A/N: Yes, I can't believe I started another multichapter fic while I'm still in the middle of the colossal Castle on the Hill. But fear not, this one will only be around five chapters! It also has very little angst (who am I, Hedwig?) and is filled with self-indulgent fluff and hopefully adorable fun! The first chapter is mostly introducing the complicated setting I created because I can never keep it simple, expect musical numbers, children being adorable but also evil, identity shenanigans, and maybe even some smut (!) in the future. Shout out to the Castle Crew for forever being my number ones. Follow me on tumblr at a-collection-of-nonsense!
1.
"C'mon, Professor, don't do this to me," James Potter said implored the imposing witch seated in front of him, "Don't bench me, I'm begging. It was one mistake, and I swear on Merlin's left nut that it'll never happen again."
James winced as soon as the words had left his mouth, and unfortunately his less than gracious language had not gone unnoticed, if the disapproving look in Professor McGonnagal's eyes were any indication. He was standing in the Headmaster's office, emphasis on standing as he hadn't even been invited to sit down his former professor was so pissed. Usually it was Professor Dumbledore who sat behind this desk, was the one giving James that disappointed look the several dozens times he had been called into his office for various acts of mischief and shenanigans during his never-dull time at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
However, it had been nearly six years since he had graduated from the school, and he was not in the office to receive a detention for setting off dungbombs or putting itching powder in all the Slytherin's Quidditch uniforms. Now he was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, a rebel group of witches and wizards fighting against the Lord Voldemort and his party of blood purist Death Eaters; sitting behind the Headmaster's desk was Minerva McGonnagal, the head of missions operations within the Order. And James was about to receive a very thorough telling off.
"Mister Potter, I'm sorry, but your performance since you have joined the Order has been entirely erratic," Professor McGonnagal began, holding up a hand to cut him off when he began to protest, "No one doubts your passion for the cause, or your loyalty. However, you don't seem to have any focus. You disobey orders from your captains when on missions, you throw yourself into danger without a second thought, often endangering the rest of your team in the process. And you just got into a fistfight at a bar with a Death Eater, ruining a three month long undercover operation. You need to take some time to cool your heels, spend some time thinking about what you truly wish to accomplish as a member of the Order. And," she added, looking at him over her glasses, "You will learn that there is more than one way to serve the Order, more to it than just playing the hero."
James was feeling properly ashamed by the time she had finished, the back of his neck heating up as he ran his hand through his hair in equal parts frustration and embarrassment. Yes, he'd fucked up big time, there was no use denying that. He had always had a quick temper, and that paired with little to no impulse control spelled trouble. So, when he had overheard at the bar he was working undercover at two known Death Eaters describing in excruciating detail what they had done to a Muggleborn witch they had caught trying to flee the country well…Let's just say he hadn't followed protocol.
He knew he needed to lay low for a little while, that was obvious; the Death Eaters were going to be out for blood, especially since his Polyjuice Potion had begun to wear off halfway through the fight and had gotten a pretty decent look at his face. And yes, he deserved to be punished, as much as he hated the idea of sitting on the sidelines while the rest of his friends were off fighting.
James let out a great sigh of defeat. "How long will I be on desk duty, then?" he asked his former professor resignedly.
Professor McGonnagal pressed her lips into a thin line. "You will not be on desk duty, Mr. Potter," she began slowly.
"Am I not going to be punished, then?" James asked hopefully, even as a sense of dread crept into his chest.
"I told you, Potter, this is not a punishment," McGonnagal sighed, "But I am still withholding you from field work until further notice. No, we have another, um, position that has become available." The sense of dread grew as the professor hesitated; she sounded like she was trying to break the death of his puppy to him.
"What kind of position, Professor?" James asked, even though he was almost positive by this point that he didn't want to know what was coming.
"It is a discrete position at the household of Mademoiselle Biche," she began, still using that same cautious, dead-puppy tone, "She is a French witch from a prominent family, a widow residing in the Scottish Highlands in her late husband's ancestral home. She has been a long-time ally of the Order, so when she asked Professor Dumbledore and I for suggestions for someone to tutor for her seven children, as well as serve as a guard to protect her family from potential threats from the war, the Headmaster and I knew we could not turn her down."
There was a lot to unpack from that exchange, but one detail (that he definitely knew McGonnagal had tried to sneak in) had snagged his attention.
"Seven children?" James demanded, disbelieving, "You want me to be some kind of babysitter for seven children? Merlin, talk about a demotion."
"Tutor, Potter, and guard, not babysit," McGonnagal corrected him sternly, "Due to, erm, various circumstances the children have not had a steady nor conventional magical education."
"Why not just send the kids here?" James demanded, getting the feeling that she was trying to hide something.
"Only three of the children are over the age of eleven," she replied, "And as I said before, there are various circumstances surrounding the reason why they could not pursue a conventional education. Moreover, the Mademoiselle is a very private person; she will make the decision as to how much about these circumstances she will share with you. If you take the position, that is."
