"Alright, Alan, we've spent quite some time finding the right wand. We need to move quickly to get the rest of your supplies," Professor McGonagall said, checking her pocket watch.
"Of course, Professor."
Guided by McGonagall, Alan visited Scribbulus Writing Implements to stock up on parchment, ink, and several quills. From there, they moved through the cobblestone streets to collect a heavy pewter cauldron from Potage's, a set of plain black work robes from Madam Malkin's, and a daunting stack of textbooks from Flourish and Blotts.
Alan also purchased a tawny owl. He found the bird's wide-eyed, blinking expression somewhat comical, though it was surprisingly affordable for such a useful messenger. By the time they finished, the evening sun was beginning to dip behind the jagged rooftops of Diagon Alley.
"That should be everything, Alan. You have the essentials for your first year. It's getting late, so I shall escort you back. While Diagon Alley is generally secure, it is unwise for a young wizard to wander alone after dark."
"Thank you, Professor McGonagall. Before we head back, may I buy you a drink? You've spent the better part of your day helping me, and I'd like to show my appreciation." Alan noticed they still had a bit of time before twilight fully settled. He was exhausted from the shopping trip and eager to pry more information about the magical world from his new teacher.
McGonagall considered this for a moment. "A brief rest would be acceptable," she agreed, her stern expression softening slightly.
They made their way to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, ordered two cold drinks, and found a quiet table.
"Professor McGonagall, now that I have my wand, am I permitted to practice spells?" Alan asked after taking a long sip of his drink.
"Do not be over-eager, Alan. Magic is far more complex than it appears. Reckless casting can lead to disastrous consequences, particularly in a Muggle environment. Furthermore, the Ministry of Magic is currently very vigilant regarding magical activity."
"There is an enchantment called the Trace placed upon every wizard under the age of seventeen. It allows the Ministry to detect magic performed in the vicinity of a minor. In a wizarding household or a place like Diagon Alley, the Ministry cannot always pinpoint the specific caster, but in an orphanage full of Muggles, your magic would stand out like a beacon in the night," McGonagall explained.
"So, it's technically allowed in Diagon Alley?" Alan pressed.
"Theoretically, yes. However, attempting spells without proper instruction is dangerous. I suggest you save that curiosity for the classroom," she replied firmly, her inner professor taking over.
"I understand," Alan said casually, though his mind was already whirring with possibilities.
"Are there many professors at Hogwarts like you? And what about the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore? What is he like?" Alan turned into a one-boy interrogation unit, testing the limits of McGonagall's patience.
"I suspect you belong in Ravenclaw, Mr. Wilson," she said with a faint, teasing smile. "Dumbledore is widely considered the greatest wizard of our age. You will meet him soon enough. Today, he is in Hogsmeade—a wizarding village near the school—to interview a candidate for the Divination post. Though, personally, I've never seen the need for a dedicated Divination class."
"Professor McGonagall! What a surprise to find you here," a warm voice called out from the doorway.
Alan turned to see a couple approaching. The man had messy black hair and lively eyes behind a pair of glasses. The woman beside him was visibly pregnant, her auburn hair catching the light as she smiled.
"Lily, James! What brings you two out?" McGonagall stood up to greet them, and Alan followed suit.
"The baby is due any day now, and we realized we were missing a few things," James explained. He glanced at Alan. "Ah, out with a new recruit? Most wizarding families handle the shopping themselves, so you must be Muggle-born. Where are your parents, lad? Why are you out here on your own?"
James spoke with an easy, casual familiarity that caught Alan off guard. Lily quickly reached out and gave James's arm a sharp, warning squeeze. James looked at his wife, appearing genuinely confused by her reaction.
"You've got a sharp eye, sir. I am Muggle-born. As for my parents... I'm afraid I never knew them," Alan replied. While the question was a bit blunt, he wasn't offended. He was a pragmatist; the truth was simply the truth.
"Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry," James said quickly, his face reddening as he realized his blunder.
Alan shrugged dismissively. "It's quite alright."
"This is Alan Wilson, an incoming first-year," McGonagall said, smoothing over the awkwardness. "Alan, these are James and Lily Potter, two of our finest former students. Please, sit. Lily, you're so far along—is it wise to be out in public right now?"
"We aren't far from safety," James said, though he pulled out a chair for Lily with great care. He glanced at his wife and beamed with a look of goofy, nervous excitement. "But yes, we have to be prepared."
Noticing the name 'Potter,' Alan looked at Lily and asked, "How much longer until the baby arrives? Have you chosen a name yet?"
Lily looked at the boy and felt an immediate sense of kinship. "He should be here by the end of the month. If it's a boy, we've decided on Harry. Harry Potter." She looked at James, her expression radiant.
Alan's suspicions were confirmed. These were the parents of the future 'Savior.' Though his knowledge of the books was thin, he knew that name. This encounter also clarified the timeline: Harry's parents were still alive, which meant Voldemort was still at the height of his power. It explained the empty shops, the tension in the air, and the Aurors patrolling the streets. He was stepping into a world on the brink of a total war.