Year One: Chapter One
A Visit To Diagon Alley
His alarm clock rang, waking him from his sleep. Slamming a hand down on it, James sat up once more and put on his glasses. And just as easily as before, he slid out from his bed sheets and put his bare feet on the hardwood floor.
It was Saturday, almost a week since he had received his letter, and his father had promised to take him to Diagon Alley to collect his school supplies. A promise James was not about to allow him to talk his way out of.
He opened his bedroom door and stepped out into the sunbathed hallway. He went down the stairs again ad turned to the kitchen, where his mother was busy supervising the preparations of their breakfast. He had to move out of the way when the refrigerator door swung open and a carton of orange juice floated out and over to three empty glasses; it had nearly knocked him in the head. He shook his head and continued on to the dining room, where his father sat at the table, face hidden by the newspaper he was reading. James read the front headline, "GRINGOTTS GOES FOR TROLL INSURANCE."
"Morning, Dad," James greeted, taking a seat across from his father. He snatched up a handful of bacon his mother had already placed on the table.
Atticus Potter folded the newspaper and smiled. "Well good morning, James. You're not usually up this early. Are you excited for Diagon Alley?"
James grinned back. "Of course."
Mr. Potter smiled and took a drink from his red coffee mug. He was a considerably older father than most children would have, but James hardly noticed the difference. He was always there for him whenever he needed help and that was all that really mattered.
"Good morning, dear," Anita Potter said cheerfully, her face hidden by levitated trays of food. When she approached the table, she lowered her wand and the trays lowered to the table. She turned to her left, to where James sat. "James Potter! Go upstairs and change into some clothes!"
James looked down at his pajamas curiously. "I'm not gonna wear them outta the house, Mum," he reasoned and started nibbling on his toast.
"I don't care, go upstairs and change now." Mrs. Potter walked past him to her husband, her robes flowing behind her. She, too, was older in years and because they had had James so much later in life, she was very protective and worried about him. He was their only child, and therefore a special treasure.
James pushed out his chair and left the dining hall, went up the stairs o his room, and changed into something more appropriate: a deep purple Pride of Portree shirt and a pair of neat, new pants.
He ran down the stairs once more and slid into his chair. He began devouring everything on the plate in front of him, as if he would never eat again.
"James, James, James…." James heard his mother. She sounded annoyed about something, but that didn't stop him from asking, "What? What? What?"
"What are we going to do with that hair of yours?" James rolled his eyes; he was no stranger to this argument. No sooner had she spoken, he felt a wet comb start to try the fruitless task of brushing through it, but with little success. His mother just sighed.
"Does it ever lay straight?"
"Nope," he answered, finishing his eggs.
Mrs. Potter sighed again as James finished the last of what was left on his plate. "Well I suppose that's as good as it will ever be."
"Are you ready, James?" Mr. Potter asked, standing up from the table.
"Yeah," James grinned excitedly, standing up as well. The three walked to the next room: a large study. Shelves upon shelves of books covered the walls, books of all sorts. A comforting oak table sat in the middle of the room, dressed in a red tablecloth. And in the corner, there was an ancient fireplace.
They stopped at the fireplace. Mr. Potter stooped down and took a pinch of Floo Powder from the small metal container sitting beside the fireplace.
He stood up and walked into the unlit fireplace: it was tall enough that he didn't even have to stoop! "You know what to do," he said. "I'll go first to see that you end up in the right place this time," he added, with a playful, teasing smirk.
He paused and spoke as clearly as he possibly could. "Diagon Alley!" Green flames shot up and engulfed him; he was gone.
"Are you sure about this, dear? You could always wait another year or two-" Mrs. Potter began worriedly, but James interrupted her laughing.
"Mum, what sort of reputation would that give men? Stop worrying! I'll be fine," James gave her a reassuring hug to try and comfort her, but she continued crying.
"My little baby's all grown up and leaving for school!"
"I'll be fine, Mum-"
"I know…I know…being silly…." She straightened up, somewhat calmer. "You go off with your father then…and don't get into trouble!"
James chuckled, pinching away some Floo Powder and climbing into the fireplace. "Now what would give you an idea like that? Diagon Alley!"