"I have a choice?" James's heart soared.
"You always have a choice, Mister Potter," Professor McGonnagal said, this time with a slight upturn on one side of her lips, "I am just not sure you want to hear what your other option is."
James hadn't wanted to hear what the other option was, as he was certain it was something along the lines of forced retirement from the Order, and that would never be an option for him, not while he still had breath left in his body.
Which was how he found himself standing in front of a slightly decrepit but still overwhelmingly grand estate in the Scottish Highlands, wool travel cloak wrapped around his favorite pair of bottle green robes to ward off the brutal chill; Merlin, he had forgotten how brutal the winters were in Scotland. He dragged his trunk up the last few steps to the mansion, poising himself to knock on the imposing oak door; however, the second his fist hit the wood, he was sent flying back all the way down the flight of stairs he had just climbed.
"What the hell-" James groaned, rubbing at the knot rapidly forming on the back of his head, even though he knew the answer to his question. That was the single fucking strongest warding spell he had ever encountered; hell, he was lucky he hadn't been blown halfway to Liverpool. He was stuck between this feeling of awe at whoever had managed to build such a spell, and feeling fucking pissed because weren't they supposed to be expecting him? McGonnagal had given him a date and time to show up Ackergill Tower; the least they could do was open the goddamn door.
Seven kids. For about the hundredth time since he had left Hogwarts three days ago, the phrase that had become a kind of curse in his mind rang through his thoughts. Fucking hell, what was he even doing here? He was an only child born to elderly parents, a miracle baby, and he hadn't been around any kids for anything more than stuffy family functions until he went to Hogwarts at age eleven. He was completely out of his depth here.
James was half ready to take the wards as a sign that this was not the place for him to be and simply take off when the grand entry doors opened with a loud creak. An ancient house elf with large tufts of grey hair sticking out of his floppy ears and wrapped like a mummy in a hunter green tartan stood in the doorway, looking at him sprawled on the ground disapprovingly.
"What are you doing down there?" the house elf demanded impatiently in a thick Scottish brogue, "Potter, isn't it? We've been expecting you all day, and the Mademoiselle does not like to be kept waiting. Hurry up, then, what were you doing on the ground anyways?"
All of the words tumbled out of the old elf's mouth so disdainfully and at such a speed that James was shocked into speechlessness. Well that, and the building outrage at them being angry at him for being late when he knew very well that he had arrived right on time, and that they were the ones who hadn't prepared for his arrival enough to even take down their damn wards.
And now the old elf was looking at all the dust covering his robes with disapproval, as if he was going to lecture him for tracking dust inside. James bit his tongue, though, knowing that he just had to survive this position for three months and then he would be back in the field. He could do this.
He dusted himself off, making his way back up those blasted steps again, and dragged his trunk behind him past the doorway of the old manor.
"Now, how do I look, my darlings?" Lily asked, twirling around in her stuffy printed gown to face the seven children assembled on her bed. She spread her arms wide, striking a few poses as if she was a model in those fashion magazines that Penelope liked to read, causing them to giggle, "Will it do?"
"Perfectly awful, maman," Lyall grinned, mischief glinting in his baby blue eyes.
"Like exactly the sort of person who deserves frog spawn in their soup," Tonks agreed, nodding approvingly.
"The dress is a great finishing touch," Eri added with that crooked grin, "Where in the world did you find something so hideous?"
Lily smirked at all of them. "I found it in the luggage that Madam Danford left behind when she ran from the house screaming," she admitted to them in a whisper like she was telling them a terrible secret, and all seven of them burst out laughing.
And Lily felt her heart swell. Merlin, she loved each and every one of them so much some days it felt like she couldn't breathe. True, she hadn't carried them around in her belly for nine months, but that didn't make this hodgepodge collection of kids any less hers.
Eri had been the first of her brood. It was right after she had returned to her beloved homeland of England after completing her magical education at Beauxbatons, where she had deferred to for her magical education in order to be near her mother in France. Unfortunately she was not able to stay in England for long, as jobs were scarce and it was more than a little difficult to get ahead in the market in the current political climate, what with her being a Muggleborn and all. So she had packed up and headed north, taking a low-paying internship with a potion master in Glasgow. She was out in the countryside that afternoon, hunting for a very particular strain of mushroom when she heard the cries.
He couldn't have been more than six, that little boy with dark hair and darker eyes, bruises covering one side of his face and his little voice screaming as a pair of kelpies in their human from crept from a marsh, cracked seaweed-green hands clutching at his legs as they tried to pull him into the deep.
Oh, had Lily been furious. She couldn't believe what she was seeing; since when did kelpies prey on innocent Muggles? And children, of all things, too. As much as human lore liked to vilify them, all of the kelpies that Lily had met on her travels while in school had been perfectly polite unless you were outwardly aggressive towards them. This was the height of rudeness, and Lily just could not abide.
