Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I make no claims to ownership.
Deep in the maternity ward of St. Mungo's Hospital, away from the public eye, Ginny Potter had just delivered a son. Her husband, Harry, now sat beside the bed where she rested, cradling the baby in his arms. As soon as he'd seen his son, he knew what name had to be used. The tuft of jet-black black hair atop the baby's head gave them only one option.
"Sirius," he said softly. "I know we agreed to James Derick, but what about James Sirius, instead?"
Ginny remained quiet for a long moment.
"I really wanted him named after my brother," she said at last.
"I know, but just look at him, Ginny. He looks like a James Sirius." Harry shifted the baby and added proudly, "I bet he'll be a Gryffindor, too."
Her lips pressed together and she continued to stare at him. Finally she pulled in and slowly released a deep breath before nodding. "Okay," she agreed. "If it really means that much to you."
Harry grinned and leaned over to kiss her. "I love you," he murmured. "Have I mentioned that lately?"
"Mm, I think you have," she said, and then her hand rose to tangle in his hair, holding him in place until the baby let out a soft sound from in between them. Reluctantly, Harry drew away to look down at his son, who had opened his eyes and was now fussing.
Harry's heart momentarily stopped beating.
James Sirius Potter, a boy destined for greatness, had been born with black hair and brown eyes on the longest night of the year.
BoD
As the sunlight fell in slants through the window blinds, a checkered pattern was cast on the lone bed in the room. The light was just dim enough that James Potter, the boy in the bed, could roll over and ignore it. Tousled black hair just barely poked over the blankets. His eyes were tightly squeezed shut as he tried to recall his dream, but it was already fading into wisps which he could not grasp.
An explosion occurred elsewhere within the house, and James burrowed deeper into his blankets as his mother's yell echoed up the stairs.
"ALBUS POTTER!"
Ginny never used Al's middle name. Anytime Snape even came up, her lips pressed tight, and she would smile bitterly, nodding slowly each time Harry looked to her for support in defending Snape. When James was younger, he had studied his mother's expression intently. It was so obvious to him that her smile was forced, but it seemed Harry never realized it.
Over time, James learned that his father noticed changes in expression, but had a harder time in identifying the emotion behind it. Years of neglect and later manipulation gave Harry a very stunted understanding of human relationships. Unfortunately, neither he nor Ginny had ever sought therapy after the war, which could be seen in the way they avoided even looking at James.
After his mother's initial yell, there was blissful silence, and James hoped he'd be able to go back to sleep.
He forgot to factor in Lily's habit of bursting into his room unannounced.
"Jamie!" She leaped upon his bed and yanked the blanket away from his head. "Jamie, look what came in the mail!"
He glared at her with sleep-crusted eyes. "What?" he snapped in a gruff voice.
"Hogwarts! Your Hogwarts letter came!"
With another shout, she jumped off his bed and began jumping around his room in some kind of manic dance. Her dark red, unruly hair had escaped its braid and was swinging behind her, while her eyes positively glowed with excitement. If James hadn't known better, he would have thought she was going to Hogwarts instead of him.
"Al's super jealous," she informed him as he picked the envelope up from where she dropped it on the blanket. "He exploded the toaster!"
"Not like we need it anyway," said James, grabbing his glasses so he could read the contents of the letter.
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…
He skipped down to the bottom of the letter and felt his lips curve up as he noted Uncle Neville's – Professor Longbottom, he reminded himself – signature and personal note: I win five sickles if you're sorted into Gryffindor.
"Well, of course you'll be in Gryffindor," said Lily matter-of-factly; she wasn't trying to hide the fact she'd been reading over his shoulder. "You're James Potter. You have to be in Gryffindor."
He folded the letter again and looked in her eyes.
"Do you really think so, Lils?"
She faltered, her brows drawing closer. "Well, yeah. You're James Potter."
The Supplanter, the Scorcher...
He shook away the fragmented dream. No use in dwelling on it right now. It had occurred several times since his eleventh birthday, and he knew it would haunt the edges of his mind again.
"Yeah, maybe you're right," said James. "I'm hoping for Hufflepuff, personally. Then I'll be with Teddy."
Lily's eyes glowed once more. "Oh, that would be lovely!"
He forced a smile and ruffled her hair. "Go on, I'll be down soon."
In another burst of movement, she scampered out of his room, and James winced as she slammed the door behind her. He envied her energy in the morning. These days, he had difficulty even hauling himself out of bed. Andromeda had said the lack of energy was to be expected, but he still hated it. Hopefully, she and her sister would soon find a solution.
When he reached the kitchen, it was to find his mother at the stove, her fiery red hair pulled back in a ponytail as she prepared breakfast. In the corner, away from everyone else, sat his younger brother, Al, whose arms were crossed and chin lowered to his chest, his bottom lip stuck out in a pout. Lily was squirming in her chair, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke to their father. Harry looked away from her for the briefest moment and gave James a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Good morning, James."
"Morning, Dad." He placed a card on the table between them. "Happy birthday."
Please don't hate me anymore, was the silent message. I didn't ask to be born.
As Harry picked up the home-made card, Al looked up, his green eyes wide.
"I forgot Daddy's birthday!" cried Al.
James barely contained himself from rolling his eyes. At ten years old, Al was still calling their father 'Daddy'. James had dropped the habit when he was eight.
Ginny glanced over her shoulder. "It's okay, Al, we didn't expect you to do anything." She shot James a quick smile. "That was very nice of you, James."
"Yes, thank you, James," Harry said, and then looked at Al in the corner. "How about this, Al: While we're in Diagon Alley, we'll all get ice-cream, and that will be my birthday present. Sound like a deal?"
Al bit his lip and glanced at James, who nodded.
"Okay!" Al said happily while Lily cheered.
BoD
An hour later, they stepped into Diagon Alley where, to James' utter lack of surprise, they were immediately accosted by fans. As if there was a charm to signal them, the reporters arrived only moments later.
"Albus! Albus, stand next to your father!" one reporter yelled, and then there was a quick flash of light from a camera.
"Oh, won't you look at those eyes?" a woman sighed.
"Harry, how could you demean your peers' experiences by naming your son after Snape?" someone shouted from the crowd.
As Al posed beside Harry, who wrapped an arm around Ginny's waist, James stood behind them and carefully kept Lily out of view. Thus far, the public wasn't interested in his younger sister, and James would like to keep it that way. Based on the way the reporters usually painted him as a bully, he didn't want to see what slander they'd have for Lily.
Finally, after many more photos and questions, Ginny called for the crowd to back off.
"We're here for our older son, you see," she explained, placing a hand on James' shoulder.
He had gotten used to having a smile around cameras, and it came naturally just before another light dazzled his eyes with spots. Remembering his first experience flying always made him feel more confident, which made it easier to smile even in a delicate social situation. It helped him feel like he was in control.
"Oh!" squealed the same woman from before. "Why, he's the spitting image of his father!"
"Except for his eyes," her friend observed. "I wonder where those blue eyes come from?"
Ginny's fingers dug into James' shoulder.
"My father," she said a bit curtly.
Lily was now fidgeting, unable to remain still. James felt a similar desire to leave and shifted his weight on his feet. His gaze drifted to his father, who caught on that all three of his children were restless and uneasy.
"If you want an interview, you can arrange it with my PR representative," Harry told the crowd. "Now, if you'll let my family pass…"
Ginny pasted on another smile as the crowd, however reluctantly, obeyed Harry. James could understand her frustration. They hadn't even moved when she tried to push them away earlier. Over ten years removed from her short Quidditch career, she no longer had much sway over the public.
"Let's get your robes first," Ginny suggested.
"Okay," James agreed. He didn't really care about the order of things, so long as he got his wand.
"In that case, I'll take Al to the Quidditch shop," said Harry. "Lily, do you want to come with us?"
"No, I'll stay with Jamie," she replied.
While James was being fitted for his robes, Ginny wandered around the shop and occasionally held up an article for Lily's judgement. Most of it was flat-out rejected. Even at the age of eight, Lily was shaping up to be a fashionista, but that was to be expected of Victoire's most fanatic protégé.
For the first time in his life, James wished he could be shopping with them. He'd never realized how difficult it was to stand still for half an hour while being poked and prodded by needles.
As they left Madam Malkin's, