ATTN: Finally, we're this much closer to Hogwarts. Only a few more chapters until then. I'm really excited about Snape's first night at Hogwarts. Hopefully you'll like his upcoming flashback.
James once again glanced in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, still seeing the Venus 7000 resting in the window. Oh, how he wanted it. But the letter said that first years weren't allowed their own brooms. Well, he had one, why couldn't he bring it?
James would find a way. He was sure of it.
His father hustled him along the busy streets, still dressed in the Muggle postman clothes. Diagon Alley was packed, with children and adults alike, all shopping for their school supplies. Younger children were with their older siblings, crowded in the Magical Menagerie, pressing their faces in on turtle tanks and it seemed as if hundreds of children were waiting in line at Fortescue's. James pulled on his collar, wincing in the heat. Ice cream sounded delicious.
Apparently, his father thought so as well. Reaching into his pockets, Mr. Potter pulled out a few silver Sickles and bronze Knuts and handed them to James. "Go stand in line," he instructed his son. "I'll run to Gringotts, it may take awhile. Get me a strawberry-pistachio cone, okay?" James nodded, and took off for the ice cream parlor, leaving his father to battle his way through the crowds.
James took his place last in the line that stretched out the door, bouncing the Sickles in his palm. In front of James waited a short and squat pudgy boy that looked about eight years old. The boy was doing an antsy dance not unlike the one Viggy had performed when he had his boils. James laughed, not bothering to be quiet, and the boy turned around.
James looked away, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to himself by talking to this boy. The boy gave James a smile, exposing large front teeth that resembled a rat's, and then turned back around. James waited in line for a few more minutes, the line inching up excruciating slow.
The boy kept turning around. The sun kept shining. James thought it was going to burst soon and set the entire world on fire. The boy turned around again. It got hotter (Was that possible? James thought.). Finally, when James found he hadn't gotten any closer to the door, the boy turned around again.
"WHAT!?" James yelled at the top of his lungs at the eight-year old. "What is it?"
The boy just kept smiling, his eyes running up and down James's body. James felt suddenly exposed. After a while, the boy spoke.
His voice was wheezy and faint. James imagined it was the type of voice a rat would have if a rat could talk. "Your hair's pretty cool."
James smirked, thinking of the untidy black mess that sat on top of his scalp. Of course it is, he thought. Any hairstyle condemned by James's mother was considered cool. He looked down on the eight-year-old, who couldn't stop smiling. "What?" he asked again.
"You like Quidditch?" the little boy asked.
James nodded. "Yeah."
"Me too." The line crept forward, but the little boy hung back and stood next to James. "But my dad says I'm not good at it." Most likely, James thought, wondering how the pudgeball that was this kid could ever balance himself on a broomstick. "You look as if you'd be excellent at it, though," the little boy said. James smirked again. He was. "What position do you like the best?"
"Seeker." James's answers were short and blunt.
"Cool, cool," said the boy.
The two stood in silence for a moment. Just then, a very petite little blonde girl came up to James and the little boy and tried to squeeze through. "Excuse me," she said, in a tiny, cute squeak of a voice. She looked up at James and smiled, and then stopped. "Hi," she said.
James looked around to see if she was really talking to him. She looked at least a year his senior, which meant that she was a whole twelve years old. He smiled. "Hey."
"You look really familiar," the girl said, and James felt a sudden desire to flatten his unruly hair. His hand floated up of its own accord, and began to flatten the black mop. The little boy looked worried as soon as he did this. "Aren't you the son of the woman who made the BERP potion?"
James smiled. "Oh, yeah," he said, scoffing as if it was no big deal. "My mum and I actually worked on it together. I added in an ingredient not in her recipe and it ended up working really good." James was still flattening his hair, and the little boy began to reach up to pull James's arm down.
"Yeah, we bought some for our house-elf, Denby," the little girl said, and pointed over to where a little family was sitting in the wrought-iron chairs of the ice cream parlor. A skinny little elf was fixing the napkin of a little boy. The other little boy, standing next to James, had started to whisper, "Hey, hey!" The little girl chattered on for a few more minutes, James still unsuccessfully trying to flatten his hair.
"No, stop, don't—" the little boy said, pulling at James's elbow.
"WHAT is it?" James said loudly.
The boy fell silent, and then said, "Your hair. It doesn't look as cool flat."
There was silence between the three. "Oh, I'm sorry," the girl said, looking embarrassed. "I didn't know you two were—" Her eyebrows raised in a suggestive manner.
"No, no!" James almost yelled. "No, we're not—"
"Not what?" the boy piped up.
"I'll see you later," the girl said awkwardly, and left to join he family.
James turned to the boy. "Why did you do that?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"Well, it doesn't!" the boy yelled again. "Now it looks like hat hair!"
