Tapestry

1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story has been removed. Now found at http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4015562/1/Tapestry

2. 2

A/N: This story has been removed. Now found at http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4015562/1/Tapestry

3. 3

Author Note: Just to clear up some context, as a few people have asked. I'm not 100% about ages and as I don't want to read anything else that JKR has to say I don't want to check the family tree info she released. I've set this at Christmas of the school year which the crapilogue of DH starts. That makes Al Sev 11 as it's his first year; Lily is 9 because Harry tells her she has to wait 2 years before she can go to Hogwarts; I've made James 15 as that's the age I picture him at (and because OotP is Harmony at its best for me and that's important for this story). Any more questions, just ask! On with the story…

Chapter Three

The Potter House stood in a modest area of land near the coast in the English county of Kent. There was a small village nearby called Silverton-on-Sea, which boasted a considerable number of magic folk amongst the populous. The Oakfield Estate had long lay in a state of disrepair but its charming sea views and substantial fields and woodlands made it seem the perfect place for the magical world's most revered personage to get away from it all to raise his family.

The property had been purchased quickly, with a Confundus Charm here and a little memory modification there serving to speed up the Muggle estate agent's work, albeit with a small alteration to the asking price (after all, Harry may have been rich in the magical world but he had only fifty pence of Muggle money to his name from an old Dursley Christmas gift). Helpers came from far and wide to restore the house to its original majestic form; witches, wizards and an army of house-elves transformed the near-derelict building into a fabulous manor house, well-suited for the saviour of the world at large.

James had always loved the house. His room was huge and had a great view of the paddock where they played Quidditch, and the bay behind. The house was a mix of different eras and building styles, with Victorian and Georgian, Mediaeval and Regency criss-crossing all over the place. The oldest part was the cellar, where Dad kept rows and rows of bottles of wine and mead. It dated back to the fourteenth century and was haunted by the ghost of a pirate searching for a lost crate of Caribbean rum.

That morning, at the breakfast table, James felt as though he'd drunken that missing crate. His head was groggy and his neck stiff from where he'd slept on the couch. He wasn't in the best mood, either, having been woken abruptly by the explosions of a Dr Filibuster's Firework, which Al and Lily had thought was a great joke to play. Unfortunately for them, the racket had also woken Mum, who always insisted on an extra hour's `beauty sleep', and her temper was fiery at that time of day. The scolding she gave to Al and Lily cheered James up somewhat as he ate his way through second rounds of toast to watch.

By the middle of the day everyone had calmed down and James was persuaded by Lily to join her and Albus and go sledding. This part of the country didn't often get heavy snowfall, due to its low-lying coastal position, but this winter had seen unusually high levels. So, because he had nothing better to do and was always susceptible to his sister's pleading, James pulled on his Tornadoes hat and scarf and ploughed through the snow to Marstone Hills, which were just outside the house gardens.

The three of them took turns riding the sledge, having contests to see who could go fastest and furthest, then moved on to a furious snowball fight. This ended when Albus unwittingly embedded a small stone in one of his, which left a nasty bruise on Lily's face. She cried all the way back to the house and Mum made Albus clean all her Quidditch trophies, as a punishment for being so careless, while Lily ate ice cream and lorded it over her brother like a pampered princess.

James ignored the petulance of his younger siblings and spent the rest of the afternoon with Dad, helping him wrap presents and send some last minute Christmas cards.

“I shouldn't really send one to Bonafidus Finch,” said Dad. “He's a miserable old goat, but his wife did send one to us.”

“And it's handmade,” said James, turning the card over in his hands and watching the real snowflakes fall in the picture. “She deserves a card if only for the effort she put on this one. That's seriously impressive magic.”

“I've only met Merida once,” said Dad, thoughtfully. “She works for St Mungo's in their Potion Development Department. She's a very clever witch. And pretty, too. What she's doing with a troll like Bonafidus I'll never know.”

“Love potion?” James suggested.

“It'd have to be a really strong one,” said Dad. “Anyway…”

He tossed the newly sealed card into the fire where it burst into green flame and vanished.

“I don't think your way of deciding who to send cards to is very good,” said James.

“And why not?” asked Dad.

“Well, only sending cards to people who sent them to you? That's all very well, but you're you - half the Wizarding World has you on their Christmas card list, whether they know you or not.”

Instinctively, both James and Harry looked towards the far wall, every inch of which was covered with cards, so many in fact that Harry had had to cast a clever little charm to fit them all in.

“That's why I normally leave this sort of thing to your mother,” whispered Dad with a grin. “Always pays to be a thinking man, son.”

James couldn't help but laugh. “What have you bought Mum this year?”

“If I told you, I'd have to kill you,” said Dad. “And that'd be a shame. You're so young.”

“Very funny,” said James. “But seriously, is it nice? Is it expensive?”

“It's a handy little device which stops her having any more inquisitive children,” said Dad. “Honestly, I've never known a trio like my own kids. I'm sure I never asked so many questions at your age. Then again, perhaps I should have…”

“It's just that I'd like to know,” said James, blatantly ignoring whatever Dad was trying to say. “What do you buy a girl that's a nice gift?”

As a child, Harry had always been a little slow on the uptake but, as was his way, he did get there eventually. It was a trait which had followed him into adulthood.

“Oh, now I see where this is going,” said Dad coyly. “Girl trouble, eh son?”

“No, said James stoutly. “I'm talking generally.”

“About what to buy girls,” said Dad, grinning. “Who's the special lady?”

“There is no special lady,” said James, waspishly. “I'm just saying, what would be a good gift to get. For future reference, you know. That's why I'm asking you, father, font of all knowledge, and all that. What sort of things did you buy Mum?”

“At school? Nothing,” said Dad simply. “We didn't really get together until after we'd both left. But it isn't rocket science, James. Get her something she'll like.”

“But how do you know what she'll like?”

“If you know her well enough it won't be hard to think of something,” said Dad. “And if in doubt, spend a few Galleons. That always impresses them.”

“Dad!”

“What are you two consorting about?” asked Mum, coming in with a tray of Christmas cakes. “You're as thick as thieves in here.”

“Dad's the thick one,” said James. “No ideas on nice thing to buy for a girl.”

“Chocolates, perfume, make-up,” said Mum simply. “Or flowers, that always works.”

James thought Mum's present list was pretty empty and thoughtless. His mind was still on Merida Finch's card, the effort and care taken with it. The nicest presents were the ones with a bit of thought put into them. Dad's way was better, though James had spotted a jar of Freya Grant's Essence De Amortentia in Dad's hidden Christmas present box and had a sneaking suspicion that Mum's gift this year would be of the easy option sort - but at least she would like it.

* * *

Christmas Eve rolled around and the house was a hive of activity. Although the whole family was to spend Christmas Day at Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione's, there were the days after that which were usually taken up by visits of some friend or relative or another and Mum was determined the house would be up to receiving them all. Ludey was seen flitting between the kitchen and various rooms around the house, using her powerful elf magic to create elaborate decorations and enough food to feed a small town. James thought it all looked a bit gaudy.

Just after lunch there was a knock at the door which made Mum panic (as she wasn't happy with the scatter cushion arrangement) and sent her to near distraction. It wasn't the Minister for Magic come to visit, luckily enough; it was only Uncle George and Aunt Verity (sometimes James thought he had so many Aunts and Uncles it was a miracle he remembered them all). Aunt Verity was heavily pregnant with their second child and while she and Mum talked about labour pains, nursery decorations and baby showers, George and Dad swapped stories about exasperating wives over a glass of brandy.

“So, how's my most famous nephew?” Uncle George asked James presently. “Good to hear you're making a name for yourself as a Quidditch player at school. Though, naturally, I can only hear about it if I turn this way.”

James and Albus laughed as Uncle George turned to show the gap on the side of his head where his missing ear should be. Dad, as always when anything about the Second War was mentioned, stayed grave and silent.

“How's Freddie?” asked James.

“He's a little monster,” said George triumphantly. “Just like his namesake. I think my twin would have been proud of him.”

“Where is he today?” asked Dad.

“I bequeathed him to Mum and Dad for the day,” said George. “Me and the old lady have some last minute shopping to do. Last thing we need is the little bugger biting our ankles all day.”

“Hey! Less of the `old lady'!” called Aunt Verity from across the room.

“Women!” muttered George to James. “They've always got one ear on you. Steer clear of them till you are old enough to Apparate, that's my advice.”

James spent all afternoon trading embellished Quidditch stories with Dad and Uncle George until the latter was called away by Aunt Verity to get to Diagon Alley before all the good toys were sold. This left James kicking his heels, bored because he couldn't use magic outside of school and with nothing to do but watch Al and Lily trying in vain to build a snowman. He was about to get up and leave the room when the fire suddenly burst into flame and a card shot out of the hearth. James leapt up and caught it.

“There's another card here, Mum,” said James going into the kitchen and offering it to her.

“Open it up then,” Mum replied. “My hands are covered in flour.”

James tore open the thick paper of the envelope. Inside there was a beautifully decorated card, the scene on which had been hand-drawn and the ink charmed to shimmer in the light.

“That's nice,” said Mum, looking over. “Who's it from?”

“To Harry and Ginny, hoping you have a lovely Christmas, they don't put Knuts in the Christmas puddings here in Siberia, but at least its snowing. Watch out for Nargles in the mistletoe. Lots of Love, Luna.”

“Luna!” cried Mum in horror. “I left her off my list! HARRY!”

Dad came rushing in. “What? What is it? Have you burnt the kitchen down?”

“No, cheeky sod,” said Mum. “We just had a Christmas Card from Luna. I forgot all about her. Write a card out quick, she still might get it.”

“I doubt it,” said Dad, looking slightly annoyed at Mum's over-reaction. “She and Ron had lunch only last week. She's gone on some sort of safari to deepest Siberia. Takes days to send anything from there, even through the Floo Postal Network.”

“Oh, dear,” said Mum, wringing her hands. “That looks so bad, though.”

“Luna won't mind, she's good like that,” said Harry. “I gave her our best when I saw her, anyway. That was more than enough for her.”

“Why were Ron and her having lunch anyway?” asked Mum.

“Her husband works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office,” Dad explained. “He's got Arthur's old job. They get on quite well and see each quite a lot.”

“Who's Luna?” asked James.

“An old school friend,” said Dad. “One of the maddest people I ever met. But she's good as gold. And extremely powerful, though you'd never know it if you met her. I'd trust her with my life.”

“Did you say she's gone to Siberia?” James pressed.

“Yes, I can't remember the name of the exact place,” Dad answered. “Probably still searching for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.”

Mum and Dad laughed like this was some private joke.

“Has she gone on her own?” James asked.

“I don't know,” Dad replied. “Why so interested?”

“No reason,” said James. “It's just that my friend, the one you met at King's Cross, she was going to Siberia with her Aunt. I'm just wondering if it's this Luna person.”

“Maybe,” said Dad.

“I don't remember her having any brothers or sisters,” said Mum. “Bit hard to have a niece without them.”

“Her husband must have, then,” said Dad. “I've never thought to ask.”

“If you're so interested, perhaps you could write the card,” said Mum. “Send one anyway, even if it gets there late. Say hello to your friend while you're at it. What do you say, James?”

“Do I have a choice?” James asked.

“Not if you don't want to be polite,” Dad said. “Go on, James, do your old man a favour. I have to finish charming the car wheels to repel snow before tomorrow. It's so cold I can barely cast a spell, let alone write a card. You'll do a far better job of it.”

James knew full well that Dad passing on the job of writing to Luna had nothing to do with cold hands. It was the very reason he accepted the job in the end. It had been on his mind for several days, ever since Richard had mentioned it back in the Gryffindor Common Room. He had been trying to think of an innocent reason to get in contact with Celesca; he'd found himself missing her conversation in the boring hours he was spending around the house. This new development had given him the perfect excuse, though quite why he was so willing to accept it was something he didn't entirely want to face up to.

The whole situation seemed almost too perfect. In his deepest thoughts he'd been trying to imagine just what he'd say to Celesca in a letter without sounding like anything other than a friend, but this was exactly that. He wrote the standard Christmas greetings and added a few lines asking about her Aunt, if she was indeed an old school friend of Mum and Dad's and how things were going in Siberia. It sounded breezy enough, gave nothing away about what James was really thinking and asked questions which even basic politeness demanded responding to. He paused at the last bit, weighing up the options on how to end it, deciding in the end to play it safe by writing simply, `from James'. It didn't seem enough, it certainly didn't feel enough but it would have to do, for now.

-->

4. 4

Chapter 4

When James woke on Christmas morning he was met by a childish tingle as he looked through his bedroom window and realised it was snowing. The picture card scene of the sloping lawns covered by a thick white carpet sent a pleasant chill sweeping through him, appealing to his burgeoning romantic side which was just now rearing its head.

James had experienced a White Christmas once before, when he stayed at Hogwarts during his second year. Mum and Dad had taken a joint second honeymoon with Uncle Bill and Auntie Fleur; 12-year old James didn't go because he had fancied his Aunt something chronic and couldn't speak around her, so all the children were placed elsewhere and the four adults went off to Egypt for Christmas. This, however, would be the first White Christmas spent with his family and the happy feelings which came with this put James in an unexpectedly festive mood.

After opening all the little presents (an exploding snap set, a pack of Self-Correcting quills, a Chocolate Frog Card Holder and a mini-Quidditch game) and stockpiling an array of sweets and chocolates from the stocking at the end of his bed, James made his way downstairs. There were already two large piles of discarded, multi-coloured Christmas wrapping paper, one hiding Lily by the fire and the other serving as an impromptu mountain range which Albus was busy running the track around for his new model Hogwarts Express kit.

“Merry Christmas, Sweetheart,” said Mum, swooping up behind James and kissing him on the cheek.

“To you to, Mum,” said James.

“What's the matter? Are you ill? Do you have a temperature?” said Mum, in mock panic. “That's the first time you haven't reeled away from me when I've tried to give you a kiss since your first day at Hogwarts.”

“Well, it is Christmas,” said James, colouring. “Season of good will and that. Those presents mine?”

James nodded to a significant stack of unopened gifts next to the tree.

“No, we thought we'd give them to the homeless in town, seeing as it didn't look as if you were going to get up to open them,” said Dad coming in from the kitchen with a tea tray.

“Ha ha, Merry Christmas to you to,” said James before moving to his pile and taking the closest present. It was a huge tin of homemade chocolate fudge. “Result! Nana Weasley knows I love her choco-fudge. No, Mum, you can't have any.”

“Look at these, James. Aren't they pretty?” said Lily emerging from behind the wall of wrapping and holding up some very small garments.

“Very nice,” said James, unwrapping a Tornadoes calendar. “But aren't they a bit little for you?”

“They aren't for me, dopey, they're for my dolls. Look.”

James peered over the mound of wrapping paper to see several rather disgruntled dolls, whose eyes were moving and looking distinctly unimpressed at being haphazardly dressed in a variety of mismatched outfits.

“Oh, now I see,” said James placatingly.

It took around half an hour for James to reach the last item in his present stack, by which time Albus was merrily watching his toy Hogwarts Express shoot around his makeshift mountains, across the carpet and even over the mantelpiece around the fire. James was more than satisfied with this year's haul, which amongst other things included the signed Tornadoes robe he was hoping for (as well as a replica one to wear for Quidditch practice), a deluxe Wizard's Chess set and enough clothes to stock his wardrobe for the next twelve months. There was only one thing left; a square, heavy-looking thing with no tag on it.

“Who's this one from?” James asked, holding it up.

“I don't know,” said Mum. “It was delivered late yesterday with just your name on the Owl-Order form.”

James cautiously opened the pretty wrapping paper, half expecting it to be a crate of exploding dungbombs from Richard. His fears were eased as he felt the soft velvet covering of the case inside, but a worse feeling was to come as a little card slipped out through the tear in the paper. James picked it up and read the very fine handwriting.

Dear James,

I was in Diagon Alley, buying some last minute things for my trip, and I saw this and thought of you. I hope you don't mind that I got it for you, it just sort of spoke to me (that sounds like the kind of mad thing my Aunt would say!). With a bit of luck it'll spruce up that battered old Firebolt of yours and help us beat Slytherin next term. We all remember last year, don't we? Anyway, see you back at school.

Merry Christmas,

l from Celesca

James felt as though a lead weight had fallen into his stomach. Celesca had bought him a Christmas present? He hadn't got her a thing and felt awful because of it. He was about to fall into a state of melancholy when Mum called through the fog of guilt trying to settle on him.

“Well? What is it? Does the card say who it's from?”

“It's from Celesca,” said James dully. “I didn't know she was going to do this.”

“It's still a nice surprise,” said Dad. “Open it up.”

James pulled back the rest of the wrapping to reveal a handsome purple-velvet case. Gold and silver lettering on the top read Broomstick Servicing Kit: Professional Edition. James gasped as he opened the lid.

“Oh, Celesca!”

The words came out in little more than a whisper. Heart bounding, James scanned the contents; handle polish, tail-twig clippers, equipment to test hover, balance and torque, compass, saddle cover and even black leather gloves. It was probably the best gift he'd ever received and he felt a great rush of affection for it's sender that made him light-headed for a moment.

“Earth to James,” Dad called. “Come on, the suspense is killing me.”

“It's a Broomstick Servicing Kit,” said James, grinning madly. “Isn't it amazing!? Look at all this stuff! I didn't even know they made these.”

Dad's expression changed in a flash to something James couldn't quite put a meaning to, but it was gone just as swiftly as it arrived.

“I had one of those once,” Dad said, his voice somehow different. “I loved it.”

“Who gave you that?” Mum asked.

Dad's expression changed again. “Er - Ron, I think. It must have been.”

“Ron?” asked Mum. “Where would he have got the money for something like that? It looks expensive and you remember the days when we couldn't afford much.”

“It must have been him,” said Dad evasively. “Who else would have bought me something like that? It's not like I would have asked him how he got it - that would be rude.”

“Well I think it's lovely,” said Mum, turning back to James. “She must really like you, this Celesca.”

“No, she's just nice, that's all,” said James. “I should have gotten her something.”

“She probably wasn't expecting you to,” said Dad. “If she's anything like her Aunt I suspect a `thank you' will be all she needs.”

Far from making James feel better, Dad's words actually had the opposite effect. Had Celesca been expecting a present from James? He would certainly have got something for her had he thought their relationship had reached that stage. They had certainly grown closer over the last few weeks of term but had that been enough to take them to a present exchanging level? Or, as the card had said, was it simply an impulse buy? One thing that did cheer James up was the idea that, for whatever reason, something had made Celesca think of him while they were apart. He liked the idea that somewhere, deep in the Siberian wilderness, he might be on her mind.

It was past noon when Dad called James to help him load presents into the back of the car. Dad could easily have done it all by magic but felt that a little manual labour was good for his son. He said it was character building and good training for later life. There were gifts for all the Weasleys from all the Potters and a few for Teddy Lupin who was joining them for lunch. Albus had something of a tantrum when he was told he couldn't bring his train set or his model Azkaban (complete with roaming faux-Dementors). One blazing look from Mum was enough to quell him, though, and they were soon on the motorway on the way to Avalon Heights in Cornwall, where Mr and Mrs Ron Weasley lived.

Dad's magically modified, Ministry approved car did the trip in little over an hour. Big yellow boxes, which Muggles called Speed Cameras, spanned the motorways like a join-the-dots picture, but none of them flashed as Dad's car gunned past them. James and Lily played a game of `Spot the Red Car' as they sped along (Al was still too grumpy to play) and James was shamefully bad, but was spared the ignominy of a record defeat when Dad swung the car off the motorway and into the maze of lanes leading into the Wizarding settlement at the heart of the county.

Avalon Heights was the second largest collection of Wizarding dwellings in Britain, behind Hogsmeade. It sat in sight of the great island which was once the crown of King Arthur's Capital, at the mouth of a river, in a valley shadowed by several historic monuments scared to wizards and certain religious peoples alike. Merlin, himself, was said to have spent much of his time here as Arthur's most influential adviser and the significance of the place made it a major location for wizard pilgrimages. The little village had sprung up as a result, housing those who were drawn to stay by the mystical pull of the place and providing a resting spot for passing travellers.

Dad drove the car around Glastonbury Hill, past the site of the famous Muggle musical festivals and through a twisting set of narrow country lanes before finally reaching the right place. Local legend told that all the houses here were hand-crafted by their original owners and as the car passed thatched cottages neighboured by towering hotel blocks (visible to wizard eyes only) it was hard to disagree. The charming little tavern, The Peacock's Tail, stood on the right and James watched Dad's face diffuse with a glow as he recalled some drunken memory or another about the place as they passed. The underground museum of Zoroaster's Cave came next then one more turn led into a cul-de-sac, at the end of which lay a pretty little house. They had arrived at Sparrow's Nook.

Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione were at the door before the Potters were even out of the car. James grinned at a snowman with fiery red straw for hair standing in the garden, before helping Dad unload the presents from the boot. Hugo raced out of the house and was scooped up by Mum as she exchanged greetings with her brother and Hermione. Rose had already pulled Lily indoors to play with her new doll's house by the time James and Dad, weighed down by presents, reached the house.

“Alright there, Harry?” said Ron jovially. “How was your trip?”

“Not bad,” said Dad. “Shaved a few minutes off my record time.”

“I've done it in under an hour,” said Ron boastfully. “Come back when you're worthy. And how're you, Jimmy? Still thumping the Green `n' Silvers on the Quidditch pitch?”

Uncle Ron clapped James hard on the back sending him flying forwards and it was only through some quick re-adjustment that he managed to hold onto the presents.

“He's got your reflexes, Harry.”

“Stop messing around, Ron,” said Aunt Hermione. “Hello, Harry.”

“Merry Christmas, Hermione,” Dad answered rather formally.

“Come on inside,” Aunt Hermione continued. “You'll catch a cold in all this snow. Come on before Albus and Hugo demolish all the Yule Log.”

James and Harry staggered over the threshold behind Mum and Uncle Ron. Aunt Hermione followed and guided James towards the living room where he placed the presents on the coffee table. Dad had gone with Mum and Ron into the kitchen.

“Thank you, James,” said Aunt Hermione. “Merry Christmas.” She gave him a little kiss. “How are you? I haven't seen you in so long.”

“I'm good,” said James. “You're looking well.”

“How nice of you to say,” said Aunt Hermione, beaming. “Uncle Ron bought me these Moonstone earrings. What do you think? Are they me?”

“Most definitely,” said James. He found himself oddly happy to see his Aunt, much more than he expected to be. He wasn't sure if this was because she embodied the imagined end of his academic problems or whether it was the fact that, now he was facing her, the similarities between her and Celesca were so vivid that he was finding it distracting.

“You are a charmer,” said Aunt Hermione. “And you're growing up so handsome, too. If I was twenty years younger…”

“You can't say things like that to my son,” said Mum coming in. “Not now that he's got a girlfriend.”

“Eh, young love is it, Jimmy?” said Uncle Ron. “Harry been teaching you some of his old tricks, has he?”

“I haven't got a girlfriend,” said James, feeling hot all of a sudden. “It's not like that.”

“It never is,” said Ron, grinning. “Good on you, that's what I say.”

“Yes, well, it's best to ignore most of what you say,” said Aunt Hermione haughtily. “It never makes much sense. Take no notice of them, James.”

James felt a warm thankfulness towards Aunt Hermione as she smiled at him.

“Fancy a drink, Harry?” asked Ron, dropping the previous subject. “I took in a case of that fabulous Muggle whiskey we tried when we stopped off in Cardiff docks last summer. Penderyn, you remember?”

“Go on then, it'd be shame to waste it,” said Dad, smirking.

“Have you ever been around one of these Muggle supermarkets?” Uncle Ron asked, pouring two large glasses of copper coloured liquid. “It's crazy. Absolutely mad. I leave it all to Hermione, she knows what she's doing. I swear, one afternoon in there would be enough for a stay at St Mungo's. You don't want a tipple, do you Jim?”

James, who had been curiously eyeing the Welsh whiskey was about to answer when Mum cut across.

“Absolutely not,” she said firmly. “And don't go offering whiskey to my fifteen-year-old son, Ron. It's totally irresponsible.”

“Sorry, Gin, I didn't mean any harm,” said Uncle Ron, backtracking. Mum just stared disapprovingly. Rose came into the room with Lily in tow just behind.

“Mum, me and Lil are going to go down to the pond and test out my new Ice Skating Mindy doll.”

“No you are not,” said Aunt Hermione. “I don't want you playing around by there. The ice is thin and it isn't safe.”

“Aww, Mum, but we'll be really careful, please,” Rose begged.

“I said no.”

“Pleeaasee?” Lily was joining in too, now.

“Ginny, back me up on this, will you,” asked Hermione desperately.

“Is it really that dangerous?” Mum asked. Aunt Hermione looked shocked, as though Mum had just slapped her.

“Our neighbour's little boy fell in there only a few days ago,” said Aunt Hermione. “It was lucky they can see the pond from their house or who knows what might have happened.”

“I'm sorry, girls, but Hermione's right, it doesn't sound like a good idea,” said Mum. This was met by a cacophony of outcry as Lily and Rose protested vehemently in unison. Unable to stand the din, and feeling uneasy at the oddly strained atmosphere in the room, James spoke up.

“If you like I'll go down and keep an eye on them,” he said. Lily looked perturbed at the idea. “Don't worry, I don't want to play with your dolls. I'll sit away from you.”

“Please, Mum,” said Lily and Rose to their respective mothers. Mum and Aunt Hermione looked at each other, shrugged then agreed.

“But not for long,” said Aunt Hermione. “Dinner will be ready soon and I want you washed up before you eat.”

As the girls ran to grab their coats Aunt Hermione took James aside in the kitchen. “Thank you for that. We wouldn't have heard the end of it otherwise. It's the kind of thing your Dad would do. Now run along and have fun playing with dolls.”

They grinned at each other before Lily and Rose suddenly shot through and out the door. James followed them to the pond, a wide shapeless mass covered over with misty, translucent ice. Up close James could see that Aunt Hermione was right; it was very thin in some places and James only had to press down lightly for it to begin to fracture.

“Lily!” he called. “Be careful over there. The ice is really thin. Don't run about because if you fall you'll go through.”

“Yes, Dad,” Lily replied sarcastically.

“I'm being serious,” said James, moving over to them. “I mean it, be careful by here. If you fell in you'd get stuck under there. Take care both of you.”

“Okay,” said Lily obediently. “Now go away.”

James obliged and moved to a rock on the other side of the pond. He was able to watch Rose and Lily plying with the ice skating doll, which came complete with a little wand that could make the doll perform all manner of complicated jumps and twists and tricks. The solitude gave James time to think on ways of broaching the subject of his Hogwarts dilemmas with Aunt Hermione. He decided to try and sit next to her at dinner and bring it up then, that seemed the best plan. His train of thought was broken by a voice calling from behind him.

“Wotcher, Jimmy”

“Teddy!”

Lily cried out and ran to Teddy who picked her up and carried her over to where James was sat.

“Have you lost a sister?” asked Teddy, half-laughing.

“No, I'm not that lucky,” said James.

Lily poked her tongue out at him. “Have you bought me any presents, Teddy?”

“Well I don't know,” said Teddy cryptically. “Have you been a good girl this year?”

“Probably not,” said Lily mischievously.

“That's what I like to hear,” said Teddy. “Then perhaps there might be a little something for you back up at the house.”

Lily was down and gone like a shot.

“Hiya, Ted,” said James.

“Merry Christmas and all that blah, blah,” said Teddy, smirking. “How you been, James?”

“I'm alright,” said James. “How are you and Victoire? Still snogging all over Britain?”

“I think there's a corner of Lincolnshire we've yet to chalk off but that's in the pipeline,” said Teddy. “Hello little Rosie. Still the best first year at Hogwarts?”

Rose blushed. “I'm doing okay.”

“No need to be modest,” said Teddy. “If you've got half your mothers brains you'll be top of the class. Shall we go back up? I'm freezing my ears off.”

The three of them walked back to the house talking about what presents they'd received for Christmas. They had barely reached the door when it opened and Uncle Ron came out.

“There you are,” he said. “We thought something had happened when Lily came back alone. Rosie, go and wash your hands. Mum's about to put dinner up. Good thing too, I'm starving.”

Rose disappeared inside with Uncle Ron. James and Teddy stomped the snow off their boots before following.

“You didn't actually get Lily anything, did you?” asked James.

“Of course I did,” said Teddy. “Little Wizarding Karaoke Machine. All the latest hits are on it by all the big bands; the Gruesome Twosome, Spellbinders, Busty McGrew and the Spillers. Even some classic Weird Sisters tracks.”

“Great,” said James. “Lily'll be warbling around the house till New Year. Suddenly, I can't wait to get back on the Hogwarts Express.”

Teddy hooted with laughter and led the way into the dining room. The grand table was set with Aunt Hermione's best silver and crockery; gothic candelabras ran along the centre and Weasleys Cracking Crackers criss-crossed the table like a multi-coloured spider's web. Teddy sat down next to Dad and James, spotting two spare chairs at the end made for one, hoping Aunt Hermione would take up the other. His luck was out, however, as his Aunt and Uncle sat opposite each other at the middle of the table and Albus was moved to sit in the empty seat near James.

The food was fantastic and James was in awe of Aunt Hermione's work when he remembered they didn't employ a house-elf. Aunt Hermione's greatest achievement was to force a change of law which said house-elves had to be paid what they deemed a fair wage (which turned out to be little more than `please' and `thank you' from their masters) but she still refused to have one work in her house, much to Uncle Ron's disappointment. Without house-elf help, Aunt Hermione had produced a huge spread which included four different meats, vegetables of every colour, bouncy Yorkshire pudding, a vat of rich gravy and all the sauces you could want.

There was much chatter and laughter as they ate, punctuated by the occasional explosion of a Cracker, accompanied by a sparkling firework. Uncle George, the richest Weasley, had added the Wizarding Cracker Company to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and improved the product with better prizes, funnier jokes and a wider variety of hats. James looked down the table as Dad had Teddy in stitches finishing a joke about a hag, a mountain goat and a bottle of Skele-Gro. Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione had conveniently both pulled out crowns from their crackers, Mum had a foot-high tiara sitting slightly askew while Hugo had pulled out a pirate's hat complete with eye patch.

Dad, meanwhile, had a tall, pointed Wizard's hat which was tottering precariously close to his eyebrows. Later, James would remember watching the whole thing as though knowing exactly what was going to happen but being unable to stop it. Whether it was through inebriation or rocking with laughter as Teddy read out his cracker joke it was difficult to tell; the only thing that mattered was that Dad's hat flew off and knocked Aunt Hermione's wine glass over, spilling the contents over her dress. Several people laughed and cheered ironically but James saw Dad's face contort in horror.

“I'm so sorry,” said Dad quickly.

“It's fine,” said Aunt Hermione, swiftly cleaning up the mess with a flick of her wand.

“I don't know what happened, I'm sorry.”

“Really it's okay, there's no harm done.”

The whole exchange stayed with James for several days, not because of the content but because of its manner and what happened next. There was something unusual in their voices that James couldn't work out and not once in the little exchange did they look at each other. James, who had always thought of Dad and Aunt Hermione close because of what they'd been through together, found this very odd. Just as this was puzzling him he happened to look up; through the din of conversation, and with everyone seemingly looking elsewhere, Dad and Aunt Hermione did look at one another. Their gazes met only for a fraction of a second but James saw both their eyes; they were both incredibly expressive though James couldn't read their meaning, but as their eyes met he felt a jolt as though a shot of energy had passed between them and burst around the room. James even jerked backwards but no-one else seemed to move, no-one else had seen it.

“Are you alright, James?” asked Aunt Hermione, looking pointedly at him.

“Yeah, fine,” said James, recovering himself. “Trapped wind, I think. Too many sprouts.”

“Oh for Merlin's sake don't fart at the dinner table,” said Teddy, grinning over. Hugo and Albus howled with giggles.

“Don't talk like that,” said Mum. “Not while we're eating.”

“Sorry,” said Teddy, winking at Mum who smirked back.

