And together, the Acton family dove into the wonders of magical literature.
What followed could only be described as organized chaos. The three of them moved through the aisles like a carefully coordinated hurricane, each pursuing their own interests with single-minded intensity. Other customers found themselves stepping aside, sometimes hastily, as the Actons swept through sections with the kind of focus usually reserved for emergencies.
None of the Actons could be accused of lacking dedication to reading. Michael's law degree and Yara's medical career had both required years of intense study, the kind of grueling academic work that separated the committed from the casual. But even they paled in comparison to James, whose almost obsessive tendency to absorb knowledge had defined his second life.
Michael gravitated toward the legal and political sections, pulling down volume after volume. Wizarding Britain: A Legal Overview by Septimus Odgen. The Politics of Magic: Ministry Structure and Function by Arnold Crouch. Magical Contract Theory and Application by Araminta Meliflua. International Magical Law and the ICW by Armand Bonaccord. His mind was already building frameworks to understand the structure of this hidden society's governance.
Yara had claimed the entire medical section as her territory. Healing Magic Fundamentals by Dilys Derwent. Magical Anatomy and Physiology by Hippocrates Smethwyck. Curse-Induced Injuries: Recognition and Treatment by Miriam Strout. St. Mungo's Clinical Studies volumes one through five. Her eyes sparkled as she discovered books on magical diseases she'd never imagined, healing techniques that defied everything she thought possible about medicine.
James moved with purpose through multiple sections. He started with theory because everything began with understanding the fundamentals. Advanced Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling. Principles of Spell Construction by Mira Anderson. Advanced Wand Theory and Resonance by Gerbold Ollivander. Books on spell crafting, on the role of intent and willpower, on wandless and nonverbal magic.
He pulled all seven years of core subject texts, wanting the complete progression. The elective textbooks for years three through seven followed. Books on advanced charms, transfiguration theory, and potion-making from introductory to experimental levels.
His pile grew: texts on herbology and magical creatures, on healing magic and curse-breaking, on spatial compression and apparition theory, on ancient magics and runic systems, and on artificing and enchantment. Books on divination, astronomy, and concealment magic.
The shop assistants watched with growing amazement as the pile on the counter grew higher and higher. One young wizard nudged his companion, pointing at the mountain of books. "That's got to be at least forty Galleons worth."
"More," his friend whispered back. "Look at some of those titles. Advanced texts aren't cheap."
By the time the three Actons reconvened at the counter, they'd created a pile that covered the entire surface and rose high enough to obscure the wizard manning the register. He had to peer around the stack to see who'd brought this avalanche of literature.
Other customers openly stared. Some with amusement, others with bewilderment. One elderly witch muttered something about "enthusiastic Muggleborns" but not unkindly.
The shopkeeper began tallying the purchases, his quill writing numbers in the air beside him as he worked through the massive order. "Theory texts, advanced spellwork, complete spell book series, elective textbooks, potions, herbology, creatures, medical texts, spatial magic, ancient runes, legal volumes, experimental magic..."
The quill wrote the final sum in glowing script: 43 Galleons.
Several customers gasped at the amount. This was yearly salary for some of them, spent in a single shopping trip by a muggle family.
Michael pulled out the money pouch without hesitation. "Worth every penny."
The shopkeeper's eyes widened at the easy acceptance. Most customers, especially those buying for first-year students, would have balked at such a sum. "Shall I have these delivered? We offer owl delivery for bulk purchases."
"No need," James said, pulling out his miniaturized trunk. He tapped it with his wand, speaking clearly: "Restore."
The trunk expanded to full size in the middle of the bookshop floor. Several customers jumped back in surprise. James opened it to reveal the bookshelf compartment and began loading volumes systematically. The shopkeeper helped, clearly impressed by the quality trunk with its extension charms and organizational magic.
When the last book was safely stored, James shrank the trunk again and pocketed it. The whole process had taken less than five minutes, but it had drawn an audience.
"Come back anytime," the shopkeeper said warmly as they prepared to leave. "We always appreciate customers who truly value books."
Back on Diagon Alley, the afternoon sun was slanting through the street, casting long shadows. James checked his watch and was startled to see it was nearly three o'clock.