Before James could snap back a reply, James's father, the armpits of his coat dark blue with sweat, approached the boys in line. "Only this far?" he asked, panting a little. James nodded. Mr. Potter nodded, and then caught sight of the little rat-faced fat boy. The boy smiled at Mr. Potter, who looked at James.
"Oh, Dad, this is—" James stopped short, realizing he didn't actually know the little boy's name.
"Peter!" piped up the little boy. "Peter Pettigrew!" He smiled some more, and Mr. Potter grinned down, too.
"It's nice to meet you, Peter. James and I are shopping for school supplies," Mr. Potter told Peter Pettigrew. "How long is it until you get to go to Hogwarts, Peter?"
To both of their surprise, Peter chirped, "This year!"
James and Mr. Potter exchanged glances. "How old are you?" James asked, a little harshly.
"Eleven," Peter said, still smiling.
"Oh," said James, sensing an oncoming, unwanted friendship between he and Peter. "Nice."
About half an hour later, the three men were standing outside Ollivander's, where a fidgety Peter was trying to lick the ring of dried ice cream off his upper lip, where it had formed in the heat. James grimaced as Mr. Potter opened the tinkling door, berating himself for letting the little annoying boy follow them on their shopping. Peter convinced them he was all by himself, shopping for school.
Ollivander's was cold, quiet, and packed. As James squeezed into the shop after Peter, he noticed that Ollivander's now held only nine people, but one of those people was incredibly gigantic. He had a huge bushy beard and looked positively uncomfortable inside the tiny shop.
The giant-man huffed a little, and said to the little red-haired girl and black-haired boy he was standing with, "I think I'll go wai' outside," the giant-man puffed. "Here, all us adults can leave and let the kids shop for themselves." Then the giant-man and two people dressed as Muggles tried to squeeze their way past Mr. Potter, James, and Peter. Once they left the shop, Mr. Potter said to the boys, "I'll think I'll go too, you boys can take of this by yourselves," and left the shop, joining the three other adults just outside.
Mr. Ollivander was somewhere in the back. James could hear him rustling around, so he took a step towards the counter. Peter followed.
"Excuse me," a voice drawled, and James and Peter turned around to see who was speaking to them. It was the short, skinny little black-haired boy. James's first instinct was to laugh, so he did. Peter followed suit. The boy, who looked James's age (unlike Peter), stood slouchingly, drowning in a huge overcoat and a strange-looking smock.
"Excuse me," the boy said again, "but we were first in line." He motioned to the little redhead standing next to him. James smiled at the girl, who smiled back. Once again, his hand voluntarily floated up to check his hair, but instead of flattening it down, he took Peter's advice to heart and rumpled it up, making it look messy again.
The girl giggled a little, and the greasy-haired smock boy took a step closer to her. James wondered if they were related.
"We weren't cutting," Peter said, and the greasy-haired boy scoffed a little. James was about to retort something back at the boy, but Mr. Ollivander had approached the counter, only his white, tufty hair visible behind the boxes he was holding. He dumped them all on the counter and said in a cheerful voice, "Now, who's first?"
The greasy boy motioned for the girl to go first, but she stepped back. "You first, Severus," she said in a quiet voice. The greasy boy went up the counter, where Mr. Ollivander handed him a wand. "Try this," Mr. Ollivander said.
In the end, Severus had purchased a long, black, skinny, and very shiny wand. James noted that it quite resembled the boy. The red-haired girl was next, and James noticed the way the boy named Severus stared at her. As if a boy like him has a chance with a girl like her, James thought silently.
"Well, I've never seen you before, little girl," Mr. Ollivander said nicely to the girl. "And I remember everyone I have ever sold to."
The girl hesitated before saying in a quiet voice, "I'm Muggleborn, sir."
Mr. Ollivander smiled. "Wonderful."
After a few minutes, the girl purchased a medium-sized, cherry wood wand, somewhat resembling the dark red color of her hair. She looked positively delighted when handing Mr. Ollivander her money. The two children left quickly, the girl waving at the two boys while her friend Severus pulled her out of the shop.
Peter was next, and received a short, stubby little oak wand that matched the color of his pale face. James was last, and the two boys left the shop only minutes later, clutching new ribboned-wrapped boxes that contained their wands.
"Wonderful, wonderful," Mr. Potter said, looking pale from the heat. "Now, please let's get out of here before I pass out." The three men hurried from shop to shop, collecting their supplies. It took a long while in Madam Malkin's, because there were hardly any sizes for Peter, but the witch told the boy she'd set him his new robes in the mail and they left.
Soon, as James could see the set start to set over the stores, Mr. Potter announced everything on James's list had been bought and it was time for them to go home. Peter looked forlorn, but Mr. Potter tried to cheer him up.
"Don't look so sad, Peter," James's father said. "You and James will see each other on the train." At these words, Peter's face brightened considerably, and he was still stammering out his goodbyes to James and Mr. Potter when the barrier to Diagon Alley closed.