James, unable to understand what he'd seen, took to watching Dad and Aunt Hermione in turn for the rest of the meal. To his astonishment they didn't look at each other once. If he hadn't known to look, he probably wouldn't have noticed, but in this studious mode James noted that Dad kept his head tilted away from Aunt Hermione's direction and she did the same. It was all very peculiar.

At the end of the meal Aunt Hermione collected the plates with a flick of her wand and went into the kitchen to wash up. Sensing his opportunity had arrived, James sprang up and out bounded after her.

“Do you need a hand?” he asked.

“I can do this all by magic,” said Aunt Hermione. “But I've had the feeling all day that you've wanted to talk to me so we can do this the old Muggle way. I'll wash and you dry.”

For the first few minutes the only sound was the clink of dishes as they struck each other in the soapy wash basin. James was trying to work out how best to bring the subject of Hogwarts up but didn't have a good starting point. Luckily, Aunt Hermione's mind reading skills seemed well in tune today.

“So, how are things going at school?” she asked.

“Oh, you know, okay,” said James.

“I'm quite accomplished at Legilimency,” said Aunt Hermione slyly, “but I wouldn't need those skills to tell that what you said isn't entirely true. Am I right?”

James nodded.

“Tell me,” Aunt Hermione pressed.

“Well, though don't tell Dad any of this,” James began, thinking that as she and Dad didn't seem to speak to each other any more there was little danger of her blabbing, “I'm having a little trouble in Transfiguration. And Charms. And Potions could be better. In fact, I'm having a little trouble in all my classes.”

“Does this have anything to do with the mystery lady your Mum mentioned when you arrived?” asked Aunt Hermione.

“No,” said James. “If it wasn't for her I'd be in a right mess, even worse than the one I'm in now. She's been great. She's like you, helping Dad and Ron when they were at school.”

Aunt Hermione smiled fondly. “Well, your Dad didn't really need it. He could have coped on his own were it not for…other distractions.”

“What? Like evil, psychotic Dark Lords trying to kill him?” asked James, sardonically.

“Yes, that sort of thing,” said Aunt Hermione. “Unfortunately, you don't have that excuse. So what's yours?”

“I just can't seem to manage everything all at once,” said James. “School and Quidditch and the other clubs I'm in. Plus I have my social life - I have to keep up appearances.”

“Naturally,” Aunt Hermione agreed.

“All I'm asking for is a little help,” said James, trying to look his helpless best. “Dad always goes on about how you managed to do loads more than everyone else and better than the little they had to do. Please, can't you spare just a pointer or two?”

Aunt Hermione smiled again. “I won't help you cheat to manage your homework, but you know if I can help you I will. Tell you what, we have to do the whole present exchanging thing now but after that we'll go into my study and have a chat about this, see if we can't find a solution.”

“Thank you, Aunt,” said James. He couldn't stop himself grabbing her around the middle. “You really are a lifesaver.”

“You're just like your father,” Aunt Hermione chuckled. “Now watch you don't get any soap suds in your hair; people might wonder what we've been up to out here!”

With so many dishes and pots to clean, James and Aunt Hermione soon gave up the manual washing and turned the task over to magic. By this time everyone else had congregated in the living room and were already beginning to hand out presents. James and Aunt Hermione joined the circle, sitting opposite each other either side of the tree. Most of the gifts were staple items; chocolates, perfumes and the like, but Uncle Ron was elated with the Chudley Cannons cufflinks which James had bought him, declaring that he would have to buy a suit just to wear them. Uncle Ron had bought Dad a nifty wand-holster, perfect for quick draws in case any Dark wizards happened to cross your path. James had bought Aunt Hermione a little bracelet with a silver otter dangling from it. It had tiny rubies for eyes which shone brightly from the light of the tree candles.

“Dad said it was your Patronus,” said James. “I asked him because they're supposed to be good luck charms. Patronus's do protect you, after all.”

“They certainly do,” said Aunt Hermione, beaming. “This is really beautiful, James. You shouldn't have spent so much.”

“It wasn't loads,” said James. “Besides, Mum and Dad give me way too much pocket money anyway. I'd only be spending it in Uncle George's shop in Hogsmeade on trouble making things.”

“Well, I got you this, though it isn't as lovely as your gift,” said Aunt Hermione, admiring the little otter.

James took a heavy package from Aunt Hermione. He ripped back the paper to reveal a handsome leather-bound book with big gold letters. The Magnum Opus: A Path to Alchemical Success.

“Wow! This is amazing!” said James. “I love it. Alchemy is my favourite subject. This is exactly what I need, thank you.”

“I remember you saying how much you enjoyed it,” said Aunt Hermione. “I wish they'd replaced Divination with Alchemy when I was at Hogwarts. It's a fascinating subject.”

James flicked through the thick pages, looking hungrily at the detailed diagrams and instructions. He was genuinely thrilled at the gift; Alchemy was one of the few subjects James was actually up to speed with in school. As he looked at icons of Sol and Luna he remembered Celesca's view that he was better at subjects he was interested in. Feeling the love of the book in his hands he realised that the girl knew him scarily well.

It didn't take long for all the presents to be opened and no sooner had Aunt Hermione whisked away all the strewn wrapping paper than out came several bottles of wine, a decanter of Firewhiskey and a large bottle of brandy. Teddy had a small glass of brandy (just for Christmas, or so he claimed) then said his farewells as he had a date with Victoire. As Dad and Uncle Ron slipped into conversation around the big wireless in the corner, and Mum refilled her wineglass as she watched Lily, Al, Hugo and Rose playing Gobstones on the carpet, Aunt Hermione caught James' eye and nodded pointedly towards the door to her study at the back of the room.

The study was a spacious, circular room with red and gold tapestries flanking the large bay window which looked out towards the pond. Shelves to the ceiling groaned under the weight of innumerable books and a large candelabra floated in mid-air above a handsome mahogany table, which took up most of the space in the room. The table was neat and orderly with quills and ink held ready at the side of a highly-polished writing space. Pictures of Hugo and Rose waved energetically from simple frames on one side, while an old picture of Aunt Hermione, Uncle Ron and Dad on their Hogwarts Graduation day sat at the centre.

“That's an old picture,” said Aunt Hermione following James' gaze. “I remember not being able to control my hair; it was so breezy that day.”

“You all look happy,” said James.

“We hadn't long defeated Voldemort,” Aunt Hermione reflected. “Everyone was happy. Your Dad was a little strained but I always think of that day as the time when he started to get back to normal. Well, as normal as he could after what he'd been through.”

James looked at the picture trying to imagine his Dad at the time, just getting to grips with all the death, resurrection and murder he'd experienced. It was hard to picture; Dad had always been so docile, it was difficult to imagine him as recklessly brave and dashing the way Mum always described him.

“So, about your school problems,” said Aunt Hermione. “What can we do about them?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” said James.

“What, exactly, were you hoping I could do for you?” asked Aunt Hermione. “I assume you didn't want me to do your homework for you.”

“Would you?” asked James. “I'm just kidding, Auntie H! I don't know what I was hoping for - pointers, advice, the wealth of your experience. No point me asking Dad, `cause he had you to get him through school in the first place and Mum'd be too disappointed that I was struggling. You're the clever one between us, I thought you might have some suggestions.”

“All I did was work hard, study hard and hope for the best,” said Aunt Hermione.

“That doesn't really help me,” said James.

“No,” said Aunt Hermione. “I'll tell you what, you take these. I was saving them for Rose and Hugo but they won't be needing them for a while so you can use them.”

Aunt Hermione pulled down a number of dog-eared textbooks from a shelf near the door.

“But I've already got these books,” said James, reading the faded names of his set school texts.

“Not these exact ones,” said Aunt Hermione. “These are my personal ones, the ones I used in school, along with notes I made for all my classes. I'm not doing your work for you, so technically it isn't cheating, but they might give you a fresh way of looking at things; open your mind up to other ways of thinking.”

James picked up the nearest volume and flicked to a random page; the margins were crammed full of little notes and asides while sheaves of parchment were squeezed inside the back cover, all stuffed with the writings of a brilliant, fifteen-year-old Hermione.

“This is perfect,” James said quietly. “But are you sure its okay for me to have them? You were saving them, after all.”

“As long as they're put to good use, they're all yours,” said Aunt Hermione.

“They will be, I promise,” said James.

“They'd better be,” said Aunt Hermione. “My conscience is stretched to its limit giving them to you. I was having second thoughts about letting my children have them; I don't approve of cheating and this is pretty close.”

“I'll do better in school with these,” said James earnestly. “You really are doing me a massive favour.”

“I was joking, James,” said Aunt Hermione, smiling. “Of course you can use them. Copy them if you like, though you won't learn anything that way. I'll do anything I can to help you and if this does then I'm happy. So anyway, who is this girl everyone is talking about?”

“Her name's Celesca,” said James, colouring. “She's the best student in my year. Top of every class. But she's really nice and we get on okay. She helped me with a piece of work just before the holidays. I'd have been up poo creek without her.”

“Celesca - that's pretty,” said Aunt Hermione.

“Yeah, she is,” said James.

“I meant her name.”

“Er - yeah…so did I.”

James and Aunt Hermione caught each others eye and grinned.

“I think Celesca's Aunt went to school with Mum and Dad,” said James.

“Really?” said Aunt Hermione. “Who is it? I was there, too, you know, so I might know her.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” said James, feeling foolish. “And you must know her because Uncle Ron had lunch with her the other day. Luna…something. Dad didn't say her last name.”

Aunt Hermione's air changed suddenly. “Luna? Ron had lunch with Luna? He didn't tell me.”

“He works with her husband, doesn't he?” said James, feeling an uncomfortable change in the atmosphere. “Sorry, Aunt, have I said something wrong?”

“What? Oh, no, no,” said Aunt Hermione quickly. Her expression softened and she relaxed herself. It was as if she was trying to hide her true expression. “I was just surprised. I haven't seen Luna in years. And you say she's your friend's Aunt?”

“I think she must be,” said James. “She's gone off to Siberia hunting some creature whose name sounds made-up. We had a Christmas card from someone called Luna and Dad said she'd gone to Siberia, too. Can't be a coincidence.”

“That certainly sounds like Luna,” said Aunt Hermione. “Always talking about non-existent things. She came from an eccentric family.”

“Dad liked her, said she was powerful,” said James. “And Celesca says she's really close to her.”

“Luna was powerful, gifted, and she was very loyal,” said Aunt Hermione. “If your friend is like that she's a very lucky girl. Anyway, we'd better get back before we're missed.”

There was a finality in her tone which gave James the feeling that Aunt Hermione wanted to be alone with her thoughts. They made their way back into the living room and though Aunt Hermione did a passable job at pretending to be the happy, dutiful hostess, James could see something was terribly wrong with her. It made him uneasy to think he'd caused it.

It was late by the time everyone went to bed. The house had several rooms, magically squeezed into the space upstairs. Lily and Albus bunked in with Rose and Hugo respectively, while Mum went up early to the guest bedroom after helping Aunt Hermione hover Uncle Ron, who was snoring after too much Firewhiskey, up to bed. Aunt Hermione didn't come back to say goodnight, leaving James and Dad alone.

“Have you had a good day, son,” said Dad. He sounded tired and more than a little tipsy.

“Yeah, it's been alright,” said James.

“You look like something's on your mind,” said Dad. “Share with your old Dad.”

James thought hard for a few moments before answering. He decided not to be too specific with his concerns over Dad and Aunt Hermione's seemingly evaporated relationship, sticking instead to his own worries.

“I think I upset Aunt Hermione earlier,” said James.

“Upset her?” asked Dad. “She didn't look upset to me. What gave you that idea?”

“I told her about Uncle Ron having lunch with your old friend, Luna, when she asked me about Celesca. She went a bit weird for a while, sort of angry. After that she just looked sad. Didn't you think she looked sad?”

Dad was certainly more taut now, more attentive. “I can't honestly say I noticed.”

“She was trying to hide it,” said James. “And doing a good job of it. But I saw it. I don't know if it's because she reminds me so much of my friend or what, but she doesn't look happy.”

“Hermione isn't happy?” said Dad. It wasn't really a question or a statement and James wasn't sure whether Dad was talking to him or simply thinking aloud, but there was a trace of real concern in his voice. James got up; he had to say something, anything that might make Dad realise there was something not right in his relationship with one of his oldest friends.

“I think there's something really wrong with her,” said James dramatically. “I think - what she needs, I think, is a friend to talk to. Goodnight, Dad.”

James turned and went to bed leaving Dad's silhouette in the light of the last flickering candle. He went into the little room next to Hugo's, changed and got into bed. He lay awake for some time, hoping he'd done the right thing and listening for Dad's footsteps on the stairs. He fell asleep quicker than he would have liked but it didn't matter because the footsteps he was waiting for, never came.

-->

5. 5

Chapter Five

James woke slowly on Boxing Day. For a moment he felt disorientated in an unfamiliar bed, but soon all the thoughts and concerns which had plagued his mind before sleep surfaced again. He rose and dressed in the pale light streaming in from the little window, feeling that perhaps he shouldn't have said anything to Dad. He hadn't considered last night that there might be a perfectly valid reason why he and Aunt Hermione were no longer intimate and, if that were the case, it was probably none of his business. Perhaps it was an old wound that James had now forced open. They had known each other for years and James wasn't privy to the details of all their time together; the more he thought on it the more he wished he hadn't gotten involved at all.

But how could he have simply ignored it? Hermione was his favourite Aunt and the idea of her being unhappy upset him. And Dad, too, looked moved when James suggested Hermione didn't look right. There was real emotion there that James could rarely remember seeing in his father and he couldn't help but think that if both were unhappy then it might be for the same reason. Whatever that reason was, it made sense that it could explain their distance from each other, though James couldn't guess at what might be the cause of it all.

His worries were not eased, however, at the sight of Mum, Dad, Lily and Albus pretty much ready to go when he made it downstairs. Far from the hearty breakfast he was expecting, James was teased by Uncle Ron for being as lazy as Dad by staying in bed until noon. Dad, James noticed uncomfortably, seemed eager to leave and mumbled some excuse about work he had to attend to. Aunt Hermione looked as strained and sad as she had the night before and though James didn't sense that there had been any sort of row between them the tension was at its most palpable. Mum's excuse of needing to get home to ready the house for visitors was at least believable and served to stave off difficult questions.

After a quick cup of tea Mum announced that they really ought to be getting home. Dad shook hands with Uncle Ron but in the chaotic melee that was everyone scrambling for coats and car seats he managed to slip away without a word to Aunt Hermione, a fact not missed by James. They went out to the car and were just saying their last goodbyes when suddenly Uncle Ron cried out that they hadn't picked up their presents. James was sequestered to run back inside and fetch them.

“We don't want to forget your books either,” said Aunt Hermione. James hadn't heard her coming in behind him and jumped at her voice. They both went into the study where James found the invaluable volumes sitting in a neat pile on the desk.

“How will I get these in the car without anyone seeing?” James asked, nervously. “I don't want Mum and Dad to know.”

“How about I just have them waiting for you back at home?” said Aunt Hermione, her eyes twinkling. She swept her wand over the books and they vanished. “It'll be our little secret.”

“Thanks,” said James with relieved grin. “I'll take good care of them.”

“Just think of it as a young version of me tutoring you,” said Aunt Hermione. “And if you ever start slacking they'll be there to remind you to get off your behind and work!”

James snickered as Aunt Hermione led the way from the study. They collected the presents between them and went out to the car. Dad was stood waiting at the open boot; Aunt Hermione placed her stack into the car, passed the most fleeting of glances and, James was glad to see, a little smile to Dad then moved aside to let James deposit his cargo. When Aunt Hermione was out of earshot, Dad spoke quietly.

“How are you this morning?”

“I'm okay, said James. “But you look tired.”

“I didn't get much sleep, what with one thing or another,” said Dad, giving the swiftest of glances towards Aunt Hermione's retreating form.

“I understand,” said James.

“I knew you would,” said Dad, smiling. “You're quite perceptive. I've never noticed before.”

“I'm full of surprises,” said James.

“But listen, James,” said Dad seriously. “This isn't to be mentioned again. You aren't to speak of this to anybody. Don't repeat to anyone else what you said last night. Promise me.”

There was a power and command in Dad's voice that James associated with the mythical, Dark Wizard-slaying, Head Auror that he truly was - an image of his father he had never before encountered. This short sentence carried with it enough impetus to convince James that he never wanted to meet it again.

“I promise, I won't say anything,” said James.

“To anyone?”

“To anyone,” James repeated.

“Good boy,” said Dad. He gave James a firm one armed hug and kissed him on the head. “You're a good boy and I'm proud of you. Now go and say goodbye to your Aunt and Uncle.”

James obeyed. Uncle Ron shook his hand vigorously before Aunt Hermione gave him a tender, affectionate hug that James thought she held onto for a few moments longer than she ought, but he didn't complain. He felt they both shared a need for some sort of reassurance and the hug provided it. They said their final farewells, Rose called that she would see James at school, then he entered the car and Dad drove off with several parting blasts on the horn.

Back at home there was little time to dwell on the events of the past day or so. Mum went into hyper tense mode and insisted her children help Ludey to give the entire downstairs one final clean. It was hard to be focused on anything other than little bits of dirt when you were face down in the carpet with an overbearing mother standing over you. Dad was acting normally, too; his `important work' turned out to be little more than sending a few owls out to people he was meeting back at work the next day. Once this little task was done he announced he was popping out to the village pub to wish season's greetings to his friends there. Mum looked a little miffed but was too engrossed by her work to say anything.

At around tea time voices were heard outside, along with the scrape of footfalls on the gravel path, carried through a window flung open by James to dilute the heavy smell of furniture polish in the living room. Several voices chattering and laughing grew steadily louder until finally the front door opened and their owners entered the house. Dad led the way, followed by Nan and Granddad Weasley.

“Look who I found in the Crow's Feathers?” Dad announced jovially.

“Nana!” called Lily, before running to Mrs Weasley for a big hug.

“Careful, Mum, you don't want to do your back in again,” said Mum walking up to Nana Weasley and giving her a kiss. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Ginny,” said Nana Weasley. She hugged Lily again. “And I think I can just about pick this one up. But not that handsome young man. Come here and give your Granny a kiss then.”

James obliged awkwardly, wishing afterwards (as he always did) that there was a polite way to ask his grandmother to get a shave.

“Oh, let me sit down,” said Nana Weasley. “Why you had to get a place so far away from civilisation, I don't know, Ginny. It is looking lovely, though.”

“Thanks,” said Mum, looking vindicated. “How did you manage to end up in our village pub, then?”

“Well,” said Granddad, “we thought we'd take in a little stroll before we came up to see you. Silverton is so quaint and picturesque, even more so covered in snow. But it is cold out so we thought we'd warm up with a spot of lunch in the inn down in the village. Lovely pint of ale in there, isn't it, Harry?”

“That's why I wanted to live nearby,” Dad joked. “Got to have a good quality local, though that isn't the sort of thing the estate agent will tell you.”

Dad and Granddad laughed.

“Thanks for the fudge, Nan,” said James. “You didn't have to make such a big tin, though. It must have taken ages.”

“Concern for his Nana, too,” his grandma replied fondly. She turned to Mum. “You are raising a good boy, there. It was no trouble, James. You're a growing boy, after all, and I've not got much to do these days.”

“Well, in that case I'll be expecting a weekly delivery when I'm back at school,” said James cheekily. This time it was Mum and Nana who enjoyed a little giggle.

Dad opened a bottle of Rosmerta's Best Mead, '98 - apparently a very good year. He said that they might as well continue what they'd started in the Crow's Feathers, now that they were on a roll. While he and Granddad sipped on oversized glasses, Albus recounted in painstaking detail all he could recall of his first six months at Hogwarts. Mum and Grandma were the most captive listeners and James thought they humoured his brother well, knowing that they'd both been through this before when he himself first started at school.

“James? Will you help me with this Karaoke Machine?” asked Lily. “I don't know how to set it up.”

“That depends,” said James. “Are you going to sing now?”

“Probably,” said Lily. “That's why I want to get it working.”

“Then no,” said James, teasingly. “I've got Al nattering in one ear and if you start butchering songs in the other my head might explode.”

“Don't be so mean,” said Lily. “Mum says I sing like an angel.”

“I thought she said mandrake,” said James.

“What's a mandrake?”

“Oh never mind. Come on, let's see how this works. But please try and sing quietly.”

Gran and Granddad Weasley stayed for dinner but left shortly afterwards as they were old and needed to go to bed earlier. That was the excuse they gave in any case. Lily regaled the rest of the family with her own take on some of the big hits of the day and James went up to bed when he'd taken just about as much of it as he thought he could. After all the strange and worrying events of the past two days James was grateful for the solitude of his bedroom.

This room was, naturally, his favourite room in the house. The snow-covered paddock glistened silvery white under the moonlight as James crossed to the window to draw his curtains. He crossed to his walk-in wardrobe to change for bed; he had always thought this feature slightly feminine and a little pretentious but it was a necessary accessory for someone with so many outfits to choose from. The bed was a handsome, oak four-poster not to dissimilar from his bunk at Hogwarts and the familiarity was a comfort in the midst of a home life that James felt was in flux. He searched under his headrest for his book, volume two in The Adventures of Agent Cajun and the Mexican Misfits, and read until his eyes drooped and he fell asleep.

Over the next few days, things quietened down and got back to normal. Dad was back in work and tended to leave early and not return till it was dark. Mum played host to the comings and goings of various friends and relatives but the number of visitors and the time they stayed grew less with each passing day. Three days after Christmas saw James in the living room finally finishing his Mimbulus Mimbletonia picture for Herbology. He was feeling smug and self-satisfied having completed all his homework with a couple of days still left until he had to return to school. Aunt Hermione's books had proven to be worth their weight in gold with so many tips, pointers and extra notes, which he would never have thought of himself, that James had re-written both his entire Transfiguration and Alchemy essays to fit them in. It was the kind of thing both Aunt Hermione and Celesca would have done, and James felt honoured to be considering himself in the same company.

Outside in the garden Lily and Albus were playing in the snow. There was a swing hanging from a bough of a tree outside the window and they were taking it in turns to swing as high as they could before jumping off and landing in the snow. James was surprised they hadn't hurt themselves but it seemed that the snow was thick enough to cushion their landings. Later he felt he should have known something was going to go wrong.

It happened in several, confused stages. Firstly, as he was doodling on his sketch pad, James heard an almighty crack from in the garden. Looking up he saw the swing, and the bough holding it, were gone. He jumped up just as Albus came skidding into the house.

“MUM!” he yelled. “Come quick! James, help!”

So desperate were Albus's calls that James didn't even stop to ask what was wrong. He nearly collided with Mum as she rushed to reach the garden first. Initially it looked as if nothing was wrong and James had a fleeting thought that maybe this was a joke Albus was playing. One look at his face, whiter than the snow, dispelled this thought.

“Lily,” Mum said to Albus. “Where is Lily?”

“Under there,” said Albus, pointing to a large mound of snow a few feet away.

“LILY!” Mum cried out before racing over to the snow and clawing at it. She kept calling her name over and over as she pulled the snow away, but it was so deep she'd never be able to reach her. Such was her panic that she was incapable of doing anything else.

“James, do something!” Albus called.

With only a quick thought about the consequences, James whipped his wand out. “Mum! Out of the way!”

Mum moved a few feet when she saw James, wand raised pointing at the snow.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” he cried.

The snow rose up in a big, white cloud. Sodden wet and obscured by the fallen branch was Lily's bright red hair. Mum scooped her out and James let the snow fall to the ground with a thud. Tossing his wand aside he raced over to Mum who was cradling Lily and sobbing uncontrollably.

“Mum, give her to me,” said James. When Mum didn't comply he wrenched his sister free. She wasn't breathing. Without thinking James gave Lily mouth-to-mouth; to his immense relief she coughed up a throat-full of snow right into his face. She coughed a few more times then started to cry. Mum snatched her up and hugged her hard. James slumped back, drained.

Mum scooped Lily up and took her into the house with Albus following close behind. James's heart was beating so hard he didn't think he dared get up in case it exploded. It was only when Albus called out that James was wanted inside that he actually moved.

Mum clobbered him with a hug that Grandma Weasley would have been proud of as soon as he entered Lily's bedroom, where Mum had taken her. She sobbed hard on his shoulder for several minutes before she was calm enough to speak.

“James you were incredible,” she sniffed. “You saved your sister's life. If you hadn't been here I don't know what would have happened. We need to get Dad home. You'll have to write him a note and send it quick, my hands are shaking too much.”

Mum kissed him on the cheek and he turned away, taking the stairs two at a time before reaching the living room. He grabbed his sketch pad, scribbled a hasty note and stuffed it awkwardly into the pouch of Hedrill, the family owl.

“Fly fast,” he whispered to the snowy bird before opening the window and letting it soar off into the sky. No sooner had he closed the window than there was a burst of flame from the fire and a letter came zooming out of the hearth. James plucked it out of the air, his heart dropping as he read where it was from.

Mr, E. Macmillan,

Improper Use of Magic Office

To Mr J Potter,

We have detected the illegal usage of the Wingardium Leviosa Charm at your residence at 3.41pm this afternoon. As you know, it is an offence to use magic whilst under the age of seventeen. This breech carries with it a suspension from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry under Section 12 of the Misuse of Magic Act, Fourteenth Amendment. This suspension is effective immediately and your case will be reviewed to determine the length of this sentence. We will contact you with our decision in due course.

Yours &c,

E. Macmillan.

For a moment James stared at the words trying to absorb what they meant. Just as comprehension began to dawn there was a swishing sound nearby and Aunt Hermione materialised in the living room.

“Aunt Hermione?” said James, so surprised by her sudden appearance that he had jumped a foot backwards.

“James, are you alright? What's happened?” she asked seriously.

“I, er-”

“I received a note saying you were using magic,” said Aunt Hermione. “I knew something serious must have happened for you to do that. I know how much Harry would have drilled it into you to not use magic.”

James explained quickly what had happened with Lily. Aunt Hermione went very pale.

“Is she alright? Where is she?” she asked.

“With Mum upstairs,” said James. Without another word Aunt Hermione swept to the stairs. James stood rooted to the spot until she returned several minutes later.

“She doesn't look too good,” said Aunt Hermione, looking worried. “And neither do you, James. Your Mum told me how good you were. You did well to react so quickly.”

“Well?” cried James, incredulously. “They've suspended me from Hogwarts! That's hardly doing well.”

“What?” asked Aunt Hermione. James showed her the letter; her expression changed from one of pale concern to one of red anger faster than a set of traffic lights. “This is ridiculous. Don't worry, James, I'll sort this out.”

“How will you do that?” asked James, feeling hopeful in spite of the facts.

“I'm the head of Magical Law,” said Aunt Hermione. “I wrote that Amendment and I don't recall adding a passage about scaring students with threats of suspension. There is special provision for using magic in special circumstances. Don't fret, I'll deal with this. I'll have Ernie Macmillan for this. I'm going to St Mungo's to get a Healer sent out here pronto. Look after your brother.”

She kissed James on the head and Disapparated. James was feeling a little overwhelmed by all that had happened but had no time to dwell on it. A little, barely audible sniff behind him drew his attention. He turned to see Albus curled up against the wall in the passage.

“Lily better be alright,” he sniffled. “If anything happens to her, it's my fault. All my fault.”

“How is your fault?” asked James.

“I was with her,” said Albus. “She's my little sister and I should have looked after her.”

He looked on the verge of tears so James went and sat next to him and awkwardly put his arm around him.

“It wasn't your fault,” said James in his best sympathetic voice. “The branch snapped, it was an accident. It could have been you on the swing at the time just as easily as it was Lily. You did nothing wrong; in fact, it was good you came to get Mum and me rather than trying to help her yourself. You did the right thing.”

“You were great,” said Albus quietly. “I'd have never thought to do that. People like you because you're good at stuff like that. I know I get on at you sometimes but your reputation is well earned. I just wanna be like that.”

“Shut up, don't get all mushy on me, you big girl,” said James teasingly. He grabbed Albus in a headlock and ruffled his hair.

“Lily will be okay, though, won't she?” asked Albus.

“Of course she will,” said James confidently. “Mum will look after her and Aunt Hermione is going to send a Healer to see her. She'll be fine.”

Albus looked convinced at his brother's words. They got up and while Albus went to get some Christmas cake, James sat on the couch and waited for the next thing to happen. That took around ten minutes to arrive as the fire burst to life and a green-robed Healer span out of the fireplace.

“I understand there has been an accident involving a little girl?” the Healer asked.

“Yes,” said James. “My sister. She's upstairs, I'll show you the way.”

James led the Healer up to Mum who took over and explained what had happened. James went back into the living room wondering what to do with himself and feeling a tad useless. He was about to go to his room when another swishing sound announced yet another new arrival. This time it was Dad.

“What's happened?” he said frantically. “Where's Lily?”

“She's upstairs with Mum and a Healer who's just arrived,” James explained. “How did you find out so quickly?”

“I was delivering an important memo to a colleague when I heard raised voices in the Misuse of Magic department,” said Dad. “I could hear Aunt Hermione yelling at someone, really laying into them. I went to see what was going on and she told me what happened. Are you alright?”

“A bit tired, to be honest,” said James.

“I don't doubt it,” said Dad. “Lily's in her room I suppose?”

James nodded. Dad didn't even bother with the stairs, deciding to simply Apparate up there. This time James did retreat to his room slumping down on the bed and trying to relax.

Time passed slowly. The house was so quiet, an unusual stillness that didn't suit it. James couldn't settle to anything; his mind was plagued will all sorts of negative thoughts about school and Lily's health that he could focus on nothing else. Eventually he did manage to doze off, only to woken by a loud hoot as Hedrill sailed past his window on the way to hunt. It was dark by now and the candles had been lit in James's bedroom. He was about to check the time when there was a small knock at the door.

“Come in,” James called.

The door opened slowly and Lily entered carrying a large tray.

“I didn't think you'd be asleep,” she said, coming in.

“Why are you up? Shouldn't you be in bed?” asked James.

“No, I'm okay, I've been up for ages,” she said brightly. “That Healer gave me some potion and I feel right as rain. I didn't think you'd eaten so I brought you some pumpkin pie, `cause I know how much you like it, and some biscuits and butterbeer. Midnight feast?”

She was looking so earnestly at him that he couldn't refuse. Besides, his stomach had rumbled approvingly at the mention of pumpkin pie.

“Come on, jump up then,” he replied.

Lily passed the tray to James and climbed onto the bed. They divided the pie and biscuits and James, eating for the first time in hours, realised how hungry he was. They finished eating and Lily fished around in her pocket and pulled out James's wand.

“I thought you might be wanting this back,” she said, passing it to him. “Al picked it up after you threw it away.”

James pocketed his wand. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yeah, I'm alright,” said Lily. She seemed to be thinking deeply, looking down at her feet. When she spoke again her voice was very small, much unlike her usual tones. “I knew you'd save me.”

“What?”

“I knew, when I was under the snow,” she said. “Everything went dark and I was scared. But I knew you'd get to me. I knew you wouldn't let anything happen to me.”

She suddenly threw herself at him and hugged him tight. She was crying into his shoulder and he was so shocked at this out-of-character emotional burst that it was all eh could do to pat her uncertainly on the back.

“It's alright,” he said. “I won't let anything happen to you, ever.”

“I love you, James, you know that, right?” said Lily looking up, tearful. “I know I'm a pain but I love you really.”

“Hey what's all this about,” said James. “First Al, now you. What's gotten into the pair of you?”

“I'll be all on my own when you're back at school,” said Lily. “If this had happened next week I'd be dead.”

“Don't talk like that,” said James. “Stop being so silly. Mum and Dad are here to look after you.”

“Dad's in work, Mum's training or playing Quidditch so I don't see them much,” said Lily. “I'm just glad you're home now.”

She turned and put her back into James's chest. He hugged her and tried to get over the surprise of her outburst. He supposed it was the shock of the accident and that it would pass. He hoped so; he wasn't entirely sure how he would cope with many more outpourings like this.

Presently, Lily fell asleep. Her throaty snores made James laugh; it was like having his old sister back. He gently rolled Lily onto the bed and got up; he intended to either find Mum or Dad to move her magically and get some food while he was at it. In all likelihood, though, both his parents would be asleep by now so he would have to sleep on the couch again. He tiptoed across the room, eased open the door and slipped out onto the landing.

James was halfway down the stairs when he stopped. Dad was talking to someone in the room; he was saying how what happened with Lily was his fault. Something had made James halt, and when a second voice spoke he realised it was a good thing he had.

“It wasn't your fault. What could you have done?”

It was Aunt Hermione, and she and Dad seemed to be speaking as if all James had seen in Cornwall hadn't happened.

“I should have been here,” said Dad. “If I hadn't been working so much lately…”

“Harry, you've been a father long enough to know that you can't legislate for this sort of thing,” said Aunt Hermione. “Kids have accidents; trying to stop that is like trying to stop the world spinning or the Chudley Cannons from losing.”

Dad laughed. “I know you're right, I just feel so guilty.”

“That's natural,” said Aunt Hermione, her voice taking on that soothing, elixir-like quality. “But by all accounts James did a fantastic job. He's inherited your talent of keeping your head in a crisis.”

“Thanks for sorting that mess out,” said Dad. “About him and his suspension. I never thought our own law would come back to haunt one of us.”

“Well we did it to stop ambitious students experimenting outside of school,” Aunt Hermione reminded him. “To try and stop any wizards with Dark ambition, remember?”

“I know, but thanks anyway,” said Dad. “I know what it must have cost you.”

“Hey, what's the point in being Head of Magical Law if I don't get to flex my muscles from time to time?” said Aunt Hermione. “James is a good boy; he saves his sister's life then gets told he's suspended from school over it. I gave Ernie right earful; he'll be on his toes from now on.”

“I think half the Ministry knows that,” said Dad. “Your voice did carry a bit. I am grateful, though.”

“You haven't got to thank me, Harry,” said Aunt Hermione. “I know you'd help my kids out if they needed it in half a heartbeat. It's not often I get a chance to return the favour. And James is my favourite - who else will help him if not me?”

They didn't speak for a few moments and James could imagine then tension in the pause. Finally, Dad broke it, and his voice sounded strained.

“It's nice to speak with you again.”

“It's nice to have an excuse,” replied Aunt Hermione. “I know what we agreed was for the best but sometimes I do doubt it.”

“James suspects something,” said Dad. “He noticed something at Christmas.”

“He's a perceptive boy,” said Aunt Hermione. “Lord knows where he got that skill from.”

“Not from me,” said Dad. “But he's a good lad.”

“You've done a great job with him,” said Aunt Hermione. “He'll do you proud.”

Another silence followed; James wished he could be in the room to see their faces.

“I'd, um, better get going,” said Aunt Hermione. “Before I'm missed. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Thanks,” said Dad. “But you will be anyway.”

Another silence. James almost dared himself to peek into the room.

“I'll see you, Harry,” said Aunt Hermione.

“Goodbye, Hermione,” said Dad. His formal air had returned and James could feel a change in the atmosphere; everything had gone sad and it was as if the very fabric of the house could feel it. James heard a swish that was Aunt Hermione Disapparating then turned and crept back upstairs. He had too many questions and didn't think he could face Dad until they were answered.

-->

6. 6

Chapter Six

Lack of courage wasn't normally the sort of thing people associated with James Potter, nor indeed was it the sort of trait the boy connected with himself. He was a Gryffindor, after all. But over the remaining few days of the holidays it was this most prized of qualities that deserted him. He found himself faced with the most difficult of predicaments; with a whole host of questions chasing each other through his head. Unfortunately for James, it seemed there was no way of bringing them up; after all, how do you ask about a secret conversation you shouldn't have heard and a purposeful distancing that you shouldn't have noticed? There just didn't seem to be a way.

There were two aspects to the whole thing, James decided, though he wasn't sure which one bothered him the most. At first, he'd been concerned about the distance and coldness that Dad and Aunt Hermione had put up between each other, fearing that there had been some sort of falling out that might strain relations with that arm of the family. James didn't want to imagine a day when he couldn't turn to his Aunt for advice or comfort; plus, he found the idea of one of his father's oldest and closet friends being alienated from him upsetting. That was bad enough, but the idea that perhaps this was done for a specific purpose, one reasonable and necessary enough for both Dad and Aunt Hermione to think it for the best was a different source of worry altogether. It must have been something major, James concluded, and he was determined to try and get to the bottom of it, just as soon as he could find a plausible way to get involved.

All in all, James found himself quite glad when the time rolled around for him to return to school. At least there he could get away from all this. It was a chilly, grey January morning and all the snow had turned to horrible slush from heavy recent rainfall. After a large breakfast, which Mum insisted they ate, James and Albus wheeled their trunks out to the car where Dad floated them in by magic. James's case was loaded down with all of Aunt Hermione's books and his new Broomstick Servicing Kit and as they were driving towards London James's mind began to be drawn towards offering a proper thank you to the sender of the latter.

In fact, it was the dominant thought in his mind and had been since he'd carefully stowed the purple velvet box in his trunk that morning. With all that had gone on in the last week, Celesca and all things connected with her had been shunted to one side; now that he was on his way to meet up with her again James found he could focus on nothing else. As the pretty countryside gave way to the outskirts of the city, James felt a strange uneasiness as he imagined what he might say to Celesca and how he'd feel seeing her again. It was pleasant and terrifying all at the same time and though James rehearsed in his head his opening lines to her, he was sure that when the time came he would end up saying the wrong thing. This lack of assuredness, so unlike him, was unsettling.

During the trip Mum kept grilling Albus to make sure he'd packed everything.

“You've got all your books?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“And your wand?”

“It's in my back pocket,” said Albus, checking just to be sure.

“You shouldn't keep it there,” said Dad warningly. “You could blow your buttocks off.”

“Did you know someone who blew their buttocks off?” asked Lily.

“Yes,” said Dad seriously. “Gregor McBumless. Scottish lad. Really skinny.”

Lily laughed, Albus looked horrified and James, himself, even managed to tear his thoughts away from Celesca to have a little grin.

“Is that true?” asked Albus quietly.

“No, of course it isn't,” said Mum, smiling sweetly. “Your Dad's just teasing you. His name was Taggart McBumless and he was fat. Until he blew his bum off, obviously.”

Lily screeched with laughter again and Albus finally realised he was being teased and grinned shyly.

“But you did pack your robes?” Mum continued.

“No,” said Albus. He waited long enough for Mum to register the shock before adding, “You did, after Ludey ironed them. Remember?”

“Oh yes, of course,” said Mum, relieved. “And you've got all your socks and pants…”

“MUM!” cried Albus indignantly. Lily was rocking with silent giggles next to him.

“And James, you've got-”

“Everything, Mum,” said James simply. “I packed last night and checked this morning. Stop fussing.”

“I can't, it's what Mum's do.”

Shortly after, they pulled into the car park opposite Kings Cross station. Dad unloaded the car while James and Albus fetched trolleys and raced them back. James won but Albus protested furiously that he had to stop for a car. James ignored this oversight and crowed it over him anyway. As usual, the place was packed with Muggles, many of whom stared at the oversized, ancient-style trunks being wheeled by James and his Dad, though none of them noticed when the whole family disappeared in small groups through a solid brick wall dividing platforms nine and ten.

James was greeted by a billow of smoke from the gleaming scarlet steam engine as he emerged from the magical barrier. He was as glad as ever to see the train and felt the excited surge from deep within that had been a common feature of his trips to Platform 9 and 3/4 ever since his first visit. He moved quickly away as the rest of his family joined him on the platform; he vividly remembered during his third year hanging around too close to the barrier and having Dad rush through and squash him between the trolley he was pushing for a lost-looking first year and James's own. His legs ached appropriately as he remembered the pain.

Once everyone was through, James and Dad led the way along the platform in search of an empty compartment. People called out and waved to Dad as they passed and they had to stop several times for Dad to chat with old friends. A few of Albus's friends came up to greet him and exchange Christmas stories and while the parents chatted, James slipped off, found an empty compartment half way down the train and stowed his trunk safely inside. He returned to say goodbye to Mum and Dad just as a loud toot sounded from the train.

“Have a good term,” said Mum.

“Let me know how the match with Slytherin goes,” said Dad. “See if that Kit of yours makes any difference.”

“Where's Al?” James asked.

“He's gone to a compartment with his friends,” said Dad.

“Sweet, I can get a whole one to myself then,” said James happily. “I'd better go before they leave without me. Don't cry, Lily, I'll send you some sweets from Honeydukes.”

James hugged Mum, Lily and Dad quickly before jumping onto the train. He waved from the window of his compartment until they disappeared around the bend.

The train journey was the most boring James could remember; all things considered, he decided he'd rather be stuck in here with Albus rambling on endlessly than sat quite alone with no company. He had half-hoped that Celesca may come looking for him but after two hours he started feeling sorry for himself and chided himself for thinking she'd want to come and say hello. She was a Prefect, after all, and probably had much more important and enjoyable things to do in the Prefects compartments, which were bound to be far more luxurious than the poxy little box James was wallowing in.

At around one o'clock the lady with the trolley came knocking on the compartment door and James spent an inordinate amount of his gold on as many cauldron cakes, liquorice wands, chocolate frogs and sherbet lemons that he could cram into his arms. He sat and gorged his way through the stash as the hours passed, stopping eventually as he felt very sick after eating what he was certain was a Murtlap-Essence flavoured Bertie Botts Every Flavour Bean. He was about to try and sleep his boredom off when he heard a frightened little voice call out in the corridor.

Thinking that it might have been Albus, James got up and went to investigate. Out in the corridor he saw three boys, who must have been third years, cowering over a small, terrified-looking blond boy, who could only have been a first year judging by his size. He was a weedy little thing and the boys surrounding him were on the hefty side. James entered the corridor just in time to see the bulkiest of them punch the little boy on the nose, breaking the glasses on his face. He looked too scared to even cry and James felt such pity at the intense fear on his face that his anger spilled over.

“Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?!” he cried out.

The three boys turned, clocked who was talking to them and turned white very quickly. James felt a pang of disgust as he looked at the badges on their robes.

“You're Gryffindors!” he hissed. “What the hell are you doing? You are a shame to our house!”

James rose up to his full and considerable height. One of the bullies fell back and mumbled something that sounded like `mimblewimble'.

“Well?” James thundered, moving to stand between the three third years and the blond boy. “Does none of you have the guts to speak? You are brave enough to gang up on a little kid but you can't speak now? You want to be bullies, try and bully me.”

James drew his wand and pointed it at each of them.

“We're sorry, Mr Potter, sir, but-”

“No buts,” James yelled angrily. “There is no excuse for bullying. This is not the sort of thing Gryffindors do. We behave better than this. I'm ashamed to be in the same house as the likes of you.”

The three boys looked down and James felt a touch of satisfaction that they at least looked sorry.

“You're lucky I don't know your names,” said James. “Otherwise I'd have you all up before Professor Roth. But be assured the Prefects will hear of this.” James lowered his head so his face was close to all of theirs. “And I'll remember your faces; if I see any of you acting this way again you'll have me to answer to. Got it?”

The bullies nodded and James shooed them away. They disappeared down the train and into another carriage where James couldn't see the compartment they entered. He turned to face the little boy behind him.

“You alright, kid?” he asked. He nodded in response, sniffing back a sob. “Is this your compartment?”

James motioned to an empty compartment that the boy was slumped up against and when he nodded again James guided him into it. They sat opposite each other, James feeling tremendous pity for this little thing.

“Are you sure you're alright?” said James. “I can get something for that bruise on your nose.”

“They broke my glasses,” said the boy, his voice as tiny as his fragile frame. He held the two, useless halves of his glasses in his hands, which were still trembling.

“Here, give them to me,” said James. He took the glasses, held them together and pointed his wand at them. “Occulus reparo!”

The glasses were mended with a flash of James's wand.

“Wow, cool!” said the boy, impressed. “Thanks.”

“You know, you shouldn't go around on your own with people like that about,” said James. “No offence, but you are a bit on the puny side. Where are your friends?”

James glanced around as though they were about to pop out of thin air. The boy looked down, his face a mix of sadness and shame. He shook his head meekly.

“What? You…you don't have any?” said James, his pity rising to unprecedented levels. “Any at all.”

The boy shook his head again. “Nobody likes me.”

Just then the door opened and a little girl walked in. James recognised her as Alice, the girl with the lost Pygmy Puff on the last Hogwarts Express journey James took. She grinned as she saw him, remembering their last meeting.

“You haven't lost you pet again, have you?” said James, returning her grin.

“I think my friend hid her on purpose,” said Alice. “She isn't in here, is she?”

“I don't know,” said James. “You'll have to ask little…sorry, mate, I didn't catch your name.”

James saw Alice look in the direction of the blond boy and her face turned to one of disgust.

“Oh, you don't want to know his name,” she said acidly, a voice much unlike the sweet tones she was just using.

“Is - is this yours?” said the boy. He held up a little cage with a pink Pygmy Puff curled up inside.

“Give that to me, you monster!” Alice yelled. “You caged Trevorina!”

“It was trying to roll away,” the boy tried to explain. “I let my owl out and put it in to keep safe. I wasn't trying-”

“I don't care!” cried Alice. “You leave me and me pet alone, you animal. James Potter, I don't know why you're in here with him but you don't want to stay too long with filth like this. It might infect you.”

“That's a horrible thing to say,” said James. “I think you should apologise.”

“I'll never apologise to the likes of him,” said Alice coldly. “Bye, James.”

With that she was gone. James thought he had never been so shocked with the behaviour he'd seen towards this little boy who, from what he could see, was the most timid thing he'd ever come across. He even showed a nice streak, keeping hold of the adventurous Pygmy Puff until its owner came calling, even making room for it at the expense of his own pet.

“Mate - what is your name?” James asked.

“Malfoy,” said the boy. “Scorpius Malfoy.”

With a jolt of disgust that came from way down James suddenly understood the animosity. He was surprised, however, to find that his distaste for what he'd seen greatly outweighed this comprehension.

“Are people always like this to you?” James asked.

“Always,” said Scorpius.

“And you don't have one single friend?”

“Not one,” Scorpius confirmed. “People can't see past my name, you see. I've had it all my life; people look at me and see my Dad and Granddad, even though I'm not like them. I hate all that stuff, Dad does too. My Mum sorted him out and I'm like her, or I try to be. I'm nice, or a least I think I am. I just don't get a chance.”

Of all the things in life James had never expected to happened, to empathise with the son of one of his father's greatest enemies was right up near the top. Ever since he'd been old enough to understand he'd heard stories from Dad, Mum, Uncle Ron, everyone, about how terrible the Malfoy family was. It was a name associated with all things bad in the world. To be sat looking at one and feeling not only sorry for him, but like him, shook James to the core.

“I'm surprised you helped me,” said Scorpius quietly. “What, being who you are, and all. I'd have thought you'd be the last person to stop people hurting me.”

“What happened was wrong,” said James, stoutly. “And if they do anything like that back at school you can come and find me. I've got a lot of pull with the Prefects, they can look after you.”

“Y-you'd do that? For me?”

“Absolutely,” said James sincerely, astonished that he meant every syllable.

“Thanks,” said Scorpius, smiling for the first time. “That's the first time anyone's done anything nice for me since I started here.”

“Don't the other Slytherins like you, though?” said James.

“No, they don't want to be near me either,” said Scorpius. “They'd be tainted by association. My family name will be dirt until people can't remember the War. That won't be in my lifetime.”

James felt so sorry for Scorpius that he wanted to cry out. He saw the same problems for him that he, himself, had suffered, only instead of having to live up to an impossibly high reputation, this little boy had to try and escape a bad one. It seemed a worse situation and James felt immense pity as he visualised a life of struggle for this likeable little kid.

“Look, I'd better get back to my compartment,” said James. “My brother might come looking for me. You going to be alright?”

“Yeah, I've got months of practice behind me already,” said Scorpius bracingly.

“Have you ever thought about telling your dad?” asked James.

Scorpius laughed. “He'd be ashamed and probably pull me out, send me to Durmstrang or somewhere awful like that. I'd rather take my chances here. At least Headmaster Octavian would punish people if something really bad happened to me. I'd probably get blamed over there. Hey - don't tell anyone, will you? I don't want this getting back to my father.”

“I won't say anything,” said James. “But remember what I said - any problems from the Gryffindors and I'll sort them out. Okay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” said Scorpius. “Bye, Mr Potter.”

“Its James,” said James. He nodded at Scorpius then closed the compartment door. He stood in contemplation for a few moments before turning and walking right into-

“Celesca!”

“Hi, James,” said Celesca, her face cracking into a wide smile. “What are you doing out here? I heard there was a commotion, did you see anything?”

“Three third years were bullying that poor kid in there,” said James, pointing to Scorpius's compartment behind. “I sorted it, though.”

“You did?” said Celesca, looking impressed. “We'll make a Prefect out of you yet. But, hang on, isn't that-”

“Yeah, it is.”

“But weren't your dad and his-”

“Yes, they were,” said James. “You aren't going to insult him as well, are you?”

“No, of course not. Why would I?”

“The kids that bullied him were Gryffindors, Celesca,” said James. “Gryffindors. Some of our own. It isn't right.”

“Hold on, you stood up for Scorpius Malfoy to three Gryffindor students?” said Celesca, her face glowing with a warm reverence.

“Well, yeah,” said James, feeling the corridor getting uncomfortably warm all of a sudden. “He's like me; both with famous fathers, though for different reasons; both trying to escape their shadows - both unable to do so. I get what it must be like for him.”

Celesca was looking at James in such a way that he shivered involuntarily. “I think you're doing a good job at stepping out of your fathers' shadow. To me you're much more James Sirius Potter than simply Harry Potter's son.”

James felt this powerful urge to take Celesca and hug her, hold her tight like she was the solace in an ever more confusing life. For a moment he thought she wanted him to as well.

“What is it, James?” she asked breathlessly.

“What?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I'm not,” said James. He smiled. “It's just…nice to see you, that's all. Really nice.”

Celesca beamed, a golden smile crossing her face that James felt blinded by. “It's nice to see you too, James. Look, I have to go and sort out this bullying thing. We can't have that going on and I am a Prefect. But do you want to meet up later back at school? You don't have to if you don't-”

“I do, I'll see you there,” said James. “Now go and tell those kids off.”

Celesca smiled again and passed James slowly. Her hair brushed across his cheek where they passed so close and he closed his eyes at the touch. He watched her walk along the corridor thinking of how Aunt Hermione had gone off to confront a wrong-doer in much the same way; Celesca paused and James's insides started doing somersaults when she looked over her shoulder and sent him a smile that he knew was just for him. He bounced back to his compartment knowing that it wouldn't be long before he was totally at the mercy of this girl.

* * *

When the Hogwarts Express pulled up at Hogsmeade station it was very dark outside. James hung back and waited out the commotion that was everybody scrambling to get off the train. Eventually he did disembark, leaving his luggage at the nearest collection point and moving towards the horseless carriages. He noticed that he was getting some rather strange looks, faces full of disapproval and some even of loathing. Though he thought he could guess the reason he simply glowered back and dared someone to challenge him. He spotted Albus a short way away and joined him.

“Any spare seats in your carriage?” James asked.

“James Potter wants to ride with us?” said an awestruck freckly boy.

“He's just my brother, Dave, jeez,” said Albus, winking at James. They clambered into a carriage, which took off at speed. “So, is it true what you did?”

James looked at Albus, Dave and the two nameless other friends, all looking expectantly at him.

“What?”

“They've been saying all down the train that you stopped Spasticus Malfoy from being beaten up,” said a pointy-faced boy sat next to Albus.

“His name's Scorpius,” said James.

“Whatever,” said the boy. “Is it true?”

“What's your name?”

“Lido Marsh.”

“Well, Lido, you listen closely to me,” said James dangerously. “And this goes for the rest of you, including you little brother. I don't like bullies, I don't like people who think its okay to gang up and pick on the weak. If you want to give anyone a hard time, whether it's Malfoy or anyone else, you'd better do it away from me. I catch you at it and you're mine. I'll be frog-marching you to Professor Roth's office and he can deal with you. I don't care who he is; his dad's done wrong, not him. You should know better, Albus.”

James looked fiercely at his brother who looked utterly ashamed, understanding where James was coming from quickly.

“But he's a Malfoy,” said Lido. “Don't you think that makes him bad?”

“No,” said James. “We choose what to be, not our names. And if you choose to be a bully I'll choose to be a grass and turn you in. I hope that's clear enough - for all of you.”

The carriage skidded to a halt and James jumped out, walking away quickly.

“James, wait!” Albus called, running up behind.

“Wait for what?” said James, rounding on his brother. “Interesting company you keep. I wonder what Mum and Dad would think about that.”

“They're my friends,” said Albus.

“And that makes it alright, does it?”

“But its Malfoy!” said Albus. “It's not a name you want to be linked with.”

“So, by that logic, you think being Potters makes us good or better than everyone else, if being a Malfoy makes Scorpius bad? You think we're Holier than holy and all that? Just because of Dad.”

“What? No. I don't-”

“That's what it sounds like to me.”

“No, James, it's not-”

“Shut up, Al, I don't want to talk to you right now, I can't believe what I'm hearing today.”

James walked off leaving his brother looking hurt and upset. He entered the Great Hall still seething; he passed the Ravenclaw table where Rosie Weasley waved to him.

“Hi, James,” she called.

“Hi, Rosie,” James replied. “Your mum and dad okay?”

“Yeah, great,” said Rose. “Mum sends her love. See you around.”

James walked away and some of Rose's friends whispered excitedly that they couldn't believe she was on speaking terms with Hogwart's biggest luminary. James made his way over to the Gryffindor table, found Richard and sat down next to him.

“You look happy,” said Richard. “Bad Christmas?”

“No, bad trip,” said James, irritably.

“Oh yeah, I heard you were sticking up for Slytherins on the train,” said Richard.

“You want to have a go too?” said James, angrily. “I'm well up for a scrap if you are.”

“Chill out, you nutter,” said Richard. “I think it's good. I was just saying so to Angharad.”

“It was a really good thing,” said Angharad, who had been making googly eyes at Richard when James sat down. “I didn't think you had it in you, to be honest.”

Angharad was smart, beautiful and knew it, making her arrogant and easily dislikeable. James, however, was prepared to look past these defects and accept the veiled compliment. He was in need of support from any source right now.

“Shows you're growing up, mate,” said Richard. “And don't worry, if the rest of the school hates you I'll still talk to you, as long as no-one else sees.”

James thumped Richard on the arm. He might have been a bit of a clown but he was the sort of friend to be relied on.

“So, how'd your Christmas go?” James asked.

“Christmas?” asked Richard, puzzled. “Has it been Christmas already? I hardly noticed. Been busy, you know, with this and that.”

He winked at Angharad who smiled back seductively.

“Oh I see,” said James, grinning. “How's the broom cupboard looking now?”

“Dark and full of mops,” said Richard. “Ah, food.”

The table groaned as dishes of innumerable varieties appeared from the kitchens and weighed them down. James, whose sweet-induced sickness had long worn off, found himself suddenly famished. He loaded his plate with chicken wings, potato wedges, chips and something green and dived in.

“Did I miss much at yours over Christmas, then?” asked Richard.

James nearly choked on whatever mix of items was in his mouth. He swallowed hard. “Nah, it was boring. Usual stuff, you know.”

James didn't want to tell Richard about Dad and Aunt Hermione; it was a personal thing that he needn't know of. The rest of the meal was spent listing the presents they'd received and thanking each other for the things they'd bought for one another. After dessert, the Headmaster welcomed everyone back for a new term and sent them off to bed. The melee of students rushing for the doors was always a haphazard affair and James, whose bladder was signalling to him, hung back until he could get through without being bashed from pillar to post. He slipped into the first floor bathroom and by the time he emerged the place was empty. Well, almost empty.

“Good evening, James.”

James froze; he always did in the presence of Seren Octavian, the Headmaster, though he never knew why.

“Evening, sir,” James replied.

“I was just passing and I thought what a pleasant night it was for a stroll to Gryffindor Tower,” said the Headmaster. “Care to escort me?”

“Certainly, sir,” said James cautiously. They walked upstairs in silence, Professor Octavian looking contented as if this were a regular activity for him.

“I understand that you performed an act of heroism on the Hogwarts Express,” said the Headmaster presently.

“How do you-”

“Allow an old man his secrets, Master Potter,” said Professor Octavian with a smile. “It was a noble act, befitting of the son of a most illustrious man.”

“Yes, sir,” said James.

“I never had the pleasure of knowing your father,” Professor Octavian went on. “But his deeds speak of him as the best of men. I'm sure he would approve of your actions in this case.”

“I suppose so,” said James. He wasn't sure where this was going.

“You are perhaps wondering why we are having this conversation. I overheard several remarks regarding what happened, none of them praising you. To stand up to your peers, your fellow classmates, even to your friends, takes great courage. As does doing what is right; it isn't always easy to do the right thing, but then it isn't always right to do the easy thing. You showed your worth by taking the hardest path but still doing what was right. Helping a supposed enemy against your friends, simply because it was right to do so, is an enormous selfless act. You are to be commended.”

“Thank you, sir,” said James. He felt buoyed by the support of the Headmaster, who had something powerful about his air. They stopped and James noticed they were at the portrait hole. “Oh no, I didn't learn the password.”

“I believe it is Witherwings, this term,” said Professor Octavian. “Though I could be wrong.”

“Witherwings,” said James to the portrait of the Fat Lady. The picture swung back to reveal the circular entrance to the Common Room.

“I shall say goodnight then, Mr Potter,” said the Headmaster.

“And to you, sir,” said James, before turning and clambering in.

The room was largely empty with only a handful of students still mulling around. Richard was one of them.

“Where did you get to?” he asked. “You disappeared in the crowd.”

“Went for a pee,” said James.

“Too much information,” said Richard. “Stop there.”

“Then I met up with Professor Octavian and he walked me up to the portrait hole,” James added.

“You went for a slash then met the Headmaster who walked you up here?” said Richard. “I think I had too much sugar at dinner. I'm turning in before you tell me you saw fluorescent penguins marching towards the dungeons.”

“I'll be up shortly,” said James. “Just have to herd in some penguins I saw, too.”

Richard guffawed and disappeared upstairs and James took the old, battered seat by the fire. He waited while a couple of second years exchanged some chocolate frog cards; waited while one sixth year girl dried her newly polished nails in the fire; waited while one first year Muggle-born read out his collection of dreadful Cracker jokes; waited, in fact, until all the other students had made their way to bed and he was left alone by the fire.

Exactly why he was waiting he didn't know. By meeting up back at school, Celesca surely hadn't meant at midnight when there was no-one else around. Come to think of it, she hadn't even said when or where. She could have meant tomorrow for all James knew, which, now he thought of it, made more sense. But he wasn't that tired, so instead of heading upstairs he curled up on the chair and watched the fire as it slowly began to dwindle.

When he thought he'd stayed up long enough, James rose to leave. As he did so he heard muffled footsteps on the stairs. His heart began to beat hard and he counted the stairs as the footsteps drew nearer. Finally they were right outside the staircase entrance; one more step and whoever it was would emerge. James watched as they did so.

“I was hoping you might still be up.”

It was Celesca, in a mint-green dressing gown and slippers. James thought she looked adorable.

“I was just about to turn in,” he said, his mouth oddly dry.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I don't want to keep you up,” said Celesca, her voice sounding fine but her eyes betraying her disappointment.

“I didn't say I was going to turn in, just that I was about to,” said James. “I'm glad I caught you. I wanted to talk to you.”

“You did?” said Celesca. She sounded nervous.

“Yeah,” said James. “I wanted to say thank you for the Christmas present. You really shouldn't have.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” said Celesca brightly. “Did you like it?”

“Like it? I love it! It's amazing. It's probably the best present I've ever had.”

Celesca beamed and blushed at once. “Well, I'm glad.”

“I just feel awful that I didn't get you anything,” said James. “I'm too dense to have thought to.”

“Oh, that doesn't matter,” said Celesca. “It was a surprise; I just had to get it.”

“I promise I'll make it up to you,” said James.

“There's no need for that,” said Celesca, shyly.

“Who said anything about need?” said James. “I want to.”

“Oh…”

They looked at each other for a few moments, James feeling that urge to hug her stronger than ever.

“Did you, um, manage your homework?” said Celesca, awkwardly.

“Yeah, I even re-wrote some, can you believe that?” said James. They both chuckled. “Did you, er, get my card?”

“Ooh, yes, it was lovely to hear from you,” said Celesca quickly. She blushed so scarlet she might have been glowing. “I mean, for my aunt, you know, knowing your mum and dad and stuff.”

“Oh, right, yeah,” said James. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“What do you mean?” Celesca said, fear in her voice.

“Those Long-toothed whatsits?” said James.

“Oh right!” said Celesca, her shoulders dropping in relief. “No. I don't think they're real to be honest.”

They stood awkwardly silent again. James cursed himself in his mind; it just wasn't like him to be stuck for something to say.

“I think I'm going to go up,” he said, giving in to his own frustrations. “It is late, classes early, and everything.”

“Yeah, you're right,” said Celesca. She looked as disappointed in herself as James felt frustrated. “Goodnight, James.”

She turned and moved quietly upstairs. James took the boys staircase and slipped into the dormitory. Everyone else was asleep; Richard's rhythmic snoring from the next bed masking any noise James was making getting undressed. He lay awake for some time reflecting on his conversation with Celesca. He hadn't known how to act with her or what to say, but instead of keeping it simple he thought he might have made things worse. The last thing he wanted was to be in an awkward situation when it came to her, but then she hadn't exactly made things easy. There was only one thing to be done - face it like a man and damn the consequences. Ordinarily he'd try to think what Dad would do and follow that lead; however, Dad and his relationship conduct was hardly a good model just now. James knew one thing for certain on that score; whatever happened, however bad things could be, he would never choose to be alienated from Celesca. Some things were just too horrid to contemplate.

-->

7. 7

Author Note: I would just like to take a few moments to say thank you to everyone who's read, and hopefully, enjoyed my story so far. 13'000 hits for six chapters for an author not renowned on Portkey is humbling and I want to say thanks. Special thanks also to everyone who's taken the time to offer a review, I really appreciate the feedback. It's good to know my bizarre idea has taken off so well. Now that I've jinxed it by saying that, here's the next instalment….thanks

Chapter Seven

The first day back at Hogwarts after a holiday was always a sluggish affair with new timetables to acclimatise to, more work as exams drew nearer and the general settling in to a regime different to that which had existed at home. For James, however, it became quickly apparent that the problems he would have to face this term would be of a very different nature and something he had little or no experience of before.

He had always accepted the depth of loathing which existed in relation to families like the Malfoy's, and any other associated with the `Dark side' in the Second War. He had considered it as just another vague natural phenomenon, like the changing of the seasons or the bizarre way that girls tended to go to the bathroom in groups. Now, however, James realised for the first time just how intense that dislike was. It was a pure, no frills, hatred and James, for the crime of defending Scorpius Malfoy, was feeling it speared in his direction as though it were he who had committed the atrocities those families were so reviled for.

In the Common Room, the first signs that James's star was beginning to wane began to show. Two of the bullies from the train were sat with a larger group of friends and each of them shot James the dirtiest of looks as he passed. He even swore he heard the word `traitor' muttered under someone's breath, though he couldn't identify a culprit to punish. Down in the Great Hall things weren't any better; faces turned in his direction, whispers breaking out near the door then passing like bush fires from table to table, turning the looks on the students' faces to overwhelming scorn. James swept past them and slid down beside Richard at the Gryffindor table.

“How's your back?” asked Richard.

“Fine, why?” asked James, puzzled.

“We were just wondering if you had any knives in it,” said Michael Charteris, one of their dorm mates, who was sat opposite. “You might just have blown your chances of being prom king.”

“What's a prom king?” asked James.

