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The next weekend, James decided that it would be appropriate for him to visit his new godson. He knew there would be documents to fill in, though none of the specifics, and besides, he wanted to meet this Potter look-alike.

That morning just before eleven, he changed from his usual school robes into an emerald-green silk dress shirt and smart black slacks. He topped this with an open black robe. Carefully, he stood in front of the mirror and reapplied the concealing make up on his scar. Turning slightly to check that it wouldn't show up with the light on it, James studied himself. He looked every inch a respectable young Slytherin gentleman, but there was still something missing. His hair, tied back in the fast and practical way that was about the only thing he could do with it, was fine for a teacher, but didn't have the same sense of elegance as the rest of his outfit. He freed it and brushed it out. Much better.

Moving quickly through to the open fireplace in his living room, he threw in a pinch of Floo powder.

"Albus Dumbledore's office!" he called, stepping in. He felt a tug, like he was being sucked down a huge vacuum cleaner, swirling through ancient passageways, then he was spat out unceremoniously, sprawled on the headmaster's carpet. He picked himself up, looking regretfully at his now-sooty clothes. Why did he persist in having such problems with something he'd seen six-year-olds manage impeccably? A quick 'Scourgify,' and he turned to Albus' desk. The old man was smiling at him, looking as though he was trying very hard to conceal his amusement.

"Why couldn't I have taken the stairs?" James muttered.

"James, my boy, what can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if I could use your Floo connection. Our fireplaces aren't on the Network, are they?"

"Not entirely, you can use them for conversations, but they have been blocked from allowing you to travel through them. Might I ask your destination?"

"I thought I'd visit my godson."

"Godson?"

"Harry Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy's son? Who's the lucky mother?"

"Blaise, Zabini, I believe."

"Give them my congratulations, please. The Floo powder's on the mantelpiece." James dug around on the cluttered shelf until he found the pot.

"Malfoy Manor!" he called, and vanished.

He fell out into the entrance hall of the huge Malfoy home. After brushing himself down and straightening his hair again, he pulled the summoning bell for a house-elf. One appeared with a pop in front of him. James noted with approval that although it was wearing the customary pillowcase, it looked new and freshly laundered. A far sight from Dobby's miserable rags.

"How may Hobby be helping you, sir?" the house-elf said, bowing deeply.

"Mr Evans to see the Malfoy family."

"One moment, sir, Hobby will just locate the master. Ah yes, if you would follow Hobby, sir, Mr Malfoy is in the family drawing room."

James followed on, attempting to present the image of a confident young pureblood. It would have been so much easier if he, like Draco and most other young boys, had been doing this since he could walk. His friend had once confessed to having had lessons in how to speak to different people, the five types of smiles (patronising, sucking up, genuine pleasure, the arrogant you-are-not-worth-my-notice sneer and the you-are-privileged-to-be-in-my-presence half smile) and many other things, all before he went to Hogwarts.

At last, they came to a small door. The house-elf pushed it open and stepped into a small, cosy room, much the same as a normal living room. Draco was sitting on the floor playing with a little baby while a lady, presumably Blaise Malfoy, was sitting, reading by the fire.

"Mr Evans to see you, master." Draco looked up.

"Thank you, Hobby, that will be all for now." Hobby bowed himself out. When he had gone, Draco scooped his son up into his arms and stood up, coming over to the door.

"James!" he said, smiling openly. "It's about time you came over."

"I sometimes think Severus is right," James replied wryly, "it does often seem like a lost cause attempting to teach anything to the little wretches. The Slytherins are the worst, definitely. But now, might I be introduced to your lovely wife?"

James smiled winningly at Blaise, who had put aside her book and come to stand beside her husband.

"Of course. Blaise, this is James Evans. James, Blaise Malfoy."

"A pleasure to meet you, James," Blaise said warmly. "I've always known of you, of course. I believe you were almost legendary at the University."

"I fear much is an exaggeration, though I do my best. I just regret that Draco never introduced you to me sooner."

"Stop flirting, James," Draco said irritably. "We both know you don't mean it."

"No harm in being polite, is there? Still, I would appreciate it if we could drop the formalities, Mrs Malfoy. I'm afraid that I wasn’t brought up to them as you were."

"Certainly, but you must call me Blaise. This is little Harry, as I'm sure you’ve guessed."

"He looks a lot like you, but I think his bone structure is probably Draco's."

"Have you ever held a baby before?"

"No, actually."

She looked at him with the wary eye of a new mother who has seen a number of inexperienced males handling her darling.

"I'd sit down, then, just until you get used to it."

James nervously took a seat on a sofa and Harry was deftly inserted into his arms. He looked down at the slightly pointed face, the silky black hair and the twinkling blue eyes. He really was very sweet. Although he'd never really had any contact with babies before, he thought that Harry was a beautiful child. As he held Harry up against his chest, the bright eyes fixed on his face and a little arm came up. Unmistakably, he brushed the scar on James' forehead, although James was sure it was properly concealed. Harry gurgled, then shut his eyes and fell asleep. Blaise smiled fondly at him, scooped him up and put him in a little cot over in the corner of the room.

"There are forms for me to fill in, aren't there?" James asked quietly.

"As a godfather? Yes, Draco has them. You basically agree to look after Harry's emotional, mental, physical and magical growth and well-being. We're obliged to consult with you before making any large decisions about his life, like which school he should go to."

"I think I could manage that. Is it a magical contract?"

"Yes, but completely confidential," Draco reassured him. Although he didn't know the reason, he knew that James was touchy about some things, especially when he needed to write down his full name. "As soon as you sign it, it vanishes to a special place in the Ministry Archives and it won't be taken out again unless it's needed."

"Fine. Where do I sign?"

Draco produced a roll of parchment and a quill from his desk and indicated the space at the bottom. He quickly stepped away. James signed his full name – Harry James Evans Potter – in the space. Then he used his wand to make a small cut on his wrist and allowed a drop of blood to fall onto the page just under his name. The parchment rolled itself up and vanished with a quiet pop.

Business dealt with, James spent the rest of the morning chatting with his friends about whatever came to mind. The upcoming Quidditch match was mentioned, memories of their days at University, news of other acquaintances and, of course, as much about Harry as possible. Neither of the doting parents was about to pass up the chance to talk about him to a willing audience.

Just before lunch, the house-elf came into the room again.

"Mr Snape has arrived, sir. Shall Hobby be showing him in?"

"Of course," Blaise replied. James tried very hard to shrink into the sofa, but Draco pulled him over to look through some Defence books.

Severus himself came through a minute later.

"Draco, Blaise, you're looking well. What are you doing here, Evans?"

"Visiting my friends and my godson."

"You agreed, then."

"Naturally. Who'd pass up the opportunity to be a godfather?"

"He won't remain this sweet for much longer."

"I know, but my godfather put up with me, I'm sure I can do the same with Harry."

"Only one?"

"That I know of. My parents died when I was young, so if I had another, I wasn’t told of him. Of course, during the war there were many casualties."

"True. How is Henry, then?"

"Can't you call him Harry, Uncle Sev?" Draco asked. "Just because you couldn't stand Potter… Merlin, you never even knew him."

"Would you like me to call you Dray? No? I thought as much."

Draco rolled his eyes. This was obviously an old argument.

"Still, Harry's absolutely fine. He had a bad night on Tuesday, but Blaise thinks that was just a one-off."

"That's good, he obviously takes after his mother. We all knew you were a most antisocial baby. No wonder Narcissa had the house-elves take care of you much of the time. If she even tried to speak to someone else while you were in the room, you'd start screaming."

"I wasn't that bad!"

Severus didn't reply, just raised an eyebrow.

"Are you staying for lunch?" Blaise asked.

"I've got a conference with the Aurors' Potions master starting at two . . ."

"We're eating very soon. You'll have plenty of time to get to your meeting."

"Thank you for the invitation, then. I would be glad to stay."



* * * * * *



On October 15th, two days before the opening of the Harry Potter festivities, the professors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry met in the staff room for a last meeting about the upcoming event. Most of them looked bored. The formula for the three days was the same every year, only the speakers varying, and all of them, except for James, had run through it many times already.

"Although the holiday opens on the 17th," Albus began, "our first guests start arriving tomorrow. The majority will be housed in the South Tower; the house-elves have a complete list of the residents of each room. There are a few exceptions. My brother, who has decided to honour us with his presence this year since he no longer has a student, will be residing in the dungeons in the two-bedroom suite on the same corridor as Severus’ and James' rooms. He will share it with the University media representative. I don't know if Claudius will accompany him this year, but I'm sure we can provide any facilities he requires."

James snickered slightly at the exasperated look on the headmaster's face as he continued.

"Of course, should anyone happen to find out my brother's secret, you will tell me, won't you? Since our guests start arriving tomorrow evening, beginning then, those of us who have them will have to wear graduation robes. James, you do have yours with you, don't you?"

"Yes, Albus."

" Good, good. Now, onto our seating arrangements."