He felt the strange sensation of being sucked down a giant bathtub drain, all the while spinning, spinning.… He kept his eyes shut, the green flames were only making him sick – his bacon and egg breakfast was churning all the while inside him, threatening to erupt any second-
He fell face first against to hardwood floor. He sat upright and straightened his askew glasses. James opened his eyes and gaped around the room he had just appeared in. There were bookcases everywhere, filled with large books, small books, fat books, and skinny books. He was in Flourish and Blotts.
He walked out of the fireplace and squeezed his way through the huge crowds of people huddled together in the cramped shop. He spotted his father.
"James, I was beginning to wonder whether you were coming," Mr. Potter chuckled. James shrugged and brushed the soot and ashes off of his clothes. The two found a deserted corner of Flourish and Blotts and read over the list of supplies James would need for school.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Uniform
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black).
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear.
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar).
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings).
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.
Course Books
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
Other Equipment
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set of glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set of brass scales
Students may also brings an owl or a cat or a toad or a rat.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.
"Oy, Dad, do you think I could smuggle one in anyway?" James asked with a mischievous smirk.
Mr. Potter laughed. "Not a chance, son. Well," he returned his attention to the paper," let's get started then." James and his father managed to push their way out of the crowds of students and parents with all of his new books.
They left Flourish and Blotts and bought supplies from many other shops such as Madame Malkin's Robes For All Occasions, the corner Apothecary and cauldron shop, and Eeylops Owl Emporium until they came to Ollivanders. The shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters on the sign over the door read, Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. James moved closer to the old, dusty window and wiped an area clean with his hand, covering it in the ancient dust. He peered into the window and saw a single wand lying on a faded purple cushion.
"Come along, James. I'm sure Mr. Ollivander will not want you smudging up his window," Mr. Potter commented from behind him. James turned around quickly and followed his father through the tiny door.
A tinkling bell rang from somewhere in the shop as the two stepped through in and let the door close behind them.
James looked all around himself. The shop was much larger inside than it had appeared to be outside. He felt as though he were in a library. There were countless shelves in the tiny place except instead of being lined with books they were filled with millions of small, rectangular wooden cases.
"Hold on, Stebbins, I've got another customer up front," a calm, older voice was heard from the back of the shop. Someone was walking up the aisles. He stopped whe he stood behind his desk and smiled at them. His skin was very pale and his wide, silvery eyes were almost haunting.
"Ah…" he seemed to consider father and son. "Potter? I'd surmise?"
Mr. Potter nodded.
The older man smiled. "Thirteen and a half inches, durable. Oak. Excellent for transfiguration."
Yes," Mr. Potter nodded again.
"Now if you'll excuse me I've got another young man waiting for me in the back. I'll be right back." He explained.
"Gon on," said Mr. Potter. The old man turned around and went back from where he had come.
They waited for another five minutes in silence that was occasionally broken by some sort of crash or bang. Finally, however, the old man and a red-haired, freckle-faced boy came out from the back of the shop.
The old man wrapped the wand and sold it to the boy for seven Galleons before attending to James and his father.
"Well, I must say...years are passing by like days lately. It seems your parents were only just here purchasing their wands," he looked at James's father, a twinkle in his silver eyes. He opened a drawer behind the counter and pulled out a long tape measure with silver markings on it " Which is your wand arm?" he asked, addressing James.
"Right," James answered confidently.
"Alright then, hold out your arm." James obeyed and he began measuring James from shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and finally around his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand is different. No two are alike. Each wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. This is why they are different; no two unicorns or phoenixes or dragons are exactly alike. This also means that you'll never get the same results with another wizard's wand." He dropped the measuring tape on the floor and went off to another shelf. He came back shortly with an old, beaten case.
"It is not the wizard who chooses the wand, but the wand which chooses the wizard," he simply said, opening the case. Inside was a wand that he rested in his hands, "Eight inches, dragon heartstring, quite swishy, made of maple, wonderful for charms." He handed it to James who held it, observing it more closely.
James looked at it more curiously.
"Well, whish it a bit, come on," James did as he was told and there soon came a loud crash as one of the shelves had hit another and another, all along one row. When the dust settled, the old man stared white-faced at what use to be his shop. There were wand cases scattered everywhere among the collapsed bookshelves.
He snatched the wand away from James quickly and put away in its case again.
