Chapter 1

Magic made a lot of things easier. Cooking edible food with little experience was one of them. I couldn't just conjure food out of the air, nor could I bewitch myself to be an expert chef, but it made individual steps... easier. Need to boil water? Just a wave of a wand. Need to chop or otherwise prepare ingredients? The right charm would set the knives doing the work for me.

As recipes went, spaghetti bolognese was relatively simple. I'd made it before, I was fairly sure. In spite of my fragile confidence, a half hour of fumbling around in my new kitchen rewarded me with a serviceable bowl of comfort food. Toasting the empty room with a glass of water, I savoured my new home's inaugural dinner.

Simplicity and familiarity aside, my meal choice had a deeper purpose: it wasn't served in Hogwarts. For all the house elves commendable diligence and expertise, my first childhood's staple had not darkened the Great Hall's tables in my seven years of magical schooling. And I didn't want reminders of Hogwarts' simple luxuries—not when I was trying so hard to make it by myself, an experience alien to both my lives.

Cooking was a small thing, but an important one. Magic was a much bigger thing and was just as important to me now. My wand, exactly a foot of alder encasing a dragon's heartstring, had not been out of reach for more than a few minutes since it had first chosen me in Ollivander's shop. It was a part of me, an extension of myself.

A flick of my wand sent the dishes scurrying to the sink. A quick Tergeo scoured what few stains I'd created on the table whilst I ate. The kitchen had been spotless when I'd arrived just a few hours earlier and I wanted to keep it that way for as long as I could.

The quaint kitchen had a cream linoleum floor against walls that had a slightly darker shade of cream. The ceiling was, as it was everywhere in my little flat, polished wooden boards fitted together into a smooth surface. The floor, outside of the kitchen, was made of much the same. To my moderate disappointment, none of the floorboards creaked even the slightest bit.

Dinner over, I started unpacking. Undergarments, t-shirts and other casual Muggle attire were folded and tucked away into a chest of drawers while what few sets of robes I had and my solitary set of formal Muggle attire were hung in my wardrobe.

Moving to the other end of my flat, I couldn't help but grin slightly as I opened a room of bookcases waiting to be filled. With a tap of my wand, the first of the boxes of books I'd brought burst open, the volumes within floating through the air for a moment before marshalling themselves into order and settling on the shelves. Three boxes later, the bookcases weren't even a quarter filled, but the room—to my bibliophilic eyes—was manifold more comfortable. I levitated one of the armchairs that had come with the flat and moved it under the room's lantern so it would catch the light better. Satisfied, I moved on to the next item on my to-do list.

—tN—tN—tN—

The bright red "SOLD!" sign in the front window of Number 14 Whimsik Alley would not have looked out of place on a Muggle property, in spite of the distinctly non-Muggle surroundings. To the left, at Number 12, was a faded black storefront whose dusty display window offered a selection of 'well-loved' telescopes, weighing scales and other borderline-magical paraphernalia. At Number 15, to the right, was a sparkling clean café tended by a bevvy of hovering brushes. The owners, a couple of elderly wizards, had pressed a bag of fresh buns into my hand just a few moments earlier as a house-warming gift.

Number 14 was dark and dull, empty and unused since I'd first spied the property a year ago. It wasn't anything special, a modest shop with an equally modest flat above it and a cramped garden behind it. But it was mine.

Pulling the deed out of my pocket, I wrapped twice on the letter slot, which swung open. I slid the roll of parchment certifying that Poe Stevens—me—as the owner into the slot. The cover dropped closed with a click and hummed for a moment. Then it sprung open again and the deed poked itself out for me to take it, now with the addition of an old-fashioned silvery key in the middle of the folds. A tap of the key to the lock and the door clicked open.

I pocketed the key and deed quickly and pulled the door open with a gesture of my wand. Not crossing the threshold, I cast silently. Revelio. Homenum Revelio. Specialis Revelio. Nothing concealed, nobody hiding, no unexpected spells. A flick of my wand sent a series of balls of mist that bounced around inside the shadowy shop. After a few moments in which they'd passed through every space in which someone may be concealing themselves, I allowed myself to enter the shop. My shop.

I shut the door and charmed it locked, such that most Unlocking spells wouldn't work. As an afterthought, I added a Caterwauling charm to the threshold. A few more spells were added to the front window to stop people from looking in, the view through it distorted slightly in the process. And then I was properly alone in my shop.

