Family Ties

Ch.1 The Letter

James Potter had grown up knowing full well that he was a wizard. It had been in his blood for ages and ages, and there was no chance in a million years that he could possibly have been a squib. At a young age he had shown signs of great cleverness and powerful magic through numerous childhood pranks.

On more than one occasion when his mother had caught him stealing cookies before dinner, the tasty treat had vanished when he was asked to show her the evidence, only to reappear moments later when he sat in his room contemplating life, and how to make the lives of others a living nightmare. James was quite a troublemaker, and by the age of ten he had become such a nuisance to his mother that a huge calendar had been placed on the kitchen wall, counting the days until James could be shipped off to school.

This is not to suggest that Mrs. Potter was a cold-hearted woman, or that she didn't love her son. She did love her son, very much, but he was getting to be a bit much for her, and they were both in desperate need of a break from each other.

James's mother was one of those people who could be raging mad one moment, and then sweet as sugar the next. She would be crying her eyes out, and then begin laughing like a loon the next. Her behavior confused her son, and her husband, but all the same their family unit was close-knit despite her insanity.

James's father worked in the Law Enforcement Department at The Ministry of Magic. When he was at the job there was no officer like Edward Potter. When he was at home he was like a little puppy, whimpering, with his tail between his legs. His wife was clearly in charge of the household; he was only there so they could afford to live the lavish life they led.

But Mr. Potter was not useless. When he was at Hogwarts he was the top of the class and his girlfriend at that time was the only person who could control him. James was very much like his father was. His father was very much like his grandfather, and so on and so forth. They were all like that; generation-to-generation of boys who couldn't be controlled except by that one witch they were meant to be with. Ironic: yes. True: also yes. And the pattern would probably continue through James's children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. The Potter's were one of the oldest families in the wizarding world, and every generation was just like the one before it. And there was never a girl. Ever. There hadn't been a girl born into the Potter line in ages.

It was common knowledge to all that James would go to Hogwarts. Every member of his family had since the very founding of the school. His name was put on the list the moment he was born.

But when he actually received the letter, took it from the post and held it in his hand, the most unexplainable wave of feeling passed over him. It was something he had never felt before, not fear, not panic, certainly not dread...

He handed the letter to his father who quickly skimmed the contents. When he had finished, he looked up gleefully relieved from the folded parchment. His look disappeared quickly though as he realized his wives tears really weren't those of joy but of sadness. "My baby!" she was sobbing into his shoulder, "My baby's g- going away! He's all g- grown up!" Mr. Potter looked extremely uncomfortable. He patted his wife on the back awkwardly.

"There, there, dear. You've been waiting for this day for nearly a year. James isn't that old, he can still be your baby-" he looked at James for back up. His son stared up at him, horror struck.

"Dad- I've already told you. I'm not a baby!" he hissed under his breath. His father shot him a pleading look.

"Mum, look, your running out of room on the countdown chart anyway!" James said hopefully, gesturing to the huge hanging. This did not have the desired effect. In fact, it appeared to be the very last thing his mother wanted to hear.

Mrs. Potter jumped out of her chair and ran to the calendar tearing it off in shreds as she sobbed. James sat back down by the hearth, trying to think of what he could've said to upset her. When she was finished destroying the wall hanging she went to bed, complaining of a headache. Outside the sun was just beginning to set, setting the sky on fire with a million different colors. James's stomach gave a small rumble. On a normal day, this would be about dinnertime.

"Dad... er.... are we going to, um, eat?" he asked hopefully after a long silence.

His father looked at him, a sunken expression on his face.

"Looks like we're going hungry tonight son. We both know I can't cook... s'pose I could try and erm.... throw something together...."

Mr. Potter really was a bad cook, in fact, he probably didn't even know how to boil water. However, they thought that perhaps if they both worked together on the project it may not end in a nuclear explosion. They decided to make Spaghetti and toast. Not exactly traditional, and also not particularly appetizing, but, simple...

LaTeR - - -

James was poking the spaghetti with his fork. It was still hard due to the fact that his father had forgotten to add water, a crucial ingredient, he had already given up on the toast, which was black and hard as a brick. Mr. Potter was looking at the "meal" apprehensively as twilight fell like a blanket around them.

"Er... Maybe we should just get to bed...." he suggested after chipping his tooth on some spaghetti. James readily agreed.

Mr. Potter made to stand up, pulling the tablecloth with him. The porcelain centerpiece, and both their plates fell to the floor with a crash. Both stared at the mess on the floor, then at one another.

"Wasn't that owl- thing something Aunt Kat gave to mum for Christmas?" James inquired looking at the smashed centerpiece, or, what was once the centerpiece. Mr. Potter nodded in response to the inquiry.

"Do you think she's going to miss it very much?" he asked next.

"I won't," said Mr. Potter. "But yeah, she probably will. We just need another good excuse is all, like the other day when you hit the mirror with a bludger... erm... let's say...."

"We'll say Puddles did it." James suggested.

"But we told her puddles broke her picture window, and her curio cabinet, and her vase, and-"

"And Puddles has clearly been a very bad dog." said James nodding, a falsely solemn look on his face.

Mr. Potter smiled at his son. Blaming the dog wasn't exactly a very original means of escaping his wife's fury, but it was most definitely a useful one. The two headed up the stairs and as James turned toward his bedroom. Mr. Potter placed his hand on his son's shoulder.

"Congratulations, by the way." he said smiling at his son. James raised one skeptical eyebrow.

"It's not a big deal, dad. We've known I'd get in since-"

"It's still something to be proud of," his father said.

They said goodnight and headed to their rooms. Inside James was glowing with pride. His father was his favorite person in the world, and he wanted to be just like him one day. Even though he'd always known he'd be going to Hogwarts his whole life, there was something about knowing for certain that made him feel extremely giddy, and knowing his father was proud of him only added to that feeling.

He lay in bed a long while afterward, double-checking the shopping list he'd made for Diagon Alley. Hogwarts was going to be great. His mother would be miles and miles away and unable to punish him. His dad might of course be the worse for his absence, but, James thought, maybe it would be best to teach him how to take care of himself. James felt like he was always pulling his father out of tough situations.