“You should learn some Muggle things,” said Michael. “It'd save me so much time trying to explain these jokes to you.”

“Just stick to magic things then,” said James. “We can all laugh then.”

“You should hear some of things people have been saying about you,” said Richard. “I never thought they'd all react as badly as this. It's mental.”

James heard some whispering behind him; he couldn't make out what was being said but, judging but the acid tones, he thought he preferred it that way.

“Something on your mind?” said Michael, looking angrily at the whisperers. “This is nuts. I wouldn't have done what you did, James; I agree with it, it's all very noble and that, but the grief you're going to get is astronomical. You're a bigger man than me.”

“Yeah, well I knew that anyway,” said James. “I've seen you in the showers.”

“Keep it clean, lads,” said Richard. “I'm trying to keep my cornflakes down over here.”

A great whoosing sound suddenly filled the hall as about a hundred owls swooped in delivering the morning post. James took the distraction as a chance to look up; he glanced along the table and spotted Celesca half the length of the table away. She was unfurling a copy of the Daily Prophet that had just been dropped into her plate of scrambled eggs. She didn't look up and James felt his heart sinking.

“Don't worry, mate,” said Richard so only James could here. “I'm sure she won't be one of the ones ignoring you.”

“No?”

“Not a chance,” said Richard. “She threatened to hex one kid in the Common Room earlier who called you a Pureblood-loving…well, you can imagine.”

“She did?” said James, whose heart suddenly felt like it had drunk a can of Crimson Boar, and now had wings. “Wonder why she looks so mad, then.”

“Probably because of what everyone's saying,” said Richard. “She's not the most expressive sort, but I reckon she's pretty sweet on you.”

After that all the criticisms seemed to just bounce off. James finished breakfast and made his way to the first lesson of the day, Potions, blissfully unaware of the snide comments and dirty looks being thrown his way. Richard was saying something about homework but James had mind only for the space several metres behind where Celesca and her friends were winding the same path down to the dungeons.

Professor Zabini had already chalked up instructions for the day's lesson on the blackboard and lit the fires under all the cauldrons around the room when the class filed in. James and Richard sat near the back and the former nearly whooped with delight at seeing Celesca and her friend, Cassie Case, slide into the desk directly behind. As was the protocol for the class, everyone soon had quills and parchment out scribbling down the lines from the blackboard. James only just managed to jot the last few instructions down when the Professor strode into the room and shut the door.

“You have had plenty to time to copy down what I've set you for today,” he said, taking his wand and wiping the blackboard clean. “This is a highly simple Pimple Perishing Solution, something I can see several of you in here are in great need of. This is a pairs exercise; one of you will produce the potion to create facial blemishes, the other the solution to remove them. I will have a test pair at the end of the class; let's see…Potter and his partner. I think the rest of you will approve of his being used as a guinea pig, if the rumours around the school are anything to go by. Begin.”

James shrugged and looked bracingly at Richard.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don't you dare be sorry,” said Richard loudly, so that several students nearby turned around. “What you did was right; if these others can't see it they're a bunch of fu-”.

“You will check your foul language at the door, Mr Rees,” said Professor Zabini, who'd swept silently up to their table. “Potter has inherited the desire to make a show of himself wherever he goes. It doesn't matter if he's loved or loathed, just as long as he isn't anonymous. And if you fail to produce an adequate Perishing Solution he will go around with his pimples as a punishment on your behalf. I suggest you get to work.”

He moved away. James felt an awful lump in his throat and the longing to just disappear. Richard had never been the best potion brewer and the chances of him getting this one right were remote. Just when James was feeling despair settle on him he picked up on a whispering behind him.

“Why has Professor Zabini got to be so horrid to him all the time?” Celesca was saying quietly. “It isn't fair.”

“Aww, sticking up for your lover, how cute,” Cassie replied.

“He isn't my lover,” said Celesca.

“No, you're just madly in love with him,” said Cassie.

“Sshh, he'll hear you!”

“So what? I'm sure he knows already. Everyone else does. I should tell him because you don't seem to have the guts to do it yourself.”

“Don't you say a word,” said Celesca.

“Are you sure? I could do it now.”

“Cassiopeia, don't you dare,” said Celesca.

“Don't call me Cassiopeia,” hissed Cassie. “I hate being called that. And you know it.”

“Then keep your voice down,” said Celesca. “Or better still, your mouth shut. I'll throw this Perfect Pimple Draught down your throat otherwise.”

“Okay, little Miss Touchy,” said Cassie. “I was just trying to do you a favour.”

James looked over at Richard who grinned back and made several lewd gestures with his face and hands. James kicked him under the table. Unable to resist, James turned around anyway. Celesca blushed madly as they looked at each other.

“Can I borrow your pestle?” he asked her innocently. “I need to, um, grind something down.”

“Sure,” said Celesca, smiling sweetly.

“Thanks,” said James. He took the pestle. “I won't be long with it.”

“Take you time,” said Celesca. They looked at each other intently for several moments and James was transported back to the dinner table at Sparrow's Nook where two other people, who he realised greatly resembled Celesca and himself, had shared a similar gaze. He turned around and smiled inwardly as he went back to work. Over his shoulder, the two girls were whispering again.

“Take your time?” Cassie was saying. “That's the best you could come up with?”

“Oh, go boil your head,” said Celesca.

When Professor Zabini announced later that they were to stop what they were doing, James grimly faced up to his fate.

“Right,” he said. “Mine's supposed to be white. It's grey, but that's close enough. It should do. What about yours?”

“Well…” said Richard shakily. “I think it's okay.”

“What should it be like?”

“Light blue and like ink,” said Richard, reading his parchment.

“And what it is?”

“Er, Blood orange and lumpy.”

“Ah…” said James. “Close then.”

They both smirked. “Sorry, I don't know what I did wrong.”

“Don't worry,” said James. “Just remember to stick up for me when I get laughed at in the corridors.”

James didn't want to envisage that situation, even though he could see it on the horizon in the very near future.

“Potter, Rees - up here, please.”

James rose slowly and walked up to the front desk with his sample of solution. He handed it to the Professor.

“Surprisingly close,” said Professor Zabini, examining the potion. “I suppose you only added the stems and not the seeds of the Ephorus plant?”

James sighed at his mistake. “Yes, sir. I forgot.”

Professor Zabini was hard on his students, but he was big enough to acknowledge when they had performed well or at least to his standards.

“A decent effort, Potter,” he said. “An E grade. This was the more difficult of the two potions to brew, a prime example of why I find you so infuriatingly frustrating. Pay more attention next time.”

“Yes, sir,” said James.

“And what do we have here,” said Professor Zabini, spooning a glob of Richard's potion into the air. Where it had cooled it had congealed to an even thicker consistency. James felt his stomach turn at the thought of those horrible textures in his mouth. “It is a shame the grades only go to T, Mr Rees. I can't begin to imagine what you did with this. Appalling effort. Still, we have a demonstration to carry out.”

Professor Zabini approached James and poured his potion into a shallow dish. With a rough shaving brush he proceeded to smear the greyish substance all over James's face. He didn't need a mirror to gauge the results; if the little pin-prick jolts all over his skin weren't enough to go by the unsubtle chortling from the rest of the class would have done the trick.

“Proof of your grade, Potter,” said Professor Zabini. “Spot size is fine but they have no septic heads. Ephorus seeds contain toxins which irritate the skin; they would have added this missing part of these spots. Now, for the…well, solution.”

Several people laughed as Professor Zabini held up the orange goo. A few people nearby muttered that James was never going to drink it. He turned and glared at them, as though amazed they dared to challenge him. They reeled back from the ferocity of his gaze.

“I think we all know this is going to be unsuccessful,” said Professor Zabini. “I may be charitable and forego the pain of seeing you drink this.”

“No, sir,” said James defiantly. “A demonstration you said. This potion has been made and at least deserves a chance to work.”

Professor Zabini looked oddly at James, an expression that might have contained a trace of respect but it was something so alien to that face that he wouldn't have recognised it even if it smacked him in the mouth.

“Very well, but it is your choice. I advise you against it.”

“Give me the spoon,” said James. He scooped up the substance, sickened at how heavy it felt on the spoon. He could sense the class on the edge of their seats, wondering if he was really going to do it. “Bottoms up.”

James plunged the spoon into his mouth to the collective gasps of the students watching. He heaved at the first taste, which was easily the worst thing that had ever assaulted his mouth, which was saying something after fifteen years of Mum's concoctions. He swallowed hard, taking several lumps of it down his throat, which burned fiercely as the stuff passed. James continued to try and keep the thing down at the same time as trying not to vomit. Even Professor Zabini looked slightly green at James's struggles. Eventually, after several excruciating minutes, the whole mouthful was gone. Not surprisingly, however, the pimples remained.

“I think that's enough,” said Professor Zabini. “Each of you are to label your potions and leave them on my desk as you leave.”

The bell sounded and James, now back at his table, began to pack away. People passed, looking at him as if he were half-mental or otherwise looking impressed at his display. Either way it beat being looked at like the world's biggest turncoat. James didn't dare look towards Celesca; he knew she had seen him in all his pimply glory but he didn't think he could stand to look her in the face right now. Oddly enough, though, when she scooped her potion into the vials for marking he was sure he saw her hand slip something into her pocket. He made his escape while the rest of the students were handing in their work.

“I can't go around looking like this,” James whispered to Richard. “I'm going to skip Herbology and hide. I'll try and make it up to the Hospital Wing when everyone's at lunch. Make an excuse for me to Longbottom.”

“Will do,” said Richard.

James darted between the desks and into the corridor. At least down here in the dungeons it was dark and people didn't notice James's new facial additions and he sped past. He reached the top step of the spiral staircase and looked out into the Entrance Hall; luckily there didn't seem to be many students about. James made a run for it; those students who did see him were either too surprised by his sudden appearance to notice anything or else didn't have a chance to get a good look as he flew past. He scampered up the stairs, stopping only when the portrait of the Fat Lady was in front of him.

“Witherwings,” he panted.

“What has happened to your face?” the portrait asked.

“Just be quiet and let me in,” said James.

“Very well,” said the portrait, swinging open. It muttered something about moody teenagers and James scrambled inside and rushed to the dormitory staircase and up into the safety of his room.

In the chill of the dormitory James paced up and down wondering what to do. First of all he had to face the situation; he pulled open the door of his wardrobe and looked in the full length mirror. It wasn't a pretty sight.

“What are you doing to yourself?” the mirror asked. “Spattergoit?”

“No, bad potion…well, good potion actually,” said James glumly. “Bad antidote.”

He closed the door and sat on his bed feeling very sorry for himself. It had been a rotten start to the new term, what with everyone hating him, for doing what he thought was a good deed, and now looking like a St Mungo's escapee. Things surely couldn't get any worse. Just then, there was a small knock on the door. Whoever it was didn't wait for an invitation and came straight in. James, thinking that it must be bad news with the way his luck was going, dived under his covers to hide himself.

“I know you're under there, James. Will you please come out?”

“Celesca?” said James. He lowered the quilt so that his eyes poked out over the top. “What are you doing up here? And how come you can get into the boys dorms?”

“Not sure,” said Celesca. “The stairs must think girls are more trustworthy.”

There was something sultry in her words that suggested she didn't quite agree with the magical staircases' view of things. James shuddered under the heavy quilt.

“Will you stop hiding, please?” said Celesca.

“No, I don't want yo…I don't want to be seen like this,” said James.

“But I've already seen it,” said Celesca gently. “I was there, in class, remember?”

“Doesn't matter,” said James. “I'm staying here.”

“Then you won't be able to drink this,” she said. She took out a little vial from the pocket on her robes, inside which was a bright, silvery-blue liquid.

“What is that?” James asked.

“It's a sample of my Perishing Solution,” she said, offering it to him. “It'll work on those spots of yours, I promise.”

James, who would never doubt Celesca's potion-making talents, lowered the quilt slowly and took the vial from her. He drank it in one; it tasted of cinnamon and vanilla. Almost immediately, James could feel the heat from the angry spots die away and in a few minutes they were all gone. He smoothed his face several times and checked in the mirror, just to make sure.

“There, all better,” said Celesca.

“Celesca Shaw I think I love you,” said James without thinking as he admired his reflection. He closed the wardrobe door quickly in case Celesca saw the change in expression on his face.

“That's nice to know,” said Celesca.

James turned and saw her face was crimson, matching the colour of the curtains behind.

“Look, Cel, about last night -”

“You don't have to say anything,” said Celesca quickly. “It was my fault.”

“What did you do? I made you feel awkward. It was all me. I'm sorry.”

“Maybe we both took it in turns to be at fault,” said Celesca grinning. “Though I don't know why it happened. We're friends, right? Why should we be awkward?”

She was obviously fishing for James to take the lead; he'd seen it before with other girls and had swallowed the bait, but this time he didn't know how to. He was completely lost.

“Friends, yeah, don't know why we'd be awkward,” he said disjointedly. He could have cursed himself at the look of resigned disappointment on Celesca's face at his words. He knew what he really wanted to say but just couldn't get the words out.

“Shall we get down to Herbology?” she asked, her voice unnaturally croaky. “We might not have missed much.”

“Class, yeah, good idea,” said James. He jumped up and followed Celesca out of the dorm and down to the Common Room. Several astonished faces turned their way, then snapped back to gossip about what they might have been doing. Someone even wolf-whistled at them. James didn't think he could feel any worse.

Celesca led the way down the stairs towards the ground floor. The silence between them was as thick as Richard's potion and James knew that if he didn't speak now he may never get another chance, the damage might have been too great.

“Celesca, wait,” he spat out. It wasn't the best way to start but at least it had begun.

“Yes?” she asked, her eyes full of expectancy.

“I can't just go to class and leave things like this,” said James.

“Like what?”

“Like this,” said James desperately, gesturing at thin air with his hands. “All strained and weird, you know…between us.”

“But we're friends, we shouldn't have any -”

“No, we're not friends,” said James. “Not really, are we?”

“I think of you as my friend,” said Celesca, looking slightly affronted.

“Is that all?” said James, suddenly fearing he'd misread Celesca's feelings. “Because…that isn't enough for me. Whatever we are it isn't friends…it's more than that. To me, anyway.”

“I-it is?” said Celesca. “But I thought…after what you said…”

“I just don't know what to say,” said James. “Not to you.”

She smiled that beautiful smile at him and he felt it run through his body.

“I'm the one who doesn't know what to say, or what to do,” said Celesca shyly. “I don't have much experience with, you know, boys and things.”

“That makes two of us,” said James, smirking.

“I'm being serious,” said Celesca poking him. “This is all new to me. I don't know what to think, what's going on, I can't read signals. I'm lost and confused. You're supposed to know about this stuff.”

“Well, I know I've had a girlfriend or two,” said James.

“That's being economical,” said Celesca.

“You're making me sound like the Whore of Hogwarts,” said James in mock indignity.

“You have done the rounds, to be fair,” said Celesca.

“True, true,” James agreed.

“I just don't know what I'm supposed to do or say or anything,” said Celesca helplessly. “It's uncharted territory and books are no help. None of this is familiar to me.”

James stepped closer to her, his heart pounding beneath his ribs. When he spoke he kept his voice rather low. “I know I've had a few girls on my arm in my time but it was never like this. Like it is right now. This is new for me, too. I'm as confused as you are. I'm scared out of my wits half the time and so excited I could burst the rest. This is the first time it's been like this.”

“Like what?” said Celesca breathlessly. But James didn't get time to answer.

“Ooh, wee Potty the Second, skipping class and cavorting in the corridors. I should tell, I should.”

“Peeves!” hissed James. “Get lost.”

“Potty Potter,

Not a lotta,

Brains or sense,

He's really dense,

He smells so bad,

You must be mad,

Miss whatever your name is…what rhymes with that?”

“Peeves,” yelled James, turning red as the manic ghost began with a second verse. “Shut it!”

“Come on, James,” cried Celesca. She grabbed his arm and pulled him through the main door and they ran down to Herbology before Peeves could round up a chorus for an encore.

“I'm really sorry,” said James. “That'll be the school anthem before dinner. I'm dragging you into a world where everyone hates me.”

“Sod them, I don't hate you,” said Celesca, catching her breath. “I quite fancy you, actually.”

Then she did something she'd never done before and kissed him quickly on the cheek. Blushing furiously, she straightened her robes and entered the greenhouse. It took James several minutes to compose himself before he felt mastered of his emotions enough to follow her.

Upon entering the greenhouse James moved quickly across the space towards Richard and Michael, who were busy pruning poisonous spikes from the leaves of a Devil's Snare. Heads turned towards James, no doubt wanting to catch a glimpse of his acne-ridden face. So many eyebrows shot into the air when they saw his face was normal that it looked like the whole class had just been blasted by a strong wind.

“I didn't expect to see you today, James,” said Professor Longbottom, coming over. “The whole class has been talking about your Potions lesson. I expected you to be popping zits from now until your O.W.L's. What happened?”

“I went up to the hospital wing,” James concocted. “Miss Evesham had some potion that got rid of the spots right away. I know I'm late but I thought I'd come down anyway, make what I can of what's left.”

“That's a good attitude,” said Professor Longbottom approvingly. “Have you managed to finish your homework yet?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” said James. “It's in my bag. Hang on.”

“You can just hand it in as you leave,” said Professor Longbottom. “On a personal note, did you have a good Christmas? How are the family, all well?”

“It was fine, sir, thank you,” said James politely. “Mum and Dad said to say hello.”

“You went to Ron and Hermione's didn't you?” Professor Longbottom continued. “How were they?”

For a moment James thought to ask the Professor if he had any idea what secret pact Dad and Aunt Hermione might have made; he was in school with them, after all, and fought in the Second War so might have an inkling. He thought better of it, though, when he realised that it was a secret pact that only the two involved knew of. It seemed the best course of action not to arouse suspicion. He noted it as a possibility for the future.

“They were okay, busy with the kids and whatever,” said James.

“We were going to stop by at some time,” said Professor Longbottom, “but my daughter has this hyperactive Pygmy Puff that barely stays still for five minutes. It might have tried jumping out the car window if we took it anywhere. I'd still be searching the hedgerows of Kent if we'd come. I'll have to write to your Mum and explain.”

James smirking at the image of Professor Longbottom crawling around on all fours in the mud at the side of the motorway searching for the ambitious magical pet. He could only manage a, “Yes, Sir,” by way of reply.

“You could call me Neville, you know,” said Professor Longbottom.

“Not at school, during term time,” said James. “It wouldn't be right.”

“Well don't say I didn't offer. I also heard about your exploits on the train. My daughter said she saw you sat with Scorpius Malfoy, but when I heard what you had done…I was surprised, pleasantly so, but surprised all the same. It was a big and brave thing; your father would be proud of you.”

“Thanks,” said James. He almost told Professor Longbottom of the horrible attitude and words his daughter had used in relation to poor Scorpius but, this too, he thought better of.

The class continued. James felt the heat of the spotlight as faces kept turning his way, though he couldn't tell if their meanings were good or bad. He wasn't even sure of the reasons they were looking at him; was it still the scorn of helping a Malfoy, or had that been tempered by those who heard Professor Longbottom's support of it? He was a popular teacher, after all. Perhaps they were wondering where his spots had gone, disappointed that he didn't look like such a sideshow freak or impressed at the way he'd forced down Richard's potion or managed to rid himself of the blemishes anyway. Or, which induced in James the greatest anxiety, were people talking about what has happened with Celesca? Did they somehow know or had they seen? Was she going to have to suffer teasing on his behalf? It was too much to think on at once.

Lunch followed Herbology and James and Richard had the luxury of a free period after that. They were supposed to use this time for extra study and homework but generally spent it engaged in fierce struggles over a wizard's chess board or else lounging about in the chairs. James, who's mind could think of nothing else but the spot on his cheek, which was still tingling over an hour after Celesca's kiss, was dying to say something. Has fortune would have it, Richard's line of conversation gave him the perfect excuse.

“How did you manage to get rid of those spots so quickly?” he asked. “Remember when I had that acne breakout a few years back? It took ages for the Matron to find the right cure, but you were back down in twenty minutes.”

James looked around the Common Room just to check it was still empty. “Well, to tell you the truth, Celesca came and found me. She'd pocketed some of the stuff she'd made in class. Cleared me up right away.”

“Oh, so that's why she was late as well,” said Richard. “But wait a minute - that potion was supposed to work in seconds; what exactly were you doing the rest of the time?”

“We, er, had a little chat,” said James.

“About what?” asked Richard, his attention aroused.

“This and that,” said James coyly. “Mostly about how we like each other. She told me she fancied me and we, sort of, kissed.”

“You kissed her?” said Richard, now sat bolt upright. “On the lips?”

“No, well, she sort of kissed me,” said James, his cheeks aflame.

“On the lips?” Richard repeated.

“No, on the cheek,” said James. “What is it with you and the lips?”

“Oh, you can just tell more if its on the lips.”

“You don't half talk some rubbish sometimes,” said James.

“Maybe, but are you telling me you got together?” said Richard. “It's about bloody time. Nice one!”

“We aren't together,” said James. “Hang on - what are you on about?”

“Come off it, JSP!” Richard exclaimed. “You've been dancing around each other for years. Anyone who's ever half flirted, who's ever heard of flirting knows that. Ever since the day you met, you remember that?”

“On the Hogwarts Express,” said James distantly. “First year. I trod on her foot in the corridor. She said I was a toad.”

“Okay, so not the most romantic start but it got better,” said Richard. “I bet you hardly anyone will be surprised when they hear you're going out.”

“But we're not going out,” said James.

“Give it time,” said Richard. “Some things are meant to be. Or at least they'd better be; I made an accumulator bet with Mickey Charteris that you and Celly would get together. Got higher with each year. Started at ten, but it's up to forty galleons now. I'm expecting a pay day soon buddy.”

James felt in shock. His best friend had seen, for years apparently, that there was something between Celesca and himself, and James had been too dense to notice it. He wondered what it was he'd been doing with his thoughts, unable to think back to a time when Celesca wasn't the first and most important thought on his mind.

“Why didn't you say anything?” asked James.

“About what?”

“About what you thought about Celesca and me,” said James.

“I couldn't,” said Richard. “I wouldn't be right. Besides, I didn't think it fair on the poor girl to push a dumb oaf like you towards her before you realised what was there yourself.”

“Quite a romantic at heart, aren't you?”

“Yeah, just don't spread it around,” said Richard. “I have a rep to keep up. We can't all risk public derision and still come out of it a winner.”

James sunk back into his chair feeling a sort of contented chill sweep over him. Richard, as a good male friend is want to do, soon put an end to this.

“So, what are you doing to do now?”

James tensed up. “What do you mean?”

“Well you can't just leave it,” said Richard. “A peck on the cheek is the start; to be honest, I'm amazed it was Celesca who made the first move. That's not normally your style, Mr Stud Muffin. But the ball's in your court, now, so what's your next move?”

Next move? With Celesca? James hardly knew. He hadn't been lying when he had told her this was as totally a new experience for him as it was for her. All his previous dalliances with girls counted for nothing; this was new ground and the risks were that much higher. If something had happened before, and the girl in question had told James to get stuffed, it wouldn't have mattered - there would have been another one waiting in the wings. But something had changed in him and this approach was totally inappropriate, he now realised. It wouldn't work with Celesca; if he did something to lose her there would be no girl anywhere who could even come close to being an adequate replacement.

James had little time to panic too much about what to do as the bell rung to signal the end of their leisure time.

“What have we got next?” he asked, trying to take his mind off his new worries.

“Damn it, History of Magic,” said Richard, unfolding his timetable. “Boring Binns and his soporific voice.”

“Soporific?” said James. “That's a long word.”

“So is mile,” said Richard. James looked puzzled. “I knew you wouldn't get it, you thick Norman. Come on, let's get this over with.”

They grabbed their bags and made their way to the History of Magic classroom. Oddly, the corridor outside was buzzing with anticipation; James had the fleeting fear that it was all to do with him and that some new element was going to make him the centre of attention yet again. He needn't have worried.

“What's going on?” Richard asked Cassie Case, who was standing nearby.

“We've got a special class,” explained Cassie. “Guest speaker. I can't wait. I love her.”

“Who is it?” asked James.

“You'll see, it's a great surprise.”

“Hi, James,” said Celesca shyly, poking her head around from behind Cassie.

James felt his heart swell and pump hard as he looked at Celesca; he couldn't be sure, and it didn't make much sense, but he would have sworn she got prettier every time he saw her. He could barely hold eye contact with her she had become so dazzling.

“H-hiya, Celesca,” James stumbled. Cassie looked imploringly at him, then at Celesca, who was shining scarlet with embarrassment, too. Her eyes widened as her feminine intuition clicked in and she smiled warmly at James.

Just then the classroom door opened and the students were called inside. James was all of a flutter and felt he had to conquer whatever it was that was dominating him so before it turned him into a jibbering jelly. The class took their seats (James trying not to think about looking to his right, where Celesca had rushed Cassie into an empty, adjacent table) and Professor Binns spoke in his droning monotone.

“I have been informed that my usual class is today to be replaced by a special guest lecture. This is part of a promotional book tour by the writer of the best-selling book, Hogwarts - The REAL History. Whether this is as accurate as my notes,” he pointed to a large stack of papers on his desk, “will remain to be seen. Please welcome the guest speak, Miss…sorry, I forgot your name.”

A grey haired woman with large spectacles breezed into the room. Despite her age she was heavily made up and adorned with an array of bangles, rings and pendants. Her lilac-coloured robes billowed behind her as she glided to the front desk, smiled a wide, false-toothed smile and brandished a copy of the book Professor Binns had mentioned.

“Don't fret about my name, Professor,” she swooned. “My reputation speaks for itself, what with twenty-five years of hard hitting journalism and countless awards behind me. But for those of you who don't know, and just to reassure those of you that do, I shall introduce myself. I am, of course, the one and only, Rita Skeeter.”

-->

8. 8

Chapter Eight

As one of the longest-working and most successful writers of her generation, Rita Skeeter was amongst the most well known and most recognisable people in the Wizarding World. Even though she was fast approaching sixty, she retained a certain energy and vivacity that belied her advancing years. This image of her standing at the front of the class, however, was in stark contrast to James's expectations. For a best-selling author, political commentator, hard hitting journalist and Witch Weekly's favourite Agony Aunt, James would have thought Rita would be elegant, intellectual and respectful. This flaky, over made-up diva searching for her lost youth was certainly none of those things.

She swanned around Professor Binns' table, milking in the appreciative gasps coming mostly from the girls in the class. James imagined that each and every one of them had probably followed Rita's fashion tips, or bought her recommended perfume, or followed her advice on relationships. It was a startling thought as he wondered whether Celesca had sought such guidance, regarding their situation, from the figure standing before them.

Quite what she had to do with a History of Magic class was an equally as perplexing thought. James swapped confused looks with Richard as they both watched Rita nattering with some star struck girls in the front row. It was a full minute before she finally returned to a position where she could see and address everyone.

“Settle down, children, settled down,” she said, which James thought was an odd thing to say to an already still classroom. “I realise what a great excitement this must be for all of you, having a celebrity in your midst. I just want to assure you I am not an unapproachable monster, just a normal, honest witch.”

James and Richard threw each other disbelieving glances.

“Ah, I look around your fresh, young faces,” Rita continued fondly. “So bright eyed and innocent. So unaware of all that awaits you, or of all that surrounds you now.”

Barely audible, paranoid muttering broke out among the class and James watched it all with a comical sense of incredulity. Rita's words and expressions were so over dramatic that he couldn't fathom how anyone was taking her seriously. Richard gave a mock yawn and pretended to try and sleep.

“If my years of experience have taught me anything it is never to blindly accept the obvious,” said Rita, still ludicrously theatrical in her delivery. “I have dug, I have delved, I have unearthed some of the most shocking truths and penned some of the most sensational stories - for full details see my published works, a catalogue of which can be collected at the end. But for now, suffice to say, if you scratch at the surface who knows what you might discover.”

As her last words rolled out Rita's eyes fell right upon James and the look she gave him was one of utmost elation, as though her birthday had come early. James couldn't help but feel uneasy; her words, largely ignorable, had hit home in her last sentences. Whether it was by pure coincidence, or whether she'd intended to look at him (however unlikely he thought this to be), James had a horrible feeling that it was aimed at him.

“Can it be?” Rita Skeeter exclaimed, her wide eyes still fixed on James. “My, my I think it must be. How can it not - if only you had a horrid scar on your head you could be the boy himself, sitting before me as if it were twenty years ago.”

James went from being mildly interested to totally alert in a flash. The way this batty old woman was talking, she recognised his father just by looking into James's own face, as if she'd known it personally. This wasn't a new thing; but for a woman who had suggested so much by a simple look, this apparent confirmation was greatly surprising.

“You are the son of Harry Potter?” asked Rita, looking earnestly at James.

“Yes, I am,” James answered.

“Wonderful!” said Rita, beaming. “I'm sure you have a host of questions for me about your father; I imagine you've read the stories I wrote about him many times. He was a fascinating subject - so many levels, so many angles. He was a dream for a journalist. I'll put aside some extra time for you when you come up for an autograph later.”

James felt more bemused than ever. This woman did know about his dad, something juicy and gossipy, no doubt. The content of her works James couldn't guess at; he'd always thought of her as the Agony Aunt incarnation, as her regular Witch Weekly column was her only contribution to the Wizarding media these days. He hadn't a clue that she'd ever written anything about Dad. What bothered James was that she seemed to think he'd want to know what she'd written; was there something in there to stir trouble or cause doubt? She seemed the kind of person to revel in such chaos.

In such a troubled state of mind James found he couldn't concentrate on much of what Rita was lecturing about. He picked up some references to things at Hogwarts being secretive and hidden, which James knew anyway and counted as one of the things he loved most about the old school. He heard Albus Dumbledore's name mentioned several times and linked to various deceptions, but Dad revered Dumbledore more than any other wizard and James's opinion of his father's old mentor was set in stone. It was when Dad, himself, was mentioned that James's attention peaked again.

“Of course, Dumbledore is just one of many famous names connected with Hogwarts,” Rita was saying. “Equal to, or perhaps even greater than him, is Harry Potter, though I doubt I need to give much of his history, especially with his son around. His exploits here, which involve theft of a magical object leading to the death of its owner at just eleven years old; breaking into and then damaging a valuable underground network, causing considerable disruption to the school's plumbing system and incurring a high repair cost footed by the Governors; aiding the escape of a known murderer, freeing a condemned dangerous, beast and even defying the Ministry of Magic, including two, yes TWO, successive Ministers themselves, on numerous occasions. But this tells only a fraction of Potter's tale. There was a darker side, an unseen side which only first-hand testimony can reveal. But, I don't want to give too much away! I'll never sell one copy like that!”

James was given plenty to think about and he tried to order it all in his mind as Rita rambled on. He wondered if there could be any truth in her words; Dad rarely spoke of the Second War or anything before it, so for all he knew there could be some truth in what Rita had claimed. Aside from Quidditch stories, Dad had just as few things to say about his time at Hogwarts as he did the War. Now that it occurred to him, James realised that he was almost completely ignorant of Dad's past after the day he married Mum. This new knowledge, combined with his already concerned state regarding Dad and Aunt Hermione, made James more than a little eager to hear what Rita Skeeter had to say.

So it came as something of a minor shock to Richard when James announced he was going to hang around after the class to get an autograph. Richard gave him the most peculiar, and worried, look that James could remember and he had to take it; he'd not imparted his fears about Dad, Aunt Hermione, their relationship or any of it on Richard and this didn't seem the best time to bring it up. He had to say he was getting the autograph on behalf of Lily and hope it was a believable enough excuse.

James dutifully, and with a startling level of humiliation, stepped into the queue to see Rita. Only one other boy was stood in line and there were unusual rumours about him after a stick of lipstick and some mascara was found in his dorm cabinet. It wasn't the best sort of company to be seen with. James waited with his head bowed, listening to the silly girls ahead of him pouring compliments onto Rita, who lapped them up with aplomb. He was trying to think of the best question to ask first when a voice spoke behind him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Celesca, you scared me,” said James, colouring at what Celesca must be thinking seeing him lining up to see Rita Skeeter.