"Severus is younger than I am," Professor Sinistra interrupted quickly.

"I am well aware of that. As usual, the youngest two professors will have to be seated with the students for the four days to make room for the Minister of Magic and our guest speakers at the head table and to help maintain a semblance of control in front of our esteemed visitors. This year, that will mean Severus, as usual, and James. Do either of you object?"

"Would it make any difference if we did?" Severus asked rhetorically. "No, I have no problem with that arrangement. I am sure the conversation offered will be fascinating."

"James?"

"Fine by me."

"Thank you. On the seventeenth, for Muggle parents and those who haven't had the opportunity to see Hogwarts before, the guided tours will operate from ten o'clock until lunchtime. The prefects are, as always, in charge of those. In the afternoon, the memorial service will begin at two o'clock on the Quidditch pitch, that being the only location large enough to seat our normal audience. That evening, the house-elves will prepare a banquet for us. Are there any questions about that?"

"Albus, how many times have we done this?" Minerva asked.

He shifted uncomfortably.

"On the second day, the workshops and speakers will be presenting throughout the day. Again, that requires very little organisation from us. On the third day, we have the speeches about Harry from some of his friends starting at ten o'clock. The afternoon contains the highlight of the three days: the Quidditch match. The balls will be released at three o'clock. Rolanda, how is your team getting on?"

The Quidditch coach smirked. "As well as they always do. We have some excellent players this year."

"James, still confident?"

"Of course. My team is unbeatable."

"Who is your team?" the opposing coach demanded.

"That's for me to know and you to find out five minutes before the game begins, less if I have my way."

"Children, please. Remember this is only a friendly match; we don't want any feuds starting, now, do we? Are there any other issues that need to be raised? No? Excellent, I believe we are finished here, then. Minerva, would you join me for tea in my office, I've got in a new supply of lemon sherbets?"

* * * * * * *



On the evening of the sixteenth, James dressed in his green velvet robes. Green for Merlin house, a white hood lining as a member of the Combative Department, gold trim for his qualifications as an honours graduate and master of his subject and the silver trim of a duelling champion. It certainly looked impressive. It was meant to.

When he went up for dinner that evening, it was still quite early. There was only a scattering of students at the four long house tables. James sat down by Archie Alderton and a group of other sixth- and seventh-years at the Slytherin table.

"Mind if I sit here?"

"Of course not, sir. We were just talking about the question you asked us to think about during duelling club."

"Which one?"

"What is the best opening method in a duel? What do you think, sir?"

"I'll hear your opinions first, if you don't mind. Bear in mind that there isn't necessarily a correct answer, a lot depends on the situation and your opponent."

"Well, I think that you should start with a fairly basic spell like the Disarming Charm. Everyone says that Professor Snape won a duel with it once, but then, he is very powerful. If you get opponents with it, you don't waste any unnecessary energy, but if you don't, they'll underestimate you."

"Only if you don't know them, of course."

"It would be far more sensible to start with a powerful strike, though," one of the others started enthusiastically. "You're likely to catch them before they're as ready as they would be later on in a duel, and the beginning's when you have the most energy behind it."

"And of course," Archie said scornfully, "by the time you're halfway through the duel, you'll be exhausted."

"Perhaps," James said, thinking about it. "It's certainly a good point, but for it to be effective, you'd have to be certain you would actually take them out on the first strike, wouldn't you? That technique's a bit better in a combat situation, though; it takes less time and energy if it works."

"What are you debating about?" Severus said from behind him. James looked around, startled, as the man, also wearing the green robes of a Merlin house graduate, stepped easily over the bench and sat down next to him.

"The best opening moves in a duel."

"Personally, I find the best method is to avoid being in a duelling situation in the first place; although, it certainly has its place. If there's an alternative, such as a group attack on a target or using explosive potions, it’s best to take it."

"Yes, but what's your move if you are in a duel, sir?" someone asked.

"If I did have a standard opening move, which I don't, do you think I'd tell people about it? I doubt Professor Evans has told you his."

James laughed and continued to discuss the place and time for each technique.

"I find in a real combat situation, I like to obliterate my opponent as quickly as possible. Severus, do you have any burn potion on you?"

"Yes, why?"

James concentrated and brought up a laser-like beam of bright white light streaming out from a tiny point on his palm.

"What's that?" Archie asked, fascinated.

"Pure magic, magic so raw that it's near uncontrollable," James said quietly, and the ray vanished. "Can I have the potion now, please?"

"For what?"

"I've got a blister!"

"You want me to give you burn potion for a blister?"

"A very nasty, very painful blister that won't go away unless I put some burn salve on it."

Severus rolled his eyes and handed James a small phial of potion.

"First few times I tried that, I hadn't got the hang of keeping it down to a small area and I burned half the skin off my body. It still hurts like anything to use it, but no Shield Charm works against it and it takes huge power to summon it in the first place. I never use this unless my life is threatened, it's too dangerous."

Just then, the main doors opened and an old man swept in. He was very tall, very old. His silvery-white beard and hair were long and his blue eyes twinkled behind half-moon glasses. He, too, wore a green robe, but his was plain green with no trim, no coloured lining. He was Aberforth Dumbledore, housemaster of Merlin and James' mentor. At first glance, he appeared to be without Claudius.

James was out of his seat like a shot and bounding towards him. Aberforth ruffled his hair affectionately, James scowling at him for doing this in front of his students. A quick handshake, and then Abe turned back towards the door.

"Claudius!" he shouted. "Hurry up! And don't you dare muck up any of Albus' floors! His house-elves have quite enough work to do without you adding to it."

Everyone stared at the door. Was Claudius some great but eccentric wizard? A mischievous grandchild? A giant? Goblin? House-elf? Dragon? Basilisk? Griffin? Hippogriff?

A few moments later, a very grumpy, coal black, common goat marched sullenly into the Hall.

"Hullo, Claudius," James said, smiling. Aberforth's pet goat was notorious, not only for the 'inappropriate charms' cast on it, but also, within the university, for its terrible temper. It was rumoured to be worse than Voldemort on a bad day or, at least, it would be if it were human.

Claudius graced him with a contemplating look, seeming to lighten to a slightly paler shade of grey.

"James," Albus said as they neared the staff table, "would you show Aberforth down to his rooms? Uh, Abe, where do you want Claudius?"

"Could Rubeus possibly . . .?"

"Of course. I'll come by your rooms later, catch up. I'll even bring you some sherbet lemons."

"Uhm, thank you, Albus. Shall we go, Jamie-boy?"

James sighed, shook his head, and led the way out. Would the man ever remember that he was a fully trained, fully qualified adult, and a teacher too?

After they left the Hall, James led Aberforth down the now-familiar passages to the isolated corridor where his rooms were located. Claudius, meanwhile, was led off, as grumpily as usual, by Hagrid, who was thrilled to have a new . . . creature to look after. As soon as they were inside, Aberforth looked at James.

"So, how are you getting on?"

"Oh, fine."

"And . . .?"

"And what?" James asked innocently.

"How are you getting along with everyone?"

"Quite well. Minerva's been very helpful, especially in the first few weeks when I was still finding my feet."

"You know quite well that's not what I meant! What's your love life like?"

"Abe!" James exclaimed, completely embarrassed, though not at all surprised: it was the sort of question he had come to expect from either of the Dumbledore brothers. "I'm in a school, what do you expect?"

"Nonexistent, then? Such a shame. I'll have to talk to Albus, find someone you might get on with. I'm sure he'll know all of the eligible young men around, the nosy youngster."

"Thanks, Abe," James said, making an effort to be polite despite the obvious attempts to wind him up. "I'm fine. Really. And I don't have much time for a social life, anyway. It’s a hard job, very challenging. I keep very long hours. And of course, I've got to look out for my Slytherins in the evening. Some of them get homesick, you know."

"Calm down, Jamie. I wouldn't do that really, you know that. At least, I wouldn't bother discussing it with Albus. He never did have any sense. You'd better go back up again now, hadn't you? You've still got to finish your dinner. Make sure you eat your beans. I remember the Hogwarts elves being very good at them."

James pulled a face, laughed and went back upstairs again. Just as he was passing through the small antechamber that the teachers usually used to get in and out of the Hall without passing through the main doors, he was stopped by Minerva and led off into a corner where Severus was waiting. She was tense, almost fidgeting, and Severus, though as silent as ever, stood with eyes sparkling with restrained excitement.

"What is it?"

"The goat," Minerva said urgently. "What did Professor Dumbledore do to it?"

"Abe, you mean? I'm not sure I can tell you, I mean, he didn’t seem that keen on his brother knowing, now did he?"

"We aren't his brother," Severus pointed out smoothly. "And I give you my solemn word I will not speak a word of this conversation to Albus."

"Fine," James said, grinning. "It's not like it’s anything important. All he did was charm Claudius so that he changes colour depending on his mood. Problem is, Claudius is so depressed, he's never anything but black, anyway."

