Chapter Three

Out on the Town

Veni, Vidi, Visa

~Unknown

The day had finally arrived. James and his parents would finally be making the traditional first-year shopping trip to Diagon Alley. If a witch or wizard in England was going to Hogwarts, at any year really, but especially for their first year, a trip to Diagon Alley was necessary. There were small shops that sold the items needed by first year witches and wizards throughout England. But these were often one offs, tucked away in small corners away from other magical retailers to minimize the chance that a curious and over-observant muggle noticed them. Diagon Alley was the largest magical shopping area, a veritable one-stop-shop for whatever a young witch or wizard needed.

James had been to Diagon Alley. Countless times before he'd walked through the buildings with their magical wares. He grew up in the magical world and his mother made a trip to the shopping district at least once a month to gather whatever magical sundries she needed to run a house. If there was a party or function to be held, James might even be treated to a second trip.

He loved going to Diagon Alley because it was a prime opportunity for him to interact with other wizards that were around his age, or at least younger than his parents' friends. Despite living just outside a wizarding village, James had minimal interactions with any of the magical denizens that resided within Godric's Hallow. Diagon Alley was really the only chance he had.

But this trip would be far more special than any other trip he had ever made. Sure, he would still get to interact with witches and wizards, but on top of that he would be travelling to Diagon Alley to shop for his first year at Hogwarts.

If getting his acceptance letter was the nudge in the right direction on his grand journey, going to Diagon Alley was the first official step. He was finally starting off on this adventure and that made this trip so extra special. As a result, James was absolutely giddy as the Potters finished up breakfast on the warm, sunny August day and prepared to leave for Diagon Alley.

"I'll take James with me. We'll plan to meet just outside Flourish and Blotts. That'll be our first stop? Sound good?" Euphemia asked as she waved her wand to remove the dirty dishes. The easiest way to travel from Godric's Hallow to Diagon Alley was by apparition, as it required the least forethought in order to leave on a trip. Both Floo powder and a portkey required ministry permission and planning to be put into place. However, James was not old enough to apparate, hadn't learned the magical theory behind it, and would have to side-along apparate.

"Excellent! Well, shall we?" Fleamont asked, raising from his seat at the head of the table. James, who was actually bouncing in his seat, shot up. He, with some effort, tried to contain his enthusiasm as he walked over to his mother and grabbed her outstretched hand.

Almost as soon as his fingers closed around hers, a fairly intense suffocating sensation overtook him. If a muggle were to ask James what apparition felt like, he would say that it felt like you were being squeezed extremely tightly, like space was trying to hinder your progress.

Only brief, though they didn't feel brief, seconds later, the pressure let up. Space relented. James and his mother appeared, between moments, in front of the wizarding bookstore, Flourish and Blotts. Seconds after their appearance, James' father materialised to their right.

"What's on the list?" Fleamont asked, removing his glasses to wipe them with a cloth he retrieved from his pocket. James always found this habit strange as apparition didn't seem to dirty his own glasses and yet, every time his father apparated, he cleaned his glasses afterwards.

"He needs: The Standard Book of Spells, Level One , by Miranda Goshawk, A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot-" Harry's mother continued on reading off a list she had stashed away in one of her many pockets. James, however, wasn't interested in the long list of textbooks he would need. He was interested in, and excited about, what he would be learning, and the mere fact that he would finally formally be learning magic; what he wasn't interested in was the books he would use to do so. That wasn't as interesting as purchasing his first wand or gathering potion supplies. Books and reading about magic were not adventurous.

Less than enthusiastically, James followed his parents into the bookstore, lagging behind slightly as his mother expertly wound her way among the stacks and displays of books, locating each volume on her list quickly and efficiently. A small part of James' mind wondered if his mother was so knowledgeable about book locations because she'd been in the shop so often that it was second nature for her, or if she knew where everything was because she had traced the same path when she was a student at Hogwarts.

