Every storefront along the street displayed bold promotional slogans.
[Break the old ways of communication. "Whatsapp" changes the world.]
[Close the distance between hearts. No more waiting to connect.
The Whatsapp.]
[Instant. Efficient. Convenient. Stay updated on your child's school life anytime. "Whatsapp" keeps you by their side.]
[Want to reach your employees anytime, anywhere? Buy them "Whatsapp" notebook!]
Harry stared up at the floating banners drifting across the sky.
"Is this even Diagon Alley anymore…?"
The glowing slogans rolled endlessly overhead. Shopfronts were lined with promotional stands. It felt as though Tom had rented the entire street.
Sirius whistled in admiration. "Quite the spectacle. Come on, Harry. Follow the crowd."
There was no need to guess where the destination lay. Nearly everyone in Diagon Alley was moving in the same direction.
This scale of publicity was unprecedented. Many lifelong witches and wizards had never seen every single shop promoting the same product.
Yet this was not purely Tom's influence.
It was Mrs. Greengrass.
More precisely, it was Ollivander's.
The Ollivander family were not merely wandmakers. They were among the earliest property holders in London's magical quarter. Back when Diagon Alley was little more than a muddy lane, they had quietly purchased vast swathes of land. To this day, nearly half the street belonged to them. Many of the shops were their tenants.
Three centuries ago, the Greengrass family had aided an Ollivander ancestor in acquiring rare wand materials. In gratitude, land deeds were gifted in return.
Mrs. Greengrass's "old friend" was none other than Garrick Ollivander. Years ago, she had supplied him with exceptional wood stock. Today, she called in that favor.
The closer Harry and Sirius drew to the shop, the tighter the crowd became.
Above the storefront, a massive floating display screen demonstrated the Whatsapp notebook in use. Messages appeared in real time on the recipient's book, crisp and immediate.
The group most receptive to this innovation were half blood wizards. Raised partly within Muggle society, they were familiar with pagers and text messaging. Many had long complained about the backwardness of magical communication.
Now they dragged friends along eagerly.
After all, there was little point in owning one alone.
The shop entrance was chaos. Customers inside could barely exit. Those outside shoved forward relentlessly. Mrs. Greengrass had hired three temporary workers, yet they were overwhelmed.
"Please do not push! Leave a path for exiting customers!" the shop assistant shouted desperately. "We have sufficient stock! Everyone will be able to purchase a WhatsApp notebook!"
Her voice drowned beneath the roar of the crowd.
"I want five standard editions!"
"Three for me! Stop pushing, I'm being flattened!"
"Just one! Take the Galleons and give me the notebook! Merlin's beard, what's poking me? That's sharp!"
Harry's scalp prickled.
"Are we… supposed to queue?"
Sirius squared his shoulders. "It's Tom's invention. We're supporting him. I'll buy plenty. How about a hundred copies?"
Harry stared at him.
In this situation, did Tom truly need support?
Before he could reply, a drawling, painfully familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Well, well. If it isn't Potter. Still queuing like a commoner?"
Harry turned.
Draco Malfoy stood smugly near the edge of the crowd, his father beside him. Draco held up a WhatsApp notebook, waving it tauntingly.
"Jealous, Potter? Better keep standing there. Perhaps you'll get one before sunset."
Harry frowned. "You just arrived earlier and queued. There's nothing impressive about that."
Draco burst into laughter, clutching his stomach. "Father, he thinks we queued!"
Lucius Malfoy smiled thinly. "You must forgive him, Draco. Great… Mr. Potter likely does not understand that where there is a queue, there is always a way not to queue."
"For a mere three thousand Galleons in advance credit, one acquires VIP status. Tell me, Potter, have you considered emptying your vault?"
"Three thousand Galleons?" Sirius's voice broke through as he forced his way out of the crowd again. "Tom should've set the bar higher if it lets people like you in."
Lucius and Draco instinctively stepped back when they noticed him.
"Draco Malfoy," Sirius said coolly, eyeing the boy. "My dear nephew. You inherited your mother's spite and your father's stupidity."
Draco's face flushed white and red. He opened his mouth to retort, but under Sirius's wolfish stare, his bravado faltered.
Lucius stepped forward protectively.
"We have no such relative. You were erased from the Black family. A disgrace to pure blood."
"Is that so?" Sirius grinned lazily. "Then why do all the Black vaults now belong to me?"
"Do you truly think your little pile of Malfoy gold impresses me?"
Few families in Britain rivaled the Blacks in wealth.
The Malfoys were not among them.
Sirius lifted his wand to his throat, amplifying his voice across the street.
"I want five hundred copies of WhatsApp.' Now. Immediately."