"That's all?" Minerva asked incredulously.

"Yes. What did you think it was?" he asked impishly.

Severus quickly put a hand over her mouth. Minerva was blushing. Merlin, even Severus was slightly flushed.

"I think Minerva would prefer not to embarrass herself further," he said quickly.

James laughed.

"Don’t worry, I know what you thought - it's what everyone does. It’s the wording, isn't it? Inappropriate charms on a goat. Honestly, couldn't they come up with a more exact definition? Believe me, though, living with a goat isn't fun. It smells, even with cleaning charms, and Abe takes Claudius everywhere, literally. The idea is that if he ever does do something interesting, Abe's there to take notes. Guess who always had to muck Claude out, though?"

"A suitable task for an apprentice, one would have thought," Severus said.

"Quite, so it’s unfortunate there wasn't one. I was a student, part of the university as opposed to being apprenticed to a single master."

"You know your rules," Minerva said, starting to recover her composure.

"One of my first tasks, a memory exercise, was to memorise the entire University rule book, including all the footnotes and definitions. Has anyone arrived while I was down there?"

"Not yet, though the Apparition wards have just signalled that the University media representative has arrived in Hogsmeade. Albus asked us to fetch you in case it was anyone you knew."

"I doubt it. Other than the Quidditch team, most of my friends were in my own year or a higher one. I found that the younger ones weren't quite as mature, probably because they can't remember the war much."

"It's certainly something no one will forget. We'd best go back in now. Did you finish your meal?"

"Just about. I doubt I'll have a chance to now, so I'll go to the kitchen later if I'm hungry."



* * * * * * * * *



James slept in the next morning, taking advantage of the lack of lessons. There was nothing he needed to be present at until the afternoon, so in the late morning, after a leisurely breakfast in the kitchens, he went outside to think. His favourite place was a spot overlooking the lake, his back to an ancient tree growing next to it and hidden from general view by the reeds and willow trees that surrounded his small clearing. It was a sunny but chilly day, crisp air making it pleasant, although he noted that very few unaccompanied students were around.

After a while, he had drifted off into a kind of trance, mind lost in his imagination. He snapped awake as he heard rustling footsteps behind him.

"I'm sorry," the arrival said after a few seconds, sounding apologetic. "I didn’t realise someone was here."

James turned to see a tall man, close on six foot six, looking at him curiously. His hair was neatly trimmed and orange, and he was wearing blue dress robes.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'm not doing anything important, Mr Weasley."

"How?"

"You look like your brothers," James explained, only Ron wouldn't have worked that one out. "I'm James Evans."

"Ron Weasley."

They shook hands.

"So, you teach here, then? I think Charlie mentioned you."

"Yes, Defence Against the Dark Arts. It's . . . different. Not what I expected at all, but then, nothing would be, really. I'm coaching the veteran Quidditch team this year."

"Now I remember."

"So, why are you out here?" James asked. He was curious and thought that Ron would probably tell him, even if he was a complete stranger, for a sympathetic ear.

"Hermione - my wife - gave me my instructions. It's my turn to do the speech this year about Harry."

"Harry Potter?"

"Yes. We were friends in school. We've organised it amongst us so that it’s always one of his friends who speaks about him – who knows what a Ministry official would say? – and this year it’s my turn. What's worse, no one's willing to help me write it."

"I didn't know him, of course," James said. "But what do you think he would have thought of all this, the holiday in honour of him, the speeches and everything?"

Ron thought for a moment.

"He'd have hated it, really. All the media around and the attention. He just wanted to be a normal kid at school. A three day festival, well, he'd probably have left the country!"

"There you go, you've got something to talk about."

"Huh?"

"People aren't interested in what he did, you can read that in any history book if you didn't already know. They want to know what he was like. If he didn't like the attention, tell us."

"Were you a Ravenclaw in school?"

"I didn't come to Hogwarts," James lied easily. "But I was in Merlin House at University, two years behind Draco."

"You know Malfoy, then?"

"How many Dracos do you know?"

Ron laughed. James grinned, yes, he was older, taller, more confident and much better looking, but he was still the same.

"You know, you reminded me of him for a minute, when I first came down. We used to come here a lot when we were in school."

"So I looked like Harry Potter?" James asked, amused.

"Well, it was just at first, from the back. You've got black hair, and you were sitting the same way. Now I see you properly, it's not such a strong resemblance. You look older, and your eyes are different."

"Everyone tells me I look like Salazar Slytherin," he said absently, knowing what the reaction would be.

"Nah, everyone knows Slytherin was a Dark Wizard. He looked more like You-Know-Who. Anyway, I remember Charlie and the twins saying you're coaching the veterans' Quidditch team. Do you play a lot?"

"Sure, Seeker mostly, or Beater. I'm not bad, really. You?"

"Keeper. It was the only position not taken when I played Quidditch with my family, and I guess I just got to like it."

"What do you think about the Chudley Cannons' chances this season?"

That afternoon, James took his seat in the teachers' area of the Quidditch stands. All around him were witches and wizards from all houses, all countries and all walks of life: some were schoolchildren; some were ancient old men, scarcely walking, but making this pilgrimage of sorts to honour their dead family and friends.

Severus looked irritated as he sat down.

"Damn travesty," he muttered.

"What?"

"Do you know how many people aren't on their list? Mostly the victims who came from the old, pureblood families normally classed as Dark. Narcissa Malfoy for one. And she was killed by her husband when she showed light tendencies."

"The joys of our Ministry," James said. "Shh now, I haven't seen this before."

Albus Dumbledore was standing in the centre of the Quidditch pitch, dressed in his best formal robes, flanked by Arthur Weasley – the Minister for Magic – and Magnus Stebbins – an Unspeakable. Casting a quick Sonorus Charm, he looked around at the stands. He spoke for a while on the war and the efforts of people to end it, then was passed a large roll of parchment.

"Now I ask you for silence as I read the names of those who lost their lives during the first rising of Voldemort."

James closed his eyes, thinking about the memories each familiar name brought up. He was surprised to hear the names Harold and Margaret Potter and Simon and Rosemary Evans read out one after the other. They were probably his grandparents, together when they died. At last, Dumbledore neared the end of an impossibly long list. James was sober, he hadn't realised before quite the scale of the deaths.

"Fabian Prewett, Gideon Prewett, James Potter, Lily Potter," he finished, looking up at them once more. "And it was the sacrifice of Lily Potter, the mother of Harry Potter, which defeated Voldemort and allowed us thirteen years of relative peace. After that time, Voldemort rose again and his second rising began. His first casualty was Cedric Diggory, then came . . ."

James stopped listening. He knew of all of these deaths and relived many of them in his nightmares. He didn't need this reminder. Cedric, Sirius, Seamus - they all haunted his mind.

"Dean Thomas, Emmeline Vance, Alastor Moody and, finally, Harry Potter, the boy who killed Voldemort, destroyed him and died, we presume, from using up his life energy in the last blast of magic that saved us all. Now, let us have a minute's silence while we think of those we lost."

The huge crowd, wizard and Muggle parents alike, was quiet. Not a baby stirred. When the headmaster spoke again, he had their complete attention, not that he'd ever been lacking it.

"Before we end and go to prepare ourselves for the banquet to come, Arthur Weasley, a former Order of the Phoenix member and our current Minister for Magic, has asked to say something."

"Thank you, Albus," Mr Weasley said, his voice, though quieter, still carrying. "I fought through both wars and have never regretted it. Should I have been called on to do so, I would gladly have given my life. However, I was not. It does not do to dwell overmuch on those who have passed away, but we should always be aware of the sacrifice they made. They wanted us to have a peaceful life, free from fear, and that it what we must strive to do. In their memory, we must do our utmost to prevent the rising of a new Dark Lord, so that their deaths were not in vain. Thank you."

Thoughtfully, James went back down to his dungeon rooms to think, reading to try and escape from the gruesome memories the afternoon had recalled. Thinking back, he, like Severus, noted the large gaps in the list. He would have thought Albus would have done better, but maybe the list had been compiled by Fudge's Ministry. There was no way of knowing and, as he had once been told, it did no good to dwell on dreams.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


On the next day, James fully intended to do nothing until at least two o'clock. At that point, he might just find his way out of bed. If the school was particularly unlucky, he might even make it to a couple of the demonstrations taking place, but that was unlikely. This was a rare day off and he meant to make the most of it. Therefore, he was not impressed when someone knocked on his door at ten o'clock in the morning.

Not caring what he looked like, he went over to answer it in the shorts he’d slept in, pausing only to apply a concealment charm to his scar. It wouldn't work for long, but it would last until he went back to bed. It was Severus.

"Evans," he said politely, appearing to be ignoring his colleague's state of undress.

"What in Merlin's name is it, Severus? I was sleeping."

"This late? I beg your pardon, then. I had assumed you were awake, as everyone else appears to be. Professor Dumbledore. . ."

"Which one?" James asked grumpily.

