Author's Note: James Potter gets ready for Hogwarts. In this first chapter, he goes shopping for school supplies and runs into several people who will play important parts in his school days and beyond. Stay tuned for Chapter Two, "Tea With Grandfather;" this chapter will explain why he's "Jamie" in this chapter and "James" later on. I'm not sure how many chapters we'll have in all; I'm guessing three or four, and I'll stop this story with James's class arriving at Hogwarts. At any rate, enjoy, and let me know what you think; this is my first try at fan fiction, and I'd like to know how you folks think it's going.
Oh, I almost forgot: None of this belongs to me. It all belongs to J. K. Rowling.
I've uploaded this three times (so far) correcting various errors; sorry if that causes any trouble.
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Shopping
A poof sound came from the fireplace in the corner of The Leaky Cauldron, and a boy arrived in it, landing in a heap. He stood up, dusted himself off, paused, looked around, and crossed the room to stand in front of the bar. The older bartender regarded him expectantly. "Are you Jarvis?" the boy asked. The bartender nodded. "I'm Jamie Potter. My father said to show you this letter and that you'd let me into Diagon Alley."
The bartender glanced at the letter with the familiar crest and the opening that he knew so well: "Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you. . . ." He smiled at the boy. "You're Will Potter's son, yes? He owled to tell me you'd be here. He's still out of the country, then?"
"Yes, sir. He's working on. . . ." The boy paused for a moment, checked himself, and finished his sentence with, ". . . something for Grandfather."
"I see. Have you seen J.P. lately?"
"No, sir, but I'm to have tea with him today once my shopping is finished."
"That's nice. And how's your mum? Is she coming?" He eyed the fireplace, waiting for another person to arrive.
"She's fine, thanks. She's not coming today. She would have come, but Nicky—my little brother—has been sick, and she wanted to give him another day to get better before she brought him out. They'll be up tomorrow to see me off, though."
"You're all by yourself, then?"
"Yes, sir. I know my way, though; I've been here lots of times."
"Alright, then. You'll be careful, right?"
"Yes, sir. And I'll come back through here after my tea with Grandfather."
"Tom!" Jarvis called to the younger man, who was leaning across the counter talking animatedly to a customer. When he snapped to attention, the older man instructed, "Take this lad outside and let him into Diagon Alley. This is Jamie Potter. Jamie, this is my son, Tom."
"Hi, Tom. Nice to meet you." He offered his hand.
"Good to meet you, Jamie. Come along, then." Jamie followed Tom outside and watched as the young man drew his wand and used it to touch a brick in the wall that stood behind the pub. The brick wriggled, and a doorway appeared. "In you go."
"Thanks. See you later," Jamie said, stepping through the entrance. He looked down the Alley, which was teeming with people. On top of the usual swarm, there were lots of families with children there today; Hogwarts opened tomorrow, and the last-minute shoppers were out in force. Jamie joined the throng, heading for Gringotts.
The quiet inside the bank contrasted with the noise and crowd outside. Jamie went to the desk, showed his key to one goblin, and followed another (who had been summoned by the first) to the passageway that led to his family's vault. Another cart was just coming out of the passageway. It contained the goblin driver, a black-haired boy, and a rather green-looking woman who Jamie guessed was the boy's mother. The cart screeched to stop, and the woman climbed out gratefully. The boy stayed in the cart. "Mum? What about stuff from Grandma's vault?"
"Oh, Sirius!" His mother sounded exasperated. "Why didn't you mention that when we were already down there?"
"Because I wanted to ride the cart again," the boy replied, grinning unapologetically. His mother sighed, and he added, "You don't have to go; I can get it myself."
His mother looked wary, but she apparently couldn't face another cart ride. "Fine. Just don't drop it; you have no idea what kind of curses she's got on. Paranoid, that's what she is. If I start getting like that, hex me, will you?"
"Happily," her son joked. "Don't worry; I'll be careful with it." She shrugged helplessly at the goblin, who started the cart again, carrying away a grinning Sirius.
She looked at Jamie, noticing him for the first time. "Hogwarts, too?"
"Yes, ma'am. First year."