"Oi!" Lily called to the pair, stomping over to the bog and glaring down at them, "Let go of that boy this instant. I know your mothers raised you better than this!"
The kelpies froze, grey lips opening in shock at being addressed in such a way. They shared an alarmed glance before starting to babble in Mermish of all things. Lily just snorted at their obvious ploy; she had taken Mermish as her language course in school and could understand every word. "Don't pull that 'I don't speak English' wormshit with me," Lily hissed at them, smirking when their acid-green eyes glowed in alarm, "Yeah, that's right, I can understand you. Now let that boy go. I don't want to pull out my wand on you but I will if I have to."
"But he comes from one of those Dark wizard families," the younger kelpie had tried to argue with her, cracked teeth bared in his sneer, "They are hunting us, and the merpeople too. We are only protecting our clan."
"Wormshit," Lily repeated, unimpressed even as she grew more curious about this boy who was apparently a wizard of all things (just her luck), "That little boy doesn't even own a wand yet; are you so pathetic that such a puny thing could take you down?" The kelpies finally began to look ashamed. "That's right," Lily finished, "Pick on someone your own size, dolphin dicks."
With that they finally released the boy, and he scrambled back from the bog while they disappeared into its depths. "Come here love," Lily gestured to the little boys, going to her knees so that they were at eye level and she was as unthreatening as possible, "It's okay, I won't hurt you, and I won't let anything else hurt you either."
He didn't move an inch though, just looking at her with those eyes so dark the iris bled right into the pupil; they were as wide as saucers as they regarded her distrustfully. "How did you talk to them?" he asked, suspicion lacing his voice and he leaned away from her, angling himself so that his arms protected his head. Like a kicked puppy. And it fucking broke her heart; what had happened to this kid to make him so fearful, so cynical? Merlin, what the hell was he doing out here?
"I can speak Mermish," Lily admitted, speaking softly and evenly so as not to spook him, "I'm a witch, magical, just like you." He gave her a guilty look, and her stomach dropped. Shit, was he a Muggle? Ugh, she hated performing Memory charms. "Right?" she asked again.
"I'm not a wizard," he admitted, looking like he was about to cry, "That's why my parents made me leave. I wasn't magical enough for them, they told me I was not good enough to be a Lestrange. A-a disgrace." He was crying for real now, sobs choking his chest while Lily felt herself struggling to breathe.
"They kicked you out?" Lily asked, voice breaking to reflect her crumbling heart. And the way he looked at her, fuck, like he expected her to leave too now that his big secret was out. She crawled slowly towards the crying boy, wrapping him in her arms and settling him into her lap as she stroked his matted hair, even as he flinched at her touch. "Did you know," she said softly, "That neither of my parents were magical?" His head snapped up at that, looking at her intently. "Yes," she continued, "Not a drop of magic in either of them. But you know what? I never loved them any less. And both of them, they were the greatest people I ever met." She wiped away the tears from his dirty, bruised cheeks. "Magic doesn't mean anything if you're not a good person. And you can be a great, amazing person without ever casting a single spell." He sniffled and gave her a tiny nod like he didn't quite believe it but didn't want to be rude by arguing with her, and it made her lips curl into a tiny grin.
"What's your name love?" she asked him as she continued to rock him in her arms.
"Eridanus," he sniffled, and she noticed how he purposely left off his last name.
"What a serious name for such a small boy," she had teased him gently, "Why don't we call you Eri, little one? A little easier, don't you think?"
Finally, finally, he had looked up at her with the smallest of smiles.
"Come on then," she said, lifting him up and settling him on her hip as she made her way out of the marshland, mushrooms all but forgotten,
"Where are we going?" he asked, still sniffling into her shoulder.
"We're going home," Lily had replied, her mind made up.
And that was how Lily Evans had become a mom at eighteen years old.
She had gotten in touch with Minerva McGonnagal, the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts who had first told her a witch before Lily had decided to go to Beauxbations to be with her mom after her dad passed away. The professor had been Lily's greatest supporter and confidant as she figured out how to shield this boy who was considered dead by his family in the magical community. She had even sent Lily money a couple of times when she had been in between jobs; she tried to move around often, doing her best not to settle too long in case word about Eri got out somehow. Minerva had told Lily in no uncertain words that the Lestranges would not hesitate to finish the job if they learned their squib son had survived. Lily did her very best to make a home for little Eri, even as she scraped together sickles and pounds to put food on the table. Somehow, though, despite it all they soon formed quite the cozy family of two.
A year later she had found Penelope Gardener, five-year-old daughter of a Muggleborn couple, slaughtered by Death Eaters in the same shitty neighborhood in Dover that Lily had been hiding out in at the time. Lily had found the little girl crouched in her garden of weeds the next morning; her parents had apparently told her to run as soon as the men with wands showed up, to find a place to hide and stay there. Search as she might, Lily could not find any living relatives for poor little Penelope; there was no one else to take the little girl in, so suddenly Lily found herself a mother of two.
