If he were quite honest with himself, he would never have guessed it. Not until the light rushed towards him, time slowed down, and eternity made itself known, would he have anticipated the chain of events that had led to this moment. As time ended for him, he felt it all beginning again. Like opening a book, the pages unfolded in his memory…
He was eight years old, and wriggled as his mother was trying, in vain, to get his hair to lay flat before their company arrived. "Mum!" he whined, "Who are these people anyway?"
"Be still, dear. They are some of my co-workers from the Prophet, Roger and Sylvia Pettigrew. I believe they are bringing their son. He's about your age, I think. Why won't your hair ever lie flat?" his mother, Dorea Potter, responded, exasperation evident in her tone.
James knew, because of the frequency of such comments, that his response was neither required nor desired, so he remained silent. He was happy to learn that these guests had a child his age. Because of his parents' age, it was rare that their friends had children close to him in age, which had made for a somewhat lonely childhood.
"Miss Dorea! The Pettigrews have sent word that they are apparating now!" a small voice squeaked a few minutes later.
"Thank you, Willow, we will be right down." Dorea said to the house elf who had appeared at James' bedroom door. Turning her attention her young son, she sighed. "Well, you do well and truly take after your father in your hair. Go fetch him now, please. Tell him we will greet the Pettigrews in the sitting room."
James waited until he was out of his mother's sight before he ruffled his hair she had worked so hard on by running his hand through it. He couldn't explain it, but it just felt more right when it was messy. He hurried up the grand staircase to his father's study.
"Papa! Mum said to tell you the Pettigrews will be arriving and we are meeting them in the sitting room," James said, dutifully.
"What's that?" Charlus Potter asked, looking up from one of his files from Gringotts, where he worked as the liaison between the goblins and the Ministry.
"Mum's friends from work, they're arriving!" James repeated.
"Ah! Yes, the Pettigrews!" his father said with his ever-present cheerfulness, as he stood and stretched from craning over the papers for so long. "James, my boy, you'll like their son, Peter. I was good friend's with Sylvia's brother, Alfred, growing up and I've heard that Peter takes after him in many ways."
His parents, were, in fact, mistaken. The two did not hit it off right away, or at all, really. The Pettigrews were a nice enough family, James thought, as he drifted off to sleep hours later. Peter was, in James' opinion, perhaps the dullest person he had ever met. However, because James was short on friends and rich in friendliness, the evening had not been a complete waste. Peter would be returning the following Saturday, so that the two could "Get to know each other more," as his mother put it.
James knew that his parents were looking for someone to partner with for his next level of schooling, and he assumed the Pettigrews were in the same boat. At eight, their sons were too young to attend Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, but their magical abilities were becoming too pronounced for him to continue attending the Muggle school in their district. As with most pureblood and halfblood families, James knew that this school year, he would switch to a form of wizarding homeschooling, where a few families would partner together to encourage their children to pursue the classics, while also teaching them the basics of wizarding history, culture, and traditions and gaining greater control of their abilities. The current headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, thought this added preparation was so beneficial that he had begun seeking out muggle born students earlier than age 11, as had been customary in the past, to join in the education endeavors. As of yet, this venture was not going so well. It was James' guess that the Pettigrews and the Potters would be in the same home school group and his mum and papa were trying to help him make friends before school began in three weeks.
The next visit was slightly improved on the first. After a bit of an awkward start, the two found common ground in their love of quidditch. James and Peter raced to the back shed and mounted the two brooms they found there.
"I should get to ride first!" Peter declared, as the boys pushed off the ground.
"First?" James asked, "I thought we were racing!"
"But that's no fair! It's your broom!" Peter pointed out, as he hovered off the ground.
James had to admit that the sandy haired boy had a point. "Well, how about we practice like we's chasers?" he suggested, landing his broom and fetching the quaffle from the shed from where they had earlier retrieved the brooms.
"Right! Where's the goal?" Peter asked.
James looked around, "How about we aim for the row of hedges?" he suggested, realizing that the backyard, huge though it was, sorely lacked in would be goal posts. Peter nodded as James rose to meet him in the air. After two passes, Peter went to "score" for the first time…and missed sorely. The quaffle flew over the row of hedges and landed with a loud splash in James' neighbor's pool.
James, knowing that Mr. and Mrs. Bones were not fond of children, glanced at Peter in alarm. Peter, sensing that something was wrong, turned to James and asked
"What now?"
James did the only he could think of, diving to the ground, shouting for Peter to follow him and then running back into the house. He had underestimated the distance from the shed to the house, unfortunately, and entered to the sound of Mrs. Bones telling his mother her version of what had just transpired. James and Peter took a deep breath, and stepped into the kitchen to see what the damage was.
It was bad. Mrs. Bones was wearing what appeared to be worn out old robes, gardening gloves, a large brimmed hat and had evidently been caught in a sudden shower. Worse, though, was the sight of the cat the old woman was holding. It hissed at the boys as they walked in, as if aware that they were responsible for its currently soaking wet condition. Mrs. Bones' anger was evident, not only from the shrill tone of her voice but also from the sparks that were emitting from the wand in her pocket.
"Dorea, honestly, I do not understand why you insist on living in this neighborhood when you have hooligans running around!" the old woman nearly shouted.
"Charlotte," Dorea Potter began, her voice dangerously calm, "I insist on living in this neighborhood because there have always been Potters in this neighborhood. And because the fact that you don't like children has nothing to do with the fact that Peverell Manor is a good neighborhood for children. Before you continue your rant, I would also encourage you to consider who has more of a right to be in this neighborhood—the halfblood family with no ties to the Peverell brothers, or the pureblood family with direct ties to Ignatius himself?"
"Why. I never-Dorea, that is." Charlotte Bones blustered. "Just try to keep your troublemakers under control," she finished, before turning and rushing from the room.
After watching the older woman walk out the door, Dorea turned to the two boys.
"Mind telling me what exactly happened?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow and trying to keep a smile off her face.
James took a deep breath, ready to take the blame for what had happened, since he was the host, but Peter immediately jumped in and explained exactly how the Potter quaffle had ended up in the Bones' pool.
James was amazed that Peter was willing to take the fall, especially since Peter did not know his mother as well as James did, and was probably expecting a punishment. James felt at that moment, that he had found a good friend. Peter was not the most interesting conversation partner, but the two troublemakers, as Mrs. Bones had dubbed them, found plenty of ways to occupy themselves over the years—from frying ants with their fathers' telescope lenses to racing brooms. James always bested Peter at their lessons—for he had been right, their parents did want to partner them for the new school program—but Peter bested him in something James found much more appealing: pranking.
