James has been lying in his bed for a few hours, waiting for the sky outside of his window to turn pink and then gold, just early enough to call it morning. His fingers twist and untwist on his stomach and his head is propped on his pillow. He feels light, it is the only way he can describe it, like nothing can ever ruin his day.
When the sun reaches the peak of the hill, he finds it time to get up, though it is still dark. His hand reaches over the sheets to the nightstand, his fingers glide over the wood, tapping books and a lamp until he finds his glasses. Putting them on, the room turns into focus.
He pulls on an old T-shirt and jeans before opening the bedroom door and enters the hallway. He blinks into the glaring lights and blindly steps into the kitchen. He stops in the archway when he sees a tall, lean figure leaning against the counter wearing work clothes, his father. James's father isn't around much. He leaves early in the morning and comes home late at night and was only off on Sundays (sometimes). He had a shock of white hair that was cut close to his head, unlike James's which went off in all directions, and a friendly face.
His father nods at him over a cup of coffee. "Morning," he says after a gulp and setting the cup down with an audible crack. His father smiles, when he does the smile-lines around his eyes crinkle. "Why are you up so early?"
"Mum and I are going to Diagon Alley," he says after a moment, reluctant to move. Although, James loves his father, he has a hard time talking to him.
His father smile widens, the kind of smile that makes everyone around him smile to - which is exactly what James does. "Yes, I heard you got your letter last night. How exciting. I wish I could go back to Hogwarts," he says, "You think they would let me back in?"
James lifts himself on top of the counter. He pretends to look his father over, who poses for effect. "Maaabyyyye… Do a circle for me," James says, "Maybe if we get you a wig - a nice cloak - you'll fit right in."
His father turns to his side, pats his stomach, and frowns, "Won't I be a tad too big though?"
"Growth spurt?"
"Perfect plan, son!" His father laughs. "Anyway, I have to go to work. See if you can enroll me later today, okay." And then his father was gone. The last thing James saw of him was his smile.
It will be a few hours until his mother wakes up and James is too excited to eat. He just wanted to run around; his whole body tingled. Despite this feeling, he can't wrap his head around that he's going to Hogwarts. He's been repeating in his head for the last eight hours, "I'm going to Hogwarts. I'm going to Hogwarts." But he isn't going to go to Hogwarts if his mom doesn't wake up.
He narrows his eyes at the closed door of his parent's bedroom, willing his mother to wake up.
When that doesn't work, he finds himself in the living room, his head against a pillow and his eyes on the closed door.
It is another hour until his mother is ready to go. By then, James is about to jump off the walls. He tries to stay steady by sitting on his hands as his mother makes herself breakfast in the kitchen. She says she'll eat it at Diagon Alley.
She then sits down beside him and holds him arm, just below the elbow. "Ready?" She asks. The answer is always no. Both of James's parents loves apparating, but James would rather walk. His mouth twists in discomfort. "Don't give me that look," his mother snaps and they're off.
Instantly, James feels like he is being sucked into a small tube, his head throbs, and no one can hear him screaming - or maybe they can, he just doesn't care.
When they stop, James's legs give out and he has to stop himself from falling. His vision is blurry and his glasses are thrown across the stone, his mother holds them out for him. His throat is closed and he is glad he didn't eat breakfast.
James had only been to Diagon Alley once before and he was too young to remember much of it. He grins just for its beauty, its wonder. It is hard to see around the crowd of witches and wizards but James can see enough. They are standing in front of a store covered in books. The building is built in crumbling bricks, like it has been there forever. The books in the window read A History of Magic.
James's eyes can't keep still. He has to see everything. He follows behind his mom, his gaze moving every second. He just wants to take it all in. James knows about magic, but this is beyond it. It is wonderful, in every sense of the word.
A group of boys James's age run past him, laughing at something as they stop in front of a store and press their noses to the class. James tries to see what they're looking at, but is being pulled along by his mother.
They stop in front of a narrow and dirty shop with no indication that it is being used except for the gold lettering on the top of the door: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
His mother turns him around, "I'm going to go get you a cauldron. Get your wand and I'll catch up with you later." She pats him on the head, but it feels more like a pet, and waves to him and she is swallowed by the crowd.
James slowly turns toward the door, suddenly reluctant of entering. If his mother was here, he could've hid behind her. Sure he wants a wand, but everyone has told him that finding a wand is hard business. Once, the Prewett twins told him that they had to take blood, a piece of skin from the bottom of your foot, and you had to take a test. James can live with the rest - but a test! That is evil by all standards. But he tries to forget it and opens the door after a quick breath.
A bell chirps somewhere in the back when he walks in. The walls are covered in slender boxes of many different colors. Moats of dust glitter in the air under the few bare light bulbs above his head, just enough to make him cough.
There is no one else there except for two other kids James's age - a girl and a boy. James can just hear the last bit of their conversation: "He'll be back in a moment with your wand, Lily," the boy says.