Wednesday, July 16th, 12:30 PM

  Diagon Alley, City of Westminster, London, UK

  Iris, now that the first thrill was gone, seemed a little nervous as she looked along Diagon Alley's length. While not exactly bustling, it was definitely not deserted. James noticed this, since his cousin was anything but faint-hearted.

  "What's wrong?" he demanded.

  Iris bit her lip. "What if someone notices we're not magic?" she almost whispered.

  Her mother snorted, which startled Iris. It wasn't a sound she associated with her usually soft-spoken parent.

  "Buck up, girl," Emily said firmly. "We're with James Sirius Potter, and he's magic enough for anybody. Right, James?"

  "Yeah!" James said truculently, scowling around to spot if anyone was giving them side-eye. "Anybody starts somefin' with us, an' they'll be in a wheelie-bin before they can say, "Every Second Tuesday Pick-up!"

  Iris giggled at this, and they started down the cobblestone-covered street.

  "Auntie Em?" James asked. "Did you have anywhere in particular you wanted to go?"

  "Not really," said Emily. "I thought about dropping in at Potage's Cauldron Shop over there, on our way out. Our visit to the museum made me think that a small, non-magical cauldron would be perfect for stewing and slow-cooking. And it might get the picture of those cauldrons at the museum out of my head!" She smirked at the children, who grinned back.

  "Do we need to run by Gringotts?"

  "That won't be necessary, James," she said. "I still have some 'proper money,' (she rolled her eyes at the phrase), from the last time your Mum and I went shopping."

  They were coming up on the entrance to Knockturn Alley, when they heard a discordant screech of a voice rise above the low crowd noise.

  "Look at you! Walking about like you own the world! Clothes and shoes and... What is the world coming to when an Elf, of all things...?"

  "HEY!" James shouted, and darted away. Iris and Emily looked wide-eyed at each other, then followed.

  They found James near the mouth of Knockturn Alley, right in the face of an old woman dressed in dirty black robes, carrying a tray of what looked like dried fingernails. Standing behind him were two House Elves.

  James bellowed, "You leave them alone! They got every right to be anywhere they want to be, you old Hag!"

  The woman flinched back, darting glances to either side. "You be quiet, boy! Don't try to protect them! They're an abomination! And..., and I'm not a Hag, either! I have a... a skin condition!"

  James sneered. "If you want to pretend to be a witch, that's none of my business! But you should probably get thicker slippers, Four-Toes!"

  She screeched at this, yanking a foot back under the hem of her robes.

  James continued, "And I'm not here to protect them, I'm here to protect you! If Kreacher has to deal with you..."

  The woman froze, paling to the faintest of greens. "Kreacher? The... the Kreacher?"

  The pair of House Elves stepped around James, still arm-in-arm. Kreacher was dressed in a gentleman's walking-out suit from early in the last century. He raised his silver-headed cane, and tapped the brim of his natty little bowler hat politely.

  "Madam did not give Kreacher a chance to introduce himself properly," he said, ice crystals forming on his words. "Kreacher Potter-Black, at your service. And you are...?"

  This last was said almost sub-vocally, in a malevolent mutter. James recognised it as a very, very bad sign. He interposed himself again. Speaking in a frank, confiding tone to the Hag, he said, "Four toes or not, you better run."

  When she remained frozen, James leaned in closer, and went, "Boo."

  The Hag was running before she even got fully turned around, yellow chips of dried keratin spraying out before her, like a farmer scattering seeds.

  ***

  Kreacher was staring down the alley after the Hag, sub-vocals rumbling in his chest. The smaller Elf at his side patted him on the arm she had her hand hooked through.

  "Master Kreacher" she said, in a tiny but clear voice. "Do not concern yourself with that... thing, or her rudeness. Would Kreacher introduce Cook to his friends?"

  Kreacher straightened from the dangerous-looking crouch slowly, his droopy ears rising as much as they were capable of. He looked slightly abashed.