She was working two jobs, herbalist by day and waitress by night, when she got the letter from Aunt Minnie, as her two little ones called the professor. The McKinnons, Merlin the entire goddamn family, had been killed by Lord Voldemort and his followers. That is, all of them except the two four-year-old twins, Lyall and Louisa, who had been stunned by their parents before the Death Eaters found them in their bedroom upstairs; since every thought they were already dead, the vile wizards had not touched them. Lily hadn't even blinked before she told Minerva yes; of course she would take in those little loves who no one could know had survived. She could survive on soup and canned beans, and she would learn to sew the kids their own clothes; she could do this, she could make this work.
She had still cried from relief when Minerva told her the twins inherited the entire McKinnon fortune, and that Lily would get a monthly allowance, discretely administered, to help take care of the twins.
Susan Bones had shown up on her doorstep with Aunt Minnie the following year, another orphan of war who was on the run from those who wanted to end her entire family line. By then Lily couldn't remember what her life had been like before those kids had taken up every waking moment of her life, and even most of her dreams at night. And she wouldn't have it any other way.
It was Oliver's grandmother who left her Ackergill Tower. His parents, the Woods, had died right after he turned two during a targeted attack against halfblood families, and the poor dear had been left to live with his grandmother in the deteriorating old castle in the Highlands. The grand lady was quite old and sickly, though, and she was constantly haunted by the thought Oliver didn't have any more living family to go to once she passed, which was unfortunately going to be sooner rather than later. Mrs. Wood contacted her childhood friend, Albus Dumbledore, and learned from him about Lily's efforts to protect and take care of the children who had been abandoned or left alone because of the war. She had offered her ancestral home to Lily and her children in exchange for taking care of Oliver when she was gone, and Lily had gratefully accepted.
That had been three years ago. It felt like it had all passed in the blink of an eye.
Some days she regretted that choice, to take the Tower. Of course she loved that the children finally had a stable place to call home, and it was such a grand and beautiful estate, even if a bit worn from the passing of time; like something out of the fairytales that Lily read as a child. But, as Lily's mother had always told her, there was never a free lunch. Merlin, Lily always knew she should have paid more attention to her mother. Because as soon as the Tower had officially passed into Lily's hands, the demands started coming through.
Lily learned during a rather tense meeting with Aunt Minnie and Professor Dumbledore about the Order of the Phoenix, and although she was ecstatic that someone was out there fighting those bastards who had taken her kids' families away, the grim look of Minerva's face made her instantly wary of where the conversation was going. Apparently the Order had a desperate need for a potions mistress, so desperate that they were willing to fucking hold her kids' new home over her head. The Order made the transfer of the Tower into Lily's hands possible, and promised to provide them with enough cash to keep all six (count 'em, six) kids comfortably fed and clothed. All they asked was that Lily brew mass stores of potions for their organization, and to spend one week every two months traveling the country to different Order bases and Safe Houses to deliver the supplies and instruct members on the more advanced potion-making needed for war times.
Yeah, right. Lily had tried to walk out of the office right then.
She was fine with brewing the potions, more than happy to give back in that way actually; Lily knew she had an almost freakish talent for brewing, and Minerva had already helped her so much that she was desperate to give something in return. But it was leaving the kids for a whole week and the exposure to the war that made her want to bring the meeting to a full stop. She hadn't left any of her kids alone for a whole day since she first found Eri in that marsh (they had abandonment issues that centuries of therapy wouldn't solve), and exposing herself to the people in the Order could bring the war knocking on her door even more than it already was. Lily would rather have all seven of them living in a one-room apartment and eating Ramen every night than put a single one of her kids in danger.
It was Minerva who had convinced Lily to stay, had told her they would come up with a plan, some compromise to make sure the kids stayed safe. They needed her, Minerva told her, and Lily knew that her greatest supporter would never purposely put her kids in danger.
So they had come up with The Ruse.
It was decided that when she wore the hat of traveling Potions Mistress, Lily would go in disguise as a middle-aged brunette and identify herself as McGonnagal's Scottish niece, Mildred Pierce (Lily had picked the name, knowing none of the snobby British wizards would recognize the Muggle reference). They would hire someone, a nanny of sorts, to watch after the kids while Lily was gone, to guard them in her absence, keep their education going, and generally make sure they didn't accidentally kill themselves or (not so accidentally) each other. Having the sort-of nanny would also help when Lily was at home brewing all those potions, would continue to serve as a tutor and guardian to the kids while she spent the majority of her day locked in her study.