Finally, she had a large stack of books floating along behind her thanks to a well-practiced locomotor skill. James wasn't sure he'd ever seen his mother carry anything heavier than a single dish. She was perpetually followed by various objects wherever she went, her hands free in case a need arose.

'This is going fairly quickly,' James thought, happily. 'If we can get through the rest of the list just as fast there will be plenty of time to shop at Quality Quidditch Supplies!' The Quidditch store was James' true objective, as it was with almost every trip to Diagon Alley. He could spend hours just wandering around the stacks and shelves. Hopefully, the rest of their errands, the list of items James required for his first year at Hogwarts, wouldn't take more than an hour.

"Stand up straighter, dear. If you slouch, I will miss hem your robes and they will be too short. Good posture is essential for robe fitting," the, to James' ear, nasally voice of Madame Malkin sounded. She accompanied them with a whack to James' back. He yelped in surprise but did as the woman asked.

"Better," the dress maker mumbled as she returned to pinning the bottoms of James' robes. She also seemed to manage to nick him with the pins quite a few times, though whether she did this on purpose, as payback for slouching, or by accident James couldn't say.

"Don't worry, Jamie darling. This won't take too much longer. We'll be looking at which broom you'll use to win the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor in no time," Fleamont Potter spoke. He was reclined in a plush armchair, a few days old paper opened before his nose. James hadn't mentioned his desire to go to the Quidditch store, but Fleamont was his father and knew him extremely well. It probably hadn't been too hard to figure out why his son's previously extremely excited mood had slowly soured as the hours of the day had passed and the list didn't seem to be reducing in size.

That fact was probably, James mused to himself as Madame Malkin stuck a pin into his ankle. He bit back the swear that bubbled to the surface by continuing his internal thought. 'My sour mood was probably why father suggested we split up and he sent Mum on to the apothecary. If we can cover twice the ground in the same time, then we can get to the Quidditch store sooner.'

"Nearly done, dear. Only a few more spots to pin up," Madame Malkin spoke. James' mood began to lift.

Off in the distance, a bell chimed. Someone had walked into the store.

The bell, acting as a call, summoned Madame Malkin away from her position at James' feet. He tried not to groan. She had just said she was almost done hemming his robes; after standing still and trying and failing to not slouch, for over an hour, just as reprieve had been offered, it had been taken away.

Why, James wondered, did the universe not want him to get to the Quidditch store with any sort of time to browse before he'd have to return home?

"Chin up, Jamie. There will still be plenty of time to visit the Quidditch store," Fleamont said, as if he could read his son's mind. Or maybe, James thought as he rearranged his face to smile, his father had simply read his frustration and disappointment on his face.

"Besides," Fleamont continued, lowering his newspaper, "we still have to get you a wand. If we don't get to the Quidditch shop today, we do need to get you a wand. And I remember when I got my first wand. I finally felt like a true wizard; I could finally perform controlled, deliberate magic. It's quite a magical experience." Fleamont's eyes sparkled at the memory as he discussed getting a wand.

James had, quite surprisingly, forgotten about getting a wand. He had come to Diagon Alley to buy books, potion supplies, clothes, and all of the other items on his list, but never a wand. He had forgotten that a wand was an important part of being a wizard; it would be a very long time, if ever, before James could perform wandless magic. A wand was a necessity. Yet, because he had been so in the frame of mind of this being just a slightly more exciting trip to Diagon Alley, his excitement had been situated on what he was normally excited about when he visited Diagon Alley.

"My wand!" James vocalized, the sounds sort of escaping without him really realising, "I forgot about getting a wand." James spoke the last part louder than the first two words, but still under his breath. He felt a little foolish and didn't want his dad to realise it.

"Right this way, Mrs. Black. We'll get little Sirius all ready for Hogwarts. Don't you worry," Madame Malkin's voice sounded from the front of the shop. She rounded the corner to where James and his father were still standing, a haughty woman and a long haired boy following on her heel. The haughty woman took a look around the area, her gaze penetrating and judgemental. However, she seemed to find her surroundings satisfactory and relaxed.