The entrance was to the right of the front window, itself a series of panes two metres wide intended to display the wares that could be placed on the deep sill inside. The shopfront was about five metres wide from the outside, leaving a comfortable amount of space for my intended range of products given their light nature. The ceiling was barely visible at several times my height above my head, polished wooden boards fitting together almost seamlessly with ten lanterns hanging in two rows to illuminate the shop. Raising my wand once more, I conjured a series of warm, white, flames that drifted through the air to settle in the waiting lanterns, chasing away the shadows.

The shop floor stretched back around ten meters before meeting a once-polished counter that ran the width of the back wall. The space was mostly clear, save for the long display tables stacked against either wall. I could see that once set out, they'd form a few aisles through which customers could wander. Presuming I ever had any. The wall behind the counter was half-covered vertically by shelving.

The only smell in the air was a sharp citrus scent that seemed to be one of the other commonalities between Muggle cleaning products and their magical counterparts. Nothing, not even the slightest of draughts, stirred in the room, like the building was holding its breath to see if I would meet its standards. I wouldn't leave it waiting long.

I crossed from the doorway to the counter, taking my time to take in every shadow, crack and crevasse of the property. Vaulting the counter, I felt my way along the back of the room. Concealed behind the shelves were three different doorways that I could find, none of which were terribly well-hidden. Sliding one of the appropriate sections to one side would reveal a storeroom that was filled only with bare shelves waiting for tenants. The second one I tried led to a small breakroom that connected with the storeroom. The last revealed a flight of stairs leading up to Number 14's associated flat.

Leaving the staircase for the moment, I paced the perimeter of the ground floor—including the rooms at the back—going through a checklist of spells every few steps. Spells for concealment. Spells to uncover concealment. Spells to alert me to intruders. Spells to stop intruders in their tracks. Charms to guard against dark curses, not to mention a few jinxes of my own for anyone or anything who did get inside. Half an hour later, I stood at the bottom of the staircase again and cast another set of misty orbs that bobbed up the steps and around the landing at the top.

There still wasn't anyone there. Thirteen steps later, I was at the top.

The flat was, in the words of Goldilocks, 'just right' in terms of size. Over the shop itself and looking onto the Alley was a comfortable room with a few blue armchairs and walls lined with empty bookcases. I decided immediately that I'd probably spend most of my time relaxing in this room. Also over the shop, but without any windows, was a modestly-equipped kitchen and a long table large enough to sit about eight people. I eyed the waiting stovetop with no small amusement. Neither a Muggle's children's home, nor Britain's finest school of magic, nor two decades of pastlife experiences, had sufficiently prepared me for cooking for myself. I'd figure it out, I was sure.

Directly leading off the landing was three more rooms. One was a heavily-scented bathroom, the others held bedrooms. The sleeping chambers were as yet quite bare, bed linen and decorations not being included with the flat. Either would give me more space to myself than the dorms in Hogwarts. Since both bedrooms were near-identical, down to both having windows overlooking the small garden behind the building, I ended up choosing the one on the left of the landing using a coin toss.

I went through the same routine in each room as I had on the ground floor, charming the flat against invasion as best I could. The spells would have to be renewed every week or so and there were more security measures that I wanted to put in, but it was a start.

I'd taken a leaf out of Hermione's book—the Deathly Hallows, to be exact—and bewitched a pouch with an undetectable extension charm. It never failed to amuse me to pull absurdly proportioned objects out of small containers. My entire trunk—itself larger on the inside than out—along with a few essential pieces of furniture and larger equipment all fit into the pocket of my coat once placed in the pouch. For the moment I withdrew just the last few things I needed to finish moving in.

A dozen sturdy Sneakoscopes, modified with a few charms of my own design, were arranged at regular intervals throughout the shop and flat. I stuck a Secrecy Sensor over each doorway in the building, except for the connecting door between the storeroom and the breakroom. After a moment's consideration, I sealed the door as tight as I could and added the purchase of an additional Sensor to my to-do list.

We weren't at war. Not yet. But, knowing what I knew, every little bit helped.

—tN—tN—tN—

Three hours after I arrived I pulled out the buns my new neighbours had given me. They were little sandwiches of jam and cream, the sponge still warm like they'd been recently taken out of the oven. It felt like an insult to do so, but I checked each bun for poison and kept a bezoar stone at the ready. The bezoar was unnecessary and the buns were delicious.

The dishes and utensils sullied by my cooking efforts washed, dried and stowed themselves without any input from me, an unexpected house-warming gift from Dumbledore that I'd discovered when I'd started going through the cupboards. Considering that he'd helped pay for the property in the first place, it felt almost too generous. I was touched.

