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Diagon Alley was busy on that shiny summer day in 1968, families were out for the day, shopping and making a point to stop for ice cream at Florence's.
James Potter, at the age of eight was one of the many children crowding around Quality Quidditch, foaming at the mouth as he gazed at the newest quidditch broom to release. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he mumbled into the glass, the question directed to the two boys beside him.
"Yes," the oldest of the two replied, though there looked to be only a year difference between the brothers. Both had rather long black hair, and grey eyes. "Father will probably buy us one if we ask," said the younger of the two.
"Are you two brothers?" asked James. his fascination with the new broom replaced by these two boys.
"Yes…" replied the oldest, sounding confused by the change in conversation.
"Do you two like each other?"
The younger blinked, eyebrows pinched. "Of course, we do, he's my brother. I love him more than anything else."
James fluffed his hair, sighing slightly. "I wish I had a brother."
Before one of the brothers could reply, James's friend Barty had completed elbowing adults in the ribs and was now ready for a new adventure. He barely glanced at the broom before wrapping a hand around James' wrist and tugging on it. "Come on James, let's go get ice cream!"
James allowed himself to be removed, smiling brightly at the brothers, and waving goodbye.
"Ice cream!' James exclaimed, once they'd gotten free from the crowd. He glanced at Barty when he started walking in the opposite direction. "We have to go get my dad, silly," Barty explained. He was pretty sure that Bartemus Crouch Sr. was located in the Leaky Cauldron, sipping a beer to pass time while the kids played, so they started in that direction.
James thread his fingers through Barty's as they walked, but he stumbled behind, Barty's pace quicker than his. "Bart, slow dow-" James Potter's words were cut off by an explosion and his hand was forcibly removed from Barty's as he went flying to the left, body slamming into a brick building. He collapsed into a heap, head lolling. He could have sworn to hear something akin to "Are you serious?! That's the Potter heir, not Bartemus Crouch Jr." and "The Potters are blood traitors anyhow, our Lord won't be too displeased." But his ears were ringing so he was unsure.
Feeling tired, James decided to take a nap.
When his eyes finally blinked back open, he was laying on a bed instead of cobble ground and his hands were able to detect the roughness of the sheets, so he knew that he wasn't in his bedroom. A hospital, perhaps?
He felt magic fill his senses, but he was confused; when had a spell been said? It could have been an unspoken Spell, but that answer didn't feel correct. So, he opened his eyes.
His mother rushed into his few, and once his glasses had been pressed onto his face, he could tell that his mother was speaking to him, but he couldn't hear her. He reached up to his ear, though paused once he realized that something was stuffed there. Cotton?
He asked what was in his ear, unable to hear his question for himself. He tried again, and again, each time his question came out with more and more fear. His father kneeled in front of him, hands reaching out to cup James' cheeks. Fleamont had tears in his eyes as he looked upon the state of his son. Face dirty from the explosion, bandage around his head - his ears - knowing that there was a chance that his son would never hear again.
It'll be okay, he mouthed, exaggerating each syllable. James shook his head, leaning back into his mother who had sat behind him, he could feel her back shaking as she sobbed. He was so confused.
"I can't hear you, daddy." James began to cry, his left ear beginning to ring once more, getting louder and louder with every second. James maneuvered his hands around Fleamont's and pressed them onto his ears. "They hurt." He sobbed, pressing harder onto his ears. His dad nodded, wiping a tear from his son's face, wishing he could do more.