"Aberforth asked me to remind you that you're giving the duelling seminar in the Great Hall at eleven o'clock this morning."

James swore violently. The meddling, conniving… Severus raised his eyebrow but didn't appear to be shocked. James hadn't expected him to be.

"Had you forgotten about it, perhaps?"

"I never signed up for any damn lecture! I was intending to sleep all day. How do you sign up for one?"

"I believe you summon the house-elf in charge of the timetable and select a free slot."

"Excellent."

James snapped his fingers and a house-elf appeared, clutching a clipboard to his chest.

"How may I be helping you, Professors?" he asked, making a deep bow.

"Are there any times for lectures free this afternoon?"

"The lesser study hall is free at two thirty this afternoon, sir. Would sir like to sign up for this time?"

"Not for me; put down Aberforth Dumbledore."

"And a subject, sir?"

"Uses and care of Muggle animals, particularly the goat, and the meaning of inappropriate charms on an animal."

"Very well, sir, will that be all?"

"Yes, thank you."

The house-elf dissolved into the air, and James smirked.

"There. Severus, could you possibly 'remind' Abe of his own lecture, and tell him not to be so hypocritical as to remind me when he has forgotten his own."

"I suppose I could…"

"Would you, please?"

"Certainly. You had best prepare your lecture, unless you want to be embarrassed. You only have an hour remaining." With that last parting shot, he stepped out. It was only a fancy, really, but James could almost hear his old teacher's yells through the three-metre thick stone walls.

After hastily dressing, James went in search of Draco. He knew his friend was there; it was just a question of locating him. He caught up with the Malfoy couple chatting with Ron and Hermione Weasley in the Entrance Hall.

"Excuse me for interrupting," he said with a slight bow of apology. All the etiquette lessons he'd been given at University hadn't been a complete waste of time. "Draco, could I have a word?"

Moving a bit away, James explained his situation. Draco found it hilarious.

"You didn't think to block your name from being signed up? You? If I'd known that, you'd be doing far more than one measly session. You extracted a suitable revenge, of course?"

"Naturally."

"So, what can I do?"

"My subject is duelling. Unless you object, it would probably be easiest to just run through a training session with you."

"It’s a good thing I like you, James. Fine, I'll do it. Eleven o'clock, you said? Then we still have forty minutes. Have you met the Weasleys?"

"I met Ronald this morning."

"I'll introduce you, then."

Oozing charm, Draco sauntered back into the little circle.

"Business sorted," he announced with a smile. "I'm assisting with a duelling lecture at eleven. This is James Evans, a friend of mine from University. He teaches Defence here, now. James, these are Ron and Hermione Weasley." Shaking hands with her, James looked at Hermione. She had grown up, too, was no longer the girl with frizzy hair and a permanently vexed expression. She had matured into a beautiful woman, her head level with her husband's chin, wearing quietly stylish clothes. She was giving him the same careful examination. James nervously ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it forwards in case his scar was showing. At that, her eyes narrowed slightly.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr Evans. I’ve always wondered what it was like at the University. After all, some places are so selective with regards to all that rubbish about blood purity that I decided to apply for an apprenticeship at the Ministry, instead. Is this your first year of teaching, then? I feel sure I would have remembered had I seen you before."

"As I would certainly have remembered meeting such a radiant beauty as you. Yes, this is my first year," James said cautiously. He knew how intelligent Hermione was and how she noticed little things that most others missed. It would be unwise to underestimate her. He would have to be extremely careful. "I've just completed my university course, and when I heard the position here was open, it seemed to suit my needs."

"Did you have much experience before coming here, then?"

"I've coached a fair amount and taught small groups, but nothing on quite this scale. I've never had to do any written work, either. Its much harder work than I expected. I've heard of your reputation, of course, so I don't imagine you would have any problem with the organisational side of things."

"James, stop flirting with Hermione; you wouldn't want to break her heart when she finds out you’re not serious, would you? Hadn't we better go change?" Draco interrupted, glancing down at his own expensive, tailored robes.

At precisely eleven o'clock, James was standing on a platform that had been erected at one end of the Great Hall. Casting a Sonorus Charm on himself, he began to address his large audience. Practically the entire student population seemed to be present and a good number of adults, too. He wondered how many people besides Albus would attend Abe's lecture.

"Silence please! I was asked to give you a demonstration on duelling. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything I could think of besides what is already covered in duelling club. Therefore, I've decided to show you a standard training session. When I was on top form, I would train in this way at least five times a week, usually more. When training, it is, for obvious reasons, easier with a partner. While he was at University, Mr Malfoy was my training partner. A session consists of three main parts. This first is when any new spells are practised, but we won't be showing you that today. The second is a warm up and the third a training duel. Mr Alderton, do you have any idea of what exactly that is?"

"Is it just a duel when you aren't trying to defeat each other, more trying to learn?"

"A good thought, but not exactly. A training duel is one where each person's movements and spells have been planned out beforehand; in other words, you know exactly what your partner is going to do and how you have to block it. It’s good practice when you're varying the strengths of spells and making your motions fluid. I believe the training session itself will be self-explanatory, so I won't be giving you a running commentary. I would just like to request that you remain quiet to allow us to concentrate."

The low murmur died away, and the two men took off their jackets. Standing now in shorts and t-shirts, they were ready to begin. They faced each other, and James raised his wand.

"Stupefy!" he said. Draco dropped like a stone. He woke him up, and the process was repeated the other way round. This continued for a while with other minor level hexes and charms.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" James said, carefully moderating the power of the spell. Draco rose slowly, touched one of the roof beams and dropped gently to the ground. He turned to James with a smirk.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

James rose up a bit; then Draco twirled his wand and he began to spin uncontrollably. After a minute, Draco let him down. James' face was a sickly green, as he sprinted for the door nearest a bathroom. A few minutes later, he was back, a determined set to his features. Draco lost the smirk.

They stood twenty paces apart and bowed to each other. Despite the fact that he was limited in which spells he could use, James had realised that he was able to get his revenge by putting just a bit of extra power into each of them. Since Draco wasn't quite as powerful, he'd be working much harder than normal to shield himself from them. Flicking his wand idly as he sent each charm speeding along the platform, he watched with a certain satisfaction as Draco leapt about his end, frantically blocking all he could. The final spell of the sequence was a Disarming Charm. James channelled twice his usual amount of energy into it, and it hit Draco in the chest, his shield collapsing under the pressure. Just as younger duellers were apt to be knocked backwards by the force of a charm, Draco went flying about five metres backwards, landing heavily on his front.

During the loud applause from the audience, James went over and helped Draco up, returning his wand to him. They shook hands and bowed to each other and the audience. Draco winced as he climbed off the platform.

"I suppose that was my fault for making you sick. Did you actually throw up this time?"

"Yes," James said grimly, "and I'd rather you didn't do that in front of my students. I'm meant to be infallible."

"You are, Jamie-boy; if you'd tried, you could probably have broken a simple charm like that, and if you were trying, it wouldn't even have hit."

"I suppose. A right pair we are, aren't we?"

"Maybe. We might as well change while they prepare the Hall for lunch."

After separating when they reached the Entrance Hall, James heard running footsteps behind him. He turned, dropping instantly into a duelling stance, wand at the ready. It was Hermione. The look on her face did not bode well.

"I think we need to talk, Mr Evans."

James winced. This did not look good.

"You could come to my quarters this evening at seven, I suppose. Any house-elf can direct you. I'd rather you didn't bring Ron, if that's okay. Tell him we're going through an Egyptian manuscript - he doesn't know Egyptian hieroglyphs, does he?"

"No. I'll see you later, then. You have a lot of explaining to do."

James sighed as he watched her go. There was no stopping her when she wanted to know something. Now he'd just have to survive the questioning, maybe by playing to her emotional side, making sure she knew he was okay, happy, back, pleased to see her…

That evening, just before seven, James knocked on Abe's door. It wasn't to ask for sanctuary, though the possibility had crossed his mind. No, he was going to discover for himself whether his mentor had known of his identity or not. Starkers or otherwise, he was an extremely intelligent man and had spent a lot of time alone with James. He answered the door almost immediately.

"Jamie, what can I do for you?"

"How much do you know about my life before I came to Uni?" James asked bluntly.

"Quite a lot," Abe said blandly. "It took me a while to figure it out, but your paperwork was somewhat incomplete and there were a few things that made me suspicious. You coming here now has just confirmed them."

"Well, Hermione Weasley figured it out, and I sort of wondered if, since you already seemed to know, you could perhaps come and, uh…"

"Protect you from her? Really, one would have thought a duelling champion would be capable of protecting himself. Of course I'll come; I want a full explanation. Now?"

"If possible, sir."

"Oh yes, fine, but I thought you were calling me Abe now, hm?"

James grinned self-consciously. When he was nervous, he always had had a tendency to drop back into the more formal forms of address. They met Hermione coming down the corridor, Dobby at her side. Stopping outside the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, he whispered his Parseltongue password and led them in. As soon as the portrait was firmly closed, Hermione turned to him.