Vanishing the few bits of rubbish I'd left behind, I collected my thicker jacket and made my way back out to the landing. The shop level held three rooms and the flat level had five, but the building plans indicated a third room that I intended to make as much use of as possible.

Descending to the shop once more, I had to renew the charmed flames in the lanterns to see. Outside, the sun had long passed the apex of its arc and was falling towards the horizon and leaving the shadows in my shop longer. Not that it mattered where I was going.

The shelf concealing the staircase slid closed easily. Taking my wand firmly in hand, I tapped the shelving and swiped my wand in the opposite direction to how the shelf had opened before. Nonetheless, the shelf slid to one side, revealing another staircase—this one leading down.

Revelio. Homenum Revelio. Specialis Revelio. And another set of misty spheres. The basement was layered in spells for containment and privacy—understandable, given its intended function—but there wasn't anything harmful lying in wait for me.

Thirteen steps down and through a heavy door that required me to produce the key once again and I was in... a completely dark room. Lumos.

A number of worn—but serviceable—workbenches stood beside six separate cauldron emplacements, the walls lined by secure cabinets and empty bookcases.

This was a workshop intended primarily for brewing and experimenting with potions, but outfitted for general experimentation and tinkering. When I'd told Dumbledore the real reason Number 14 had caught my interest, he'd smiled and told me he'd make enquiries on my behalf. As I'd suspected, the previous owner—an entrepreneur who'd gone through phases of selling potions, general magical equipment, refurbished old magical items and an ill-fated attempt at home-made broomsticks (which had gotten them fined harshly enough to drive them out of business)—had set the private and secure basement up to cater to their curiosity. I didn't have the same ambitions as they and would have to make some changes, but the facilities were more than adequate for me to get started on some projects.

Experimentation could wait, however. The room was already pretty well-secured against spying or against potential explosions from within, but I had... Higher standards when it came to securing against intruders.

I dragged myself back up the stairs several hours later, tired from the exhaustive—I hoped—list of charms I'd placed on my new workshop. I nearly fell back down the steps after fumbling with opening the stair to my flat and re-opening access to the workshop. After correcting myself and making my way into my flat, I procured a bottle of milk and some chocolate from my bag and went about making my favourite nightcap. The milk heated quickly on the stove's conjured flames. I dropped the squares of chocolate in one at a time, keeping an eye on the self-stirring spoon to make sure it melted smoothly. Once the milk was chocolatified to my liking I poured it into a mug and relaxed while the utensils cleaned themselves.

My plan to scrub my teeth and retire to bed immediately after finishing my drink was abruptly disrupted by the lack of linens on which to sleep. Sighing, I opened my bag, summoned a set of bed covers and arranged them on my bed, wondering how I'd neglected them in my endless lists and plans. Pulling out a set of nightclothes, I changed and climbed into bed. My glasses were set carefully on my bedside locker beside my wand and I settled down to sleep. Nox.

I wasn't in the safety of Hogwarts or the familiar anonymity of the Children's Home. Even though I owned it and had spent most of the day moving in, Number 14 didn't feel as comfortable or as safe. But it felt like it could be. That thought running around in my head, I gradually drifted off to sleep.

—tN—tN—tN—

Whimsik Alley was—in spite of the name—entirely unconnected to Diagon Alley. Diagon was, in many ways, a centre of commerce in Wizarding Britain. There were a few other places were magical entrepreneurs gathered and flocked their wares, but Diagon was centred around Gringott's Bank and so money flowed more freely than any other commercial venue could hope to match.

Whimsik Alley was still in London but was situated across the Thames from Diagon. Where many magical families built themselves various eccentric homes around the British countryside, from manors to hovels, a determined few made a place for their own in the heart of the Muggle metropolis. As far as I could gather, a group of five different wizarding families had banded together and set about to obtain total ownership of a street. Through force, finance or—most likely—a mix of both, they'd taken legal ownership of every property along the street that came to be called Whimsik Alley. That done, they'd carefully made the neighbourhood Unplottable, scrubbing it from any mundane maps and rendering it completely invisible and undetectable to Muggles.

While every unit in Diagon Alley boasted a business seeking to make their mark on the minds—and pockets—of all that passed, Whimsik Alley was an even mix between terraced houses and small businesses catering to locals. Businesses established with loftier goals and profits in mind—such as my predecessor in Number 14—tended to find themselves without a market and facing bankruptcy.

