Diagon Alley, the air was warm, filled with the scents of parchment, herbs, and old magic—blended now with something savory and unfamiliar. Ethan stood just outside the entrance to Clementine's Cauldron Cuisine, a tall brass-handled door with wood engraved in spirals of dancing cauldrons and swirling stars.
He tilted his head back, eyes scanning the fine etched lettering on the second-floor windows, catching sight of the rooftop terrace above. The subtle clink of cutlery and bursts of conversation drifted down. It was quieter than most places on the Alley, tucked away near the far curve beyond Ollivander's and just past a small bookshop he hadn't noticed before.
"Is this the place?" he asked.
His mother nodded beside him, adjusting the collar of her light grey robe. "They only serve wizarding fare. Traditional recipes, some fusion. It's not trendy, but it's honest."
They stepped inside.
Rich gravies, spiced roots, and something faintly sweet like roasted apples and cinnamon. The hostess, a middle-aged woman with a feathery quill tucked behind her ear, smiled brightly at his mother.
"Madam Wright," she said with a respectful nod, then turned to Ethan, eyes softening. "And you must be the birthday boy."
Ethan blinked, a little thrown. "Um… yeah."
She winked. "Rooftop's all yours. Reserved and warded as requested."
They were led up a narrow staircase to the terrace. It wasn't large, just five tables and a rail wrapped in flowering ivy, but the view was remarkable. Diagon Alley sloped below them in cheerful chaos, and the sky above stretched blue and endless, painted with drifting clouds.
Their table was set with glimmering silverware and a pair of hand-folded menus, the parchment still faintly warm to the touch.
"I didn't know restaurants in the wizarding world did this," Ethan said as he sat, fingers brushing over the animated ink that shifted as he read the meal options.
His mother smiled. "Only the better ones."
He studied the menu with growing interest. Names like Fire-Charred Hippogriff Stew and Pixie-Dusted Root Salad stood beside more familiar ones, Butterbeer-Braised Lamb, Pumpkin Bisque, and Crispy Basilisk Bites. A section labeled Charms & Chews offered meals enchanted to subtly alter flavor or texture at intervals.
"I don't even know what to pick," he admitted, genuinely intrigued.
"I suggest the lamb," she said. "And the iced rose tea. They brew it with dew gathered from living petals."
He ordered what she recommended, and she selected a platter of roasted summer vegetables with graincakes and a fig glaze. While they waited, a soft breeze stirred the ivy, and the sound of other diners faded into a calm, muted backdrop.
It wasn't crowded, wasn't loud. Some people did turn to look at them when they arrived, but nothing more.
And when the food arrived, perfectly arranged, steaming, and rich with scent, Ethan realized something else.
It was really good.
He took his first bite, then another, his eyes flicking up toward his mother with something like disbelief. "This might be the best thing I've ever eaten."
She didn't look surprised. "They don't cut corners here."
Ethan found himself enjoying it more than he expected. The lamb was tender, dripping with savory butterbeer reduction, and the side of wand-roasted carrots had a slight fizz to them, enough to tickle the tongue without being cloying. The rose tea, poured over slow-melting ice spheres, was floral and crisp.
Between bites, they talked, nothing heavy, no looming politics or the upcoming school year. Just quiet conversation. They spoke of the weather, of the strange street performer near Knockturn Alley with the floating juggling knives, and of how Noctis had recently figured out how to open doors if they weren't locked.
It wasn't thrilling. It wasn't dramatic.
But Ethan couldn't stop smiling.
As their plates were cleared and dessert menus offered, Chloe tilted her head.
"I had them prepare something special."
He frowned slightly. "Special how?"
Before she could answer, the waiter returned, levitating a plate wrapped in gold-rimmed glass. Inside was what looked like a small cake, though its surface shimmered like dragon scales, each layer a different shifting color. When the cover was lifted, the cake exhaled a puff of fine sparkles, and the scent of vanilla and raspberry filled the air.
"A Mirror Meringue Cake," the waiter explained. "One of only three made this week."
Ethan blinked. "I-thank you."
Chloe said nothing, only gestured for him to try it.
It wasn't too sweet, the meringue light and airy, the filling cool and smooth. There was a note of citrus beneath the fruit, and the sparkle didn't cling to the tongue. Ethan ate it slowly, savoring every bite.
When he finished, he sat back in his chair and let out a soft sigh.
"That was ridiculous," he said.
"But did you enjoy it?" his mother asked.
He didn't hesitate. "Definitely."
They left shortly after, descending the winding stairs and stepping once more into the warmth of the alley below. A few people turned to glance their way, but no one approached.
They walked together, and Ethan wondered if that would be the end of it. A perfect meal. A quiet celebration.
But his mother turned toward him as they passed a smaller alleyway near Flourish and Blotts. "We're not done just yet."
He tilted his head. "Really?"
"There's a place I want to show you."
They turned again, taking a series of narrower side streets Ethan hadn't explored before. This area of the Alley was older, quieter. The shops here had faded signs and crooked shutters.
Eventually, they arrived at a small archway marked with a flickering charm that spelled out WhimsyWorks. A single door waited at the end of a hallway, carved with hundreds of tiny magical creatures.
"What is this place?" Ethan asked.
"A wizarding arcade."
He stared. "A what?"
She smiled faintly and opened the door.
Inside, a dozen magical games flickered and chimed, racing broom simulators, enchantment-based puzzles, even a dueling simulator with harmless stinging hexes. It was loud, colorful, and full of energy. Though the outside looked unassuming, many young witches and wizards were playing.
For the first few seconds, Ethan simply stood there. The noise, the color, it was so unlike anything else in his life. Even Hogwarts didn't feel this alive in the same way.
His mother gestured toward the nearest machine, where magical marbles floated and twisted above a glowing board. "Think you can beat me?"
He smiled, already stepping forward. "Absolutely not. But I'll try anyway."
They played for over an hour. Laughing. Competing. Failing spectacularly at one game involving transfiguring pastries into dancing familiars. Ethan lost most of the time, though not always. And even when he lost, it didn't matter.
It was just fun.
By the time they returned home, the sun was beginning to lower behind the hills. Ethan stood in the hallway a moment longer, casting a glance back at the garden, now bathed in amber light.
It had been a good day.
The kind he wouldn't forget.