"So is Sirius. Do you like those awful carts?"
Jamie laughed. "Yes, ma'am," he replied. "But I wish they went faster."
"You and my son should get along fine." A second cart, this one empty, arrived, and Jamie and his goblin climbed in. As the cart sped off, Jamie heard the woman mutter, "Have fun," in a rather-you-than-me voice.
One breathless round-trip cart ride later, Jamie left the bank with a pocketful of Galleons and Sickles and headed for Ollivander's wand shop. There were other places to buy a wand, and they were less expensive, but not so good by half. Jamie's father had emphasised in his letter to buy his wand from no one but Ollivander. "As if I didn't know that already," Jamie had muttered when he read the letter. He reached the shop and walked in; a tinkling bell deep in the shop announced his arrival. Several families with children were already in the shop, but no one was talking; it reminded Jamie of the very strict library in his village. An old man with eerie, silvery eyes appeared from the back room and began to talk to the first family, composed of a mother, a father, and two girls. The mother was slim and blonde and not very tall; her husband was much taller and had dark red hair. The first girl, the younger one, had her father's hair and her mother's bright green eyes; the older, taller girl had her mother's hair but lacked her mother's beauty; she looked rather like a horse. This second girl was the only member of the family who didn't look excited; she looked resentful and like she'd rather be anywhere but here. The old man spoke to the parents first.
"I don't recognise you two, which means that you've never been here before; I never forget a face. . . . or a wand. And I don't recognize this young lady, either," he added, indicating the sullen older girl. He turned to the red-haired girl. "Does this mean that you, young lady, are the first magic one in the family?"
"Yes, sir." She replied. "My name is Lily. . . Lily Evans."
"Well, Miss Evans, let's get you fitted up with a wand. Which is your wand arm?"
"I'm left-handed for writing, but I'm right-handed for sport."
"We'll try both, then. Hold out your left arm first. That's it." He began to measure her arm, first from shoulder to finger, then from wrist to elbow, then each finger individually. He performed the same measurements on the other arm, then left the tape measure to continue on its own while he began pulling long, thin boxes from the wall. The tape measured around her head, from her knee to her ankle, and from just about every other point that Jamie could think of. It was measuring the space between her eyebrows when Mr. Ollivander turned back around, his arms full of boxes. "That will do," he said, and the tape measure fell to the floor in a heap. "Try this one, Miss Evans. Beechwood and phoenix feather. Eight inches. Rather stiff." He handed her the wand, and she held it in her left hand, looking uncertain. "Just give it a wave," he said." She did. Nothing happened. "Try it in your other hand," he suggested. She did, and, again, nothing happened. "Not that one. Try this one. Ebony and dragon heartstring. Nine and a half inches, springy." She tried it in each hand with no results in either. "How about this one? Ten and a quarter inches, swishy, made of willow with a core of unicorn hair." She tried it in her left hand with no results. When she took it in her right hand, though, her expression changed, as though this felt promising. She raised it above her head, brought it swishing down, and shot a shower of red and gold sparks across the room, eliciting a chorus of "ooohs" from everyone in the room—everyone, that is, except her sister, who looked, if possible, even more sulky. "Oh, yes indeed!" Mr. Ollivander exclaimed. "That one has chosen you, Miss Evans. Nice wand for charm work, that one. It should serve you well." He put the wand back into the box, wrapped the box in brown paper, and handed it across the counter to the girl. "That will be five Galleons," he said.
"Those are the gold ones, right?" Lily asked. He nodded. "I'm still getting used to this money; it's very different from Muggle money." She handed him five gold coins, took her receipt, and, family in tow, left the shop.
Mr. Ollivander dealt with the next two families fairly quickly. He remembered the mother from the first family ("Rosewood and unicorn hair for you, yes? Eight inches, whippy."), but not the father, who said that he had gone to school in France and had purchased his wand there. The son's wand turned out to be unicorn hair like his mother's, but it was made of ebony. Mr. Ollivander said that it would be good for Defense. The second family was just a mother and a son. Mr. Ollivander asked about the father, whom he remembered, described both parents' wands, and then sold their son a wand made of Yew and dragon heartstring. Then he turned to Jamie.
