Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me. It all belongs to J. K. Rowling.
Thanks to Yolanda, my nifty new beta-reader.
--
Chapter One: 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, tall er 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 recognise 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."). He didn’t remember 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, Greasy Hair 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 leveled his own at 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.