“Sorry, you just seemed in a world of your own, I thought we'd lost you there for a second,” said Celesca. “I didn't think you'd be the sort to want an autograph from Rita.”

“Neither did I.”

“Is this about what she said, about your Dad?” Celesca asked cautiously.

“Am I that easy to work out?” asked James, slightly overwhelmed at how much Celesca understood him.

“Well it isn't hard - she claimed some pretty extraordinary things,” said Celesca. “I'd want to know if it were me.”

“It's just that, well, Dad doesn't talk much about his youth,” said James. “He never likes mentioning it.”

“I can't say I blame him,” said Celesca. “If there were horrors like that in my past, if I'd been through some of things he has, I'm not sure I'd be too quick to talk about it either.”

James pondered Celesca's words. He'd never really thought about it like that, thought that there were good reasons why Dad simply wanted to forget the past. The problem for James was that his curiosity was now aroused and he couldn't help but wonder whether Dad was not only hiding the horrific elements of his past, as Celesca had put it, but other elements too. Dad's experiences would provide an unchallengeable smokescreen if there were other aspects of his past that he'd rather were kept quiet.

“So you're a fan, are you?” said James, turning his attention back to Celesca.

“Not really,” said Celesca, quietly. “I think she's a bit pretentious, actually. A lot of her work is highly questionable; sensation and scandal is her forte, not actual hard stories. But I am interested in what so-called secrets are in her book. Besides, it was a good chance to chat to you.”

James smiled and shivered at the same time. In all the melee of thoughts vying for priority in his head he had almost forgotten what had passed between Celesca and himself that day. Now that she'd brought it up he felt all the anxieties of it creep up on him again. He couldn't understand it.

“What did you want to chat about?” he asked stupidly. Celesca looked hurt and the sight of it caused James pain, like being skewered in the chest. “I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry, Cel, this is just so unlike me.”

“It's okay,” she said, smiling again. “It's something of a compliment, I think. If this is because of me it must be a good thing, right?”

She looked hopefully into James's eyes. “Yeah, it must be. I just hope I can get over it soon.”

“Don't try too hard, its sort of cute,” said Celesca coyly.

“Looks like I'm up next,” said James, nodding to the line, which was practically at the front desk now. “What shall I ask?”

“Ask if she really knew your dad,” said Celesca. “Then let her take the lead. She loves the sound of her own voice so I'm sure she'll oblige you.”

“Thanks, I think that's what I'll do,” said James.

“Um, James,” said Celesca nervously. “Do you, um, want to wait for me when you're done? We can walk up to Gryffindor Tower together if you like?”

James could see her shaking and imagined how scared she must have been to even think to ask that question. He wondered if anyone else could see it - they might think she was having a fit.

“I'd love to,” said James. “I'll wait outside for you.”

Celesca grinned widely and James drank it in. Not for long though.

“Ah, didn't I say you'd want to come to me? I amaze myself sometimes.”

Rita smiled her toothy smile at him; teeth so white and so straight that James thought they could have been chiselled from a single piece of enamel. He tried not to laugh as he imagined a team of sculptors hard at work on Rita's oversized mouth.

“Here's lets take a seat for this, shall we?” said Rita. She brandished her wand and summoned a chair from across the room. It banged repeatedly on the back of James's knees until he sat. “So, come to find out what I've uncovered, eh?”

“Excuse me?” asked James.

“Come now, Mr Potter, can I call you James? It'll make things ever so easier.”

“How do you know my name?”

“You'd be amazed at the things I know,” said Rita, her voice still melodramatic even on a one-to-one basis. “So what do you want to ask me first? My opinions on his strange relationship with the half-giant Hagrid, the secret room where he's hidden a book of Dark Magic spells he invented or do you merely want to know how has controlled every Minster for Magic since Cornelius Fudge?”

“My dad's done none of those things!” James exclaimed. He could feel anger stirring in him.

“Of course he has, my dear boy,” said Rita, cajolingly. “He wouldn't tell you, of course, but there is conclusive proof. Records at Gringotts Bank and a host of goblin testimony support the claim that your father made flagrant use of the Imperius Curse. He controlled several innocent wizards going about their banking to rob a high security vault. The records are there. You didn't think your father was an angel, did you? Have I burst your bubble?”

There was something manic in Rita's eyes as she spoke and though James knew he was being baited he couldn't help but take it.

“You're full of lies!” James cried.

“You don't sound convinced,” Rita taunted. “Doubts? Worries? Have I hit a nerve? How does that make you feel?”

The odd nature of the final question made James pause from the rant he was about to launch into. The break gave him time to hear a strange scratching noise from the desk. He looked down to see an acid green quill furiously writing on its own across a notepad.

“Just ignore the quill, dear,” said Rita following James's line of sight.

“What is that?” James asked. He heard a sarcastic cough to his left and looked up to see Celesca looking down at what the quill had been writing.

“Yes?” asked Rita, bluntly.

“Um, I don't think James is `welling up at the mention of his father's crimes' or that his eyes are `filled with self doubt as he faces up to a life full of untruths'. That quill doesn't tell the truth, does it?”

Celesca and Rita exchanged a look of pure dislike. “That quill,” Rita said, “is far more insightful than you, though you are both proficient at poking into other people's business. Who are you anyway, and what does it matter to you?”

“It matters because James is my -” Celesca paused briefly, “friend, and I don't think you should be telling lies about him.”

“You know, you remind me of another interfering little busy-body, who was an accomplice of Harry Potter,” said Rita. “She was always sticking her oar in, too. Mind you, she did break poor Harry's heart, and gave me a good run of stories in the process.”

This threw James for a loop. Was that the reason Dad never talked about the past? Had his heart been broken, and broken so badly that he never wanted to think about it again? It would explain why he'd never speak of it in front of Mum.

“You know, you two remind me of those two,” Rita said. “Tell me, are you close? Are you really friends or is there really more to it?”

The quill started sneakily moving again and James could imagine what embellishments it was making now. Rita, thinking perhaps that she'd gone too far, whipped both quill and notebook away, hiding them safely inside a crocodile skin handbag which shut with a snap. It must have been a magically-modified bag, James thought, as he could hear the muffled scratching continuing inside.

“I think you should give that to me,” said Celesca, nodding towards the bag.

“And I don't think I'm going to do anything you tell me, missy,” said Rita dangerously. “I've had quite enough of bossy know-it-alls trying to dictate to me. You may be Potter Jnr's little lady friend but that's where the similarity between you and Hermione Granger ends.”

James laughed out loud. “Hermione Granger? She's the one you're on about? She broke Dad's heart! What a load of rubbish! You're nothing but an old hack.”

“What do you know about Hermione Granger?” asked Rita, taking her turn to be surprised.

“Well, let's see,” said James sardonically. “First of all, she's my Aunt and I've known her all my life; second, she's the kindest person I've ever met and third, she is married to my dad's best friend - there is no way that could have happened if she and Dad had gone out.”

“Listen to me kiddo,” said Rita, lightly. “Whatever you think you know doesn't matter. I was there when Miss Granger played off your father against Viktor Krum for her heart. Played them both like lovesick puppets, only to break both their hearts and marry that non-entity she ended up with. All for personal gain; fame, celebrity, and no doubt this helped in her questionable rise to Head of the Magical Law office.”

“You're a dirty liar,” said James.

“And you're a naïve, pampered prima donna,” said Rita. “Your father was at least polite, and he went through things you couldn't even have nightmares of. And what did he get for it? Heartbreak from an ambitious, devious, manipulative siren. Mark my words, if this one is anything like Granger, you'll go the same way. They're both evil cows.”

That was enough. James jumped up and pointed his wand right between Rita's eyes. “Don't you ever talk about her like that again!”

“Which one?” said Rita calmly.

James was stumped for a moment. Who did it hurt to hear insulted more - Celesca or Aunt Hermione? The answer came surprisingly quickly.

“Celesca,” said James. “Don't you even mention her name again or I'll curse you to oblivion.”

“I doubt it,” said Rita, standing up and collecting her things. “I'm sorry to burst your bubble, again, but this isn't the first time I've been threatened at wand-point. Now if you don't mind, you impudent little boy, I have autographs to sign. You can leave by your own accord, or be escorted out.”

She inclined her head towards two hefty security trolls brandishing blunt, heavy clubs near the door. They stared menacingly at James, who thought it best to back down. He and Celesca made for the door but James couldn't resist a passing shot.

“This isn't over, you old bag,” he said, not really sure how he would go about continuing his dispute with Rita.

“On one point we agree,” said Rita, sweetly. She patted her bag affectionately. “No, Mr Potter, I daresay we'll have more to do with each other, and with you, too, Miss Celesca - thanks for the name drop by the way, James. I`ll send you a copy when the Prophet snaps up this little gem. I wonder if they'll give me my old column back…”

James stormed into the corridor, infuriated that anyone could be so deceptive and horrible. Celesca was close behind but it took a while for her to build up the courage to speak.

“James, are you alright?” she asked timidly.

“Alright?” he cried incredulously. “No of course I'm not bloody alright! I've had to stand there and listen to her throw insults at people who are important to me and now it sounds like she's going to write trash about me to sell to the Prophet. Mum and Dad will go ballistic if they see my name in the papers. And what about Lily and Albus? They'll have to put up with it too. So, no, I'm not flaming alright.”

Later on James would appreciate how well Celesca took his rant. Unfortunately she wouldn't be speaking to him after what he said next.

“Look,” she said calmly. “She hasn't been in the Prophet for years and I doubt they'll take her back now. And even if they do buy this one story, we'll get through it and it'll die down in the end.”

“We?” said James. “What's this `we' stuff? This hasn't got anything to do with you; this is about me and my family. Unless Rita was right and you really are trying to get close to me to boost your own reputation.”

Celesca looked as if she were about to cry and James felt afterwards that she probably did.

“That hurt, James,” she said miserably. She turned and walked quickly away from him, leaving him hating himself in the corridor.

James skipped the rest of the classes that day. He spent the afternoon on the far side of the Great Lake, away from everyone, just thinking. At first he was too angry to consider that anything Rita had said was true. She was a filthy liar and that was all there was to it. But when he began to calm down he started to think on some of the things she'd said.

Without doubt, the things she'd said about Aunt Hermione were the worst of her lies, but James didn't want to think of that because it led him to think of Celesca and how he'd spoken to her, and this made his chest constrict horribly and gave him the urge to feed himself to the Giant Squid. Then there were Rita's claims about Dad and Aunt Hermione, which were laughably ludicrous and had no basis in anything James had seen between them. Even in their current state of distance there was nothing to suggest that they'd had a past love life that ended badly and even if they had, Rita's version of events would surely have seen Dad and Aunt Hermione part ways forever. Whatever had happened between them surely it wasn't that.

But then James got to thinking about Rita's claims about Dad alone. Although they seemed utterly far-fetched and embroidered, James couldn't deny that there seemed to be a grain of truth there. Dad always had enjoyed great pull with successive Ministers and though James put it down to his father's status in society it certainly wasn't impossible that it could be something else. Dad was certainly powerful enough to do it and was so secretive about his work that none of the family would ever guess. And as for what had happened during his time at Hogwarts the possibility of Rita telling the truth was even greater. James had asked, and been told not to ask again, for Dad to tell him stories about his school years. As such, James knew little about them other than he had been great friends with Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, had revered Dumbledore, had endured undescribed run-ins with Lord Voldemort and had met Mum. Rita suggesting that she had the knowledge to fill the gaping holes in James's understanding of his father's past had certainly stirred doubts.

It was getting dark when James decided he had better return to the castle. Heavy mist was descending fast and James felt the moisture of it clinging to his skin as he made his way up the sloping lawns and into the warmth of the Entrance Hall. There was a light clatter of cutlery on dishes drifting from the Great Hall and James knew that dinner would probably be almost over. He felt to rotten inside to eat anyway and so made his way up into the Common Room, where he found Richard and Cassie near the fire.

“Here he is, the pig of Hogwarts,” said Cassie acidly. “Got out of class to be nasty to some first years, did you?”

“Give him a break, Cassie,” said Richard. “At least give him a chance to explain.”

“Thanks, Rich, but shut up,” said James. “Go ahead Cassie - I deserve worse than anything you're going to say to me.”

Cassie went to speak but closed her mouth again quickly. “Well, there you are, at least you're big enough to admit you were a moron.”

“I can think of better words,” said James glumly. He slumped down on the floor. “Where is she?”

“Upstairs, crying her eyes out,” said Cassie. James felt sick. “I can't get her to come out.”

“She probably won't speak to me again,” said James.

“Which is what you deserve,” said Cassie. “Why are boys so thoughtless?”

“If I had a thought, I could tell you,” said Richard.

“Ha ha, very amusing,” said Cassie.

“I blame the girls, you're all too sensitive,” said Richard. “I bet James didn't do anything that bad, did you?”

“No, I was bad,” said James. “Celesca's right to be angry with me. If she hates me, I won't blame her.”

“She won't hate you, dopey,” said Cassie. “But she is upset and hurt.”

“Stop saying that,” said James. “Once was enough.”

Cassie looked at him with a much softened expression when she could see that he was genuinely hurting as well.

“If she won't see me, just tell her I am really sorry and I didn't mean it,” said James. He turned over and faced the fire, watching the flames and feeling about as awful as he thought he ever had.

* * *

James didn't see Celesca the next day. She wasn't in any of her classes and had a note from Miss Evesham, the school nurse, to excuse her. James wondered miserably whether a broken heart was actually a real illness and if that was the real reason that Celesca was missing. If it were he thought about applying for a sick note himself. He busied himself by visiting the library during his free time and looking up old articles written by Rita Skeeter. James still had exceptional doubt that there was any truth in any of the things Rita had claimed, but if he wanted to prove her stories wrong the first thing he had to do was read them.

So he spent all of his lunch time, his morning free period and an hour before dinner poring over old copies of the Daily Prophet stored in the library archives. He realised quickly how long this was going to take; Rita had been a prolific contributor to the Wizarding newspaper and the amount of editions featuring her work was vast. James knew he'd never be able to read them all so he narrowed his search to the years Dad had attended school. This made the pile smaller, but it was still large enough for James to think he'd be Rita's age by the time he'd read them all. He comforted himself that by that time Celesca might have forgiven him.

This pattern continued for several days. Richard refused to help, fearing that James harboured an unhealthy obsession with Rita and that his present course was not good for him. James, unable to correct his friend and enlist his help, soon grew frustrated with the situation. On top of this, Celesca still hadn't emerged from the girls' dormitory. James had spent any time he had away from the library waiting in the Common Room for her to come out, thinking he'd accost her on the way to the bathroom and profess his shame and sorrow and beg forgiveness. This didn't work, though, and James grew more despondent the more his eyes spent away from her face.

On the evening of the third day since seeing Rita, James was to be found stomping back to Gryffindor Tower in a foul mood. He'd finished the entire pile of Rita's work dated from Dad's first year at Hogwarts and found nothing about him, before being kicked out by the Librarian. James had found a few stories about bumblings in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office at the Ministry and a fairly long piece about the Minister appointing someone called Delores Umbridge to his secretarial staff. Apart from that there was little else of importance and no mention of Dad or Hogwarts at all.

When he entered Gryffindor Tower his mood was thunderous. He moved straight to the chair by the fire and threw his school bag angrily into it. There was no-one else in the room, but the noise James had made woke someone who'd been sleeping in the chair. It was Celesca and she woke with a start, took one look at James and made for the staircase.

“Celesca! Please wait,” said James quietly.

Celesca stopped, went to turn, seemed to think better of it and moved again.

“Celesca, please,” James pleaded.

This time she did stop. Turning to face him, her expression stern and voice harsh she spoke. “What do you want?”

“Just to tell you that I'm really sorry,” said James, moving to her. “I was an idiot, I was complete pillock and even if you don't want to speak to me ever again I just want you to know that. I didn't mean any of it; I was angry and frustrated and I took it out on you when you didn't deserve it and you were there offering to stand by me. I'm so ashamed of myself.”

“You should be,” said Celesca, her voice a shade nicer and her eyes softening.

“Is there any chance you might let me make it up to you?”

“I don't know, James, what you said really hurt,” said Celesca. “That you'd think those things about me, about why I…”

Her voice trailed off and James pounced on the pause.

“I didn't, I don't,” he said earnestly. “It was that blasted woman. She put ideas in my head and I was a fool and let them get to me. I know you were standing up for me to her and I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you.”

Celesca's face lost all pretence of anger and she looked at James with such warmth that he felt light-headed.

“You don't have to deserve me, just stop pushing me away,” she said gently. “I'm here for you, to help you, to defend you if she tried to say anything bad. All you have to do is let me in.”

James could resist no more. He pulled Celesca to him and hugged her deeply, feeling her warmth and breathing in her scent. He'd wanted to since the day on the train back to Hogwarts and now that he was holding her he didn't think he'd want to let her go.

“I'm so sorry,” said James. “I didn't mean it.”

“I know,” said Celesca, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him back.

“I've missed you so much,” James heard himself saying. “I don't want to lose what we have.”

“You won't,” said Celesca, nuzzling her head into his shoulder. “I'm not going anywhere.”

They stayed like that for some time and James was in a world all of his own. All he could think of was Celesca, the feel of her, the smell and touch of her. All other things were utterly redundant. There would be other days for Dad, Aunt Hermione, Rita Skeeter, anything - right now, all that mattered was him, Celesca, and holding this embrace for as long as they could.

-->

9. 9

Brief Author Note: I'm sorry I seem to be getting carried away writing a James/Celesca fic (I'm steadily falling in love with her) and running the risk of writing an actual original story and forgetting this was supposed to be a H/Hr fic, lol. Anyway, I can't guarantee this wont happen again so I've woven a little bit of H/Hr in here, not lots (far too early for that) but hopefully enough to tide you over. That's why this chapter is extra super long. I was going to divide it into two halves but last time that happened we got HBP and DH! Enough said I think….

p.s I promise not to annoy you with author notes on every chapter!!!

Chapter Nine

The next few days were a little on the strange side. James and Celesca had parted after their extra long hug without anything being settled formally between them. It was certainly a concern that played on James's mind when he was trying in vain to sleep a few hours later and he suspected Celesca might be having the same problem, a suspicion confirmed when she showed up at breakfast yawning widely with bags under her eyes. The inability of either of them to take the lead, express themselves properly or give in wholly to the feelings they both seemed to share was proving a major stumbling block which led only to uncertainty and awkwardness.

Despite this they were unable to hide that something had happened between them. They were drawn into one another's personal space so often it could have been by some magnetic force; at meal times they would sit next to each other, dragging their friends along with them, generally meaning that Richard and Cassie had to take it in turns to be the third wheel even if they didn't realise it. The four of them began spending more and more time together - in the common room, at break times, walking to lessons; all this on top of eating three meals a day together.

By this time James was beginning to worry that if he didn't sort something with Celesca soon it would become so difficult to bring up that they wouldn't get anywhere. He was also concerned at just how long Richard and Cassie's patience would last; he knew they were being good friends and humouring Celesca and himself, but things couldn't stay that way forever. James's problem was that he wasn't sure why he kept getting tongue-tied when any opportunity did arise to set things with Celesca or why she was holding back from doing the same. He imagined that she was as scared as he was, though his fear was about having an actual relationship with a girl for the first time; his other girlfriends were flimsy, throw away things but it would be entirely different with Celesca. James's haziness on Celesca's motives was partly responsible for his hesitation; perhaps she didn't want a relationship, for which there could be a whole host of reasons, or maybe she didn't want to be gossiped about around Hogwarts. Either way, James couldn't think how to advance the situation and spent much of his time hoping for a break.

One evening James, Richard and Cassie were sat in the Common Room letting their dinner go down. Celesca had gone off to Gobstones Club and the look she'd given him was agonizing, as if she wanted some parting gesture, like a hug or a kiss. This had made James feel anxious and torn inside as his aching for the situation to be resolved grew and grew. He wanted more than ever to just get it sorted and let everyone know and deal with all that would come along with it. In his plagued state he didn't join in with much of the conversation in the Common Room and simply turned away from Richard and Cassie to think. He fell asleep for a short while and the other two must have heard him snoring because when he awoke again a little later they were talking as if he couldn't hear them next to him.

“Celesca's late,” Cassie was saying. “I don't think I could play Gobstones for that long; I'd get so bored.”

“Yeah, I'm just surprised she'd want to be away from Jimmy, there, for so long,” replied Richard.

“Do you know what's going on with them?” asked Cassie.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, something's obviously gone on,” said Cassie. “But Celesca is being really coy and saying nothing. Has James said anything to you?”

“No, not a word,” said Richard. “Normally he can't stop gloating when he's got a girl on his arm.”

“I didn't think it seemed like him either,” said Cassie. “I wouldn't have thought it was his style to do nothing when a girl liked him.”

“And there's been plenty of those,” said Richard. “Half the girls here have fancied James at one time or another. You included.”

James had to stop himself from looking round at this.

“I've never fancied James,” said Cassie. “Not properly, anyway.”

“You've forgotten how you went to the Summer Ball with him in Third Year, have you?”

“Well, nobody else had asked me and I wasn't about to turn down James Potter, was I?” said Cassie fairly. “Alright, so he is a bit dishy. But it doesn't mean I fancy him. I can see why you remember that Ball.”

“Why's that? Because you ended up going off with me?” said Richard. “Only time I've ever got one over on James. I like reminding him of it from time to time.”

“Why did I go off with you?” Cassie asked.

“Wasn't that something to do with Celesca?” said Richard.

“Oh yeah!” said Cassie excitedly. “Nobody had asked her to go and James felt sorry for her and offered her a dance. They went off and me and you paired up. See - they liked each other even then. Why doesn't James just do something! Celly won't; I love the girl to bits but she's a coward. What's James's excuse, I wonder.”

“Isn't it obvious? He's in love, he can't operate properly.”

“Love!” laughed Cassie. “Are you serious?”

“Well, there have been some pretty anvil-sized hints,” said Richard.

“Like?”

“Like the awkwardness they have around each other; the fact they can't eat a meal these days unless they are side by side; then there's how they have to walk to every class together, not to mention the ways they look at each other. And when was the last time you had a conversation with Celesca where she didn't mention Jimmy at least three times? I don't know if it's the same for you but James never stops talking about how Celesca said this or Celesca did that. I wouldn't mind but I am there when most of these things happen.”

James listened, wondering whether Richard's words were true and if he really was always going on about Celesca. The realisation that his friend was right came as something of a thunderbolt.

“If that's the case, then maybe I've got James all wrong,” said Cassie. “I thought he was just a serial womaniser but if he has actual feelings for Celesca then maybe I should stop being so hard on him.”

“Oh he has feelings alright,” said Richard. “Don't look at me like that, you dirty mere, I didn't mean those sorts of feelings. Well, maybe he has those, too, but he's totally in love with her. I'm not sure he knows it just yet but he will. If they get together, they'll never split up. It's marriage and kids stuff with these two.”

“Then we have to get them together,” said Cassie. “If they can't get their acts together we'll have to do it for them.”

“You want me to help you?” asked Richard. “Don't you hate me, though?”

“No, I don't hate you,” said Cassie. “You're just a wart. But maybe there is some sentimentality under all that machismo that could help both our friends. Why would I hate you, anyway? Forgotten that Ball already, have you?”

James stretched and moaned, interrupting the details of Richard and Cassie's sojourn which he was certain were about to follow. He turned around, composing himself as he did so and tried to join in the conversation as if he hadn't heard what had just passed between them.

“I must have fallen asleep,” he said with a mock yawn. “What time is it?”

“Nearly nine,” said Richard.

“We don't know where Celesca is,” said Cassie, looking at him with much more respect than he was used to. “She's late back. Perhaps you should go and look for her.”

“Why me?” said James. “What makes me more likely to find her?”

“Grouchy after sleep, aren't you?” said Richard. “Don't you want to know where Celesca is?”

“No,” said James.

“Why not?” asked Cassie.

“Because I know where she is, she's right there,” said James. Celesca was crossing the room to them and James felt his face glow despite his attempts at concealing it. He had to laugh; Cassie and Richard exchanged worried looks, perhaps fearing Celesca had been behind them all along and heard what they'd been saying.

“You're late,” said Cassie. “Went the long way around, did you?”

“No, I had to go and see Professor Roth,” said Celesca. “The Alchemy Society is starting up again next week. Here you go, James, I got you a timetable. You are still coming this term, aren't you?”

Celesca looked hopefully into James's eyes; he knew she was thinking of all the extra time they could spend together; his thoughts were on the possibilities provided by late night walks back alone. He could talk to her about anything, if he could find the courage.

“Yeah, of course,” said James. Celesca's radiant smile nearly knocked his eyebrows off. “When's the first one?”

James scanned the sheet of parchment Celesca had given him. “It's Monday night,” Celesca said quickly, giving James the impression she'd memorised it already. He wondered why. “On the top of North Tower. It'll be nice up there in the moonlight.”

Celesca seemed to think she'd said too much and James felt she'd meant to think those things rather than say them aloud. Blushing scarlet, she sat down in the chair behind James where he couldn't see her. James turned his attention to scattered pieces of parchment which covered the hearth rug in front of Richard. He was a talented artist and had been hard at work on some new creations.

“What you working on?” asked James.

“New picture story,” said Richard, sketching carefully with his tongue pointing out. He'd made several stories during the time James had known him; there were no words, just pictures to tell the tales. James was his biggest fan and appreciated just how seriously Richard took his work.

“What's this one about?” James asked, picking up the nearest sheet. It showed a monster exploding out of a Wizard's chest. It was gruesome.

“Well, there's the Chest Monster,” said Richard. “It's an evil being, born from death, you know, of the Wizard. It's a bit philosophical. I'm trying to think of something that can kill it.”

“Dragons are good,” said James. “I've still got that picture of the nasty Hungarian Horntail you did. That's class, why not something like that?”

“No, it has to be mythological,” said Richard. “That usually means two animals fused. It'll come to me eventually.”

They stayed that way until bed, when James and Celesca parted with their secret smile. The next day brought with it the first ream of homework requiring all night attention. Cassie and Richard took one of the large Common Room tables and said they couldn't fit James and Celesca in as there was no more room. James knew this was a simple ruse to force them onto the smaller table in the corner but he didn't complain. While Celesca sat down and arranged her things, James sprinted up to his dorm, grabbed Aunt Hermione's books on Transfiguration and Charms and returned to Celesca as though they were connected by elastic cable.

“They're a bit battered, aren't they?” asked Celesca as James dropped his books down beside her. “I would have thought you'd have brand new ones.”

“I did, but these are better,” said James. “My aunt, Hermione, gave them to me. They're the reason my grades are improving. I doubt you'll approve when you see what's in them.”

Celesca took the nearest book and flipped through the pages.

“Notes, lots of notes,” she said, eyeing the margins. “Improvements on spells, clarity on technique, your aunt must be really clever. Is that the one who's Head of Magical Law? The one Rita Skeeter was on about.”

“Yeah,” said James. “You think this is cheating, don't you?”

“No I don't,” said Celesca. “You're not cheating; she's not doing your work for you, is she? You're just going about it a different way. And if it works, so much the better. Let me have a look at them.”

She grinned mischievously and turned to the page on Magical Movement: Limbs for the Limited.

“Terrible pun,” said James, reading the title.

“Mmm,” Celesca agreed. “James - what do you think this means?”

She was pointing at some of Aunt Hermione's scribbles.

“Which one?”

“No, not the instructions,” said Celesca. Look - under this one, and this one, and that one there, she's written the same thing. A star and three letters.”

“H.J.P,” said James, reading over Celesca's shoulder. “What does that mean?”

“I don't know,” said Celesca. She looked at him; they were so close their faces were almost touching. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Don't breathe in my ear, it's making me fidgety.”

“Sorry,” said James. He backed away with a cheeky grin. “So, the letters? What do you reckon?”

“Don't know, must be some sort of acronym,” said Celesca.

“Acro-what?”

“Acronym,” said Celesca. “You know, letters standing for something else.”

“Like what?” asked James.

“Something like S.P.E.W,” said Celesca. “The house-elf lobby. This must be something like that. If it's in a textbook the `H' could stand for homework.”

“Homework…Joining…Paragraph? Point?” James suggested.

“Maybe, but I don't think your aunt was educationally subnormal,” said Celesca grinning. “Acronyms have to make sense, dear. Let's see if they're anywhere else.”

Celesca flicked through more and more pages of the Transfiguration book while James followed suit with the Charms volume. Sure enough, in both tomes, under almost every point or note Aunt Hermione had made the letters H.J.P appeared. James was puzzled and excited all at once; this was a mystery and he was dying to know the meaning behind this strange trend.

After wasting much of the next hour coming up with increasingly wild and ridiculous possibilities for H.J.P, James and Celesca finally got to work. Fearing that he'd end up copying most of Celesca's essays, James felt it best if they didn't work on the same subject at the same time. Even so, by the time James had finished both his pieces he felt that between Aunt Hermione's teenage jottings and Celesca's asides, pointers and corrections (she didn't mind looking over his shoulder and offering advice, leading James to understand where she was coming from with the whole ear blowing thing) he felt as though the only original parts he'd contributed were the title and his own messy handwriting. Still, both pieces were longer than asked for and were packed full of excellent points, making James warn Celesca that he was going to challenge her position as top dog in the year.

It was a good thing she was so in to academics, James regularly considered; it was the only neutral point on which they could meet and talk without becoming so embarrassed that one or the other had to excuse themselves and leave the room. Her talents in this area extended to research and James was exceedingly grateful for this; Celesca was a regular library partner, helping scour the old Daily Prophet archives for works by Rita Skeeter. This made the job not only pass quicker but made it more pleasurable as well; James had lost count of the number of times they'd `accidentally' brushed hands when reaching across for the next edition on the pile; or how they seemed to rest their arms close to each other on the desk when reading, meaning that every now and then they'd be touching for considerable periods, only breaking when one of them found an item of note. Much to James's disappointment, this happened quite frequently as it turned out that events at Hogwarts were regularly reported during Dad's second year.

“Here's another one,” said Celesca. “Gilderoy Lockhart on the best way to teach students to duel. How many stories did they actually write about him?”

“Count the pile,” said James, nodding to a small stack nearby with a dozen Gilderoy Lockhart's beaming back. He picked up another newspaper. “This one's out of order. It should have been near the start of the year. Oh, my…”

“What is it?” asked Celesca.

“It's Dad,” said James. He slid the paper to Celesca. The front page showed yet another wide-grinned picture of Lockhart but squashed uncomfortably under one arm was a little boy with a lightening shaped scar sticking starkly out from a dirty forehead.

“Gilderoy Lockhart signs books for Harry Potter,” Celesca read. “Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, finally met his match in the celebrity stakes, writes Rita Skeeter, special correspondent. Best selling author, Gilderoy Lockhart, attending the book signing of his number one autobiography, Magical Me, gave Mr Potter, 12, a cauldron-full of advice on maintaining a dignified profile in the public eye. Young Harry, scribbling notes furiously, is sure to have been impressed by Lockhart and will get further chance to pick his hero's brains as he announced his acceptance of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching post at Hogwarts School. Few could argue his qualifications for the job, but many feel he is selling the world short by removing himself from their service. For the Prophet's Opinion, see page 7. The event was disrupted by the distasteful hooligan behaviour of Mr Arthur Weasley, who brutally assaulted the highly-respected Lucius Malfoy in an unprovoked attack. Mr Weasley is currently facing an inquiry at the Ministry of Magic for apparent misuse of Muggle artefacts, the department he, himself, is supposed to head. Mr Weasley has been…continued page 23.”

“She really does talk a lot of dung,” said James. “Dad would never let a smarmy, toothy poser like Lockhart be his hero. And as for my Granddad being a hooligan - that's the funniest thing I've ever heard.”

“Lucius Malfoy, respected,” said Celesca. “What planet is she on? I know you stood up for poor Scorpius but he gets his reputation from above. Even if there is any truth there I bet any attack was provoked.”

“I hope he gave him a black eye,” said James, reverently.