"Definitely not," was all that he could manage to say. He left to dig in the immense mountain of wands.
"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Ollivander," Mr. Potter apologized.
"No, no," the old man shook his head, "it's…fine…here, try this one," he took one down from the shelf behind him; it hadn't toppled over. "Eleven inches. Pliable, a little more power and excellent for transfiguration."
This time, though, James knew he had the right wand as he felt some small warmness at the tip of his fingers.
"Oh yes! Bravo, Mr. Potter, bravo! Here give it to me and I'll wrap it up for you."
He did just that and set the wand on the counter between them.
"That will be seven Galleons." Mr. Potter handed him the money and they took the wand.
"Thank you, have a nice day," he smiled.
"You have a fine day as well, Mr. Ollivander," they left the shop.
"That was Ollivander?!" James asked.
Mr. Potter nodded.
"Atticus! Atticus Potter!" yelled a wispy-haired witch in grand red robes.
"Oh, hello!" he waved back to her. "James, do you mind if I speak with her shortly?"
James shook his head. "No, go ahead." His father walked across the street and spoke to the witch while James waited.
"So what if I'm a few knuts short?" a loud voice complained. Curious, James followed it to an ice cream vendor.
"I'm sorry, but that will be six knuts, take it or leave it," the cashier stated.
The boy grumbled something angrily under his breath and made to leave, but James, without knowing what he was doing, ran up to the boy.
"Wait! How many more knuts do you need?" James asked. The boy looked quite taken aback at the offer, as if he'd been slapped, but he didn't ague.
"Two," he grumbled. James smiled and pulled eight knuts out of his pocket, handing two to the boy.
He took them, an odd looking crossing his face. "Uh…thanks?"
"No problem," James grinned and handed the cashier his six knuts as the other boy gave his two. The cashier grumpily handed them their ice cream.
"Do you want to sit with me?" James offered and waited for a response.
"…Fine," the boy took a seat at the table while James sat across from him.
"My name's James Potter," he decided to introduce himself. "What's your name?"
The boy looked up from his ice cream darkly. "Sirius…."
James chuckled slightly. "Are you serious? Sorry…. You got a last name?"
If it were at all possible, the boy looked at him with even more hatred. "…Black…."
James saw it now! How could he have been so blind?! The boy shared the same aristocratic looks as the Blacks: dark hair, light eyes, slim build, sloped nose! Why he even had the Black family ring on his hand, it was covering half of his hand up! "Black!"
"Look, I'm not like those…people I have to call family, alright?!" Black exclaimed, glaring at James through his cold gray eyes. His ice cream was beginning to melt under the summer sun. James watched it as it dripped down the cone and onto his hand, onto his ring. Black looked down at his hand and wiped the ice cream off with a napkin.
"I'm sorry, I just…bad things about your family, that's all…." James said apologetically.
"Big surprise, that's what everyone thinks," he replied grumpily, but then sighed. "No, I'm sorry. It's just that…since I'm a Black, everyone thinks I'm like the rest of them…and I'm not…."
James nodded silently. "So why are you here?"
"I'm going to Hogwarts. What about you?" Black asked.
Me too," James nodded.
"So is this your first time in Diagon Alley?"
"Nah, Dad's taken me here loads of time," James answered before licking his ice cream so it wouldn't melt all over his hand.
"You like Quidditch?" Black asked. He must have noticed James's shirt.
"Oh yeah, I'm a huge fan! You?"
"No better sport than Quidditch!" the Black kid answered, beginning to smile. Perhaps he wasn't so bad…he seemed nice enough.
"Well James, it looks as if you've met yourself a new friend," Mr. Potter found the two seated together at the table. James and the kid jumped in shock.
"Oh yeah, this is Sirius Black, Dad," James instantly realized the mistake he made when he saw his father's smile fade away to only be replaced by a worried frown.
"Well we had better be off, James, we still have much to buy. It was…nice meeting you, Sirius," his father put on an obviously fake grin and pulled James away. James looked back at the boy sitting there as his father dragged him away. He stared back as the two disappeared around the corner. James felt sorry for him.
A/N- Harry Potter and friends and everything else you recognize do not belonging to me as they are the property and creations of J.K. Rowling.
The school list is found in Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone.