Chapter II: Mahogany

Only in passing had James heard of Diagon Alley. It was common subject between his parents, whether they should take him prematurely or not- or save the magic for the right time. Not even the stone pathways laden with fallen ruby leaves, scuffling footsteps shuffling past as robes whispered past one another could have appeared in his mind's eyes. His wildest dreams hadn't prepared him for one of the greatest spectacles he'd ever seen.

To his left came the melody of animal's song, owls hooting and singing out towards the masses, several others his size bounding in joyful plenty up and down the streets; James was half-tempted to look at one of the warty toads they had there, to replace the hole that Goosebump's death had left in his heart. With Balthazar lowly crying on his shoulder, ruffling small umber wings; he was a proud long-eared owl, sitting tall on James' shoulder despite his shorter stature, well trained for his young age of two years, James couldn't bring himself to want more. Periwinkle looped and laced around his ankles, her soft blue-toned ears flattening and perking up at the chirping noises that resonated from a nearby pet store.

James was plenty content, with his parents behind him and his close animal friends at his side, to go wherever he was lead. There were shops by the thousands, carts being pushed around that advertised candies that sparkled and fizzed under a particular light, wands that snapped and flexed, able to bend around into a special pocket-sized edition, scoops of petrified bugs with unusual qualities, beans from the Himalayas, pebbles that Magshire McMurphy the Magical Masseuse had used in his therapeutic sessions, and it seemed unfair to favor one of the beautiful stores above the others.

Complying easily down a twisted maze of alleyways, James hardly noticed his mother's guiding hand against his elbow, his eyes trained on the shops besides him rather than in front of him, Beside, underneath the shining glass was a sleek new broomstick, signs plastered beside it to publicize it's fantastic speed, nimble maneuvering techniques and ability to turn a complete 360 degree circle; one sign even read: "Better than the revolutionary Nimbus 1000!" - A Quidditch Player.

He didn't have much time to admire whatever fantastic new broomstick this happened to be, however; soon, he was being dragged along into a darker bit of the alley, towards a thin, wearing shop with gold letters plastered above the creaking wooden door that James had to squint at to read. His mother didn't stop (apparently she had known this shop by heart). After much deciphering, he managed to make out:

Ollivander's: Makers of Line - no, that probably said Fine - Wands since 332 (or was that an 8?) 382 B.C.

Beneath rows and mountains of stacked boxes, narrow and shoved into all corners of the tiny shop, a small tinkle came out, a laughing bell that had James looking first towards the right row of shelves, and then the left. Out from the depths (he could've sworn the man simply apparated) came a hunched figure, face looking like paper; James was afraid to speak to him for fear of ripping him apart.

"Ah, yes." The voice was as frail as the man, but carried an eerie tune that sent shivers down his spine. "Rosemary Flanco- or should I say Potter, now, yes? You look as young as the day you stepped in here for your first wand. Twelve and a half inches, cherry. Plenty sturdy, and I remember that you did wonders working duals with it."

Without a doubt, the old man, his very aura hazy, spoke towards his mother. James sneezed.

"Quite correct, Mr. Ollivander, as usual," his mother beamed, eyes alight and her hand gripping a little harder at her son's shoulder; James flushed, trying to rub the dust away from his nose as the attention was turned towards his father, and quite suddenly, this Ollivander man was a large amount closer to the three of them.

"And you, Caric Potter, you've always favored things of plenty. You and your wand were one of a kind, sir. Fifteen, composed of an exquisite cedar. Quite remarkable, especially in the charms field."

Cascading down his back now, James could feel goosebumps rising up the hairs on his neck, large childish eyes blinking up towards the moons centered within Ollivander's face, his gaze unyielding, judgmental and perceptive. As though measuring up his character, the man placed a hand to his chin and began to stroke near his bottom lip, looking him up and down; his eyes glanced towards a tape measure that seemed to be almost vibrating on the desk (perhaps in excitement), but without moving towards it, Mr. Ollivander was shoving a larger box into his hands.

James pulled the wand out amidst the background noise of Mr. Ollivander's misty description ("Eight and a quarter inches," he was saying, "solid and compact, elm with troll whisker.") but before he could get all five fingers around it, it was being replaced with another box, his eyebrows furrowing.