"Right, Harry, I want answers. Start off with telling me who the man in the portrait was, and why you look like him."

"That's Salazar Slytherin; I'm surprised you didn't recognise him. I look like him because of the magic I've been using; it's changed my body slightly. Do you remember how I killed Voldemort?"

"How could I forget? It was like a blinding white light, and both of you vanished inside it."

"That's pure magic; I discovered it not long before the final battle. The book I found said only that it was extremely difficult to use safely, most users who attempted it died, and that it required an extremely powerful wizard to harness it. It didn't mention that it was the type of magic Salazar Slytherin was famous for. Anyway, when I released the energy, it completely destroyed Voldemort's body and soul. I was sick of my life and had already made plans to leave. I had money in a Muggle bank account, and I'd made a few contacts in the area around Southampton. I Apparated - they taught me over the summer, remember - despite my injuries, and ended up lying in the street. I was taken to hospital and spent two months there, recovering."

"What was wrong with you, exactly?"

"I was burnt all over. When I recovered, I left and set myself up. Since I'd lived with Muggles all my life, I already had most of the documents that I needed at the Dursleys’, and it was easy enough to find them. I signed up then to do some studies at a college: Muggle subjects. It took me three years to get my A-levels - I took five subjects. After that, I gradually worked my way back into the wizarding world."

"How did you hide your scar?"

James grinned.

"Oh, that. Easy, really, simple Muggle concealer works perfectly well. What was even better was that no one would think of looking for it. So long as I didn't get wet, I was absolutely fine."

"Only you… Keep going."

"I visited the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley, went to Hogsmeade, watched Quidditch matches and met various people. Once I thought I had enough contacts, I applied for the University."

"But if you didn't have any NEWTs?"

"Its not as uncommon as you might think, Mrs Weasley," Aberforth interrupted. "A number of children are home-schooled, as James claimed to be, and hadn't sat any exams. All applicants do an assessment, and then if the Sorting Cauldron accepts them, they enter the University. Needless to say, he passed easily."

"I was Sorted into Merlin House, and the Cauldron matched me with Abe. After that, I had four years studying. Then I came here."

"So who knows?"

"You, Abe, as far as I know, that's it."

Hermione looked at him for a moment, trying to match this tall, confident, silver-eyed young man with the scrawny boy she'd known. Something in his face must have convinced her, because she threw herself at him.

A few moments later, he asked, "So how did you figure me out?"

"I lived with you for five years, Harry," she said, brushing a loose strand of hair back off his face, "and I knew you better, perhaps, than anyone else. It was little things: the way you flattened your fringe over your scar when you were nervous, that you were gay, the way you moved, your power, the fact you were teaching Defence."

"I'm that obvious?"

"Not really; Ron didn't notice, after all, and I don't think any of the other professors have."

"And how about you, Abe?"

"Well Jamie-boy, your act wasn't quite so good when you first moved in with me. The concealer I found in the bathroom might have had something to do with it and how uncomfortable you were discussing the battle against Voldemort. I was never entirely sure, though, so I kept you away from events like this festival and trained you as well as I could."

"So, Harry… I can still call you Harry, can't I, or would you prefer James?" Hermione asked.

"I'd prefer James, if that's okay. I'm used to it now, and I'm not really Harry any more."

"Fine, but don't think you're running off again. You're coming to dinner soon, and you're going to write to me."

"Yes, 'Mione."

"Have you met Draco's son? He's named him after you."

"I'm little Harry's godfather, actually; one of them."

"You? Well, better you than Ron. Who's the other?"

"Severus."

"Snape? Hm, well, I guess he's not so bad once you get to know him. I'm never sure when he means something or not."

"Slytherin trait," James said, smirking.



* * * * * * * * * * * * *



The next morning, James took his place in the teachers' box of the Quidditch stands for Ron Weasley's speech. He was surprised to see how many people were here. If there was a speech about him every year (Merlin forbid), then wouldn't they all have heard it already? Why would sixteen-year-olds, who had heard this every year in the Harry Potter Festival and again in History of Magic and Defence Against the Dark Arts, be awake at ten o'clock on a gloomy October day to hear the story again? Hermione Weasley was on one side of him, and, just as Ron stepped into the centre of the pitch, Severus slid onto the end of the bench next to him.

Ron was looking smart and perfectly groomed for once, but he was looking rather uncomfortable with the setting. Maybe it was the fact that there was complete silence despite the two-thousand-odd people watching him. At last, he pointed his wand at himself and cast a Sonorus Charm. Then, looking nervously around, he began.

"Well, uh, good morning, everyone," he began, shuffling slightly in place.

"Calm down, Ron," Hermione muttered quietly. "You'll be fine."

"For those of you who don't know me, I'm Ron Weasley, and I was at school with Harry. Oh, and for anyone who has somehow missed the point of why they're here, I'm going to be talking about Harry Potter as I knew him. That's not the 'Boy Who Lived,' not the 'Heir of Slytherin,' the 'Triwizard Champion' or the 'Boy Who Killed Voldemort,' but Harry, Just Harry, as he said kept telling us. The thing is, you've all read the history books and newspapers, some of you saw him from a distance, but none of you really knew him properly; I don't even claim to have, myself.

"A couple of days ago, I went down to the lake to think about what I was going to tell you. I went to a place that Harry liked, I won't say exactly where, and I found James Evans there, the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor here at Hogwarts. He didn't attend Hogwarts, and he's a bit younger than us, anyway, so he didn't know Harry at all. I introduced myself and told him what I was trying to do. He thought for a moment then asked me what Harry would have thought about all of this.

"That got me thinking. What would he have thought about it? I'm positive he'd have hated the fact that it's mostly being held on the Quidditch Pitch. I remember during the Triwizard Tournament, when they grew hedges on the Pitch for the third task, that he’d treated it like a sacrilege. He would have approved of the match this afternoon much more.

"To begin to explain what he would have thought, I have to begin with his life before Hogwarts. It’s common knowledge that he lived with his Muggle relatives: his aunt, her husband and his cousin Dudley, who was the same age as him. I met them once, and I can honestly say that Dudley was a bully who looked like a young whale. Harry once told me he was wider than he was tall, and I'm not even going to contradict that. I've heard my teachers describe them as the 'worst kind of Muggles.' They hated magic, and Harry grew up not even knowing it was real. Every time he did accidental magic, and from his account, it was quite often, he was punished. He didn't have a bedroom, he slept in a cupboard under the stairs; he did most of the housework, and Dudley beat him up on a regular basis. That didn't come out too well, but essentially, they didn't like him; he hated them and Harry Potter didn't even know he was a wizard until he turned eleven. He was even told that his parents, Lily and James Potter, died in a car crash! A car crash!

"Around Harry's eleventh birthday, he received his Hogwarts letter, or rather, his uncle received his Hogwarts letter and burnt it. The next day, three letters arrived and his relatives started to panic. They boarded up the letter box - that's how Muggles get their mail delivered, someone puts it through a hole in their door - and the letters came down the chimney. At last, his aunt and uncle took him away to a tiny island in the middle of nowhere. This was the night between the 30th and 31st of July; Harry was about to turn eleven and he still didn't know what all the fuss was about. Just after midnight, Hagrid arrived and proceeded to present him with his Hogwarts Letter and explain to him the basics of the wizarding world. The next day, he took Harry to Diagon Alley, and Harry got his first taste of fame. He couldn't walk into a shop without people pointing at him, whispering and coming up to shake his hand. He was eleven-years-old, small for his age and with no prior experience in the wizarding world. To put it plainly, he was uncomfortable and hated it.

"After giving him his ticket for the Hogwarts Express and buying him his first-ever birthday present, Hagrid put him on a train to his relatives' home. He was dropped outside King's Cross Station on the 1st September and left to find the train on his own. Now, any child who had grown up in the wizarding world would have known what to do, and any Muggle-born was always accompanied by a witch or wizard, but Harry was alone. They had assumed, or at least I think they had, that Petunia Dursley, who knew the way because she'd come with Lily, would be able to take him. This was when I first met him. We were heading toward the ticket barrier, me and my family. As you know, there's quite a lot of us. My mum was taking Percy, the twins, me and Ginny and we had school trolleys and an owl. I think Mum might have been talking about Muggles. Anyway, Harry came up to us - remember we didn't know who he was, then - and asked us how to get onto the platform. He seemed a bit embarrassed about it all.

"I shared a compartment with him on the way to Hogwarts and found out he was Harry Potter. He wasn't quite what I was expecting. I mean, I'd grown up on stories about how he'd saved the wizarding world, and I was only eleven-years-old. I expected him to be as tall as Fred and George, at least, and muscular, with really nice clothes and everything. I wasn't expecting him to talk to me at all. I certainly didn't expect him to defend me against Draco Malfoy, who, in those days, was an arrogant little snob, though I'll admit he grew out of it.