"Mr. Potter. I've been expecting you. You are the image of your father. Seems like yesterday that he was here, buying his first wand. Maple and dragon heartstring. Ten and a half inches—rather long—and bendy. A good one for transfiguration. And your grandfather favors a shorter wand—mahogany and phoenix feather, eight inches, very powerful. Just has he has become very powerful. And your mother. . . but perhaps we should worry about you now. Which is your wand arm?"
"The right one, I think," Jamie replied. Mr. Ollivander let his tape do the measuring, then brought over a stack of boxes. He began handing Jamie wands, describing each as he went.
Nothing worked. Four wands, seven wands, fifteen wands. The people behind Jamie were beginning to shift impatiently. Finally, the sixteenth wand ("Mahogany and dragon heartstring. Eleven inches. Pliable. Excellent for transfiguration.") sent a bolt of warmth up Jamie's arm. He swung it down, producing a shower of red and gold sparks even brighter than Lily's had been. "That's a very powerful wand, Mr. Potter. Very powerful. Take care how you use that power."
"I will, sir."
"That one is six Galleons, four Sickles. A little more expensive than some, but it was a very cranky dragon." Jamie handed over the money and left the shop. Once outside, he removed the brown paper, opened the box, took out his wand, and placed it carefully in the long, thin breast pocket of his robe, the pocket made especially for wands. He'd never had anything to carry there before, and now he did. It made him feel very grown up.
He headed next to Madame Malkin's, where he followed a small, greasy-haired boy inside. Jamie had just gotten through the door when he noticed the black-haired boy from Gringotts heading for the exit. He was alone now, and he seemed to be in a hurry; Jamie guessed that he was meeting his mother somewhere and that he was probably late. In his rush, he dropped his package of robes; the greasy-haired boy, who hadn't been watching where he was going, tripped on the package and fell headlong onto the floor.
"Golly, mate, I'm really sorry!" Sirius exclaimed. He offered his hand to help the other boy from the floor. Greasy Hair ignored him and got to his feet on his own. Jamie gaped at Greasy Hair, shocked; in the process of getting up, he had pulled his wand and now had it trained on Sirius. "What do you think you're doing?" Sirius said, irritation and anxiety mixing in his voice. "I said I was. . . ."
"Silence!" Greasy Hair commanded. "I will have to teach you to take a bit more care. Now, what curse shall I use? Jellylegs seems particularly appropriate. . . ."
"Expelliarmus!" Jamie didn't realise he had drawn his wand, didn't realise he had spoken. But he was now holding Greasy Hair's wand as well as his own. He had seen that spell dozens of times at the Dueling Competitions that his father had taken him to see, but, if he had been asked, he'd have said quite sincerely that he had no idea how to do it; he knew the words, but he also knew that it took more than words to make a spell work. Ollivander had been right; this was a powerful wand. Thinking quickly, he pocketed the other wand and trained his own on Greasy Hair. "Don't move," he said, hoping fervently that he would be obeyed; he didn't know any other spells to back up his threatening pose, and he wasn't sure just how much his wand could figure out on its own. Turning toward Sirius, but never taking his eyes from the other boy, he asked, "Okay there, Sirius?"
"Fine."
"Then you'd better get your package and go."
"Sure thing." Sirius picked up his package and headed for the door again. Pausing in the doorway, he looked back at Jamie and said, "Thanks, mate."
"You're welcome." Jamie smiled at him, and the boy smiled back, an infectious, irrepressible grin. Then he disappeared out the door. Jamie turned his attention back to Greasy Hair, who was frozen in place. He lowered his wand and gestured to the back of the shop. "Go finish your shopping," he said to Greasy Hair. "I'll wait here 'til you're done, and then I'll give you your wand back."
"You have no right. . . " Greasy Hair began coldly.
"And you had no right to try to curse that fellow; I saw the whole thing, and he didn't trip you on purpose. It was an accident. Now go one and get your robes."