But Lily grew into a murderous Mama Bear at the thought of having some stranger around her kids. Every single one of them had some sort of bounty on them, and it would be far too easy for word to get out about the crazy redhead who kept half a dozen refugee kids in a castle in Scotland. So, they came up with the second half of The Ruse. When she was at home at the Tower with the nanny assigned to them (which Minerva promised she would personally pick out and vet), Lily would take Polyjuice Potion to disguise herself as a dignified elderly woman (the hair donated from one of her great-aunts in France) and would take up the mantle of the fictional Mademoiselle Letitia Biche, a French serial widow with six unruly children who were being raised in Scotland to meet her latest husband's dying wishes, but would be homeschooled because she refused to send them to her old Beauxbatons rival of Hogwarts.
Altogether, the whole thing felt a bit overcomplicated, but after watching the kids' faces light up when they first caught sight of the Tower, the way they each shrieked as they claimed their own bedroom and raced around the large expanse of lush grounds, Lily knew she would do anything to keep this place.
In the end, though, Lily rarely ended up needing to wear her disguise at home. In the last three years they had hosted twelve nannies, and only one had lasted more than three months.
Yes, she was raising a pack of hooligans. And bloody damned proud of it.
It was then that Lily heard a loud explosion, followed by a low groan, that broke her out of her reverie.
"I think the new nanny has arrived, maman," little Louisa observed innocently (and if Lily's heart didn't just about fucking explode every time one of them called her maman).
"Lily, you have to teach me those wards," Tonks begged. The fifteen-year-old spitfire hadn't found her way into Lily's care until two years ago, and their relationship had always been much more of that of sisters; she never called her maman. But damn if Lily didn't think she was the coolest punk-ass kid she had ever met.
"Someday," Lily brushed her off (because Tonks was the greatest troublemaker of them all), checking one last time that her white hair was flawlessly arranged and practicing her most disapproving looks in the mirror again; the beak of a nose from her great aunt made those looks especially terrifying. "Okay, kiddos, Tinker should be making his way to the door at any moment. You know what that means," she grinned at them expectantly.
"PLACES!" they all shouted excitedly, racing out of the room. Yes, it was showtime. And the first day was always, always the most fun.
Lily gave herself one more mischievous smile in the mirror and sat on her bed to wait.
A clacking of heels on the wooden steps climbing the eastern wall of the great entry hall had James swinging his head around in order to finally get a view of the cow he who had hired him. Yes, he was already feeling quite irritated towards his employer as she had left him waiting in the hall for thirty fucking minutes.
Then he saw the woman who owned his ass for the next three months, and he felt his heart plummet. Mademoiselle Biche had a large beak of a nose, the kind that indicated high aristocratic breeding, and a look of disdain to match her pedigree. Bloody hell, the look of disapproval on her face as she scanned him head to toe rivaled that of Professor McGonnagal.
"Potter, is it?" she said in a posh French accent, "I was expecting someone more…female."
"Mademoiselle Biche," James acknowledged with a nod, not quite sure how to respond to that, "Did Professor McGonnagal not inform you of my arrival? Or of anything about me?"
"Oh, I'm sure Minerva wrote something about you," the Mademoiselle said dismissively with a wave of her hand, "But I stopped paying attention to anything other than the arrival date after the first six nannies. None of you seem to last long enough to make the effort seem worth it."
"How many, er, nannies have you had, exactly?" James asked with that same sense of dread building in his stomach as he had when he stood in the Headmaster's office three days ago; he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that question.
"You will be unlucky thirteenth," the Mademoiselle replied, and James swore he saw a smirk cross her lips for just a second, but it could have been a stress mirage; he had just broken out in a cold sweat at her words. "Now, turn around please." She said it with such authority that before James even had a moment to think he spun around in his robes like an idiot. The Mademoiselle hummed disapprovingly, saying, "You look quite ridiculous in those robes, Mister Potter. You will get rid of them at once. You will wear Muggle clothing while in this household. If you do not have any, I will have some made for you. I will only need to take your measurements. Tinker?" she called to the elderly house elf that James had forgotten was in the room, "Please order some basic fabrics. And some wool and tweed, as well, Mister Potter will need a proper overcoat for the spring chill."
"Wait, what's wrong with my clothing?" James protested, "These are my best set of casual robes, straight from Madam Malkin's!"
Mademoiselle Biche ignored him, telling the house elf, "Tinker, please get the fabric to me by tonight. Yes, we need Mister Potter out of those clothes as soon as possible."
(Did James just see her blush?)
"Anyways," the Mademoiselle continued quickly, "I trust that you will be an improvement on the last nanny, Mister Potter. She only lasted two hours." She said those last words with an almost sneer on her thin lips.
"Thirteen nannies? And one only stayed two hours?" James asked disbelievingly, mentally cursing McGonnagal for leaving out that particular detail, "What's wrong with those kids of yours?"
