and James had to lean forward to hear his words. "If You-Know-Who's Death Eaters are causing the problems, I imagine it'll only get worse from here."

"Those poor Muggles won't know what hit 'em," the first one replied, and the two quieted. After a pause, the older one nodded. "Well, see you around."

"Watch yourself, the blood traitors are next," the other said.

Both whisked out of the doorway with their heads down, and James had to dart to the side to avoid being trampled. Frowning, he followed after the older man to see if he would discard his paper, but he stopped in disappointment when the wizard turned off into an adjacent alleyway and Apparated, completely vanishing to reappear in his new destination. Deflated, James pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it back into his pocket, studying the place where the old man had disappeared contemplatively. After another moment, he turned back to find his mother.