"We should get lunch," Yara said. "I'm starving."
"Didn't we see a pub sign earlier?" Michael looked around, trying to orient himself on the magical street.
James pointed down a side street. "The Three Sheets. It looked like a pirate ship."
They found it easily. The pub was impossible to miss, designed to look like a sailing vessel had somehow been converted into a restaurant. A hanging sign showed a ship in full sail, and a pirate flag fluttered from a pole. A unicorn statue stood proudly at the very top, an odd but charming juxtaposition.
A sign beside the door proclaimed: "Down the Hatch for Victuals" with an arrow pointing right. Another enthusiastically advertised: "Try Our Covey Crumpets!"
Inside, the nautical theme continued with fishing nets, anchors, and ship paintings decorating the walls. The rough-hewn wooden tables and mismatched chairs gave it a rustic charm. A few other diners occupied tables, eating what looked like typical pub fare.
They ordered the recommended crumpets along with roasted chicken, gravy, and mashed potatoes. Michael and Yara also each requested a butterbeer, curious about the wizarding beverage.
"Can I try some?" James asked.
"Absolutely not," Yara said immediately. "It has trace amounts of alcohol. You're eleven."
"It's barely alcoholic," Michael protested mildly.
"He's eleven," Yara repeated firmly. "No alcohol."
The food arrived quickly. The crumpets were indeed excellent, soaked in butter and honey, sweet and rich. The rest of the meal was standard British food, which meant bland and underseasoned to palates accustomed to the spicy cuisine that dominated the Acton household.
Even Michael, a born-and-bred Englishman, had long since adapted to the flavorful desi cooking that was standard at home. The food was filling if not exciting, and they ate quickly, eager to continue exploring.
The butterbeer, his parents reported, was actually quite good. Sweet and buttery with a slight effervescence, though Yara maintained she could taste the alcohol and refused to let James try it.
After lunch, properly fed, they set out to explore more of Diagon Alley's offerings.
Janus Galloglass specialized in mirrors of all kinds. The storefront displayed dozens of them, from small hand mirrors to massive floor-length pieces.
Inside was even more impressive. Mirrors lined every wall, reflecting and re-reflecting until the shop seemed infinite. Some showed accurate reflections. Others displayed the viewer as they might be in different clothes, ages, or circumstances.
The shopkeeper, a tall witch with silver hair, greeted them pleasantly. "Welcome. Feel free to browse. Just don't stare too long at the corner mirror. She's temperamental about eye contact."
Michael approached an ornate mirror with a gilt frame. As he drew close, a seductive female voice emerged from the glass.
"Well, hello there, handsome. Don't you look distinguished today?"
Michael stopped, startled.
The voice continued, giggling. "Oh, such lovely eyes. And that jaw! Is that woman your mother? You must have excellent genes."
Yara's expression darkened considerably. "Did that mirror just ask if I was your mother?"
The voice giggled again. "Just saying you look very youthful, dear. Must be good skincare."
"I'm his wife," Yara said icily.
"Oh! My deepest apologies. I meant no offense. You just look so young and fresh for your age!"
The shopkeeper appeared, looking apologetic. "Sorry about that. She's an older model, and tends to flirt with men. Trying to increase her chances of being purchased. Mirrors can be rather vain."
They explored cautiously after that. One mirror showed possible future events, though the shopkeeper warned the images were probabilistic. Another allowed communication between paired mirrors. A third revealed invisible ink and hidden enchantments.
"Fascinating place," Michael said as they left. "But I don't think we need talking mirrors at home."
"Thank goodness," Yara muttered.
Quality Quidditch Supplies was packed with customers, mostly young people pressing their faces against windows to admire the latest racing broom. Inside smelled of leather and polish. Brooms lined the walls, and equipment filled display cases.
But none of the Actons were particularly sporty. They browsed for a few minutes before moving on.
They wandered through several more shops. A place selling cauldrons of every size. Another specializing in crystal balls. A third offering pre-made potions for common ailments.
Finally, they found Creepy Scrawlers Stationers, situated next to Kraken Paints and Pigments.