Immediately the Mademoiselle's lips dipped into a deep frown. "There is nothing wrong with the children," she snapped, glowering at him in a way that made him want to sink into his shoes, "Only the nannies. They were completely unable to maintain discipline in this household, and without it this house cannot be run. Do you understand Potter?"
"Yes, Mademoiselle," he replied, still disgruntled about the whole exchange.
"Before you meet the children I want to go over the rules and expectations of the household." She began pacing back and forth in front of him in a way that reminded him of a drill sergeant. "First, bedtime is at eight PM. This curfew shall be strictly enforced; the children will remain in their bedrooms, and I expect you to stay in your wing of the Tower after that time as well."
James looked at her like she was insane. He had a curfew now? Merlin, he hadn't had a curfew since he was in school.
"That brings me to your rooms. The children all reside in the east wing of the estate. Your rooms, as well as the library, music room, and drawing room are in the west. You may visit any of these rooms in the evening, as long as you stay within your wing. My rooms are in the tower proper, and under no circumstances are you to ever enter the tower. You may owl me if you need to reach me during the day. The owls reside in the barn on the grounds, just next to the greenhouse." James nodded when she paused her pacing to narrow those dark, beady eyes at him. She resumed her pacing, and her lecture, "I do not want the children to dream away their days. As such you will maintain a strict schedule of their studies. Monday through Friday you are to instruct the children in the subjects of arithmetic, world history, science, and the language arts from eight AM until three PM. Each one has also chosen a foreign language to study, and although they are all fluent in French they should receive continued instruction in that as well. They may have a one hour lunch break, which the house elves Tinker and Netty will prepare."
James was immediately confused by her explanation. "Arithmetic?" he asked uncertainly, "And science?"
Mademoiselle Biche huffed impatiently. "Pureblood?" she asked in a way that he had never heard before, like that was a bad thing, "And you attended Hogwarts as well, no? They were never one for well-rounded studies, such a disappointment. If you are not familiar with math and science you will spend your own evenings studying the materials before you teach them the next day. You may find the needed materials in the library. I do not expect their studies to fall behind just because of your deficiencies."
"What about magic, then?" James asked, ignoring her insults, "Are they not instructed in charms, or herbology or anything?"
"You may instruct Nymphadora, the eldest, in magical subjects during free hours," Mademoiselle Biche replied, an obvious and confusing reluctance in her voice, "But none of the other children are to be exposed to magic until they are of age. This I expect to be strictly enforced."
"No magic?" James asked, "But aren't they all magical children?"
She stopped her pacing with a jerk. "And if they aren't?" she asked with an arched brow, daring him to say something.
He honestly didn't know how to respond to that, so he said nothing. What if they weren't magical? The only Squib he had ever met was Filch, the old caretaker of Hogwarts, and he had been the most unpleasant man James had ever met. But he admonished himself; he knew he shouldn't take judge an entire population based on one cantankerous man. Still, how would he act around children who had been robbed of their magical powers? He was terrified he would look down on them at pity, but how could he not when he couldn't imagine his own life without magic in it?
"Furthermore," the Mademoiselle continued her speech, "On Saturdays and Sundays they are to be instructed in the musical instrument of their choice, and should engage in an hour of physical activity each day. During unplanned hours the children may pursue their individual interests. And, most importantly, they are never to leave the grounds."
"I assume no magic means no Quidditch, either?" James asked in a disgruntled voice, knowing the answer to his question already.
"There are other sports in the world, Mister Potter," she said sharply. "Finally, you will always make sure that the children behave with the utmost decorum. Any questions?" James simply shook his head, not even knowing where to begin with this batty old woman. "Good," she nodded in return, "Then I shall call the children." Instead of shouting for them, though, she pulled out a whistle from a pocket in her ghastly gown and blew on it, letting out such a piercing shriek that James had to refrain from covering his ears.
He heard a clattering from above, and suddenly a rush of children scrambled down the stairs. They stood in a straight line in front of him, what looked like oldest to youngest, and stood with such stiff posture, even the littlest one who couldn't be more than five, that he wondered if they had been trained in the Auror Academy. Mademoiselle paced up and down in front of them, adjusting what looked like almost a uniform, with khaki bottoms, a white button down, and a sharp navy blazer.
"Children," Mademoiselle Biche instructed, "Greet your new nanny, Mister Potter."
"Um, I was told I would be more of a tutor-slash-guard," James stuttered out, feeling his cheeks flush red as the children flashed each other smirks, "And please, call me James."
"Good afternoon, Mister Potter," the seven children recited in unison, completely ignoring his statement.
"Now, on my whistle state your name and age."
The Mademoiselle let out one sharp shrill, and the first one in line, a young teenager with bubblegum pink hair that contrasted sharply with her well-pressed uniform, stepped forward. "Nymphadora, Mister Potter," she stated, looking straight forward with that military seriousness, "And I'm fifteen years old." She stepped back in line.