  "Kreacher apologises," nodding to the Elf, then to James, Iris, and Emily. "Kreacher was, ah..."

  "Right royally pissed off." James nodded sagely. "I thought I had seen you angry." He grimaced. "I thought I had made you angry. But I ain't seen nuffin,' have I?" His smile returned. "Who's your friend, then?"

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  The smaller Elf, fetchingly turned out in a lace and chiffon frock, curtseyed. The brim of her wide hat bobbed as well.

  "Ah!" said Kreacher. "Young Mister James, Young Miss Iris, Miss Emily, please to meet Mistress Cook Malfoy. Kreacher and Mistress Cook are co-lab-or-a-ting on some..." He hesitated, then whispered to Cook, "Rejects?"

  "Projects," she whispered back.

  "Projects!" Kreacher enunciated proudly. "Mistress Cook is helping Kreacher take care of our guests, while Kreacher works on Kreacher's book!"

  Cook nodded firmly. "And Master Kreacher is helping Cook to write a book, too!"

  "Oh," said Iris. "That sounds wonderful! What kind of book are you going to write, Cook?"

  Cook looked at the girl as if the question made no sense. "A COOK Book," she said, giving Kreacher a sideways glance. He shrugged. People. What were you going to do?

  Kreacher cleared his throat, "Hem. Is Mister James enjoying his visit to Miss Iris?"

  "It's been brilliant, Kreacher!" James enthused. "Irie and me have been helping out at the store, an goin' places an' doin' stuff! We got all sorts going on!"

  "Hmm." Kreacher considered James carefully, then looked to Emily. "And how is Miss Emily's summer?"

  Emily smiled gently, and answered the real question. "He's been a delight, Kreacher. We've all learned so much from him, and he goes out of his way to be helpful. We're going to miss him when school starts."

  Kreacher looked at James, who grinned. The Elf rolled his eyes in a 'What is the world coming to?' kind of way. He smiled back at James, saying, "Kreacher appreciates Young Mister James', ah, help in... discussion. Mistress Cook is uncomfortable in public, and Kreacher did not want to, ah, cause Cook distress."

  "Yeah," said James. "I understand Hag blood can eat through cloth if y' don't rinse it out quick. Lily would have a fit if you ruined your best outfit."

  Kreacher's smile was gleefully malicious. "There are worse things than bleeding, Young Mister James. Kreacher still thanks you."

  James' expression turned very serious for a moment. "Nobody messes with my family." He nodded respectfully to Cook. "Or their friends."

  Seeking to lighten the mood, Iris spoke up. "Cook, Kreacher, are you here for any particular reason? We're just doing a little shopping and sightseeing."

  Cook gave a shy smile. "Master Kreacher and Cook are doing much the same, Young Miss Iris. Miss Ginny and Miss Astoria said to take half-day at least, since weekend was so busy. These Elves have things to buy, yes, but mostly day to enjoy."

  Kreacher nodded in affirmation. "These Elves also saw off Miss Ginny and Mister Ron to Patagonia." Seeing the inquiring faces of all three humans, Kreacher explained.

  "Mister Krum's team have first game on Saturday, so practice, practice, practice. Mister Ron will watch game and write story for Mister Krum."

  James' eyes widened, then he bellowed laughter. "Hah! That is going to be a right laugh!"

  Iris chortled, and Emily shook her head. "We should ask George to get a few extra copies of tomorrow's Prophet. I predict it will become a collector's item, one way or another."

  ***

  The Dursleys and James said their goodbyes to the Elves, and the folk went their separate ways, leaving the dark entry of Knockturn Alley silent in their wake.

  The three wandered up Diagon Alley, not really interested in the big-name shops they passed. Instead, they poked around the plethora of smaller shops, the ones serving niche markets. Some of them came and went with the seasons, while some seemed as if the alley had been built around them.

  They went into Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, and stayed for a while. James' Uncle George wasn't present.