The stationer's shop was bright and organized, a pleasant contrast to some of the darker establishments they'd visited. Shelves lined the walls, filled with parchment of every quality and color, from basic student grade to expensive vellum that seemed to glow faintly. Quills occupied an entire section, ranging from simple raven feathers to elaborate peacock plumes, some with spelled nibs for specific purposes.
The shopkeeper was a thin man with ink-stained fingers and spectacles perched on his nose. He wore robes in a sensible brown color and greeted them with a professional nod.
"First year student?" he asked, assessing their needs with practiced eyes.
"Yes," James confirmed.
"Standard parchment and quills, then. How much were you thinking?"
They purchased the recommended amounts. Basic parchment, nothing fancy. Standard quills without spelling corrections or handwriting enhancement. James didn't need magical assistance with penmanship.
He did, however, select a pair of Dicta-Quills. "For taking notes during independent study," he explained when his mother raised an eyebrow.
He also acquired a quality rune-carving set with various tools for inscribing magical symbols, and an arithmancy calculation set that included a specialized dial and ruler.
"Planning ahead for the third year?" the shopkeeper asked, wrapping the rune set carefully.
"I like to be prepared," James said simply.
Michael paid, and they left with their purchases. James made a mental note to visit a Muggle stationer later. He'd get notebooks and journals for his personal studies, along with ballpoint and fountain pens. Parchment and quills were traditional, but sometimes modern muggle convenience won out.
They'd completed everything on the required list. James had decided against getting a pet for now. He'd use the school owls when needed.
But none of them were ready to leave yet.
"It's only half past three," Yara said, looking around the magical street with undisguised delight. "We could explore a bit more?"
They wandered, stopping at whatever caught their interest.
Oldknowe Books specialized in spirits and the afterlife. The shop looked dark and eerie, with "UNQUIET" painted across its facade in shifting letters. Inside, the elderly shopkeeper was surprisingly friendly, delighted to have customers interested in his niche subject.
"Muggles don't believe in ghosts," Yara explained. "This is all new to us."
His face lit up. "Oh, wonderful! A fresh perspective."
They purchased several books on ghosts, poltergeists, and spirit communication. The shopkeeper rang up the sale, looking genuinely happy. "Don't get much business compared to Flourish and Blotts. It's a niche subject, fewer books published, smaller print runs. That's why prices are also higher."
"Worth every penny," Michael repeated, and meant it.
As they left, Yara spotted Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour across the street. "Ice cream!"
The parlour was charming, with colorful displays inside and cheerful outdoor seating. The flavor selection was spectacular, ranging from traditional to wildly magical.
James chose Vanilla Bean with Enchanted Sprinkles that sparkled on his tongue. Yara ordered a Butterbeer Swirl. Michael selected Sugared Plum with Brandy Notes.
They sat at an outdoor table, watching magical shoppers pass by, simply existing in this impossible world.
"This has been quite a day," Michael said finally.
"Quite a day," Yara agreed. "I keep thinking I'll wake up and find it was all an elaborate dream."
They finished their ice cream as enjoying every bite of it. Finally, reluctantly, they stood and made their way back toward the Leaky Cauldron.
The pub was packed now with the dinner crowd. Tom waved from behind the bar as they passed through.
They stepped back into the Muggle world. The sounds of London traffic were suddenly loud after the relative quiet of Diagon Alley.
"We should stop at Benares, Its almost dinner time" Yara said as Michael drove through evening traffic.
They pulled into the restaurant and ordered properly: chicken tikka masala with parathas, mint chutney, and all the spicy, flavorful food their taste buds had been craving since that bland pub lunch.
By the time they arrived home, it was past eight o'clock. They were exhausted and overwhelmed than they'd been in years.
James trudged upstairs, restored his trunk to full size, and simply stared at the mountain of books now in his possession. So much knowledge. Four years of preparation, and now he had the tools to truly begin.
But he was too tired to read even a single page. He changed into pajamas, brushed his teeth, and collapsed into bed.
Within minutes, all three Actons were asleep, dead to the world after days of excitement and sleepless nights since the letter arrived.
And in James's room, his new wand rested in its holster on his nightstand, humming softly with contentment, having finally found its wizard after forty-seven years of waiting.