"Harry spent most of his time at school trying to do two things. The first was forget that he was anyone special and act like a normal kid. That might have been why he liked Quidditch so much - his father played it and Harry was good at it – he wasn't on the team because he was Harry Potter. The second was saving the school from any monsters, Death Eaters, etc. that came along. As a hero, he took his responsibilities very seriously."

James listened as Ron continued talking them through their years at Hogwarts. He was surprised that his friend had known quite so much about his home life and a little irritated that he was telling everyone. Still, since Ron thought he was dead, it didn't really matter. He was quite pleased about how the speech was going, actually; it wasn't making him out to be a superhero at all, just a normal teenager with a few extra responsibilities. Hermione seemed to be impressed, as well. James would have been very interested to hear what she would have had to say about him. She seemed to feel him watching her, since she turned and looked at him. He smiled slightly and she relaxed. Severus, on the other hand, was looking a bit surprised at some of the revelations Ron was giving him. Harry was not, and had never been, his father; he had never been spoilt, and he had never had a perfect home life. It was a lot to take in.

When Ron finished summing up his life story, his face became serious.

"Harry fought and gave his life to kill Voldemort, to help prevent the rise of Dark wizards. Many of the Death Eaters are in Azkaban or dead, but some, like Lucius Malfoy, are still alive and free, if in hiding. It is the nature of Dark wizards to attempt to take over the world. Think about it: Voldemort rose twice, before him Grindelwald, before him countless others. Yes, we won one fight in the battle, but we can't become too complacent and lose the next. Lucius Malfoy is a threat that Harry would want us to defeat. So to end this speech on a serious note, I'm going to quote one of my father's old friends who helped to train me and Harry: Alastor Moody. Mad-Eye told us 'constant vigilance.' We should remember that."

There was a long pause while people digested this unexpected warning. Then, slowly but surely, applause began and swelled until practically the entire audience was giving him a true standing ovation. Ron cast 'Quietus' on himself and bowed smartly to each of the four 'sides' of the Quidditch pitch. Then he marched off through the Gryffindor changing rooms.

People began to pick up their cloaks and move towards the staircases down to ground level.

"Please, congratulate your husband, Mrs Weasley," James said formally to Hermione, aware of the teachers around them. "It was an … enlightening . . . talk. The ending in particular was extremely relevant to the current situation. I was glad to be of help to him."

"I'll tell him you said so. But I thought I told you to call me Hermione?"

"Sorry, it didn't seem appropriate, given the situation," James said, glancing around. Her eyes flashed with understanding as she nodded.

"I'll see you for the Quidditch match this afternoon, then, unless you're eating in the Great Hall?"

"No, I'm eating with the players, as you no doubt already knew. Since no one knows their identities, I'm attempting to keep it that way. I wouldn't want to disrupt the staff betting pool."

"A staff betting pool? I'd never have guessed," she said, sounding horrified. Then she grinned. "So, what are the current odds?"

"Well, since Rolanda's team ha-"

"Rolanda?"

"Madam Hooch. Since they've won every year as long as anyone can remember, general opinion is that they'll win again."

"And your opinion?"

"I haven't actually seen her team play, she's been as careful about that as I have, but I would say that her unbroken record isn't likely to stay unbroken for long. However, this may be simple vanity on my part, so I wouldn't advise you to take me too seriously. All the players are ones I know and who know each other, so we stand a chance."

"Is it who I'm thinking?"

"Probably, with a few changes."

"Hm, do they let outsiders place bets?"

"I'm afraid I don't know. Severus?" he asked, catching the man's attention. "You run the betting pool with Minerva, don't you?"

"Yes," he admitted cautiously.

"Hermione was wondering if she could place a bet."

"Very well, current odds are 10 to 3 against the veteran team."

"Ten Galleons on the veterans - someone has to support James."

"Very well," Severus said, tucking the Galleons into a pocket of his robes and making a note on a piece of parchment."

"Out of interest, has anyone else bet on James' team?"

"Minerva and myself, and I believe a few of the others, have placed security bets of one Galleon apiece."

"Interesting."

"If you have a minute, I could give you the full details."

"Thank you, sir. Well, I'll see you later, James," Hermione said, and vanished down the stairway with the Potions master.

At two thirty that afternoon, James had just finished going over the strategy with the team and was about to leave for the teachers' box from which he would watch the game. Before he left, he looked at his team, dressed in white and silver robes, and gave them the start-of-match speech that he remembered so well.

"Sorry to usurp this privilege, Oliver, but I've already been briefed," he said, and then cleared his throat. "Okay, men."

"And women," said Chaser Angelina Johnson irritably.

"And women," James agreed amiably, just as Wood always had. "This is it."

"The big one," said Fred Weasley, catching on quickly.

"The one we've all been waiting for," said George, grinning at his twin.

"We've got the best team that has sat in this changing room in a good century of Hogwarts players, and you're going to go out there and thrash those youngsters. A team I have coached has never yet lost a game, and you aren't going to break my perfect record. You're going to win; I know it. Right. It's time for me to go up. Good luck, all of you."

James shook hands with each of them and left, not noticing the smirks the team exchanged behind his back. He took his place, again he was between Hermione and Severus, and sat there, grinning openly. Rolanda Hooch was getting more and more disconcerted as time passed and kept glancing along at his smug expression. When Dumbledore at last took his place, Minerva nodded to the commentator, Lee Jordan, and he began. As the best commentator they'd ever had, despite his blatant favouritism, he had been invited back every year for this match. James walked over and slid a slip of paper in front of him, and Lee grinned at the team names he read.

"Welcome everyone to the long awaited Quidditch match of the Harry Potter Festival," Lee Jordan said, his voice, enhanced by a strong Sonorus Charm, booming out across the stadium. "As always, we have two teams. Our first team, playing in black, is the Hogwarts team, made up entirely of present pupils of the school and trained by Hogwarts' very own Flying Instructor, Madam Hooch! I give you Alderton, Smith, Bourke, Blotts, Bell, Thomas and Parkinson!"

The bleaches where the students were sitting erupted with cheers as the team zoomed onto the pitch. They were quite good, James admitted, and they had been training hard. Madam Hooch was now looking unbearably confident as she watched them zip around the stadium. Lee gave them a moment to absorb the applause before continuing. James felt that he was giving them their moment of glory before they were pounded into the turf, but then again, he wasn't anyone to talk.

"Our second team, playing in white, is the Veteran team, made up entirely of past pupils of any age, and trained by Hogwarts' very own Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, James Evans! I give you some of the best players in living memory: Oliver Wood of Puddlemere United…"

"Damn!" Madam Hooch muttered. James smirked. "…Angelina Johnson of the Holyhead Harpies, Draco Malfoy, Katie Bell…"

Madam Hooch groaned.

"…Fred and George Weasley of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes and, playing as Seeker today, Charlie Weasley!"

Her head dropped into her hand. Resigned to her fate, she pulled out her purse and began to count out Galleons.

The cheers now were thunderous, students and adults cheering wildly as they saw some of the most famous young names in Quidditch before them.

"Brilliant," James heard Severus murmur. "Thank you, Draco."

The teams formed up in the standard positions, ready for the game to begin. Oliver Wood and Archie Alderton, the team captains, landed in front of the guest referee.

"Now, I want a nice clean game," he said sternly, "from all of you! Shake hands."

The two shook hands firmly, Archie Alderton looking awed at this contact with one of his all-time heroes, Gryffindor or not.

"Mount your brooms."

The captains remounted their brooms and flew into their positions. The referee kicked open the trunk containing the balls. The Bludgers immediately shot out upwards, followed by the Golden Snitch. The referee picked up the Quaffle and threw it straight upwards. The Chasers swooped in as the ball fell, and Angelina Johnson snatched it and shot off.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson," Lee continued, "a former Gryffindor, for those who don't know - what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive too, as I've told her often enough -"

"JORDAN!" McGonagall exclaimed. If Lee Jordan was going to act like a teenager, he would most certainly get treated like one!

James watched keenly as she sped down the pitch, the others following in a Hawkshead Attacking Formation. Using a perfect Sloth Grip roll to dodge the two incoming Bludgers, she dodged the Keeper and sent the Quaffle neatly through the right-hand hoop.

"A perfect goal by Johnson; ten points to the Veterans!" Punching the air triumphantly, they did a victory lap, swerving back to intercept the kids' attempt at goal.

Fred and George had latched onto a Bludger each and, using that peculiar synchronisation they had always been able to manage perfectly, had hit them simultaneously at the incoming Chaser in a classic Dopplebeater Defence. Roger Smith took a Bludger to the stomach and, while regaining control of his broom, dropped the Quaffle, quickly picked up by his teammate Sarah Bell.

Dodging the next Bludger attack, she bent low over her broom and sped up the pitch.

"I don't believe it," Lee said, sounding impressed. "Bell Junior is dodging veteran Chasers, including her aunt, Katie Bell, using the Wollongong Shimmy, an extremely complex Chaser move.