Greasy Hair glared at Jamie, but he did as he was told. Several minutes later, he returned to the front of the shop, a package of robes under his arm. "My wand," he said, holding out his hand. Jamie handed it over wordlessly. Greasy Hair turned to go, then turned back. "You haven't seen the last of me," he hissed.
" 'Course I haven't," Jamie said with a laugh. "We're both off to Hogwarts, and I imagine we'll see each other plenty there. Now get out of here, and quit acting like the villain in a second-rate Dark Arts novel." Without another word, Greasy Hair stormed out.
"You'd better watch that one," said a voice behind Jamie. He turned to see a squat, middle-aged witch dressed in mauve robes.
"How come?"
"That's Tobias Snape's boy. The father's mixed up in all kinds of Dark Arts, and it looks like the son isn't shaping up to be much better. And with you being J.P.'s grandson. . . . Just keep an eye on him, okay? Now, let's get you fitted for some robes."
As she fitted his robes, Jamie reflected that, wherever he went, people seemed to be warning him to be careful—first Jarvis at the Leaky Cauldron, then Mr. Ollivander, and now Madame Malkin. He wondered if it had anything to do with what his dad was working on, with whatever he and Mum had been talking about in low, worried voices. He'd ask Grandfather this afternoon, he decided. Grandfather didn't treat him like a child the way everyone else did.
Madame Malkin finished the fitting and prepared the robes; Jamie paid her and went on. He made a quick stop an Eeylops Owl Emporium to buy some treats for his new owl, Sophia. Dad had gotten her for Jamie's birthday a few months ago; she was a Sooty Owl, black with a dark grey face and a few white spots on her head and wings, and Jamie thought she was beautiful. Sooty Owls came from Australia, and Jamie was a little worried about how Sophia would deal with a Scotland winter; Dad said she would be fine, that she was "a tough old bird," but Jamie wasn't convinced. He was stocking up on treats to keep her happy, and, on impulse, he bought a Self-Warming Nest Pad just in case. Before he could be tempted to buy anything else, he hurried out of Eeylops to the apothecary. He asked for some basic potions ingredients, received them, and headed for Flourish and Blotts; he had saved this stop for last because the supplies that he would buy there—his books and hardware—were heavy, and he hadn't wanted to carry them around all day.
Jamie selected his books first; there were eight in all for his various classes. Then, he moved on to the hardware section. There were plenty of cauldrons at home, but they were mostly gold, silver, or copper, and Jamie needed a pewter one for school; he found it quickly. Grandfather had promised Jamie the crystal phials and brass scales that he had used as at Hogwarts; Grandfather had been an excellent Potions student in his day, and Jamie hoped that using his equipment might bring him some luck. All needed now was a telescope. He settled on a collapsible model made of brass. He lugged his purchases to the counter, paid, and left the shop, heading back to Gringotts.
Inside, he asked Griphook, a floor goblin, if he could leave his purchases in the family vault. "Just for a few hours; I'll be back before the bank closes."
"Certainly, Mr. Potter. I'll just take them there. Unless you'd like to come along?"
Jamie wavered. He was a little ahead of schedule, and, as he had told Sirius's mother, he did like riding the carts. But he should probably get on to tea.
"No, I'd better go; I have an appointment. But I'll go along to get them when I come back."
"Certainly, Mr. Potter." Griphook snapped his long fingers, and Jamie's packages jumped into the air and followed the goblin away. Jamie, glad to have his hands free again, set off and reached the Post and Portkey Office.
"I'm here for the 3:30 Portkey to the Ministry, please," he said to the woman behind the counter.
"Are you on the list?" she asked tonelessly.
"Should be. Jamie Potter."
She glanced at the list. Apparently, his name was there, for she handed him a rather raggedy-looking quill. "This is it. Leaves in two minutes. Thank you for your business. Have a nice day," she said in the same flat tone. Jamie wondered if she was under a spell or if it was just boredom that made her sound so blank. He didn't have long to wonder, though. In a few moments, he felt a jerk somewhere behind his navel, and he was suddenly speeding along as through a vortex of howling wind and swirling color. As suddenly as his trip had begun, it was over, and he landed in a heap on the marble floor of the Entrance Hall for the Ministry of Magic.