They continued scanning the articles, finding no further mention of James's father but there was an extra long piece dated from the end of the school year which told of considerable damage being done to the Hogwarts plumbing system. Lucius Malfoy was the main interviewee for this piece and bemoaned the high cost of repairs to ensure the school would be open in time. He didn't name names, but he did mention that certain famous students, thinking they were untouchable, were involved.

“If that was Dad, and how many other famous students were there,” James said to Celesca, by this time at dinner. “Then that proves Rita's claim.”

“Not really,” said Celesca. “She wrote that article and made the claim. How do you know she didn't make both up? There is no proof in anything she writes; no hard evidence or unbiased, balanced reporting. Just scandal and sensation; it's not easy to hear but your dad would be an easy target for stories like that.”

Not for the first time, James realised Celesca was right. It wouldn't stop him wading through Rita's work but he knew he needed to take everything with a pinch of salt. If that quill of hers was any indication of the type of things she produced it would be amazing if any of it were true.

The next morning at breakfast James's mind was taken away from the possible contents of Rita's past work, and on to worry about future pieces, with the arrival of the morning post. Being sat next to Celesca at most meals, James had come to learn that she had a subscription to the Daily Prophet and every morning, like clockwork, the daily edition was delivered to her by her owl, Hester. James had realised quickly that the owl had no sense of target and that it was best not to eat bowls of cereal unless he wanted to get a daily splash of milk in the eye.

That morning was no exception. With Richard and Cassie in close proximity there was no chance for James and Celesca to discuss anything they'd read about in Rita's works or speculate further on the meaning of the mysterious three-lettered acronym in Aunt Hermione's books which, James had discovered, appeared in every one she'd given to him. Whatever it was must have had universal application; he thought about writing to ask her but decided against it when Celesca pointed out that it might be something personal or that she might have forgotten it by now in any case. There was nothing to suggest that when the owls flew overhead a chance to speak to her in person was coming with them.

The newspaper crashed onto the table knocking James's fork flying to the ground. Celesca bent down to pick it up, prompting some innuendo-laden looks from Richard, which James refrained from answering with his usual under-the-table-shin kick in case he knocked Celesca's head off with his knee. This allowed him the chance to glance at the newspaper and what he saw made him tense up; there was a large picture on the front and even though it was rolled up there was no doubting those huge glasses and those bangles.

“Celesca!” James hissed quietly.

“What is it? What's wrong?” she asked, coming back up.

“The paper! Look!”

Celesca quickly unfurled the paper and her eyes widened as she took in the headline. She read the article quickly, her expression growing more angry and worried with each line. Eventually, James could stand no more.

“Well? What is it?”

“Look for yourself,” said Celesca.

James took the paper from her and read the article.

The Comeback Queen!

Veteran writer and commentator, Rita Skeeter, has proven that age is no barrier to success with her smash hit new book, Hogwarts: The REAL History. The 300-page expose of the premier magical education institute in the world makes intriguing, informing, sometimes shocking reading, but it seems to have touched a nerve in society. Flourish and Blotts, Diagon Alley's leading book retailer, announced yesterday that the book is flying off the shelves. Mr M Corner explains:

“It's quite remarkable. For a writer many considered old news and washed up, this is a fresh and thought provoking insight into the school most of us attended. Having been there at the time myself, the sections regarding Dumbledore and Harry Potter were of particular interest, and were surprisingly accurate, if damning. The public is certainly taken with it; we are regularly selling out and as soon as a new order comes in the shelves are soon empty again. It's been great for business.”

With the successful return of Ms Skeeter, the Daily Prophet will be running a promotion next week offering the chance to win signed copies of the new book. Alongside this will be a special interview with the author herself where she will answer hard questions and reveal new secrets she has unearthed about Harry Potter and Hermione Weasley, Head of Magical Law, and her claims about their continuing control of the Magical Halls of Power through their own children and their recruits. More next week.

James stared at the words for several minutes, trying to take it all in. Damning news about Dad, secrets about he and Aunt Hermione and some sort of power pact, more next week…it sounded like a bad dream. James wanted more than anything to dismiss is all as garbage but he couldn't. He knew Dad and Aunt Hermione had made a secret pact; what if their silence and distance was part of that? Now he'd gone and exposed them by losing his temper in front of Rita. They'd crucify him. Just then, a little cough behind drew his attention and he turned to see Albus facing him. They hadn't spoken since the night they returned to Hogwarts and the atmosphere was strained between them.

“Have you seen the paper?” Albus asked.

“Yeah, just read it now,” said James.

“What's that all about? It isn't true, is it?” Albus asked. He sounded very worried.

“No of course it isn't,” said James, fiercely. “That woman is a dangerous liar. Don't believe it.”

“But what if it is true? What if we are controlling the school? Dad could have put us under the Imperious Curse and we'd never know it?”

“Why do you think we'd be under the Imperius Curse?” asked James nervously, remembering Rita's words about Dad in Gringotts Bank.

“One of my friends has that new book,” said Albus quietly. “It says Dad knows how to use the Imperius Curse; loads of goblins and other Wizards say they saw him do it and the security systems at the bank recorded him being there at the times the say it happened. It can't be true, can it, James?”

Albus looked terrified, as if his world were coming down. James forgot he was supposed to be mad at him and gave him a hug.

“Listen, little bro,” he said, comfortingly. “This is all bull poo. Do you really think Dad would put his own kids under the Imperious Curse? Do you think Mum would let him? Come on, don't believe all this rubbish. It's just stories to sell to the papers.”

“It's true, Albus,” said Celesca. “None of Rita's writing is the truth. Don't let it get to you.”

Albus smiled at her as James let him go. “You're nice, I like you.”

“Thanks,” said Celesca, smiling sweetly.

“Go on, get out of it,” said James. “And don't let that stupid woman put ideas in your head.”

As Albus walked away, Celesca leaned close to James and whispered, “What's the matter, James? Jealous?”

James grinned back at Celesca. “Of that little twerp? Never.”

“I don't know,” Celesca continued. “He's quite cute. Shame he wasn't a little older.”

She looked passionately at James and he knew that had they been alone they'd have kissed there and then. James backed away, feeling hot and stuffy all of a sudden; Celesca merely grinned sheepishly and looked back at the newspaper. This brought James's mind back to that problem and he could think of little else for most of the day. Later on Celesca, feeling that James needed some time to clear his head, suggested they go for a walk round the lake. They grabbed some sandwiches from the Great Hall at lunch and slipped out before anyone could ask questions.

The lake was still like chilled steel and the air frosty but James didn't mind one bit as he and Celesca walked slowly around the shore. They ate and chatted comfortably enough but James felt it would be so much easier if they were going out; that way they could simply hold hands rather than banging them together as they swung by their sides. The thought of holding hands with Celesca kept threatening to draw his attention away from the conversation, which inevitably swung around to the newspaper story.

“How are you now? About all that?” Celesca asked.

“I'm alright,” said James. “I can handle anything she might write, no problem.”

“But what is it then, if it isn't that?”

“I don't want to think about how they'll react, my dad and my aunt,” said James. Voicing his concerns to Celesca felt like burdening her, but the release was potent. “I'm worried they'll think I dropped them in it. That I gave Rita the ammunition with my outburst. They'll think it's my fault.”

“Why would they?” said Celesca. “The way Rita spoke it sounded like she had prior experiences with both of them. I bet they'll know just how untrustworthy a hag she is. There isn't any truth there anyway. Is there?”

There was caution in her last question, as though she knew she was crossing the privacy line. James, however, found he didn't mind her asking and was quite happy telling her what he'd seen during the holidays. Celesca looked thoughtful and pensive as James related the ways Dad and Aunt Hermione had been cold and distant, giving their history as a backdrop that made their behaviour strange. Celesca was horrified when James told the part about Lily's brush with death, slightly embellishing his heroics, but still enjoying the impressed look Celesca wore as he did so.

“Then that night I heard them talking,” James said. “It was odd, like none of it had happened. Just normal talking, but really cryptic; about agreements and not seeing each other and things. It didn't make any sense. And now there's this - and even I'm starting to wonder about it. But if it comes out that it has anything to do with what I said they'll both go mental.”

“That is very peculiar,” said Celesca. “But you can't think that what you said had any bearing on what Rita has written. The big revelations are probably from her book, which she wrote before she saw you. Anything else she'll say can't be that important.”

“But she said she knew things, about me and my family,” said James. “What if she has dug things up? Secret things that my Dad doesn't want known. Then there's you; I gave her your name and she might drag you into this. Lord knows what she might invent about you.”

“Oh let her, don't worry about me,” said Celesca. “What's the worse she can say? That I'm a clone of your aunt or that I'm, well, close to you. They're compliments if anything.”

James wanted to kiss her but again stumbled when it came to do it.

“Look, if you're that worried why don't you write to your dad and your aunt, tell them what happened and see what they say,” said Celesca, mercifully keeping the lack of intimacy pause brief. “That way, if they are mad you'll offset it by telling them yourself, and if they aren't maybe they'll put your mind at rest.”

It was a solid idea and James didn't know why he hadn't thought of it himself.

“I don't know what I'd do without you sometimes,” he said.

“I'm sure you'd survive,” said Celesca timidly.

“Well, at least that makes one of us,” said James.

“Come on, lets get up to the owlery,” said Celesca, shyly. “We can get letters to both your dad and aunt before dinner.”

They made their way swiftly to the owlery speaking very little. James felt that Celesca's emotional walls were thick and hard to penetrate and that perhaps he was trying to push her too hard. He needed to back away and let her be comfortable in her own time. For now, with tasks in hand, that was easy to do; the longer it went on, though, James knew he would have to force the issue.

Once in the owlery, Celesca scurried about the place grabbing quills, ink and parchment while James prepared a couple of tawny owls for the delivery. James then wrote two short letters; the one to Dad was apologetic and full of rants about Rita's conniving ways, as he felt Dad would likely be the angrier of the two and this would direct any blame away from himself. The second, to Aunt Hermione, was written from the point of view of a much more worried version of James, one he thought would appeal to the kind side of his aunt, the one who said James was her favourite and would do anything for. Celesca checked and approved of them both and they attached them to the owls, watching them fly away until they were out of sight.

They walked slowly down from the owlery back towards the castle. Although there was still largely silence between them it was calm and reasonably comfortable. On another day, James thought, this could be just a leisurely romantic stroll. Whether it was in this drifting state of mind or whether he'd just given in to his instincts, James found himself reaching for Celesca's hand and holding it. She gave a little gasp of surprise that James almost missed but she squeezed his hand back making him feel almost delirious.

“Everything will be alright, James,” she said without looking at him. “It'll be fine.”

“I trust you,” said James, as they walked quietly back to the castle.

Afternoon lessons passed in a flash. Separated by sitting apart, James felt as if the closest moment he and Celesca had come to actually getting together was drifting away and the progression to that point was receding fast. It was hard to concentrate, even if it was Alchemy and James would normally have been fascinated to hear about the characteristics of the Fifth Stage. He could train his mind on nothing else but the smooth touch of Celesca's skin that his own palm was yearning to feel again.

He had thought that perhaps their moment had gone and that he would have to break Celesca down all over again, but at dinner she sat so close to him that he could feel the rhythmic movements of her breathing. Cassie gave James several warm looks and though James wasn't sure if this was because she suspected something had happened or whether Celesca had told her it didn't really matter - with Celesca this near there was nothing else in the world.

James decided that night he would do something. He could stand it no longer and he would have to confront her and deal with the outcome. It was the middle of the evening and the Common Room was partially full. Richard and Cassie were whispering together, something James had noticed they did a lot recently, while several games of Wizard's Chess and Exploding Snap were going on nearby. Celesca was reading a book in one of the chairs facing the fire, James watching her in a seat to her right. He knew she could sense him; her eyes barely moved and she hardly ever turned a page, so whatever was going through her mind it wasn't the words in the story. James waited until there was no one in earshot when he spoke.

“Celesca, we need to talk,” he said.

She looked up immediately. On the floor nearby, James could see both Cassie and Richard tauten and incline their heads slightly towards them.

“Talk about what?” she asked.

“We need to clear some things up,” James said, knowing how bad a job he was doing of this.

“What sort of things?” she asked, moving slightly closer in her seat.

“You know,” said James quietly, leaning forward. “About you…and me and…Dad?”

“What?” said Celesca looking surprised. She followed James line of sight and fell silent, as had everyone else in the room. The portrait had swung open to let a visitor enter and he was standing at the centre of the room, looking around.

“Dad? What are you doing here?” asked James, getting up.

“What? Can't I come back to my old stomping ground?” asked Dad coming over. James was relieved to see he didn't look angry. “Merlin, I miss this place.”

Celesca looked up at James's father as he stopped near them. James saw him look at Celesca, then look at her and James together, with an oddly fond expression, almost reminiscing.

“Dad, you've met Celesca, remember?” said James.

“Of course,” said Dad warmly. “Luna's niece, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” said Celesca humbly.

“Did you enjoy your trip?” Dad asked.

“Oh yes, very much,” said Celesca. “Thank you for asking.”

“I miss Luna, it's a shame we fell out of touch,” said Dad wistfully. “You will give her my regards when you see her, won't you?”

“Of course,” said Celesca.

“I don't suppose I need to say why I'm here,” said Dad, to James. “I got your letter.”

“Are you angry?” James asked.

“Angry? Of course not,” said Dad. “What an odd thing to say. Why would you think that?”

“I thought that I might have dropped you in it,” said James. “I lost my temper with Rita. She might be trying to get revenge on me.”

“Trust me James,” said Dad. “If its revenge she's after she's got bigger grudges than against you. Come on, let's go somewhere more private.”

“I want Celesca to come - she knows everything anyway,” said James.

James felt oddly exposed as Dad looked at them both. He smiled that bizarre smile at them again before agreeing to James's request. The three of them left the Common Room to awed expressions; some, no doubt for seeing Harry Potter in the flesh, others wondering what the three of them were doing and a few who probably still had the Daily Prophet article in their heads. The portrait had barely closed when they turned to walk down the stairs only to bump into yet another surprise arrival.

“Aunt Hermione!” cried James. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, James,” she said, smirking. She turned to Dad. “I came as soon as I heard. I thought we might both have been summoned here.”

Both she and Dad stared at James with knowing looks.

“I didn't summon you here,” said James, defensively. “I just wanted to let you know what had happened, in case you blamed me for the stories that are going to come out.”

“It was actually my fault,” said Celesca quietly. “It was my idea; I put him up to it.”

“And a good one it was too,” said Aunt Hermione. “You must be Celesca. James told me you were the clever sort.”

Celesca beamed at James but he only had eyes for Aunt Hermione, who was giving them both the exact same look Dad had done earlier. It was starting to get unsettling.

“Come on, lets find somewhere quiet,” said Dad.

“I think I know just the place,” said Aunt Hermione with a wink at Dad who just said `Ah' by way of reply. She led the way a short distance to the Seventh floor where she stopped opposite a panting of Barnabus the Barmy being viciously clubbed by trolls. She turned to Dad and said, with that air of fond remembering, “Do you want to do the honours?”

Dad grinned widely at her. They held a short look that was like an abridged version of the one James had seen at Christmas then Dad walked back and fore in front of the wall opposite the painting. After the third time, and just when James thought his dad might have lost his mind, a large door suddenly materialised in the wall. Both James and Celesca gasped at the sight. James, for one, was so impressed that he missed the meaning in what Aunt Hermione said next as she turned to Dad.

“I see you've still got it,” she said.

“Some things you never lose,” Dad replied. James woke up from his awestruck self in time to register a happy exchange of smiles between Dad and Aunt Hermione before the former led the way into the room.

“Welcome to the Room of Requirement,” said Dad. “Now don't go showing this place to anyone. It's a secret and it'll be better if it stays that way.”

“I promise, Dad,” said James.

“The Room provides you with whatever you need,” said Aunt Hermione. “And we need somewhere quiet and I thought this was the perfect place.”

James looked around at the stark, bare walls with four hard plastic chairs around a table at the centre. It gave James the unpleasant sensation that he was about to be interrogated.

“It isn't the most well decorated of places…” said Aunt Hermione, smirking at Dad.

“Well, after twenty years of talking to Dark Wizards in places like this my mind can't think of much else,” said Dad. “Come on, let's sit down.”

They took seats around the table and Aunt Hermione conjured a jug of foaming butterbeer, four goblets and a tray of cauldron cakes with one flick of her wand.

“I can never get more than two things at once,” said Dad, admiring Aunt Hermione's handiwork. “I'd have got the jug but probably just a tray of goblets. Or a tray of just cauldrons.”

“No focus, see,” said Aunt Hermione teasingly. “Head Auror can't be as flash as it sounds.”

“Just pour the Butterbeer,” said Dad grinning.

This was the kind of relationship James had always imagined there to be between his Dad and his favourite aunt. It made their apparent separateness at Christmas all the more confusing.

“Right then, James, let's talk,” said Dad.

“Yes, let's hear it,” said Aunt Hermione in a business-like manner. “What exactly did that foul Skeeter woman say to you?”

“We agree that she's not the nicest person, then,” said Celesca.

“We've had our dealings with her,” said Dad. “This is my fault, really, James. I think I may have left you a legacy of people sniping for you. Zabini, Rita, probably a host of Slytherin kids.”

“How is any of that your fault?” asked Aunt Hermione, forcing James's mind back to all the times Celesca had defended him from his own self-doubt recently. It was an odd comparison. “These are bad people, James. Rita Skeeter is a talentless and manipulative hack. And, unfortunately, she's very good at it. Even now, twenty years after we had our problems with her, she still has the capacity for mischief.”

“What problems?” James asked.

“This and that,” said Dad with unmistakable evasion in his voice.

“Mostly nasty stories about Harry, then about me after I challenged her, then about Dumbledore later,” said Aunt Hermione swiftly. “As for this new book, well, I imagine it's more of the same.”

“Haven't you read it?” James asked. “Aren't you worried what it might say?”

“Harry and I have done nothing wrong,” said Aunt Hermione. “We don't have to defend ourselves, least of all to her.”

“Besides,” Dad said, taking over. “We've both read about as much of Rita's lies as we care to.”

“But what about these new things?” Celesca asked. “Couldn't they be damaging?”

“Only if we were guilty of something,” said Aunt Hermione.

“Which we aren't,” Dad added.

“What can we expect then?” said James. “I ranted at her, she's going to write nasty things about me and get Celesca involved too.”

James watched Dad and Aunt Hermione exchange one of those meaningful looks again. What did they mean?

“You'll have to ride it out,” said Aunt Hermione.

“Even if it's bad, even if it makes you the talk of the school,” said Dad. “I was many times, but stick close to your friends and get through it.”

“But Dad - just because Albus was worried - you haven't put us under the Imperius Curse, have you?”

Dad and Aunt Hermione laughed out loud.

“Of course not, son,” said Dad comfortingly. “Well, only when I want you to do the dishes or wash the car or clean your room…”

“And lets face it, what parent doesn't?” said Aunt Hermione, grinning at Dad.

“But not to control the school,” said Dad. “Imagine the mess you'd make of it! If your room is anything to go by. Imperius won't fix that room; you'd need a hydrogen bomb for that job.”

They all laughed at that. James felt more relaxed and a little foolish that he'd believed Rita in the first place. He wanted to ask Aunt Hermione about the letters in her books but suddenly didn't feel up to it, in case it was personal and she took them back. Instead he put a stealth question to Dad.

“Rita is a horrible old bat,” said James. “What was she like when you met her?”

“Pretty much the same,” said Dad. “Turned the Triwizard Tournament into a blow-by-blow account of my struggles in it.”

“You were in the Triwizard Tournament?” asked Celesca, impressed. “At Hogwarts?”

“Yes, but that was a long time ago,” said Dad. “They stopped it after that. And a good thing too; far too dangerous.”

So, Dad had been in a Triwizard Tournament at school and Rita had reported on it? James's mind was already floating towards the library and a very narrow point of reference. They stayed in the Room of Requirement only long enough to finish their cakes before both Dad and Aunt Hermione announced they had families to get home to. They walked back together to Gryffindor Tower.

“Well, I hope now we've cleared all this up,” said Dad, as they stood at the portrait of the Fat Lady. “Tell Albus not to worry, that all this is just another of Rita's fairy tales.”

“Do you want me to walk you to the door?” James asked.

“How very polite,” beamed Aunt Hermione. She turned to Celesca. “It was very nice to meet you, Celesca. We've been hearing good things about you at the Ministry. You're on the `One to Watch' list. Goodbye, though I don't think this will be the last we see of each other.”

She looked at James pointedly and Celesca blushed her deepest crimson. She said goodbye, told James she'd meet him later and climbed through the portrait hole.

“She's lovely,” said Aunt Hermione as the three of them walked downstairs.

“She reminds me of you at that age,” said Dad. “So bright and inquisitive. You haven't had any illegitimate children, have you?”

“Not that I know of,” said Aunt Hermione. “Though I agree she's like me. It's like having mini versions of ourselves running around Hogwarts again.”

James's mind went into overdrive at this thought. He was sure that both she and Dad had been looking at Celesca and himself because they could tell there was a deeper than friends relationship going on there. That was the meaning, he thought, behind their strange looks. Now they were comparing it to themselves. This was mightily odd and James couldn't get Rita's words out of his head. They parted in the Entrance Hall but instead of returning to Gryffindor Tower, James headed for the library.

There were only a few students mulling around when he arrived. He headed straight for his familiar place near the archives and began pulling them down. He soon realised that he didn't know when the Triwizard Tournament had actually been at Hogwarts, but James's luck was in.

“Working late?” said a voice behind him. “You're not like your father at all.”

“Evening, Professor Longbottom,” said James.

“What are you looking at there?” he asked. “Old newspapers?”

“Yeah, someone said my Dad was in some sort of tournament when he was here but I can't find anything about it,” said James.

“Ah, that'll be the Triwizard,” said Professor Longbottom. “Nasty affair. Poor Cedric Diggory.”

James didn't know who Cedric Diggory was and, frankly, he didn't care.

“You were here, weren't you, sir?” said James. “Can you remember what year it was?”

“Of course,” said Professor Longbottom. “It was our Fourth year. I remember it well. Anyway, enough chat. I've got some mandrakes to sing lullabies to. Goodnight, James.”

“'Night, sir,” said James. He waited until Professor Longbottom was gone before grabbing the stack and pulling out all the ones dated from his father's fourth year. He quickly found what he was looking for, or at least that's how it looked at first. There were several articles concerning the attempts of the Department of Magical Games and Sports and the Department of International Magical Cooperation to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, along with descriptions of some of the past tasks and worst injuries sustained. Then there was one which surprised James greatly; it was a photo of the chosen school champions at a wand-weighing ceremony and there was Dad, right next to Auntie Fleur, looking as gorgeous as ever.

“She was in this tournament?” James said to himself. “This is getting weirder and weirder.”

It didn't improve, either. The photo, which James still kept chancing glances at towards a young Auntie Fleur, who looked seductively back and smiled serenely, turned out to be the last instalment until one announcing the end and the tragic death of the Hogwarts champion, Cedric Diggory. His death was strangely added as an afterthought to the article which instead focused on apparently bizarre rants made by Dad, though the content of these was unspecified. The other articles were missing.

James was now utterly bewildered. Rita had claimed she'd written stories about Dad and Aunt Hermione, they had just now confirmed this and given a time when these stories came out, yet here was James looking at a clutch of missing dates. Without any doubt, these items had been removed. They only questions were who had moved them and why. James got up turned and ran towards the door. He turned around a shelf of books and ran right into Celesca, knocking her and a book she was carrying over. The sheaves of parchment in the back scattered over the floor.

“You're in a hurry,” she said, half-laughing. “I had a feeling you'd be here so I brought you your aunt's old Hogwarts: A History. I wasn't sure how much you knew about it but there's quite a good piece in there.”

“Let's pick this stuff up,” said James. They began collecting the sheets from the floor. “I found out when the tournament was held here. I've even looked through Rita's articles from the time. There's some stuff about it but a whole load is missing. Someone took them - they're gone.”

“I think I've found them,” said Celesca, her voice quiet and haunting.

“Pardon?”

“Look,” said Celesca. She held up a number of newspaper cuttings, one of which showed a picture of Dad and Aunt Hermione hugging tightly. “They're all about the Triwizard at Hogwarts. Here.”

She handed them to James. “Why would Aunt Hermione keep these cuttings in her books? I hardly want to read them. What am I going to find?”

“I'll leave you alone, they could be private,” said Celesca, getting to her feet.

“No, Celesca, please stay,” said James. “If it's not good I'd like you to be here with me.”

He offered her his hand. She took it and sat at his side. They both looked down at the list of articles and James felt glad Celesca was there to help him face whatever he was about to find out.

-->

10. 10

A/N: This story has been removed. Now found at http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4015562/1/Tapestry

11. 11

A/N: This story has been removed. Now found at http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4015562/1/Tapestry

12. 12

Author Note: Sorry about the long update - the inconvenience of having to work for a living and having to have a beer or two are to blame. Also, I had so many ideas for this chapter that I've divided it into two and the second bit will be up quickly (I hope). And I forgot on the last chapter to wish all my fellow Harmonians a Happy Valentines day - I love you all.

Chapter Twelve

Saturday morning dawned bright and frosty and James had the happy accident of waking up early, realised he didn't have any classes today and went back to sleep. He woke again at a reasonable hour, before noon anyway, and got dressed. The dormitory was already empty by this time and James looked at Richard's bed; it was forlorn and with the tidy, lonely appearance of a bed not slept in for some time. Still, James comforted himself, by the end of the day, with a bit of luck, he could be a little closer to finding out what had happened, and bringing Richard back to his four-poster.

James made his way downstairs and into the Common Room. He found Celesca sat near the window with her friends; she had done something to her hair and was wearing more make-up than normal and looked so lovely that it took James's breath away. She was in huddled conversation with Cassie, and Nicola Boot and Siliana Patterson and Rachel Bevan, no doubt talking about Gryffindor boys with famous fathers. Celesca smiled over at him, and the others gave teasing little waves and swooned mockingly in his direction, before falling about in hysterics. Celesca chastised all of them, while laughing herself, and James gave a silly little wave himself and headed down to pilfer some food from the kitchens.

As he suspected, breakfast was over, but with his robe pockets full of tea cakes and doughnuts James was quite happy wandering around with his impromptu version. With Richard still incapacitated, and Celesca busy with her friends, James found himself rather alone with little to do for the next hour or so, when he and Celesca had agreed to make their jaunt to Hogsmeade. His thoughts about what to do with himself were interrupted by the sudden emergence of Michael from the main doors.

“Jimmy, there you are,” he panted. “I was just coming to get you. You've got to come.”

“Where and why?” said James, alarmed.

“Quidditch pitch,” said Michael. “We're playing five-a-side against some kids from Ravenclaw. We're a man short.”

“I'll grab my stuff and meet you there,” said James. They parted and he sprinted up the stairs towards the Common Room, only just remembering in time to jump the trick step. He flew past Celesca and her friends in to his dorm, changed quickly and came back in a flash.

“You're in a hurry,” said Celesca, as James passed her in the Common Room.

“I'm going down to the Quidditch pitch,” he explained. “Haven't had chance to test this yet.”

He held up the Broomstick Servicing Kit.

“Okay, good luck,” said Celesca. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Fly well.”

James grinned and took flight once again. He was slightly out of breath by the time he reached the Quidditch pitch and went into the changing rooms with calls to hurry up ringing in his ears. He took out his beaten old Firebolt from the broom cupboard; it had been his dad's once and had served him well, but it did need sprucing up. He unhooked the lid of the servicing kit and gave the broom a quick once over. It wasn't much, but it would do for now.

Five-a-side Quidditch was pretty different from normal Quidditch as neither side had a Seeker or any Beaters as only the Quaffle was used and the teams were made up of one Keeper and four Chasers. The game was much faster as a result and quite frenetic as each team tried to wrestle possession from the other. As the regular Gryffindor house team's best Chaser, James was soon racking up the points for his team. He was spurred on the appearance of a gang of girls, amongst them Celesca and her friends, who had made their way into the stands to watch. James was never sure he could impress Celesca with his academic skills but his talents on the Quidditch pitch were pretty hard to beat.

After half an hour or so of hard flying, and with the Gryffindor team so far in the lead it was embarrassing, most of the other players decided to call it a day. James, who always relished any chance to be on his broom, stayed on and flew about on his own. He was half thinking about bringing out the Snitch and testing his Seeking skills when he heard a rush of air behind him. He ducked as someone on a fast broom flew right at him, pulling away only at the last minute.

“Hey - you could have taken my head off!” he cried at the back of the newcomer.

“Good job you were paying attention then, wasn't it?”

“Celesca! I didn't know you liked flying,” said James, marvelling at seeing her in the air.

“What - I suppose you didn't think I would be any good on a broom because I'm a girl and I like books?” said Celesca, smirking.

“No, I…well, yeah, actually,” said James.

“Typical boy,” said Celesca. “Fancy a race? The loser buys lunch up in Hogsmeade.”

“What broom have you got?” said James, he edged closer to Celesca in mid-air. “Wow! A ShockWave! That's the number one broom according to Quidditch Quarterly. You really do like to fly.”

“I'll give you a head start, if you like,” Celesca teased. “I know how much you hate to lose.”

“I'll take my chances,” said James, grinning.

They flew to one end of the Quidditch pitch, lining up either side of the fifty foot hoops.

“Ready?” asked Celesca.

“On three?” James suggested. Celesca nodded in reply. “Okay - 1-2-3!”

Celesca shot off like a dart. James, from his position considerably behind, saw that she really did fly well. The broom was good but she was a natural. She even mocked James's slower pace by doing a few spins as she reached the other end, a good five seconds before James finally pulled up.

“In your own time, babe,” Celesca teased. “If you'd taken any longer to get here I might have started to decompose.”

“Why didn't you say you were such a good flier?” James asked, pulling up beside her. “You could be on the Quidditch team if your handling skills are as good as your flying.”

“I suppose it never came up,” said Celesca. “I'm not that much into Quidditch. I like watching you play - I've never missed a game of yours - but I don't often come to the matches between the other houses. I just like to fly.”

“And you're really good at it,” said James, totally impressed. “Who taught you?”

“I learned from my favourite player,” she said coyly.

“Who's that?” asked James. “Magnus Ekesson? Jimmy Nuihartd? Connor Flynn?”

“No, a little known Chaser called James Potter,” said Celesca. “He's an excellent flier. Lot's of potential, just needs to be shaped right.”

“Don't make fun of me,” said James.

“I'm not,” said Celesca, her face dropping as she realised she may have gone too far. “I've watched every game you've played; I've studied how you fly. You stand out because you have so much more grace and elegance than anyone else. I know I might be a little biased but it's true. I've even - er - spied on you when you've been training, too.”

“You have?” asked James, grinning. “You really were stalking me, weren't you?”

“Well, only a little bit,” said Celesca. “Nothing unhealthy, but just enough to get me by.”

James and Celesca flew down slowly and returned their brooms to the shed. By this time the stadium was deserted and they were able to enjoy a nice, peaceful, arm-in-arm stroll back up the hard lawns towards the castle. Inevitably, the conversation quickly turned towards their little excursion.

“Right, you have to tell me now how we're supposed to slip into Hogsmeade unnoticed,” said Celesca briskly.

“It's very simple,” said James. “But it'll be more dramatic for me to show you rather than tell you. This is what we'll do - you go up to the third floor and wait by the statue of the one-eyed witch. I'll meet you there in five minutes.”

“Five whole minutes?” said Celesca with a sufficient amount of melodrama. “How am I going to survive that long?”

“Just get going,” said James, smirking.

While Celesca went one way, James sprinted up the main staircase, following it around until he reached Gryffindor Tower. Once inside his dorm, he checked that there was no-one else about before delving into his trunk for two of his favourite possessions. His father had given them both to him for his first Christmas, saying it was a rites-of-passage sort of thing. James didn't entirely understand this, but what he did understand was the value of a moving map of Hogwarts and the cover of an Invisibility Cloak to explore it.

