In this frozen moment, the alley wasn't just a street; it was a promise. Every brick held a secret, every shadow a hidden sprite, and for as long as the resolution held, he was exactly where he belonged.

He wasn't there to shop, though. He was waiting for the transition.

It was that specific hour—the "Pottermore Gold" hour—where the sun dipped behind Gringotts, casting long, ink-blue shadows across the storefront of Flourish and Blotts. A young wizard stood outside Quality Quidditch Supplies, his nose nearly pressed against the glass. Inside, the brass footplates of a Firebolt caught the fading light, gleaming with a digital crispness that made the wood grain look touchable.