"Fleamont," the woman said by way of greeting. James had never seen this woman before in his life, meaning she wasn't a friend of the Potters, but she obviously was an acquaintance of some kind.

"Walburga. I didn't realise you had a son the same age as James." When Fleamont said his son's name, he gestured in the direction of James, standing rather awkwardly on a pedestal, hoping to have his robe pinning completed.

"Yes. Sirius will be starting Hogwarts this year," the woman his father called Walburga responded curtly. She then turned her back on the Potters and found a chair about as far away from them as possible. The boy seemed to give James and his father an apologetic look at his mother's behaviour before hopping up onto the pedestal beside James.

"I'm Sirius," the boy, his long hair falling into his eyes a little, spoke.

"James," James responded, smiling warmly at the boy.

With two customers, it seemed to take Madame Malkin an inordinate amount of time to finish pining James' robe. He wasn't sure if there would be time to go to Quality Quidditch Supplies, though that prospect didn't sting quite as much. Not now that he'd remembered he was getting a wand today. That was where he and his father had headed right after they'd left Madame Malkin's robes.

Ollivander, the best wandmaker in London, had a fairly prominent shop on Diagon Alley. It wasn't particularly busy like other shops. Most people only needed one or two wands throughout their lifetimes; it wasn't like potion ingredients or books that necessitated multiple visits within even a year. However, the emptiness of the shop was very welcoming to James. This was a special moment; one he didn't particularly want to share with hordes of people.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. Welcome back!" an aged voice said from behind the counter. The voice was followed shortly by an elderly looking man. James guessed he was probably around the same age as his father, though Ollivander (who James guessed the old man was) appeared much older than Fleamont.

"Yes, time to get Jamie here his wand," Fleamont responded.

"What an exciting time!" Ollivander spoke before turning around to face the stacks, shelfs, and piles of wands that were contained behind the shop counter. He quickly, almost instinctively pulled out three different wand boxes before turning back to face James and his father.

"Now, young Master Potter, what have you heard about wands?" Ollivander asked, observing the young boy as if his answer would change his impression of the young Potter.

"Dad has always said that the wand chooses the wizard. That I don't pick my wand, but I'll know when I've found the right one," James spoke. He looked up at his father as he spoke, remembering the countless times Fleamont had regaled his son with the adventure of purchasing his first wand. One wand that was a particularly bad match for the elder Potter had nearly burned down Ollivander's in its protest.

"Excellent. Excellent," Ollivander murmured as he presented James with the first of the three wands. "Pear wood, quite flexible, 10 ¾" with a unicorn hair core," he explained the wand. James took it, a little reluctantly having just remembered his father's tale. As he wrapped his fingers around the wood, he didn't feel anything. He wasn't sure what he was expected to feel, but he was pretty sure he was supposed to feel something.

"Give it a wave, Jamie. See what it'll do for you," Fleamont spoke, putting his hands supportively on his son's shoulders. Feeling a little more confident at the fact that nothing bad had happened immediately, James gave his wand a swish. Once again, nothing happened. James turned to Ollivander who looked neutral.

"This next one," Ollivander spoke once James had discarded the pear wand, "is Alder wood, unyielding, 11 ½" with dragon heartstring." James, confident but a little bit upset at the lack of response from the first wand, eagerly grabbed the second one. As soon as he had lifted it from the box, red and green sparks began shooting out of the end.

"Not that one either," Ollivander spoke, returning the wand to its box. There was only one wand left, though James was sure that if this wasn't his wand either that Ollivander had even more to choose from.

"This one is quite pliable. It is made of mahogany, 11" with dragon heartstring."

As soon as James' fingers closed around the wand, he felt a warm feeling within his gut. The wand rested perfectly on his palm, feeling like an extension of his being.

"This is it," James spoke, his voice filled with awe. He hadn't even lifted it out of the box and yet he knew he'd found his wand. He stared down at the wand in his hand, his wand, excited that he finally had the one thing he needed to be a wizard.

Hogwarts was only a few weeks away and he would be off on his adventure, wand in hand ready to practice any and all magic.