In no time James was turning onto the third floor corridor and meeting Celesca, waiting dutifully beside the statue but looking perturbed at the one-eyed hag staring at her.

“I really don't like this,” she said, pointing covertly at the statue and whispering as though afraid it would hear her.

“Don't worry, we'll be away from it soon,” said James.

“So now can you reveal this big surprise to me?”

“I suppose,” said James. “Close your eyes and don't open them until I tell you.”

“James…”

“Please? It'll be great.”

“Fine,” said Celesca.

James waited until she had closed her eyes and waved his hand in front of her face to make sure she wasn't peeking. Quick as a flash, he threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself, making sure it was covering every inch.

“Okay, open your eyes.”

Celesca did as she was told; the stunned look on her face as she looked right through James and down the corridor was hilarious and he had to bite his lip to keep the laugh in.

“James? Where are you? This isn't funny.”

James disagreed and watched as Celesca looked behind the statue and under the tapestry opposite to try and find him. He moved around behind her and whispered in her ear.

“Boo!”

Celesca jumped about three feet in the air and James couldn't help but laugh this time. He pulled the hood of the cloak down so that his disembodied head floated in mid-air.

“That wasn't funny,” said Celesca, clutching at her heart with one hand and whacking at James's invisible form with the other. Her annoyance turned quickly to wonder as she looked at James's surprise. “Wow - you've got an Invisibility Cloak!”

“Yeah, isn't it cool?” said James.

“Where did you get it? They're really rare and very expensive.”

“It was Dad's,” James explained. “He said it was a hallowed possession that was given to him by his father, so he gave it to me. I have to keep it to give to my son. I'm not telling you that so that you think…you know - we'll have…”

“I know what you meant,” said Celesca. She smiled before adding, “Though it would make a great present for our first born.”

A pleasant chill swept over James as he imagined what it would be like having a family with Celesca.

“Are you sure we should still go?” asked Celesca. “We might get caught leaving?”

“Not a chance,” said James. He whipped out the old piece of parchment and tapped it once with his wand. The map of Hogwarts spread out like an oozing ink splodge on the page.

“Now what in the world is that?” asked Celesca, looking at the labelled dots of people moving about the school.

“Another of my Dad's excellent hand-me-downs,” said James. “It's an enchanted map; shows the entire school and the village and everyone in both. No-one's moving nearby. Let's go.”

James tapped the statue with his wand, whispered `Dissendium' then stepped back as it swung outwards. He ushered Celesca into the secret passage and followed quickly, waiting until the statue had closed fully over the entrance before lighting his wand and leading the way.

“Is there room for two under there?” asked Celesca, huskily.

James lifted the cloak, threw his arm around Celesca's shoulders and pulled her close as the cloak fell back over the both of them.

“How cosy is this?” said Celesca approvingly.

“I like it,” said James. “It's certainly the best use I've found for it so far.”

They made their way along the winding tunnel until finally coming up over a shallow ridge and finding themselves in the musty storeroom of Honeydukes. James tried to give Celesca a load of Chocolate Frogs but she was having none of it.

“We'll use the cloak to get out of here but I won't have you stealing anything,” she said. “It's not right.”

“Just one Frog?” he asked. “They're good.”

“No, come on.”

They crept slowly up the dusty wooden stairs in single file in case anyone came down unexpectedly. This made the trip longer and more awkward than James thought it needed to be but Celesca was pacified so he didn't complain. They had to wait for the right moment behind the counter as the shopkeeper was dealing with a particularly annoying customer who was asking ridiculous questions about the dangers of Peppermint Imps and Dr Wally's Jawbreakers. Eventually the customer scooted away and James dragged Celesca quickly around the back of the counter, through the hatch and out the door before anybody noticed anything.

Hogsmeade village was surprisingly quiet for a Saturday afternoon. James suspected the cold weather had kept most people indoors; the ground still retained a pale frosty sheen while the grassy verges either side of the long, winding path were stiff and unmoving despite a mild breeze. Celesca looked like she was expecting to be caught any moment and cast suspicious glances towards any sudden movement or sound in the vicinity. Once outside the Three Broomsticks, James checked that no-one was around to see and quickly pulled off the Invisibility Cloak.

“Shall we go in?” he asked.

“Yes, and quickly,” said Celesca. “It's freezing out here.”

They were met by a blast of warmth as they pushed open the door to the pub and stepped inside. It was bustling and crammed full of people and James spent the first few moments of their visit looking around for any teachers who might have fancied a spot of lunch in the village. Luckily, they saw no familiar faces and made their way across to the bar. A gorgeous young girl was serving two middle-aged warlocks, who were drooling in to their tankards of ale and staring at the low cut of her top. She took their money, clocked sight of James and came over, beaming widely.

“James, how lovely to see you,” she said. “Slipped out again, have you?”

“Hi, Vicky,” said James. “You're not going to tell on me, are you?”

“No, of course not,” she said. “Get my cutest little cousin in trouble? Not a chance.”

Victoire Weasley was as stunningly beautiful as her mother and James had always had a bit of a crush on her. She had the odd characteristic of a voice that retained some of the French pronunciation from her mother but all the dialect of her father. It was an odd combination that took strangers some time to get used to, once they'd adjusted to her flawless looks and ruler-straight, flowing, fiery red hair.

“We're in for a bit of lunch,” said James.

“Ah, and who's this?” Victoire purred. “Finally been snapped up, little Jimmy?”

“Hi, I'm Celesca, James's girlfriend.”

Celesca, who was usually a little backwards in coming forwards, thrust herself across James to shake Victoire's hand. James couldn't help thinking Celesca wanted to mark herself out as the dominant female, as though threatened by his cousin.

“Nice to meet you,” said Victoire cautiously, as though picking up on Celesca's muted hostility like it was some kind of subtle scent. She turned to James. “My mother always did say you had a bit of a weakness for blondes.”

“Your mum always does talk a bit much,” said James, feeling himself blush slightly. “She and Uncle Bill are well I hope.”

“Fine, last time I saw them,” said Victoire, smiling. “So, what can I get you?”

“Two hot, foaming Butterbeers,” James announced. “And a menu, please.”

“Why don't you find a seat?” said Victoire. “I'll bring them over.”

“Thanks,” said James, before guiding Celesca away before she could protest. They found a secluded seat in a booth on one side of the pub which afforded a good view of the door, just in case anyone they knew came in. Celesca hadn't taken her eyes off Victoire and watched her all the way from the bar as she came over and placed their drinks in front of them.

“Here you go,” she said. “Two Butterbeers.”

“Cheers, Vic,” said James. “What food is good today?”

“Why, it's all good, Jim,” said Victoire with a brilliant smile. “But the mixed grill platter is excellent and a reasonable price.”

“I don't like grilled food,” said Celesca abruptly. “I think I'll have a salad.”

“I'll come back once you've had a chance to look at the menu,” said Victoire. She raised her eyebrows at James before sweeping away.

“What was all that about?” said James.

“All what?” said Celesca.

“All that with Victoire,” said James. “If I didn't know better I'd say you didn't like her.”

“She's all over you, James,” snapped Celesca.

“Hardly,” said James. “And besides, she's my cousin.”

“I don't care, I didn't like it,” said Celesca. She shot another dagger-laden look towards Victoire's back across the pub.

“I can't see why you would have a problem with her,” said James.

“Well let's see,” said Celesca, rounding on him. “She's gorgeous, for a start, she clearly fancies you as well, and don't pretend you weren't looking at her cleavage - though that's only half your fault `cause she doesn't seem too shy about showing it off.”

James found it hard to disagree when Victoire was bent over a nearby table accepting tips off yet another group of ogle-eyed punters.

“I wasn't looking at her like that,” James argued. “She's my cousin. That's sick.”

“She's still a girl,” said Celesca.

“Look, Cel, the only girl I want to look at is you,” said James. “You might not believe that, or might not think I mean it, but it doesn't matter - the only girl in my life is you. The only one I want to eye-up is sitting right opposite me. I'll make you believe it if I have to hex it into you.”

“Do you really mean that?” said Celesca sweetly.

“Of course” James replied.

“Then stop staring at your cousin's boobs!” Celesca hissed. She looked livid for a few moments but then her mouth creaked as though she were trying to hold back a grin. “I mean it.”

Celesca ordered their lunch as she wanted to restrict the contact between James and Victoire to as little as possible. She did relent to some extent by allowing James to accept Victoire's recommendation of the mixed grill, which he was grateful for as it was fantastically tasty. As they ate, the conversation eventually turned to the main reason for their escape from school.

“We have to start thinking about how we're going to contact you're aunt,” said Celesca.

“I was thinking about that,” said James. “I thought I could ask Vicky if we could use the upstairs room. Don't look like that - there's a fire up there and it'd make it much easier.”

“You're right, I suppose,” said Celesca mutinously. “What are you going to ask Mrs Weasley when you speak to her?”

“I'm not sure,” said James. “I don't want to make it obvious.”

“Just start by saying what happened to Richard,” said Celesca. “Say you don't think it was a natural creature and ask if there are any wizards registered as beetles.”

“Sounds good,” said James. “Do you think I should say anything about her and Dad?”

“I thought you were going to talk to Professor Longbottom about that?”

“I am, but I really want to know what went on,” said James.

“Can I ask you something about that?” asked Celesca. James nodded as his mouth was full. “Have you given any thought to what might happen when you get to the bottom of this?”

“What do you mean?”

“James you are in the midst of opening up a potentially destructive can of worms,” said Celesca. “Before you go diving headlong in I think you should consider what it'll do to the people involved, or what you want it to do?”

“I don't want it to do anything,” said James, with less conviction than he expected. “I just want to find out the truth.”

“But just doing that could cause something to happen,” said Celesca. “You need to think how this will affect you dad and your aunt. And what about their spouses? Have you stopped to think about your mum in all this?”

James felt as though he'd been hit by a powerful curse. His fork stopped half way between his mouth and his plate as Celesca's words were quite enough to digest. Mum? He hadn't even thought about her. In his eagerness to get to the bottom of the mystery of dad and Aunt Hermione he had barely given a thought to what any revelations would do to her, and Al and Lily in the process.

“I - I haven't even thought about it that way,” said James eventually.

“I think you should before you start asking difficult questions,” said Celesca. “Speak to Professor Longbottom, but speak to yourself before you go to much further. Ask yourself what it is you want from all of this.”

James was considerably more subdued for the rest of lunch. His plans for answering all the questions in his mind had included finding out all the facts and then presenting them to all parties concerned. The outcome of that hadn't entered his thinking; at no point had he considered what he wanted his delving to accomplish and he had given equally as little thought to the reactions of those connected with it. Now that Celesca had mentioned these oversights, however, he could think of nothing else.

At least with the end of the meal came the necessity of action and James's thoughts were firmly brought back to the job in hand. As Victoire came to collect their plates James whispered the request to use the upstairs parlour. Victoire's eyes twinkled between James and Celesca and though the former supposed he could imagine what his cousin thought was the reason behind the request he saw no need to correct her and raise awkward questions.

Victoire showed James and Celesca upstairs and left them alone with a knowing look. The little parlour was perfect; well proportioned and accessed only by one door, which was now locked, it provided the ideal location to conduct a covert conversation.

“So, what now?” asked Celesca. “How does this work?”

“Like Floo travelling,” said James. “Only difference is that you mention a person's name and you access the fire connected with them.”

“But that could be her home or work,” said Celesca.

“It doesn't matter,” said James. “It goes to where that person is.”

James took a handful of green powder from a bowl on the fireplace, threw it into the flames and called out the name of Hermione Weasley. The fire glowed a pale viridian for a moment before James, somewhat tentatively, placed his head into them. He felt the nauseating sensation of his world spinning around; slowly it began to return to focus and James found himself staring into a large office in which the air of authority was tangible. Sitting behind a desk, her nose buried behind a long roll of parchment was Aunt Hermione. She looked up as her flames ignited and stared a James for a moment as though he was an alien being.

“James! What in the world!” she shrieked.

“Hi, Aunt,” said James with his trademark cheeky grin.

Aunt Hermione leapt up and crossed the room in only a few strides. James's attitude changed instantly as the thunderous look on his aunt's face sent waves of anxiety coursing through his body. In a move he expected about as much as her hexing him, Aunt Hermione took James by his shoulders and pulled him bodily through the fire. He heard a little yelp from Celesca as his legs and torso disappeared from the Three Broomsticks, but the next thing he knew was the cold, hard of the tiled floor and Aunt Hermione's blazing eyes boring in to him.

“You'd better have a good reason for this,” said Aunt Hermione strictly. “I had all but the Headmaster's fire at Hogwarts taken off the Floo network so I know you aren't there.”

“I was at the Three Broomsticks,” said James sheepishly.

“During term time? And not on a designated weekend? You're father would kill you if he knew. How did you even get out?”

“An old map of my dad's,” said James. “You won't tell on me, will you?”

“He gave you his old map?” asked Aunt Hermione.

“You know about the map?” asked James.

“If we keep asking each other questions we won't get anywhere,” said Aunt Hermione, lightly. “Your dad used to use that map when we were in school. I always said he should have disposed of it. I'm amazed he gave it to you; it's almost as if he wanted you to get into mischief.”

“I'm not in mischief,” said James defensively.

“Then are you going to tell me what you are doing sticking your head through my fire?”

“I wanted to ask you something and I didn't want to wait for a letter reply,” said James.

“This sounds interesting,” said Aunt Hermione. “Go on.”

“My friend got bitten by something a couple of days ago,” James began. “He's really ill. A couple of my teachers think it could be poison or Dark Magic.”

Aunt Hermione's interest was taut now. “By your tone I'm guessing you have an opinion of your own.”

“Yeah, well, me and Celesca had a bit of a wild idea,” said James.

Aunt Hermione chuckled. “Just like your dad and me. Never satisfied to let the adults do the work we always thought we knew better and got involved. So, what's your theory?”

James shrugged off the temptation to question his aunt about her relationship with his dad, which was peeking through his resistance, and ploughed on.

“I thought it might have been an Animagus,” he said.

Far from laughing him all the way back to Hogwarts, as he was half expecting, Aunt Hermione looked shrewdly at James. It buoyed him to carry on.

“I was just wondering,” he said, “if that would be possible?”

“Of course it's possible,” said Aunt Hermione. “But all Animagi have to be registered. We keep track of them and we'd know where they were.”

“Would you be able to check?”

“Naturally,” said Aunt Hermione. “What kind of -”

She was interrupted by the sound of voices outside the door. James recognised one of them and his heart jumped into his throat.

“Quick, get under my desk,” said Aunt Hermione desperately. “And stay silent - if you make a noise down there I won't be able to help you.”

James ducked quickly under the large mahogany desk and in good time too; the door to the office was knocked once and opened without an invitation.

“Hello, Harry, what can I do for you?” said Aunt Hermione.

James held his breath and waited.

“Nothing so formal,” said Dad, breezily. “Ron sent me.”

“Ron? Is something wrong?” asked Aunt Hermione, concerned.

“No, nothing like that,” said Dad. “He asked me to tell you he has to work through lunch. I told him he shouldn't have taken Wednesday off to watch the Cannons but he wouldn't listen. He asked me if I wouldn't mind taking his place, assuming you're pliable, of course.”

“Are you offering to take me to lunch?”

“We can go down to Rossellini's,” said Dad. “I know how you like to go Italian at meal times.”

James didn't like the tones of either of the voices speaking. There was such a loaded characteristic in the flirty, sultry words that it was all James could do to ignore it.

“It'll be a pleasure,” said Aunt Hermione. “You'll be a gentleman and pay, yes?”

“Naturally,” said Dad.

“Give me five minutes to get myself sorted here and I'll meet you in the Atrium,” said Aunt Hermione.

“Five minutes,” said Dad. “If you're late you'll buy the first drinks.”

The door clicked shut and Aunt Hermione's face appeared over the ridge of the desk.

“You heard that I have to go,” she said. “Get yourself back to the Three Broomsticks and promise me you'll go right back to Hogwarts.”

“I will,” said James. He made his way back to the fire and took a handful of Floo powder. He turned to leave when Aunt Hermione suddenly called out.

“James, about this Animagus you're chasing,” she said. “You didn't say what creature it was.”

“It was a beetle, Aunt,” said James. “A black beetle.”

James waited long enough to register the astonishment on Aunt Hermione's face, which confirmed some suspicions which had been sneaking into his mind, before throwing the powder into the flames and spinning back to Celesca with more doubts in his mind than he was comfortable carrying.

-->

13. 13

Chapter 13

There was very little conversation on the walk back to Hogwarts. Indeed, James was so distracted that Celesca had to remind him to put on the Invisibility Cloak before they entered Honeydukes as he was in such a world of his own that he would have tried to access the secret passage with no stealth at all. It wasn't until they were faced with the one-eyed witch once again that Celesca finally forced James to speak.

“Okay, you're going to tell me what went on with your aunt,” she said firmly. “You aren't going back around the castle looking like that. Did you find something out?”

“No,” said James mutely. “I didn't get much chance to say anything other than what creature bit Richard. My Dad came in.”

“Yikes, that must have been close,” said Celesca.

“I hid under my aunt's desk,” James continued. “Then she and Dad had a chat about him taking her for lunch. It sounded like a date, Cel. But I suppose you'll tell me that it could just be a friends thing.”

“I won't remind of something which you already know,” said Celesca. “Everything like this is magnified for you, now, and you aren't totally wrong to react that way. After what you've learned you think all things between them point to a relationship, or heaven forbid, some sort of sordid affair. Is that what you think?”

“No, I don't think my dad would cheat on Mum,” said James. “The same goes for my aunt and uncle. I'm pretty sure they love their families too much for that. What I don't like is that something is going on there, or something has gone on in the past that they've never left behind. One thing for sure is that I'm going to find out what it is.”

“How are you going to do that?” asked Celesca.

“One step at a time,” said James. He had the map in his hand and his lit wand tip was tracing a route towards the Herbology greenhouses. Unfortunately, Professor Longbottom, James's target, was nowhere to be found. James searched the rest of the castle but in the mesh of little dots clustered around the Great Hall or the Staff room or any of the courtyards it was impossible to find him.

“Come on,” said Celesca cajolingly. “Let's get somewhere with some light where we can see better.”

James checked the third floor corridor; it was strange watching several little dots passing just metres from where he and Celesca were standing in the secret passage. He waited until they were safely gone before opening the secret entrance and stepping out. His eyes stung after so much time spent in the dark of the underground passage, but after a few minutes of adjustment he was ready to check the map again.

“Where do you think would be the best place to start?” asked Celesca.

“Eh?”

“Where is Professor Longbottom likely to be?”

“You haven't got to come with me for this,” said James. “There's no need for you to get involved in my troubles.”

“That is a hell of a thing for you to say to me,” said Celesca. “I told you that you aren't doing this alone so don't even try and get rid of me. Your troubles are my troubles. Now where is best to start looking?”

James couldn't help but take Celesca and kiss her hard right there in the corridor. That she was there with him doing more than he could ever ask of anyone was just mind blowing. He really felt that he'd be lost without her. Her eagerness to help served to calm him.

“I don't think we can find him now,” said James. “Everywhere is packed and I don't really want to talk to him with anyone about. Except for you, of course.”

“How about waiting until after dinner?” Celesca suggested. “We could go down about eight; the Nightshade plants need trimming at this time of year and they only come out in the dark. He's bound to be in the Greenhouses by then.”

James was once again thankful for Celesca's wealth of largely useless knowledge. It gave them a timeframe of action and even though that time promised to pass by slowly it at least provided plenty of opportunity to think. They decided to spend the majority of this time in the little garden just outside the Transfiguration courtyard; it was a magically enchanted place filled with blossom and hemlock falling around a large circular dais, atop of which a beautifully carved fountain splashed water into a large pool beneath. They walked hand-in-hand around and around, stopping briefly on a stone bench to toss a few loose Knuts into the wishing well.

“What did you wish for?” asked Celesca, snuggling her head into James's shoulder.

“If I tell you it won't come true, and I really need it to,” said James, leaning back into Celesca's cuddle.

She seemed to know what he was thinking and didn't push the issue. He suspected that it was so clear that all he wanted was an innocent solution to the problem of his dad and his aunt that there was no need to ask. This one wish, however, seemed the least likely outcome of all James's efforts.

After returning to Gryffindor Tower some time later to freshen up, James and Celesca paid a visit to Richard en route to dinner. To their surprise, they found Cassie and Nicola just leaving the Hospital Wing as they arrived. Cassie, for her part, looked as pale and worried as she had done on the day when Richard had been bitten.

“What are you doing up here?” asked James, astonished. “I didn't think you'd be so concerned about him.”

“I saw it happen,” said Cassie. “I can't get it out of my mind. I just hope he gets better.”

“He'll be fine,” said James. “If it was going to kill him it would have happened already.”

Cassie looked mortified.

“James, that's a horrid thing to say,” said Celesca, chiding him. “Pay no attention to him, Cass. His sense of humour is a bit tasteless at times.”

“Just trying to lighten the mood,” said James.

“Until Richard is well again nothing will do that,” said Celesca. “It's not funny to joke about things like that it case it really happens.”

“Right little ray of sunshine, aren't you?” said James sardonically.

“I'm just saying,” said Celesca. “Don't tempt fate.”

James scoffed. “The way fate has treated me lately I'm happy to take my chances with it.”

He gave Celesca his best romantic look and she returned it with a golden smile. Nicola made a sort of gagging noise nearby and ushered Cassie out of the place before there was more than one student struck down by a terrible sickness. James ignored her and moved over to Richard, now at the far end of the ward. Nurse Evesham and the Healer from St Mungo's had decided that whatever had struck Richard down was not contagious as neither they nor any of the teachers who'd been around him had developed a similar condition. As such, visitors were now allowed at his bedside.

“He looks like he's made of stone, doesn't he?” said Celesca sadly.

“I should have wished for a cure back at the fountain,” said James idly. “What in the hell could it be? He's been here for over a week and nothing has happened. If they don't find out what's wrong soon he might end up with those nutters in St Mungo's.”

“That won't happen,” said Celesca, trying to be positive. “Something will turn up. It has to.”

“I wonder if he can hear us,” said James. “I won't insult him for causing us so much stress, just in case.”

James had half hoped this last comment would provoke a response but Richard still lay as stiff as a board. They sat with him for ten minutes but it might as well have been a mannequin under the bed covers for all the good it did. Resigned to uselessness, James and Celesca headed down for dinner hoping that Professor Longbottom would be easy to find later and that he would prove more responsive than their prostrate friend.

Dinner cheered both James and Celesca up slightly as hot chocolate fudge cake was served amongst the desserts and they found out that it was both of their favourites. It was yet another good match in their relationship and James secretly felt that if they stumbled on any more he would have to check that they weren't really twins separated at birth. The disgust such a possibility created in his mind almost put him off eating, but when the gooey caramel of the cake mixed with the coolness of the luxury ice cream all other thoughts were driven from his mind.

After deciding to wait half an hour after dinner, James pulled out the old map, hid it inside a book Celesca had handy (which she always seemed to) and looked towards the greenhouses. To his relief there, inside Greenhouse Four, the little dot labelled `Neville Longbottom was moving about. James looked at Celesca and made dodgy eye signals for her to read what he'd been looking at; it took her a while to catch on, but once she did she nodded towards the door and they both moved to it. Several Sixth Year girls sat near the portrait hole whistled and offered smutty little comments as James and Celesca passed; James thought she bore it very well, simply walking past with her head high and doing a passable impression of ignoring them.

“Do you think that will ever stop?” Celesca asked as the Fat Lady's portrait swung shut behind James.

“I doubt it,” he replied. “But I did warn you about that sort of thing. People here are very childish.”

“Yeah, and most of them take after you,” said Celesca with a grin.

“What can I say, I'm a trendsetter,” said James.

They walked quickly down the stairs and slipped outside. The path to the Herbology greenhouses was not meant to be taken at night and the only light came from flaming torches hung in roughly hewn metal brackets along the verge. They cast insubstantial pools of light along the ground which provided almost no illumination at all and more than once James strayed from the path. It was lucky that Celesca seemed to have her radar working and was there to pull him straight whenever he started to wander.

The greenhouses themselves were much better lit; all of them were as bright as though they were being worked in and the long shadows of the torches gave way to a row of greenhouses which looked like a terrace of translucent glass houses. James led the way along the row to Number Four and pushed open the door. Professor Longbottom looked up from a tray about half the length of the building away, startled at being disturbed and utterly bemused at seeing James standing in the doorway.

“James! What in the world are you doing here at this hour?” he exclaimed. “I wouldn't have thought late-night revision was your thing.”

“It isn't, sir,” said James, who couldn't help but grin at the comment.

“Then what is it? What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes.” James asked.

“Of course,” said Professor Longbottom. “Homework problems?”

“No, sir, it's more personal,” said James.

The Herbology master frowned. “This sounds serious. Let's take a seat, shall we? I've just brewed some tasty Colombian coffee if you'd like to help me sample it. Come on in, Miss Shaw, I can see you back there, too.”

“Evening, Professor,” said Celesca shyly.

James followed Professor Longbottom to the back of the greenhouse. On a trestle table a steaming pot and a chipped scarlet mug stood next to a plate of biscuits.

“More, I think,” said Professor Longbottom staring at the table. He took out his wand and conjured two dainty teacups while at the same time Summoning two stools from the nearby work desks. The three of them sat down and took a cup.

“Now, what is it you want to talk about?” asked Professor Longbottom, pouring the coffee.

“It's quite personal,” said James, drinking in the rich aroma of the coffee. “And I don't know who else to speak to. But I can only ask you this if I can guarantee it won't leave the greenhouse.”

“Teacher/student confidentiality is paramount,” said the Professor. “You can trust me.”

“It's more than that,” said James. “It's family friend to member of family. I can't have anyone knowing - especially not my dad.”

For the first time, Professor Longbottom looked concerned. He glanced over at Celesca and James swore he saw his eyes flick towards her belly. He snorted with laughter as he realised what the Professor might have been thinking.

“No, no, sir,” said James, laughing. “It's nothing like that.”

“Oh, good,” said Professor Longbottom, the relief in his smile evident.

“Can I trust you not to say anything?” James pressed.

“Of course,” said the Professor. “I promised your parents I would keep an eye on their children whilst you were under my care. I doubt this was the kind of thing they had in mind but I promise I won't say a word of this to them. Now - how can I help?”

“I want to ask you about when my dad was at school,” James began. “You knew him then, right?”

“We met on the first day,” said Professor Longbottom, remembering fondly. “My toad kept getting lost and your aunt, Hermione, helped me look for him. We went into the carriage on the Hogwarts Express that your father was in and we met.”

“So did Aunt Hermione know him then?” James asked.

“No, but I remember her saying how she'd read up on him,” said the Professor. “Or at least she'd come across his name. She knew a lot about him before they met - but then again Hermione did know a great many things”

James didn't like how this was going. The idea of Aunt Hermione reading up on Dad equated to the same thing as Celesca spying on him during his Quidditch sessions. Things weren't going well.

“So you were friends with him?” James continued.

“Yes, I like to think so,” said Professor Longbottom. “Not quite as close as Ron or Hermione, mind you, but they were a special trio.”

“Who would you say was closer to my dad, out of the other two?”

“What an odd question?” said Professor Longbottom, studying James as though trying to work out where this was all going. “Well, definitely Ron at first. They were boys and at that age they were joined at the hip. Later, though, Hermione proved her worth through all the trails and tribulations they went through and your father learned how priceless she was to him. I don't think either was outright closer - more like, closer in their own ways.”

“In their own ways - what do you mean?” James asked.

“They both brought their own qualities to the dynamic,” said the Professor. “They both helped Harry in unique ways and both contributed to the downfall of Voldemort. What's all this about, James? These are highly unusual questions.”

“I…do you think there is any chance my dad and Aunt Hermione could be having an affair?”

Professor Longbottom spat his coffee into an empty plant pot nearby. It was something of a miracle that he didn't fall from his stool, such was the shock he showed at James's question. It took his a few moments to gather himself.

“I didn't expect that!” he spluttered. “Of all the things…why would you think that?”

“Is it possible?” asked James, unmoved.”

“No, not at all,” said Professor Longbottom. “What on earth has given you that idea?”

James told his story, starting at what he could remember was the beginning. He told Professor Longbottom all about the Christmas at Sparrow's Nook, the lack of interaction between his dad and his aunt; he moved on to the ways they acted when no-one else was around, the flirting the ease of conversation, all in stark contrast to how they were with other people; Rita Skeeter's articles came next and rounded off all of James's concerns. He finished by reiterating his question to the Professor.

“So, what would you think?” he asked.

Professor Longbottom looked perturbed, and much less convinced about his opinions than he had been ten minutes before.

“I still don't think it's possible,” he said eventually. “Your parents and the Weasleys are two of the strongest couples I know, and they get on so well. I can't see them having an affair.”

“I don't think they are,” said James. “I'm more concerned about what happened before, when they were younger. You were there - that's why I'm asking you. Did they ever seem more than friends?”

“They were always closer than friends,” said Professor Longbottom. “But so were he and Ron, and I'm quite sure they didn't have any sort of illicit relationship.”

“I really hope not,” said James. “Him and Aunt Hermione is bad enough…but think back, sir. What about the stuff with Krum.”

The Professor's eyes glazed over as a memory came back to him. James didn't like the look of the response building up.

“Now that you mention that, there was a lot of press about them,” sad Professor Longbottom. “It was mostly that Skeeter woman meddling but people believed it. Looking back, it was easy to see how people could have thought they were together. I don't ever remember Krum saying Harry was his rival but something kept him and Hermione apart. Even I thought they might have had something going on…I can't believe I forgot that.”

“Forgot what?” asked James.

“We had a Ball at Christmas that year,” the Professor recalled. “I asked Hermione to go; I didn't have feelings for her or anything but she'd always been so nice to me. Anyway, she said she already had a date and I remember now how I was surprised she turned up with Krum. I thought it was bound to be Harry she was going with.”

“Why?”

“Harry hadn't asked anyone,” said Professor Longbottom. “It went all around the school when he asked Cho Chang later. I thought he might have asked Hermione in private as she would have kept it to herself. Speaking of Cho, she thought there was something going on, too. We set up a secret sort of club, where your dad taught us practical Defence, and one of Cho's friends ratted us out. I was coming down the stairs one evening and I heard her and your dad arguing. You see, Hermione had jinxed the list we all signed up to and the traitor sprouted huge pimples on her face when she told on us. Cho blamed Hermione, Harry defended her, and I heard Cho make some sort of suggestive comment about your dad and Hermione. I even remember someone saying later that Cho gave up on Harry because she thought she'd never be closer to him than Hermione.”

“Then its true,” said James, despairingly. “Something did go on.”

“Not as far as I knew,” said the Professor. “People talked and gossiped, as they are want to do, but there was never any sort of relationship other than friends that I knew about - and anything to do with your father was hot news. Think about how fast everyone knew about your relationship - it would have been multiplied for your dad.”

“You heard about us?” said James, looking at Celesca.

“The Hogwarts grapevine puts Owl Post and the Floo Network in the shade when it come to news travelling fast,” said the Professor. “But I'd only have to look at you to know there was something going on.”

“Just like with my dad and Aunt Hermione,” said James, mutely.

“No, they never looked like that,” said Professor Longbottom. “It was just a possibility that wouldn't have come as a surprise but that nobody would have expected.”

“That doesn't make a lot of sense,” said James.

“Love never does,” said Professor Longbottom. “You've been comparing yourself to them, haven't you? Thinking, maybe, that because you are together they must have been?”

“Well, doesn't that make sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” said the Professor. He was grinning a little. “And if love and relationships were even and equal you'd be right. Unfortunately, they are not. Just because you two resemble Harry Potter and Hermione Granger doesn't mean you are them, or they you. All people and all relationships are unique and individual. To think that two separate people will act the same way because they are similar is to be naïve about the variety of life.”

“See, I told you,” said Celesca, who James had almost forgotten was there. “I've been trying to tell him that myself, Professor.”