James, while impressed at this thirteen-year-old's abilities, was watching the Seekers far more closely. Charlie was circling high above the action, the opposing Seeker copying him. As he'd practised so often, Charlie jerked his broom round and dove down towards the grass beneath them. Scattering the Chasers below them, the two Seekers, for Jeffrey Parkinson had latched on and was very close, hurtled towards the ground. Twenty metres and closing, ten, five, but they kept going. At the last minute, Charlie jerked his broom up and Parkinson ploughed into the ground. Charlie hovered by him for a moment while mediwizards ran onto the field, then soared up again.

"A Wronski Feint by Charlie Weasley," Lee yelled amid the cheers and groans from the supporters. "Now we know why the England squad were so keen to recruit him. So the score stands at 130 to 40, the Veterans ahead. This game is closer than anyone expected. James Evans has stood up in the stands; he's calling for a 'time out'. The ref blows his whistle and Evans flies down to the pitch - he has a broom in the box, Madam Hooch's usual trick. She's following him. What does he want to tell his team, given that they're winning already?"

James scowled at Lee and turned to the team gathered around him.

"You're winning; good, let's keep it that way. Charlie, Parkinson is out of action; if he does choose to continue, he’ll have problems taking the initiative; he'll follow you, so try another Feint. Chasers, they're going to be a challenge. Alderton and Bell are the strongest; Smith is definitely the weak link. His pass is weak. Alderton has a tendency to get distracted by the rest of the game; Charlie, you should try and keep his attention. Katie, do you have any advice on your niece?"

"Her passing can be a bit weak," she said hesitantly.

"Fine, work on it. Their Keeper is a little weak on the right hoop; exploit that if you can. Fred, George, try and keep control of the Bludgers. It doesn't matter so much if you don't hit a player every time, but don't give their Beaters a chance at touching one. Understand? That’s it; go on and win."

He went back to his seat while his team returned to play. His attention refocused on the game as young Parkinson, a third-year boy, staggered off a stretcher at the side of the pitch and took off again, Madam Pomfrey looking insulted that he should even consider it. Charlie seemed to be smiling at the kid, congratulating him for his guts, if not his common sense. James had to admit that the boy had promise; he'd be one to look out for in the future. A few moments later, Draco started shouting, outraged.

"Foul! You were blagging, you little brat!" The referee obviously agreed, since he awarded a penalty. Draco took it and scored, following James' advice and aiming for the right-hand hoop.

Amidst the cheers that followed, he missed Charlie's eyes focusing on a point just beyond Parkinson's shoulder and pushing his broom to its limits as he zoomed after. Parkinson followed, a bit more cautiously than before. The stands fell silent as they watched the Seekers battle it out. Charlie drew ahead, dodged a Bludger, flew straight through the younger Chasers and, flying low above the pitch, stood up on his broom, arms outstretched. He lunged for the Snitch, overbalanced and tumbled to the ground. He appeared for a moment to be unconscious, but slowly, cautiously stood up, holding the fluttering Golden Snitch in his fist.

"Charlie Weasley catches the Snitch!" Lee yelled. "The Veterans win for the first time in six years! The final score is 350 to 90."

James joined in the cheering, beaming even more when the less fortunate members of staff began to realise their losses. He looked at Severus,

"Why did you bet on us?"

"Why? I cheated, of course," Severus said. "Once Draco told me who the team was, I knew the little dunderheads didn't stand a chance."

"Bloody Slytherins, I told them to keep quiet."

"Yes, but I'm family and don't count any more than Blaise does."

James' team flew a victory lap of the pitch as their opponents flew to the ground. After a moment, the winners followed, shaking hands with each of them and signing autographs when requested. Draco flew up to the teachers' box, dropping in next to Lee. He grinned mischievously at James and took the microphone. This looked planned; Lee hadn't looked surprised, at any rate, nor had McGonagall.

"Quiet please!" Draco roared. The stadium went silent. He continued at a slightly quieter volume, and Minerva cautiously removed her hands from her ears. "Thank you. Now, on behalf of the team, I would like to thank James Evans for coaching. As you already know, he attended Griffin University with me and was an expert dueller. He was also on the Merlin House Quidditch team, playing as Beater for two years, then as Seeker for a further two. The team have made a unanimous decision that you should have the opportunity to see his skills, even though he isn't a former student of Hogwarts. James, will you agree to a Seeker's match played now against Charlie Weasley?" He put his hand over the microphone and hissed, "You can't refuse; the bets have already been placed. No disagreement? Excellent. You go and change, while I give your spectators the stats on the players. I left your robes in our changing rooms.

"First up – and you've already seen him in action today – Charlie Weasley, a former Gryffindor student at Hogwarts and the second son of the Weasley family. He was on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, playing as Seeker for six years and, in his last two years, was the Quidditch Captain. His team won the Quidditch Cup twice. He is thirty-two years old, six foot three tall, unmarried and works as a dragon-keeper at the Sanctuary in Romania. There are rumours, sadly unconfirmed to this date, that he has been offered the position of Seeker on the National England squad a total of three times. He is flying today a Nimbus 3000, a top racing broom, newly out this year.

"Against him, we have James Evans, aged 24 and six-foot tall. I'm assuming you all know what he looks like. Joining the University aged twenty, he was immediately admitted onto the Merlin Quidditch team, captained by myself, in the position of Beater. Despite having no prior experience, he trained and was quickly the best Beater on any of the teams. After my departure at the end of his second year, he was unanimously elected Captain and returned to his preferred position of Seeker. Later, he was selected as the Quidditch rep of the University. His favourite move is the Wronski Feint; he is an acknowledged master at it and was the one who coached Charlie Weasley in it prior to this match. James has admitted that he has received offers to play as a Seeker on the England and Scotland first squads or as a Beater on England's first squad. As you can hear, he is much in demand. I am also told that, as a Slytherin House master, he will be assisting the Slytherin Quidditch team. Today, James is flying his preferred make of broom, the Firebolt, and the very latest model of its kind, the XF. Here he is now, dressed in green and black Merlin House Quidditch robes. Before the Snitch is released, he will do a couple of warm up laps."

James, inwardly delighted at the thrill of playing in front of an audience again, shot around the field. Draco continued with his speech.

"The Nimbus 3000 is the favourite broom for International Quidditch teams this year, its easy handling and sharp turning ability makes it ideal for the Seeker's position. However, it is known to have a poor acceleration speed given its other features. The Firebolt XF has the fastest acceleration of any broom ever made. Stripped down to the bare minimum of features, this is not the broom for an amateur; all the magic is focused on speed. With the excellent handling we are accustomed to from the Firebolt Company, its only disadvantage in this match is a slightly slower top speed than the Nimbus. This will be, in the end, a match decided by the abilities of the Seekers."

James finished his warm-up and flew into the middle of the pitch, waving to the ref to indicate his readiness to begin. Holding the Snitch between first finger and thumb, the man stepped into the middle of the field and released it. Darting away, watched keenly by James and Charlie, it soon vanished from sight. When the two minutes of waiting time was over, the ref. blew his whistle and the game began.

Unlike a normal Quidditch match, there were no Bludgers, no other players, no points. The only way to win was to catch the Snitch. It was a contest of skill, keen sight, endurance and training, and it was also one that James enjoyed. He swooped around the field, watching for signs of his elusive target.

He saw a glint of gold just behind Charlie and pushed his broom forwards. Charlie hadn't noticed him, but the noise from the stands alerted him to James' movements. Glancing round, he caught sight of the Snitch and followed it into a steep dive. James, slightly higher, dropped into free-fall, something hardly anyone would dare.

The Snitch darted under the stands. There was a collective groan from the audience and some quick-minded person cast a charm onto the middle of the pitch to show what the players were doing. It was like James' match against Malfoy in second-year, the one when he'd broken his arm. But he wasn't twelve any more. Dodging the beams was child's play, though there wasn't as much space, and the pair of them followed easily, vying for position. The Snitch emerged, hovering just under a metre above the ground, under the teachers' box. Draco was craning over the edge.

"Here they come," he was saying. "Evans is slightly in the lead. It’s going to be a difficult catch at that altitude…"

James shut out his friend's voice and focussed on positioning his broom as low over the grass as he could make it. Arm outstretched, he slowly pulled below Charlie, closing on the Snitch. Being lighter was certainly an advantage in these circumstances. He was hovering; was really less than a metre above the ground? He was almost there . . . just a little too high. . . He dropped under his broom in a kind of sloth-grip roll, one hand still outstretched. He reached down, caught hold of the Snitch and let go, skidding along the ground. His broom stopped, as soon as he fell off, and flew back to him.

They were cheering him now. Charlie dropped down and helped him to his feet. An arm around his shoulders, he helped him from the pitch.