This one was lighter, both in cooler and in feel, and Ollivander was beginning to speak again. Cautiously, James waited until he was done to pick it up. "Seven inches. Pear. Unicorn hair and should be quite useful for charms, yes."

It was dead in his hands, however, lifting the wand up and giving it a little flick in the direction of a flower pot; the buds began to dance in a swaying motion, each to a separate rhythm. While his heart leapt up in pride, Ollivander once again took it from his hands. He took a moment of consideration, whistled for a step stool that came tottering from the back rows, and pushed up onto it to the very top of one of the shelves. As though regarding a newborn baby, Mr. Ollivander cradled the box in his arms, and slowly, cautiously passed it to James.

Before he could even take the top off, static was pushing up his arms in anticipation, feeling something spark within his insides, like a lightening storm was plunging into his stomach. "Yes, yes. Mahogany, yes." The man was whispering, and it sounded numb to his ears; James wasn't sure if Mr. Ollivander was talking to himself, or to him. "Eleven inches, pliable. Plenty of power, excellent for transfiguration, Veela hair is a wonderful core, yes."

Fire had erupted now, not externally, but his hands were buzzing with the warmth as he picked up the longer wand, and without even so much of a wrist movement, there were sparks dusting the walls of the shop, shooting around the ceiling. Ollivander gave a short clap, and it seemed as though the stool he'd been using earlier itself was cheering for him, his parents grinning and laughing and hugging him.

With a single, final, "yes", Mr. Ollivander urged the wand from his hands, but James was reluctant to let it go. It was as though the wand itself was begging him to continue to hold it, though he very carefully allowed it to be eased into a box, fixed on the process of it being wrapped beneath brown paper, tied with a yarn string. It was handed towards his mother, but the moment that they were out of the dusty, rather foreboding shop, James was taking it back to tuck under his own arms.

So entranced with the new gift, more fantastic than he ever could've imagined, James stared down at it, the dirty cobblestone beneath his sneakers blurring into a fuzzy backdrop, his lips pinched together in concentration- oh, the things he could do with this. He wasn't sure how far out of the alley they'd gotten, his mind a blank slate when he looked up only at the feeling of his father ruffling his already plenty-rumpled hair.

"I'm off to go buy your books for you, kiddo." Maybe he'd gotten the blindingly-white smile from his father, dimples shoving at the corners of his lips, the shadows of the tall buildings surrounding them casting new shadows onto Mr. Potter's face that James hadn't necessarily seen before. "Why don't you go with your mother and go get some robes fitted?"

And he did, quietly and softly, even if his father had taken both Periwinkle under one arm and his wand in the other; the flutter of wings introduced Balthazar's arrival back onto his shoulder, though he hopped expectantly onto Rosemary's elbow as they approached a wide, travertine shop with a swinging sign above it, carved with the words 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions'. This shop smelt faintly of brewing spearmint tea, but mostly like mothballs and the musk of the deepest parts of a grandmother's closet; through everything was folded neatly, fresh and crisp and ready for purchase. His eyes came upon several shimmering robes, like ripples of water that reminded him of his creek, upon purple robes with yellow stars and yellow robes with turqoise stars, upon those hung above the ceilings for decoration, and onto a small round table, dressed up with several clothing items.

They were the Hogwarts houses, gloves and hats and scarves and ties all nicely arranged, his eyes drawn to the gold and red. "Mother, can I-?" He started at once, but was cut off not by denial of buying something before he was sorted, but a stout woman with curly brown hair pinned back in a hurry. She scuttled over to the pair, and frantically shoved some of the loose strands behind her ear, though her smile was slow and gentle towards James.

"Come along, dear, I already have a group of students in the back, just right this way." He noticed calloused on her large hands, fingers bloated like sausages, just like the rest of her. Over her shoulder, she smiled at Mrs. Potter. "And dear lady, there's apparel just that way that I think would appeal to you nicely."

Much to James' dismay, his mother did go off towards the suggested area of women's robes, left along with this strange, harried woman that he wasn't particularly fond of. She was like Aunt Jubilene, but fatter, rougher, and more unfamiliar.

He was lead through a small cove of jet black robes that ranged from being able to fit a rat to being able to fit an ogre, herded back towards a grouping of pedestals scattered out in front of several large mirrors, which were murmuring off-hand comments towards each of the customers it reflected. Towards the corner came a snapping sound, and there stood a man- or perhaps a tall teenager with seriously defined features snarling out comments back at the mirror.