“And you should listen, James,” said Professor Longbottom. “As far as I know, Harry and Hermione were nothing but friends when I was in school with them and they both married soon after leaving Hogwarts. If something had gone on it would have been very brief, but Hermione and Ron were already courting by then so I can't see that happening.”

“But do you think they might have had feelings for each other?” said James. “Me and Celesca are like Dad and Aunt Hermione. If nothing is impossible in love then they could have had something.”

“There is that chance, but if they did they never acted on it,” said Professor Longbottom. “At least, not what I saw. I wasn't at their side all the time but Ron was; if anything did exist between them Ron's presence would have seen in kept well hidden.”

“So the fact that so many people thought they might have had something going on means nothing?” James asked.

“If they didn't act on it, or if there wasn't anything there but rumour and gossip, then no,” said the Professor. “Don't think on it, James - your dad has loved your mum since they were sixteen. They have a family I know they love and that's all that matters. You're seeing problems that I don't think are there. I thought Harry and Hermione might have liked each other at fourteen, but I was wrong. It happens.”

“I think we've stayed long enough,” said James. “Thanks, sir. Thanks for being honest.”

“I hope I've helped put your mind to rest,” said Professor Longbottom.

“Yeah, thanks,” James lied blatantly.

“Thank you for the coffee,” said Celesca as James bundled her out the door and they made their way back towards the castle. They were in the Entrance Hall before she was able to speak again. “See - I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing? Are you mad?” said James in amazement. “That basically confirmed all my suspicions.”

“How so?”

“Well, not only did Rita Skeeter think something was going on but Viktor Krum, someone called Cho Chang, Professor Longbottom - how many others? If so many other people saw something between Dad and Aunt Hermione then I bet Mum and Uncle Ron did too and that's why they can't be themselves around them - they'd get too jealous and they'd have a right to be.”

“Mountain out of a molehill, James,” said Celesca, her ignorance so annoying. “You're just seeing what you want to see.”

“You think I want to see this!” James cried, his voice rising. “You think I want my dad to have a secret past with my aunt that they still carry on? How do I even know my mum is my mum? I could be Aunt Hermione's son.”

“Now you're just being completely ridiculous,” said Celesca.

“God, can't you see? Can't you just accept the obvious for once, or are you that delusional?”

“James, I…”

“Oh, whatever you're going to say just save it,” James snapped. “You don't want to believe me or help me, fine, but don't come over all superior like I'm some kind of idiot.”

“I'm not being superior,” said Celesca, greatly hurt in her look. “I'd never say anything like that about you. I'd never say you were an idiot.”

“No, you'd just treat me like one,” said James, nastily. “Maybe that's why my dad stayed away from my aunt - she probably looked down her nose at him too.”

“James, don't say things like that,” said Celesca, her eyes shining with tears. “I don't see you like that.”

“No, you just don't see me at all,” said James. He turned and stomped off leaving a trail of Celesca's sobs echoing behind him.

* * *

James didn't even try to sleep that night. Once his anger had died down and he realised how utterly stupid he had been he just lay in his bed tossing and turning and wondering just how he could apologise to Celesca. He considered why he had exploded at her, what had made him flip so dramatically and he couldn't put his finger on it. What Professor Longbottom had said hadn't even been that bad; it was little different to what he already knew and he realised that Celesca's logical approach applied here just as much as it had to Rita's articles and his own fears. She was right, as normal, and he had bitten her head off through his own frustrations at getting nowhere closer to the truth. He had expected answers from Professor Longbottom when all he'd got were more vague possibilities. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that there were only two people who could really answer his questions.

He got up early, at around six o'clock, and sat in the Common Room waiting for the first light to brighten the room. He was going to sit and wait for Celesca and do whatever it took to make her see what a fool he was. It gave him the chance to think about things, in particular Celesca's claim that he wanted to see a relationship between his dad and his aunt. Did he? Was that why he kept chasing the truth, despite knowing what such a revelation would do to his family? Did he think his relationship with Celesca was so perfect that he wanted to think his father had once enjoyed something similar, even if it wasn't with his mother? The possibility that this was true made James feel so rotten about himself that he didn't even want to dwell on it for any length of time.

It was an hour or so before the first risers began trickling down through the Common Room and towards breakfast. James looked at each of them in turn in case he was so tired that he missed Celesca's face as she passed. Eventually she did emerge, her eyes red and puffy and looking thoroughly miserable. She appeared surprised that James was up already and apparently waiting for her. Almost as if she knew what was coming she wasn't too stand-offish as James approached her.

“Can I walk you to breakfast?” he asked timidly.

Celesca nodded meekly and they made their way through the portrait hole. James tried to think what was the best thing to say; all of the petulant comments and nasty slurs chased each other over the well worn paths they'd been tracing all night in his mind and he couldn't decide which on to start with. Instead he plumped for general grovelling.

“Celesca, I'm so sorry,” he said. “I don't know what made me act that way last night.”

“I do,” said Celesca. “And though it's not the easiest time for you it doesn't make it right for you to jump down my throat all the time. What you said was really hurtful.”

“I know, and I'm a pleb for saying them,” said James. “I didn't mean a word of it.”

“I know that,” said Celesca. “But you shouldn't have said things like that. I'm here to take the flak when you get frustrated but don't make it personal. Whatever has gone on, or hasn't one on, with your family isn't my fault.”

James felt awful and simply bowed his head and walked on in silence. The hurt in Celesca's voice cut through him as though it were his own physical pain. He could only mutter again and again how sorry he was.

“Good,” said Celesca. “I love you, James, but I won't take being abused like that. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and feeling all misunderstood and maybe you won't see things with those blurred glasses you've been wearing lately.”

They entered the Great Hall and made their way to the Gryffindor Table. There was an air of anger and hostility from Celesca but James was at least thankful that she still wanted to sit next to him. He felt too miserable to eat at first and sat there looking at food rather than eating it. Celesca shook her head at him.

“Look, I told you I've accepted your apology,” she said. “You were a wally, I agree, it's done. There's no point starving yourself because we had a row. Couples have little spats now and then, it happens. Just try not to be too horrible to me, that's all I ask.”

“I don't want to be horrible to you at all,” James protested vehemently.

“I know, sweety, but it happens,” said Celesca, softening somewhat. “I know you didn't mean what you said, I forgive you for saying it. No harm done. Now eat something before you start to rot away. I'd miss you if that happened.”

“Even though I yelled at you?”

“Well at least no-one can say we don't have passion in out relationship,” said Celesca.

With the mood lightened, James reached over for the nearest toast rack and grabbed a few slices. A smearing of butter and jam later and he was gorging indecently of his breakfast, as though eating would wash away the shame he was feeling. In his distracted mood he barely noticed when the post owls swooped in and consequently was left with a lapful of orange juice as Celesca's Daily Prophet collided with his glass and knocked it flying. Celesca cleared the spillage up with her wand, a little grin hitched onto her face as though it was the least James deserved for his outburst. He couldn't disagree but his mind was soon taken by a feature on the front page of the newspaper.

“Oh no, not today” he moaned.

“What is it?”

“Rita Skeeter and her special article,” said James.

Celesca took the newspaper and read the small overview of Rita's article. She didn't emerge with the best look on her face.

“What does it say?” asked James.

“Inside today's Sunday Prophet,” Celesca read. “Read the full and exclusive interview with Number One author, Rita Skeeter, as she reveals the full and sordid story of two of the most prominent members of wizard government. In a feature packed with shocks, read about Harry Potters plans to take over the world; about Hermione Weasley's dark past, including Dark Magic and kidnap and how both are rearing children to extend their influence at Hogwarts School - a work already in progress. Read this whole, unmissable article on pages 17-20 for your chance to win a signed copy of Rita's fabulous, Hogwarts: The REAL History.”

James fumed and was sure steam might be coming from his ears. It was only the raw memory of his last outburst that prevented him from exploding again. He sat and stewed and waited for the right thing to come to his mind.

“I don't think we should stay here,” Celesca whispered.

“Why not?”

“I'm not the only one with a copy of the Prophet,” said Celesca. “And if I'm not mistaken a lot of those other copies are already heading to page 17.”

Celesca was right. From his seat James could see the same picture of his dad and Aunt Hermione staring back up from various copies of the paper.

“Come on,” said James. He got up and the quickly exited the hall. He turned to look at Celesca who was livid.

“God, I'm really starting to hate that woman,” she cried, taking James by surprise.

“What could she have written this time?” James wondered out loud. “How much more slander can she invent about my family? About me…and probably us?”

Celesca howled in anger. “I really hate her, James. She really does have a poison pen.”

“What did you say?” said James, perking up.

“A poison pen,” Celesca repeated. “It's a Muggle term for writing nasty letters.”

“A poison pen…”said James, his imagination whirring. “Hey, Cel - would it be possible for an Animagi to include something with them as part of their transformation?”

“I don't know, it'd be very difficult,” said Celesca, thinking. “Why are you…of course! Rita and Richard!”

“Exactly!” James cried. “What if Rita is the Animagus beetle but she didn't actually bite Richard? What if she managed to transfigure a pen so that it either became part of her -”

“- or it was small enough to, say, hold in her mouth -”

“- then she stabbed Richard with it and the thing was filled with poison?”

“It's certainly possible,” said Celesca excitedly. “And it's probably likely that none of the people trying to help him have looked at Muggle poisons. Rita is so sneaky that she probably thought of that too and used one.”

“We have to tell the Headmaster, come on,” said James.

“Great idea, I was just about to pay him a visit myself,” said a familiar voice coming through the main doors.

“Dad?” said James, flabbergasted. “What are you doing here?”

“A student has been attacked, possibly with Dark Magic involved, so I've heard,” said Dad; he spoke with such authority that James felt obliged to cower away and it was only the pointed look he gave, which left James in no doubt where Dad had received his information from, that kept him rooted to the spot.

“Yeah, he's my friend,” said James.

“Then take me to him,” said Dad, more of a command than a request. “I think I need to have a few words with the Headmaster about the dangers of not bringing such events with my office. I would have spoken to him last night but I arrived too late.”

“You were here last night?” said James.

“Yes, Neville put me up in the staff dorms after he'd finished his work in the greenhouses.”

James walked on in silence and let his father's words wash over him. He felt more anxious than he could explain; his father was here because he'd been told about Richard and James would bet his right arm that Aunt Hermione was the one who'd mentioned it. Then he'd arrive last night and spoken with Professor Longbottom. Had he been there when they spoke or heard anything? Or was it just coincidence. Either way, James felt almost nauseous with the fear of what his father was going to do. If this was what was going to happen when he confronted him about his relationship with Aunt Hermione, James wasn't entirely sure he had the courage to do it.

-->

14. 14

Chapter Fourteen

As he was frog marched up the marble staircase, James couldn't shake the feeling that he was in trouble, that whatever gripe Dad held against the Headmaster and the lack of information about Richard, James was somehow responsible. He tried to put such anxious thoughts away from his mind, though this only brought his attention back to the edition of the Sunday Prophet and Rita's article, which was burning a hole under his arm as they walked.

James followed silently in his father's footsteps as they traced the familiar route towards the Hospital Wing. He wanted to look to Celesca for reassurance but didn't know what to communicate to her. His expectations didn't make much sense just now and any looks he was likely to give Celesca would probably be equally as confused. He was forced to stay quiet and look straight ahead, his anxiety growing as they neared their destination.

The Hospital Wing was thankfully quiet. Richard lay as still as ever on his bed at the far end of the ward and there was only one other bed occupied, though its occupant had drawn the curtains tight to prevent anyone seeing the results of a particularly nasty bout of acne. This served as an effective shield against the hero-worship hysteria, which James was familiar with, that greeted his father whenever he was seen in public. It made the brisk stroll to Richard a thankfully uneventful one.

“Is this him?”

“Yeah,” James replied. “He's a friend of mine, Richard.”

“And did you see what happened to him?” Dad asked in a business-like manner. “Were you there?”

“Yeah, he was bitten by a beetle as he tried to throw it out the window,” James recounted. “A few minutes later he was barely able to stand up and by the time Celesca, me and this other girl got him up here he was like this.”

“Who is this other girl? I might need to question her.”

“Q-question her?” asked James. “Is that necessary?”

“I'll be the judge of that,” said Dad. “If there is something Dark afoot I will need all the information I can get.”

“But she wasn't involved,” said James. “She saw it happen from nearby and came to help us. She's a friend, that's all. She wouldn't have anything to do with it.”

“Nothing can be ruled out,” said Dad. “The forces which are behind events like this operate in many and varied ways. A guilty conscience can be a powerful inducement to assistance.”

“Huh?”

“Do you mean she might have meant it for someone else but it got Richard instead, so she helped us because she felt bad?” asked Celesca, piping up to James's surprise.

James's watched as his father gave Celesca a deep, appraising look. “Very deductive. Have you ever thought of a career as an Auror? You have a sharp enough mind for it.”

“I…I haven't really thought about it,” said Celesca, blushing.

“You should then,” said Dad. “You think in the right way. We can never have too many people like that in the Auror office.”

James had a wild, fleeting thought that his father sounded like he was chatting up Celesca - James though that perhaps he was reminded so much of a young Aunt Hermione that he forgot himself. James interjected quickly to stamp his mark on the situation; he was sure Celesca liked him very much but she was clearly a bit start struck and James wasn't convinced he'd be able to out-duel his father if he had to fight for Celesca's heart.

“So have you ever seen anything like this before, Dad?” he said. “Can any sort of insect bite do this?”

“Nothing I've ever seen,” said Dad. “He's out cold, like he's been Petrified.”

Dad closed his eyes and shivered as a bad memory came back to him. James's attention was caught by Celesca, who was making surreptitious head movements in his direction. They had enough unspoken communication skills now for him to know she was egging him on to tell his dad about their theory concerning Rita. James hadn't thought who he was going to tell anyway and as his father was here he was as good a person as any.

“Dad, we sort of had an idea,” said James slowly.

“Sort of?” said Dad with a slight smirk. “I heard you had been doing a bit of investigating of your own.”

“Can't Aunt Hermione ever keep secrets?” said James.

Dad laughed. “She tried but I'm better at Occlumency than she is and she confessed all rather than have me find out her deepest, darkest secrets by attacking her mind.”

James almost choked. There was, without doubt, some aspect of his dad and aunt's relationship that was being kept from him. There was no other way of looking at it if his dad's inference was anything to go by.

“So, come on then,” said Dad, oblivious to James's discomfort. “What's this theory of yours?”

“Well, it's about Rita Skeeter,” said James bluntly. Dad perked up, interested. “We think she could be behind it.”

“Rita? How so?”

“We think she might be an Animagus and that her form is a beetle,” said James. “That's why I went to see Aunt Hermione. She'd know, being head of Magical Law and everything. We, that is, Celesca and I, think that Rita is a beetle and that somehow she got into the castle to spy on us for a story. When she was injured a few weeks ago we reckon it was from when she fell from Gryffindor Tower in her Animagus form. It wouldn't have been able to be healed by magic if she was hurt like that.”

James felt belittled by the look his father was giving him now, as though considering him anew. “That's a lucid and well-thought out argument,” he said, looking proud. James felt humbled. “It certainly fills a lot of blanks but what about the poisoning? Even as a beetle she wouldn't have been able to cause this.”

“We just stumbled onto an idea about that this morning,” said Celesca, taking over. “We aren't sure if it's possible, but we think Rita might have transfigured another object to be part of her when she transformed. This contained the poison rather than a bite. That's our idea, anyway.”

Celesca sounded less sure of the validity of their theory as she spoke and backed meekly away as she finished. James was happy that his father appeared to be giving their ideas a great deal of thought.

“What sort of object do you think this might have been?” he asked.

“A pen,” said James. “A Muggle pen, one that could dispense poison.”

“A fountain pen could do it,” said Dad, thoughtfully. “Ironic…a true poison pen.”

“That's what we thought!” cried Celesca triumphantly.

“It's certainly a possibility,” Dad continued. “Rita's whereabouts at the time of the attack would have to be confirmed, of course, and we would have to find out how she was getting into the castle.”

“Couldn't she just fly in?” asked James.

“Oh no,” said Dad. “There are preventative charms against that. She'd have to be brought in.”

“Is she definitely a beetle then?” James asked.

“Yes,” said Dad. “She isn't registered, either. She used to transform and get Slytherins to bring her into the castle to get stories about me. Hermione trapped her under a glass when she tried spying on us after the Triwizard. She blackmailed her to keep quiet but then we had to use her later.”

“Dad, you and Aunt Hermione aren't in charge of the Wizarding World, are you?” James blurted out.

Dad laughed loudly again. “No, James. I can see how that sounded and I'm sorry. It was self-defence more than anything. We said we'd reveal her as an unregistered Animagus if she didn't just disappear quietly. It's a crime punishable by a spell in Azkaban, you know. Still is, actually.”

“But all the stuff she's said,” said James quickly before he lost his nerve. “I haven't read the article she's written today but it can't be good. It isn't true, is it?”

“Of course not,” said Dad, ruffling James's hair. “Your Aunt and I, and Uncle Ron for that matter, are in positions of authority. We had such trouble with bungling inept government when we were young, which nearly cost us our lives, that we vowed not to let it be run by sub-standard people again. We aren't dictators, James. We do keep an eye on things from the inside, though. Don't listen to anything Rita writes; she's a bitter and twisted old hag and if any of what you've suggested about her turns out to be true I think I might twist your aunt's arm to land her that overdue spell under the care of the Dementors.”

James shuddered. He remembered vividly visiting Azkaban with his father several years ago. It was under the guise of a trip to places of note in the Wizarding World but James knew it was really to discourage him from being bad. His memory of the cold despair created by the Dementors prevented James doing anything worse than pinching the odd liquorice wand from the cellar of Honeydukes.

All three of them were suddenly disturbed by the opening of the doors at the far end of the ward. Two people entered; Headmaster Octavian, in a long flowing purple robe, flanked by Professor Roth. They strolled purposefully along the ward until they were standing face to face with James, his father and Celesca, who had all turned to meet them.

“Nice to see you, Alucian,” said Dad, shaking Professor Roth's hand.

“The pleasure is all mine, Harry,” Professor Roth replied warmly. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”

“I would have thought that was obvious,” said Dad. He turned to look directly at Headmaster Octavian; now James had always been impressed verging on the over-awed by the Headmaster's imperious presence, but something was starkly different now. As he and his father faced up, James felt as though he were being hit by the shock waves of two great forces colliding. Bizarrely, James felt that it was his father whose presence was the most dominant; it filled the whole room and even Headmaster Octavian was dwarfed by it.

“Mr Potter,” said the Headmaster. “You are most welcome at Hogwarts.”

“Thank you, Headmaster,” said Dad with restraint. “I'm not the sort to mince words so I'll kindly ask you to explain why this event has not been reported to my office, even though it took place over a week ago.”

“We have been unable to ascertain the nature of the boy's sickness,” Headmaster Octavian explained. “There seemed no cause to trouble the authorities.”

Dad looked gobsmacked. “A student has been struck down in a mystery attack, you have no idea what caused his condition or even what that condition may be and…you didn't think it worthy of mention? Need I remind you, Headmaster, that any instance, or even potential instance, of Dark Magic, at Hogwarts or elsewhere, should be reported immediately. Fifteen year old edicts dictate the necessity of this.”

“I am aware of that,” said the Headmaster, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

“Then you must have a better reason than the one you've given,” said Dad with such authority that James felt as though he were about to give the Headmaster detention.

“We thought it best not to create panic,” said Professor Roth. “The media were bound to pick up on it and with Rita Skeeter buzzing about again we thought we'd keep it low key. To tell the truth, we thought it would have cleared up by now but the boy is utterly unresponsive.”

“And you have no clues as to why?” said Dad, leaving Headmaster Octavian to his thoughts.

“It's clearly some sort of poison but nothing we've tried to cure him has worked,” said Professor Roth.

“Have you tried Muggle poison antidotes?” asked Dad. James was sure he gave him the most fleeting of glances but it was so swift it could have been a trick of the light.

“Muggle poisons?” said Professor Roth, looking intrigued. “No. Do you have reason to think one may be involved?”

“Possibly,” said Dad. “A theory was put to me regarding this situation. I have to look in to it but it could be a tack to try.”

“I'm not an expert on Muggle poisons,” said Professor Roth. “I know the Chief Healer of St Mungo's. I'll speak to her.”

“You do that, Alucian,” said Dad. “In the meantime I have to do a little questioning of my own. I'll show myself out, if you'll permit my son and his girlfriend to escort me out?”

“Of course,” said Professor Roth. “Good day, Harry.”

“And to you,” said Dad. He turned to Headmaster Octavian as he passed. “And I expect any future events of this nature to be reported immediately. You are given free reign here, Octavian, only because I knew a great Headmaster who did things in a similar manner. Don't make me reconsider this stance.”

The Headmaster bowed as Dad swept away with James and Celesca following quickly in his slipstream.

“Do you really have the power to replace the Headmaster?” asked James when they were out of earshot of the Hospital Wing.

“No, only the Board of Govenors can do that,” said Dad. He grinned. “Sounded impressive though, didn't it?”

James chuckled. “What are you going to do now?”

“For a start I have to pay a visit to Hermione,” Dad began. “She keeps the records of Animagi movements and she's an expert on Rita. If anyone can nail her, Hermione's the one. Then I have to do some research into Animagi transformations, to see if a foreign object can be incorporated into them. Knowing your aunt, though, she's probably already looked all that up and a big, fat dossier will be waiting for me tomorrow morning at the Ministry.”

“Have you and her always made such a good team?” asked Celesca. James thought it was bit of a loaded question but perhaps it would have been worse had he said it.

“Team?” laughed Dad. “It was mostly Hermione doing the work then me messing it up or ignoring it until I had no choice but to do what she suggested. She was the brains, I was the fool who made things more difficult than they needed to be. Some things never change.”

“Like what?” asked James.

“It'd take a lifetime to tell you,” said Dad. “Maybe I'll start one day, but not now. I've got a lot to do. Now you be good, and stay in school. If I hear that you've been up in the village outside of trip days again then I might reconsider letting you keep that old map of mine.”

“Yes, Dad,” said James obediently.

“Oh, and nick me a jar of Aniseed Gobstoppers next time you're under Honeydukes,” said Dad, his eyes twinkling. “Your mum loves them but I can never find them down in London. I'll be in touch. Goodbye, you two.”

Dad kissed James on the head, squeezed Celesca's shoulder like she was a member of the family and slipped through the open Main Door. James and Celesca watched until he was out of sight up the path before turning back inside. As it was Sunday there were no classes and they both discussed what to do with themselves. The dark part of James's mind had half an eye on the Forbidden Forest or a nearby broom cupboard but he didn't think the atmosphere was quite right to make a suggestion like that. Instead he allowed his feet to follow Celesca as she led the way up towards the Astronomy Tower.

“I've been thinking about what your dad said,” Celesca said. “About how Rita could only get around the castle if she was being let in. You don't think Cassie would be involved, do you?”

“No, of course not,” said James. “She's your best friend, though, so you'd be more of an expert. Why would she do a thing like that? What's she got to gain?”

“Well…” started Celesca, blushing shyly. “She's really, really jealous of me.”

James was startled by this. “Over what? She doesn't…you know…like me, does she?”

Celesca hooted with laughter. “You're so vain it's almost cute. Not everyone has the hots for you, honey.”

“Then why is she jealous?” asked James, feeling slightly aggrieved at the revelation that not every girl at Hogwarts was head over heels in love with him.

“Because of our relationship,” Celesca explained. “She keeps going on about how she wants a boyfriend, she has been for ages. It's got a bit tiresome, to be honest. Anyway, after we started going out she became really distant with me and it's because I've got what she wants. She's jealous that I've got a boyfriend and she doesn't.”

“Aren't you meant to be friends?” asked James. “That's a bit weird for her to be like that.”

“It's in a girl's nature to behave in strange ways sometimes,” Celesca agreed. “She'll be okay when she gets used to it.”

“So you think she might have wanted to get me out of the way with the beetle?”

“It's not impossible,” said Celesca.

“But not likely either,” said James. “Look how upset she is about what happened. I don't think she'd be like that if she was as cold-hearted as you are saying.”

“She's just upset because she fancies Richard,” said Celesca matter-of-factly.

“What!” said James, rounding on Celesca. By this time they were on the circular parapet and James wouldn't have been surprised if the shock had pushed him over the hand rail.

“Oh, isn't it obvious?” said Celesca exasperatedly. “She's liked him since she dumped you at that Christmas party. She said he's really nice when he's not trying to prove he's worthy of being your friend. They've been spending a lot of time together since we've been going out. She likes him a lot.”

“If that's true, and I'm not sure you've got that right, then why doesn't she ask him out?” asked James.

“Because she isn't sure if she likes him enough,” said Celesca. “And she doesn't know if he even likes her; then there's the fact that we haven't been going out long and she's afraid people will think she's just copying us with the first boy who'll have her; she's probably a little worried about what people will think about her going out with him anyway and then she's trying to work out if all the positives outweigh the negatives to make it worth the risk.”

“No,” said James, shaking his head. “A person couldn't think all those things at one time.”

“Why not?”

“They'd explode if they did!” said James.

“Typical boy,” said Celesca. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

To James's immense surprise and delight, Celesca flung her arms around his shoulders as they embraced. It wasn't crude like the broom cupboard or muddy like the Forest; it was picturesque and romantic up here but Celesca's mind had obviously been a bosom buddy of James's in the gutter. He loved that they were so alike.

* * *

Later, considerably so, James and Celesca were to be found cwtching up on the sofa in the Gryffindor Common Room. James had decided it was time to brave the murky waters of Rita's article and so he read while Celesca turned the pages, allowing his hands the freedom to rub her shoulders and massage her head. It may have seemed to others like servitude but James was quietly convinced he had the better deal.

THE POTTER CONSPIRACY

A Rita Skeeter Special

For many years the Wizarding World has been in awe of the famed Boy Who Lived, later known as the Teen Who Killed in many circles. The defeat by Harry Potter of He Who Must Not Be Named ranks as one of the greatest Wizarding events of all time. But amid all the joy of the evil Lord's defeat certain telling questions were never asked. Why was it Potter against You-Know-Who? What pitted one against the other? A notorious Dark Lord against a mediocre seventeen year old hardly seems a fair match. Unless, of course, Harry Potter was no mere school boy but an ambitious student with an eye for Dark Magic which outweighed even that of his deadly rival.

Yes, rival. Not in the battle of Good vs. Evil but one of dark lord against dark lord. Harry Potter fought against You-Know-Who not to save the world, but to help himself to it unchallenged in the aftermath. With the assistance of his equally ambitious and plain friend, Hermione Weasley (nee Granger), Potter disposed of the Dark Lord and took his place at the head of the Magical World. If you doubt this ask yourself one question - multiple eye witness testimony states that Potter used the Expelliarmus charm against the Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra. This curse is unblockable and only Potter himself has ever survived it. Not once, but twice. How is this possible, you may well ask? Dark Magic is the only answer.

“This is ridiculous trash,” cried James. “I'm not reading any more of it.”

“I agree it sounds stupid,” said Celesca. “Look at this though, about your dad and aunt; `in constant contact,' `personal relationship creating conflict of professional interest,' `race of super children at Hogwarts, recruiting members,' how cute - that must be me; `out of office meetings', `spouses suspicious'.”

“What was that last bit?” said James. He flicked the page to follow the story. There was a large picture of his father and aunt at lunch, their heads very close together and looking very suggestive. “Ron Weasley, long suffering husband of Potter's partner-in-tyranny, is regularly out of his own office. Work colleagues suggest he is spying on his wife. Judging by these photos he has good reason to be worried.”

“Now, James, before you explode,” said Celesca, scenting danger.

“How dare…that cow!” James cried. “She's trying to split my family in two!”

“Well, I …yes I can see what you mean,” said Celesca.

“She's trying to make my mum and my uncle doubt Dad and Aunt Hermione,” said James. “She's trying to make life hard for them because they made it hard for her.”

“I would have thought you'd be more worried about what she's saying about their relationship,” said Celesca.

“She can go shag herself,” said James angrily. “I don't believe anything she says.”

Unfortunately for James, he seemed to be in the minority on this. During the next day the other students seemed to be giving him a wide berth. Many of them looked worried, as though he were about to Imperius Curse them into joining his army of super children to dominate Hogwarts. During their classes the tables around them were the last to fill up and were done so only as a last resort and very reluctantly at that. James grew so annoyed with this after lunch that he even took out his wand and waved it at some Hufflepuff boys during Herbology, muttering some nonsense words. Even though they must have known this wasn't real magic they complained to Professor Longbottom who told James off despite sympathising with him.

“Just because Rita has been writing more trash you can't go around scaring students,” said the Professor. “I can understand your frustrations but don't take them out on the others. People tend to believe the newspapers.”

“But it's all lies!” said James passionately.

“I know that, and so do you,” said Professor Longbottom. “And that's all that matters. It was the only thing that mattered to your father and you should be the same. He had me and Ron and Hermione on his side and it was enough for him. You keep Miss Shaw and your other friends close and ignore the rest.”

James was buoyed by the Professor's words and Michael Charteris, who was working on the trough next to him, winked his support at him. The two Hufflepuff boys looked nervously across from the other side of the bench.

“Hey fellas,” whispered Michael after Professor Longbottom left. “You tell on James again and I'll hex the face off you. I let him put me under the Imperius, begged him even, and I can do all his seriously evil magic. I'll make you grow another bum out of your head if you don't keep your mouth shut.”

James bit his lip to hold a laugh in and Celesca was rocking silently at his side. James couldn't look for too long at the faces of the Hufflepuff boys; on the one hand, they looked so frightened it was comical and on the other he couldn't stop picturing them with extra buttocks on their foreheads. Celesca seemed to be in a similar condition and it got so bad for her that she asked to be excused to use the bathroom and James could hear her laughing on the way out.

At dinner that night they were just about to tuck into dessert when to their, and the rest of the hall's, surprise two owls flew in one after the other and dropped letters into their laps. Celesca recognised the handwriting on hers as belonging to her aunt and tore open the letter quickly.

“Why would she be writing to you?” asked James, digging into a slab of mint chocolate ice cream.

“I, er, thought it might be an idea to ask her if she knew anything about your dad and aunt,” said Celesca, quickly. “Are you mad?”

“Mad! No, it's a brilliant idea!” said James, dropping his spoon. “What does she say?”

“Dear Cellykins,” Celesca read, embarrassed. “She always calls me that. I was so happy to get you letter but so surprised by what you asked. To answer, I have to say I'm not sure either way. They are both married now so I wouldn't have thought they'd ever been together - it would make it awkward for poor Ron and Ginny if they were. They never went out when I knew them, but one time when Harry was kind enough to invite me to a little Christmas party he spent most of it with Hermione. He seemed annoyed that she was there with another boy and I did think he'd preferred to have gone with her. She never really liked me so I never got to see them much up close. Harry did save her first, though, when we fought Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic, but he was always so heroic that it could mean nothing. I like Harry very much and I don't think he'd ever cheat on his wife. I hope I've been of some help.

Hope to see you in the summer,

Auntie Luna.

“We'll add her to the list, shall we?” said James despondently.

“It still isn't definite though,” Celesca pointed out. “Though how romantic is it that he saved your aunt from the Death Eaters. Like saving one thing from a burning building, isn't it?”

“Cel - you aren't helping,” said James.

“Oh right…sorry,” said Celesca. “What was your letter about?”

“Oh yeah,” said James, who'd forgotten that he had also got mail. He opened the envelope and a small scrap of paper slid out from inside. James felt his heart stop as he read the hurried handwriting. “James - Lily has run away. Me and your Dad think she might be trying to get to Hogwarts - Rita Skeeter will have hell to pay if anything happens to her. Stay there and let us know if you hear from her. Love Mum”

James just stared at the paper. Celesca read over his shoulder.

“Oh Merlin be merciful…” she said quietly.

-->

15. 15

A/N: This story has been removed. Now found at http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4015562/1/Tapestry

16. 16

A/N: This story has been removed. Now found at http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4015562/1/Tapestry