𝙮𝙤𝙪 || 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫

The brick wall separates into an archway, uncovering the wizarding shops that extend as far as the cobbled street went. It was already teeming with witches and wizards, and more seem to appear from the narrow paths between buildings.

As a witch walks past you, you were able to smell the old pages of the ancient tomes she carried in her cauldron. The conversations of strangers rang in your ears like white noise, a sort of constant yet pleasant humming that followed you as you strolled past windows and shopfronts.

It was no secret that Diagon Alley had a special place in your heart. Every smell, sight, and sound was embedded into your soul that your body was almost vibrating with excitement. You can already see Hogwarts students moseying around, and you wonder if your friends were already here, scattered in different establishments or clustered together in one place. It didn't matter because you were going to find them anyway.

"Now, wait for just a second, little lady," said your father, dragging you back by your collar when you were about to set off. "I know you're excited and all, but that can wait until we have every book and potion ingredient you'll be needing this year."

"Right, sorry," you apologize, "I got too excited. Where's Mum anyway?" You added, noticing that she disappeared from your father's side.

You both look around the busy street and spot her staring at the posters pasted on the brick wall to your right. You grimace upon realizing it was the same escaped convict you saw on the television last week. In comparison to the still visuals presented in Muggle newspapers, the wanted posters of him moved, showing him struggling against his restraints as he held a placard that showed he was imprisoned in Azkaban, a horrific place for convicted criminals in the wizarding world. This wouldn't make your mother feel better.

"Are you seeing this?" Asked your mother as you and your father approach her. She was biting on her bottom lip again. "He's wanted in this place. This environment isn't even safe anymore—"

"Mum, we'll be fine," you insist. "I'm sure he's no match for thousands of people who know magic."

Your mother gave you a sharp look, the kind that didn't need any words spoken for you to understand what she was trying to say. It was written all over her face.

For the past few days, she's been on edge. Sometimes, you catch her during your midnight trips for a glass of water, peering behind the curtains of the kitchen window as if Black would appear in your backyard in thin air. Her paranoia was starting to take effect on you, that same uneasy feeling snaking around your heart. It didn't take long before you followed in her footsteps of double-checking locks and jumping at every odd noise.

You didn't want the threat of a dangerous criminal looming over your head every day. Especially not in school. Now that you were aware he was a man with a foot on both worlds, that anxiousness that threatened your composure was nearly enough for your knees to buckle.

Your father, sensing the tense air in the bubbly atmosphere of Diagon Alley, proceeds to direct both you and your mother away from the posters. He was talking animatedly along the way, serving himself as a distraction from meddlesome thoughts. His monologue about his fresh obsession with Quidditch wasn't engaging enough, but his voice cuts through your mind that it was all you can hear. He continues to do so until you were in front of the Apothecary, and you're relieved to see that your mother was starting to calm down. She cracked a smile at a lame quip your father made and didn't voice out her worries about Black anymore.

As both your parents talk to the shopkeeper at the counter, you went deeper into the shop to find some of the ingredients on the list, the rotting smell mixed with mold slithering down your nostrils that you almost coughed. The Slug & Jiggers Apothecary wasn't known for its fragrance. You almost threw up from the smell the first time you went there. But the things it held were intriguing enough that you can ignore the scent.