That evening, Draco Malfoy was persuaded to join James and the rest of the Quidditch team for a rowdy celebration at the Gryffindor table during the feast. The students, though some were a bit disappointed to have lost, seemed equally enthusiastic. To James, it was almost like being a student again, although he knew that he wouldn't be invited to attend the inevitable party that the Gryffindors would be hosting in their common room. Up at the staff table, Madam Hooch was accepting defeat slightly less graciously. To put it plainly, she was sulking. Not only had her team, the one she'd been boasting about for weeks, lost by a huge margin, but she had also lost a large amount of money betting on them. In fact, the only ones looking pleased were Severus, who had apparently won in the region of fifty Galleons, and Minerva, who, despite having won a smaller amount, was revelling in the praise of some of her star students.

Actually, James was sure that the headmaster was cheating a little with this feast. Although the Great Hall seated the entire school at once, there certainly was not normally room for an extra two hundred or so visitors - that was simple mathematics! He'd probably used a similar set of charms to the ones Arthur Weasley had used on his car, ones to expand the space within without changing the outside dimensions. After all, it could have disastrous effects if the Great Hall suddenly grew - the Transfiguration classrooms would be completely wiped out.

After another noisy rendition of the school song while they were all sitting back in their seats feeling stuffed to the brim, Aberforth signalled to James that it was time to leave. Excusing himself graciously - not that that was hard given the slightly drunken state of his teammates - James slipped out of the side door and down to Abe's quarters.

/////////

The older man arrived a moment later, giving the password and showing James in. Then he turned to look at his pupil.

"You know I'm going home this evening?"

"I thought you were at least staying until tomorrow," James protested. "You've got a room and everything, and its not like they'll need you back at the University."

"Actually it's Claudius. He seems to be getting a bit homesick if you ask me, you know how close he is to me, and I'm afraid he's a bit lonely out there on his own at night. He might even be afraid of the dark! It might be detrimental to his health and I've grown rather attached to him over the years. I wouldn't want him to suffer any longer than he has to."

James sighed, knowing that the grouchy old goat would always come first.

"I understand, I guess, it's just . . . "

"You're stuck here and no one quite understands your situation?"

"Exactly. Its not that I don't enjoy teaching - I do, but it's hard not to tell them sometimes. I feel bad about not trusting them and. . . ."

"And?"

"And I wonder how much they're going to hate me when they do find out."

The older man paused for a moment, putting a comforting hand on James' shoulder. He seemed to be considering what it would be best to say.

"How many people would you say really cared about you when you were younger, not for the 'Boy Who Lived' but Harry?"

"Well, Ron and Hermione of course."

"And Hermione already knows and doesn't seem to hate you, quite the opposite in fact."

"Ron can be a bloody idiot when he gets irritated though."

"James . . . Harry, he's not sixteen any more. He's also married, and I suspect young Hermione keeps a fairly close eye on problems of that kind. Certainly he might be a bit angry to start off with, I think most people would be, but after a while he'll forgive you and you will continue with your lives again."

"And Draco?"

"He was an obnoxious little snot when he was a kid," Abe said, smiling slightly at the memory, "and those are his words, not mine. He grew up, James, and I know that he came to respect you as both Harry and James. He would never have named his son after you if he hadn't, despite whatever he says, and he certainly would never have named you godfather. Trust me on this one, Draco will accept you easily."

"Then there's Albus."

"Trust me, he won't give you problems," Aberforth said, completely the stern older brother. "Besides, even if he hasn't mentioned it, I find it hard to believe that he hasn't any idea of your past. If he's really in the dark, I will be terribly disappointed in him."

"And then there's the rest of the staff. Oh, not Trelawney, but most of the others. I feel bad about lying to them."

"Consider how Professor McGonagall treats her ex-pupils, even the ones who've lost their way slightly. She's not a young woman, James, and she knew you well. I'm sure that, as your Head of House, she was quite aware of your opinion of your life, and would understand your decision."

"But what about Severus?" James all but moaned, sitting down heavily on an armchair. "He bloody hated me when I was a kid!"

"Didn't you hate him back?"

"Well, yes, but he started it!"

"And you were both acting like five year olds, hopefully now the two of you have grown up enough to see past it. Look, think about it, why didn't he like you?"

"He hated my dad and godfather . . ."

"Albus said that grudge detached itself from you by the end of your second year."

"Okay, I was famous and he thought I liked it."

"And now he knows that you didn't."

"And he thought I was a trouble maker."

"You weren't?"

"Well, yes, but not in the way he meant. I never started the fights with Draco and it wasn't my fault Hermione got stuck with a mountain troll without any teachers nearby or that . . ."

"James, enough. I know for a fact that he received at least as many punishments as you did, though perhaps for different reasons. He was more involved with prank wars against the Gryffindors of the time."

"On yeah, and I was a Gryffindor."

"James, can you honestly say that you didn't look on Slytherins as the embodiment of evil when you were eleven. He was just defending his students, as he was perfectly right to do. Besides, from the rumours I've heard from the other members of staff, you've disabused him of that notion quite thoroughly. What was it you said, that if it took being a Parseltongue to be a Slytherin, he didn't qualify either? Very clever, very Slytherin of you, my dear boy. That will have completely put him off the trail. I'd stop worrying about it, if I were you. There is very little about your younger self that he can justify hating you for, if he does, you can remind him of his less than exemplary record."

"But I . . . he . . ."

"Ah. I wondered why you singled him out. You do know that if you ever want to ask me for advice about your love life, you can come to me any time. I'm a very wise and accepting individual and since you can't go to your parents, I'd be happy to offer my services."

"You . . . " James spluttered.

"You know, dear child, it is far easier to understand you when you speak slowly and think before opening your mouth, hm? Now, what exactly is the problem?"

"You expect me to tell you?" James asked incredulously.

"Of course."

"Oh fine, I'm trusting you with my other secrets, I might as well with this one. I know he's gay, which is something, I guess, but I haven't ever seen him with another guy and I don't even know if I'm his type."

"Is that a problem?"

"Only in that I'll embarrass myself if it turns out I'm not."

"Ah, just a minor one then. So what you're actually hoping for is advice on how to ah get together with him?"

"I guess, yes."

"Start by continuing as you have been, make friends with him. There's no point in entering a relationship if you don't genuinely like your partner. Give him time to get used to that. Have you thought about your costume for the ball?"

"Ball?"

"The Hogmanay Ball that Albus is so keen on. I believe both you and Severus were among his choices for chaperones."

"Unfortunately."

"So, are you doing your usual?"

"Its not like I have any other costume, is it?"

"James, your costume is extremely flattering, it shows of your body excellently and it's very little effort for you. Now, I take it Severus is as enthusiastic about this as he usually is? Why don't you suggest that he use the Weasleys' latest range of sweets to change his appearance before he puts a costume on so that he can attend without having to live up to his reputation. I'm sure you could come up with a costume for him. Now, if you offered the use of one of your friends' names, say Bertram Highcastle, and went with him. After the illusions are taken down at the end of the evening, it will appear that you went with young Bertram and since everyone knows where the boy's inclinations run, he'd almost have to . . . ah . . . snog you, is it?"

"You really think that will work?"

"My dear boy, Severus has worked very hard to make himself feared, he needs to if he is to be effective in keeping order in a potions laboratory, it is, after all, very dangerous if mistakes are made. If you were living like that, wouldn't you appreciate some time to relax without that restraint?"

"I suppose so. Thanks."

"Feel better."

"Yes, actually," he said, surprised. "I'll say goodbye then. Give your students hell, and send Claudius my greetings."

"I will, Jamie-boy, now you go and get a good night's sleep, you're up late already and you have classes tomorrow."

James laughed, turning to smile at his mentor as he stepped back through the portrait hole back into the dungeon corridor. It was chillier outside of the suite and he shivered slightly. He hit something solid just as the portrait closed behind him. Not sure he wanted to find out what he'd walked into, James turned around slowly. He was facing a black-clad chest, a rather well defined one too. Agonisingly slowly, he raised his head to look Severus Snape in the eye. Cursing mentally, his brain reminded him of the fascinating discussion he'd just been having and he flushed scarlet.

"Well, James, had a bit too much to drink? I'll have a hangover potion for you in the morning."

"I'm not drunk," James protested. "I just wasn't looking where I was going."

"I had noticed that, somehow. Do you need assistance returning to your rooms?"

James' brain was mentally shouting yes.

"No thank you, Severus, I can manage perfectly well on my own. I will see you in the morning."

"Good night. That was . . . a most impressive piece of flying earlier by anyone's standards. Congratulations."

"I . . . uh. . . . thank you. You've been most successful too, judging by the rumours."

"I did have some good fortune, Rolanda's luck had to run out some day. Besides, it's in my favour if you are so competent at Quidditch since you have already agreed to coach the house team. I would like to have the Quidditch Cup in my study again."

"A Slytherin through and through. Minerva tells me you're not bad yourself."

"She flatters me," Severus said, brushing off the compliment. "Drunk or not, I believe you should be in bed now. We do have classes in the morning, after all."



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