James stood still in the brisk New England air, shivering in his cloak, as he walk fast and kept his head low. Where he was going, no one knew him, but he looked like his father, and everyone knew what he looked like. He brushed past the busy crowd of Diagon Alley, ignoring the multiple cries of protest that he caused. He looked up only when he made it to the dark side alley that was labelled with a broken, crooked, blood-red sign. It creaked in the win the bit at his skin, but he didn't flinch. He lifted his head and his bright green eyes flashed, so like his father's own. He glided past the shady doorways and drunks against the walls, leaving the words Knockturn Alley swaying ominously behind him. He stood in the shadows, unseen by everyone as they passed by, and closed his eyes. Slowly, the street rushed beneath his feet, and faces blurred as people began to disappear, and others reappeared all around him. Suddenly, Knockturn Alley in 2004 became the much grimier Knockturn Alley of 1991.
*************************************************************1991***************************************************************
The bell ringed cheerily inside of the dirty shop, startling the shopkeeper, who collected himself and rolled his eyes. Crossing his arms, he glared at the new arrival, whose face he had yet to see.
"We're closed."
The figure barked out a short laugh.
"There's no one here but you Borgin. We both know that."
Borgin uncrossed his arms and took a conscious step back. The voice was of an adolescent, but it reeked of power. "Who are-"
"Who I am doesn't matter to you Borgin. What matters is that there are aurors outside of your shop, and you have a horcrux in your locked safe behind the locked cabinet behind your painting of the balanced justice scales, ironically. Borgin stumbled so harshly, his arm shot out to steady himself and swiped all of the trinkets off of the counter. He fell to a knee and looked into the eyes of the child who threatened him and gasped out.
"Harry Potter…" he breathed out.
The boy chuckled darkly. "Honored, but not quite. Not quite." The lights flickered from the force of the power rolling off of him in waves.
"What do you want? I'll do anything you want."
The figure, in his black cloak, clicked his tongue in disappointment.
"No, Borgin, you'll give me anything I want. And all I want from you is the wand tucked next to the locket in that safe."
Borgin recovered some of his wits and glared up at his tormentor. "No that belongs to-"
"Me. It belongs to me." The boy's voice came out as a growl, and all of the furniture in the store rumbled with it. Borgin scrambled to his feet and ran to the wall behind the counter. He muttered an array of spells before three small doors swung open against the moldy walls, sending up a cloud of dust from the crushed velvet.
The wand flew towards the youth's face and he caught it deftly between two fingers and examined it. He then tilted his head to the side and aimed the wand directly at Borgin's head.
The man squealed in terror and ducked, and the child laughed. This laugh was authentic and finally belied his true youthfulness. The locket in the safe soared to the gloved hand of the mysterious invader of Borgin's store, and the store owner stared incredulously The young man waved the wand, and the safe closed, and Borgin's eyes bugged out of his head.
"That-That-No-You can't- That locket can not be summoned!" Borgin stuttered.
The boy waved mockingly as he spun on his heel and sped out of the store.
"It can if you have the wand." And the boy was gone. Borgin slumped against the counter. He wasn't built for this war. His lord didn't tell him of a possible enemy like this. He moved towards his rooms to pack all of his things, so he could flee before the Dark Lord found out about his failure when the bell above the door of his store rung once more. He didn't turn, fear filling his body, and blood draining from his already pale cheeks when a cheeky voice called out,
"Oh, and there were never any aurors."
Borgin spun in place angrily, but when he faced the door, there was no one there.
He was alone.
James stood beside his brother, younger than him by a year, and waited patiently. Albus' leg bounced with his anxiety, and James laid a hand on his shoulder, which calmed him instantly.
"We're okay Al. It'll be okay." Albus scoffed at him and his leg resumed its bouncing.
"Jay, you can't actually know that. What if-" James finished his sentence.
"-you just trusted me for once? I don't know, let's try it out." Albus smiled at him. They were a year apart, but often acted like Fred and George except for the fact the James tended to be overprotective of his little brother. Which is why he leapt in front of Albus when a figure in a black cloak approached them from further down Knockturn Alley. Said figure rolled his eyes at the display and tossed a black silk drawstring bag at James and smirked.
"It's done. And I'm gone."
The cloaked teen vanished, leaving a smirking James and hopeful Albus staring into a black bag in Knockturn Alley.