Pale and sharp, the stranger was reminiscent of the terror-like feeling that Ollivander had put into James' stomach. Perhaps they were related; it was then that he noticed the hair reaching towards his back, more silver than blonde, though his eyes were piercing and young, lips soft and pushed together as he watched pins weave in and out of his robes, pooling at his ankles with green decor.

Slytherin.

Quickly, James turned away, and stepped onto one of the only open circles, right next to a shorter student, his skin dark like bark, cheeks worn and red from windburn. The flush of his round cheeks only made the oak eyes clearer to James, and he turned towards his tubby neighbor, eyebrows arching as tape measures floated through the air and worked to fit the folds of the robes nicely around him.

"How's it going there, you look pretty nervous, your first time?" It was a wonder such a rapid emission of words could come from such small amount of breath, but James turned towards the elder and gave a quick nod.

The other student continued without another word. "Well, don't worry about it, boy! Hogwarts is loads of fun, I'd know, I'm going on my fourth year. Oh, yeah, and I forgot- my name's Amos Diggory, you can come to me for anything. I'm Ravenclaw, but don't worry, I'm hardly more intelligent than your average person."

A noise came from James' mouth, but that was all that he could manage as suddenly, robes were slipped over his head and being trimmed and cut and fit and poked by their own accord.

"I'm a half-blood myself, what're you? Doesn't really matter, now does it? Since Dumbledore's been headmaster, bloods and affiliations hasn't been a real conversation topic. The only person who truly cares about who you are is you-know-who, but I'd rather not go by his beliefs, don't you agree, mate?"

James offered nothing more than a nod, his eyes going back towards the way that the robes were pinching around his waist, looking up just in time to see Amos hop off of his own stand, giving a little salute, and pulling on a sagging grey flat hat to cover up his lengthy hair.

"Anyways, I'll see you around, boy!"

James blinked back towards the mirror, examining his shocked expression within the glass, his hazel eyes bright with confusion, eyebrows twisted and burrowing down; it didn't take long at all for the robes to be fitted, though by the time they were pulled off of him and settled into a package by Madam Malkin herself, James was the only Hogwarts student left in the shop. His mother slipped out a few golden galleons for the robes, as well as a pair of silky blue mittens for herself, and they continued on the way, James not saying a word about how strange these Hogwarts folk actually seemed to be.

In the center of the street, surrounded by wizards of all shapes and sizes and smells, his mother tugged him along, and there, they met their father. Just to his left was a glittering gold ball, whizzing around the air, occasionally fluttering it's small wings and then exploding into fireworks that spelled: Lilian Levar's Quidditch Store - buy one set of bludgers and get one set free! With his arms stuffed full of packages that definitely weren't just his schoolbooks, Caric Potter moved forward and to James' side, grinning at him. The young eleven year old got glimpses of a small black cauldron, stuffed to the brim with bottles and bags of strange herbs, as well as a quill feather that rustled beneath the wind, two separate bottles of ink (one black and one red), and the brim of a telescope, golden, he suspected.

Periwinkle nibbled at the ankles of his jeans as they moved through the crowds of Diagon Alley, finishing the day with a nice warm drink of ginger ale at the Leaky Cauldron, a wonderfully stifling place that reminded James of the undergrounds, though with light flooding through windows (that should've been facing brick buildings) and ocassional pops from practicing potions masters. With stale cup in hand, James trailed after his parents as they discussed the books he'd be learning from ("Are they still using Dorace Freedman? Bagshot's got much better information about the Hobbstar Trials, I don't know what old Binns is thinking.") It had completely slipped his mind that this day was August 18th, the last day he'd be seeing Eddie and the second to last day he'd be seeing Missy until the school year.

Somewhere in the rolling hills of England, pumped a train that James had failed to see off.

Any comments and suggestions are so welcomed! I'd love to answer questions that anyone may have, and if you find errors, please let me know. Feedback is appreciated, because feedback is what helps keep me going. Thank you very much!

Additionally, I know that this so far has been the James Potter show, but not to worry! Things are not only going to pick up, but soon we're going to meet some key players, such as Sirius Black, Severus Snape, and Lily Evans! Hell yeah!