I'd fallen in love with the place as soon as I'd first set foot on its worn cobbles. It wasn't thronging with people bustling from shop to shop, but instead merely occupied by people strolling from place to place in families, couple or by themselves. Children played with magical chalk drawing in the middle of the street while an old warlock read the Daily Prophet outside a café. It was alive and welcoming without making me feel like I was being watched or pressured.

Exiting Number 14, an empty porridge bowl scrubbing itself clean behind me, I didn't regret my choice at all. Dumbledore had offered to find me a place to stay in Hogsmeade, so I would be able to take shelter at Hogwarts in case of trouble. I'd considered it, truly. But I'd been yearning for a measure of independence, with all it's costs and benefits, for two lifetimes already. I needed a place of my own, outside of the umbrella cast by Hogwarts.

As it happens, the Headmaster had made an arrangement with his brother Aberforth so that I would always be able to stay a night in the Hog's Head, but that was for emergency cases when entering Hogwarts immediately was impossible or inadvisable.

The old wizards that had gifted me buns the day before hailed me as I looked around Whimsik and invited me to join them for a morning tea.

Steaming mug in hand, I listened as they introduced themselves as Frank and Henry and explained that they'd been living in Whimsik Alley for over forty years, ever since they'd first came to London looking to open a café together.

"What brings you to Whimsik, Poe?" Frank eventually asked me. Frank was a wizened old wizard, dark skin furrowed and wrinkled with age. One brown eye still twinkled brightly at me while the other was milky white and stared into nothing. There wasn't a hair on his head, but his dark green robes were immaculately clean. "Most young folks just out of Hogwarts jump on the first Portkey outta here and don't come back until their gold runs out."

"I think I'd like to travel someday," I said, relaxing slightly. It was a question I'd already had to answer to various curious witches and wizards in the past few weeks. "There are so many interesting places, so many new things to learn. Like you said though, it comes down to gold and I don't have much of it. A friend lent me some gold so I could get a place of my own to set up shop and get started—" A technical truth. I did consider Professor Dumbledore a friend, in spite of our somewhat unorthodox relationship. And I fully intended to pay back every galleon he'd spent on Number 14, whether he expected me to or not. "—so I figure I'll see how it goes like this for a few years before looking into travelling."

"Sounds like you have a good head on your shoulders, unlike some people." Henry interrupted, jabbing at Frank good-naturedly with one elbow. Henry's skin was as wrinkled as his partner's, though with the additional feature of being dotted with countless freckles. His friendly green-blue eyes were surrounded by laughter lines while his greying hair was short and neat. His robes were covered in coffee stains and patches of flour. "Did you hear what this lunk got into his head the moment he stepped off the Hogwarts Express for the last time? He decided that he'd make an epic voyage around the globe and fund it by duelling anyone who challenged him for a bill. He was almost at the travel agents' door when an ex-boyfriend hexed him silly and landed him in St Mungo's for two weeks."

"It worked out in the end though," Frank insisted.

"That it did, no thanks to you." Henry agreed, smiling softly before switching his gaze back to me. "What trade do you plan to make your fortune on?"

"Games," I said, grinning slightly before launching into an explanation. For all the wonders of magic that I'd seen so far, I'd found a distinct lack of counterparts to Muggle video games or even the older pen and paper tabletop games. To be fair, who wants to imagine they have magical powers when they actually do? And, with the first war against Voldemort still fresh in our minds, many parents probably wanted to keep any thoughts of challenging 'Dark Lords' out of their children's heads.

I thought I had spotted a niche though. Specifically, it was when I started plotting out a battle against a werewolf as a Dungeons and Dragons encounter. With a bit of magic to make the Muggle books, maps and playing pieces into something more friendly to magical youths, I had—I hoped—cracked a more reliable means of getting basic Defence Against the Dark Arts knowledge into people's heads than relying on 15-year-old schoolboys to train them behind their teachers' backs.

"Well, I don't think I knew what one word in four meant, but it sounds exciting." Frank laughed. "Here, I'll tell you what. Drop by here in the morning each day and we'll give you some of whatever's fresh out of the oven, on the house. At least until you've got your feet under you."

"If that feels like too much, make sure you drop by with whatever you're working on every once in a while." Henry cut in, killing my protests before they reached my tongue. "I could follow a bit more of that spiel than this hothead and it sounds like more fun than listening to Weird Sisters tracks on repeat in the evenings."

There wasn't much I could do except agree. If nothing else, I'd get free playtesting from a magical perspective out of it. And more delicious pastries. The cookies Henry had brought out with the tea had been as delicious as the buns the day before.

Making a promise to stop in the next day, I went on my way, checking my shopping list. I had a long day ahead of me.