  Verity said, "He's off wrapping up a personal project." She gave the children one of those smiles, the ones with way too many teeth showing. "I'm sure you two know the one."

  James and Iris high-fived each other as Emily rolled her eyes.

  They left the shop, fingers in ears and eyes squinted against the cacaphony of effects. Just past the demarcation line, Emily stopped short. The children, who had gotten a little ahead, turned to look back at her.

  She cocked her head slightly. Her nose twitched, and then her nostrils flared slightly. She looked to her right, and said, "Well. I've never noticed that little store before."

  James snorted. "Being next door to Uncle George probably ain't the best place to have a business!"

  It was one of the little shops that looked as if it might predate London, much less Diagon Alley. There wasn't even a sign on the place. The inventory showed no theme, just shelves and tables neatly displaying what unkind people might call 'junk.'

  The trio wandered over, browsing the displays outside the entrance. They found fascinating little knick-knacks, but nothing they couldn't live without. Under the shade of the awning, they could tell the interior of the shop was lit by a faint, sourceless white glow.

  An exchange of words caught their attention. The first speaker had a querulous, slightly demanding tone, but they could not make out the words, as the speaker seemed to be facing away from the front of the store. The other speaker's words were clear, though crackling with age.

  "Lad, as Ah told yeh, ye took the las' tu skeins Ah had. An' Ah had them f' longer than ye've been alive. Ah've no idee how t' get more. Ah tek thin's as they come 'ere, an' Ah fergits them as they goes."

  The other voice had nothing else to say, apparently. They heard firm footsteps coming toward the door. Emily, a bit taller than the children, looked over the top of a shelf stacked on a table. Glancing down, she called the children's attention to an elaborately carved snuffbox on the table top.

  Some of the details on the piece were so deeply undercut as to be almost free-standing. As James pulled back slightly to get a better angle of view, he caught a flash of blue in his peripheral vision. He looked back under his arm and Emily's, which was thrown over his shoulder. He saw a familiar someone wearing a blue swallow-tail coat walking away. The curly white hair falling off to one side confirmed the identity adequately.

  The figure stiffened, and slowed, intending to look around, James supposed. For good or ill, though, the person walked into the area of effect of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, which appeared to derail their train of thought quite thoroughly.

  "Let's check inside," Emily said. "I have a very good feeling about this shop."

  They went in, and found themselves in a circular room, with curved rows of shelves, tables, and cabinet displays starting against the wall, then coming out in gapped segments and arcs. There was a circular, (of course), desk in the exact center of the room.

  Inside the desk was what had to be the oldest person James had ever seen. His mouth split in a smile as he spotted the three, which caused his face to wrinkle up from jaw to forehead. James knew somehow that these were all laugh lines. The little man seemed to just radiate happiness and welcome.

  The smile moderated down to a friendly grin, somewhat hiding the teeth that seemed too big for him.

  "Welcome!" he said. "Ten thousant, thousant welcomes! Ah hight Bartemius Ealdgye Winkle, proprietor of this shoppe. Please t' call me Barry."

  Emily said, "Very pleased to meet you, Barry. I am Emily Katherine Bryce Dursley, this is my daughter, Iris Indigo, and her cousin, James Sirius Potter."

  James nudged Iris, whispering, "Indigo?"

  "Yes, Sirius?" she whispered back.

  "Look to y'r heart's content," said Barry, expansively. "Questions ere welcome, but rushin' is discouraged. The only thin' I ask ye to mind IS..."

  He assumed a solemn mien, waiting a properly dramatic time.

  "If y' BREAK it..."

  He dropped the act and shrugged. "Aye, well, it pro'ly weren't goin' t' last mooch longer, anyways. Broom'll handle it." A twig broom leaning against the back wall wiggled, as if waving at them.

  Barry gestured the children closer. "In fact," he whispered. "If y' see somethin' particularly ugly..."