Two shrills, and the boy with familiar dark eyes stepped forward. "Eridanus, age twelve," he said sharply, giving James a glare before stepping back.
Three shrills. "I'm Penelope and I'm ten years old," a girl with sharp bangs and a calculating look in her eyes recited.
Four shrills, and both the fair-haired girl and the boy next in line stepped forward, saying in unison, "I'm Lousia/Lyall and they're Lyall/Louisa and we're eight years old."
Mademoiselle Biche let out a sigh. "Lyall, you're four shrills and a squeak, we've been over this," she said exasperatedly.
"But why do I always have to go second?" the boy pouted, pulling puppy dog eyes.
"You know we go in alphabetical order since I'm not sure which one of you came out first," the Mademoiselle said with an uncharacteristically soft smile on her face, "It's not my fault that Lyall is spelled with a 'y' and not an 'i'." Lyall was still pouting, so she added, "And maybe someday we'll line up by height instead of name, you know, for the aesthetic, and then you'll be ahead of your sister."
"Hey!" Louisa objected, and the Mademoiselle raised her eyes to the ceiling like she was asking for patience, and it was such a familiar look to James, one he had seen on his own mother's face too many times to count, that he couldn't help but snort.
Mademoiselle Biche suddenly seemed to remember he was there. "Ahem, yes," she said awkwardly, before blowing on her whistle five times. The next girl in line, with two thick blond braids, stepped forward. "I'm Susan and I'm five years old, but I'll be six soon," she said, giving him a shy smile. James decided immediately that he liked her.
Finally, six sharp trills sounded off. The youngest boy, with a head full of messy brown hair, marched forward like a soldier before taking a step back.
There was a pause. The Mademoiselle gestured at him again.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, taking another step forward and back before saying, "I'm Oliver and I'm five years old too."
"Well done," Mademoislelle nodded at the boy with a smile before pinching her lips together in a straight line to face James, "Now, Mister Potter, I must return to my work. Please spend the day getting to know the children, and they will resume their usual schedule tomorrow. Dinner will be served at seven PM sharp. Do not be late." She paused, before raising the whistle to her lips again and letting out a wobbling shrill. "Oh, and that's your whistle," she said, a dark glint in her eyes as if daring him to say anything.
Well, James had always been up for a dare. "I am afraid I do not answer to whistles, as I am not a dog," he said smoothly before adding, "But what whistle should I use to call for you?"
Low snickers erupted from the children, and the Mademoiselle's face began to heat. She shot a glare at the children and they immediately ceased, although a few of the older ones were still trying to hide their smiles. "Mister Potter," she drawled, "Were you this much trouble in the Order?"
"Oh, much more, Mademoiselle," he smirked back.
She huffed. "I will see you at dinner, Mister Potter," the Mademoiselle said sharply, and with those words she swept out of the hall, leaving James with seven children who were now looking him with the most evil smiles on his face that he had ever seen.
James took in a deep breath, breathing in and out slowly. He could do this. Hell, he and his three best friends had been the biggest troublemakers Hogwarts had ever seen, a fact that Professor McGonnagal liked to remind him of on a weekly basis. There was no crap they could pull that he hadn't already done before.
"Um, at ease," James said nervously, although adopting a smile and trying to keep his voice light, steady, and confident. He knew kids were like sharks, they could smell fear. "Now that it's just us, could you tell me your names again? I have a terrible memory." He forced a grin at them. "And how about you tell me a little about yourselves too?"
The eldest of the lot stepped forward again. "I'm Nymphadora, but you should call me Tonks. And I don't need a nanny," she said, voice absolutely full of attitude. She would be one to look out for, that glint of mischief in her eyes was far too familiar. And it might have been another stress mirage, but James could have sworn he saw her nose morph into a pig's snout and back. The way the other kids were snickering at what must be a shocked look on his face, he was sure he hadn't imagined it.
"Well, Tonks, I'm glad you told me that," he grinned at her, starting to catch on a little bit to the covert glances the hellions were sharing. Fellow mischief makers these kids were, he was sure, and that was something he could understand. "of Well it's a good thing I'm not a nanny. We can just be friends then, yeah?" He felt a spark triumph at the surprise on Tonks's face, and then the way her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously.
The next boy stepped forward. "I'm Eridanus, but I go by Eri," he said, never breaking off his icy glare in James's direction, "And I'm impossible."
"Oh really?" James laughed at the boy; someone certainly had a chip on their shoulder, "And who told you that, Eri?"
"Nanny Travers," the boy said proudly, still giving James the stink-eye, "Four nannies ago."
The girl next in line stepped in forward. "I'm Louisa," she smirked, before stepping back.
James nearly rolled his eyes at that cheap ploy. Basic. "Now, Penelope, you didn't tell me anything about yourself," he admonished with quirked lips.
Penelope immediately blushed, and the girl next to her stepped forward. "I'm Louisa, she's Penelope," the blonde girl smiled, "Maman says she's an impulsive liar and you're smart." James gave her a wide smile, which immediately dropped at her next words, "I'm Lyall's twin, and I think that is the ugliest outfit I ever saw."
Merlin, what was it with this family and their obsession with his clothes? His best friend Marlene had assured him he looked just fine. Although, knowing Marlene, she may have just said that to fuck with him. Shit.
The next boy stepped forward, frowning theatrically at his sister. "Louisa, you shouldn't say that," he gasped, and James almost began to like him before he added, "They're terrible, but Nanny Helga's was ugliest." James let out a defeated sigh and resisted pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm Lyall, and I'm incorrigible."
"Congratulations," James remarked with a suppressed laugh.
"What does incorrigible mean?" Lyall asked suddenly, "It's what maman always calls me but she won't tell me what it means."
"Erm, I think it means that you want to be treated like a boy," James replied. Lyall nodded thoughtfully, like that made all the sense in the world, and James was thankful that he was still the master of bullshitting.
The shy girl stepped forward, tugging on his robes to get his attention. "I'm Susan and my birthday is on Tuesday," she said sweetly, "And I'd like a pony."
He grinned at her, getting down on one knee so they were eye level. "Wouldn't you rather like a unicorn?" he asked her.
Her eyes grew as big as saucers. "A unicorn?" she asked breathlessly, "But I thought those were only in the stories!"
James looked at her in shock. "Well of course they're real-" he began, before a sharp cough from Tonks cut him off. Shit, he'd forgotten that for some reason talking about magic with the kids was taboo. "We'll take about it later, love," he whispered to little Susan.
The boy on the end stomped his foot, waiting for James's attention. "Ah, and you're Oliver right?" James said, standing up again, "And how big you are at five. Wow, you must be the man of the house!" He smiled at the way Oliver's chest puffed up all big. "Now, I have to tell you a secret," James told them, "I haven't ever been a tutor, or nanny or whatever, before."
The kids all shared those mischievous glances again, and James immediately regretted his words. "You mean don't know anything about being a nanny?" Penelope said in a sugary sweet voice, taking a predatory step forward that the rest of the children mirrored, "Well the best way to start is to be sure to always tell maman to mind her own business."
"Never come to dinner on time," Lyall added as they continued to close ranks on James.
"Never eat your soup quietly," Louisa said, and they all let out a loud slurp that seemed almost rehearsed.
"Always chew with your mouth open," Eri added over the noise. They were like a pack of wild animals around him now, bumping into him and circling him as if he were easy prey. Shit, what had he gotten himself into?
Susan stomped her little Mary Janes on the polished floor. "Don't you believe a word they say Mister Potter," she said seriously.
"James, please," he said, trying to maneuver himself out of the huddle, "And why's that?
"Because I like you," she said resolutely. James may have heard more than one traitor muttered under their breath, and he laughed nervously in response.
"Okay, children, break it up, give him some room to breathe," a small, squeaky house elf suddenly piped up, pulling James by the sleeve out of the group, "Go outside for a walk, Mademoiselle's orders. We need to give Potter here some time to settle himself. Now hurry up, out you go," she called, shooing them out the front door before turning to James. "I'm Netty, and I help with the children and around the house," she said, holding her hand out to shake. James had never shaken hands with a house elf before, and it felt a bit weird, but then Netty was leading him up the stairs. "I'll show you to your rooms, and your wing of the Tower."
James watched the seven children walk slowly to the door, almost like they were dreading going outside, and he suddenly felt sympathy for them well up inside. Hell, these kids were on a stricter schedule than he had been on while in the Auror Academy, and most of them were too young to even attend Hogwarts. All of them had lost their fathers, and James knew the deep heartache of losing a parent, having lost both of his two years ago to dragon pox. And their mother, Mademoiselle Biche, seemed to be a cold sort of woman, not anything like the loving mother he had grown up with. They were so isolated, almost like prisoners, and James suddenly hated it for them.
"Poor kids," he muttered under his breath sadly.
That's when he heard a loud pop coming from his robe pockets, and suddenly a set of Filibuster's best burned a whole through his robes, fireworks erupted right in front of James's face, nearly blinding him.
"Salazar's sack!" he cursed, a hand going to his chest reflexively as if to make sure his heart was still beating. As soon as his vision cleared he saw the seven children all paused on the threshold of the doorway, looking at him speculatively as if to judge his reaction.
"You're very lucky!" Netty piped up with a smile directed at him, "With Nanny Helga they used one of the dragon ones. I had to give her a Calming Draught to get her to stop screaming!" The house elf laughed as if that were the funniest thing in the world.
So that's how it's going to be, James thought. Well, he just had to survive three months and then he could get the hell out of here. He made sure to stand his ground, staring down the kids as they slowly filed out of the house.
Three months, three months, three months.
He could do this.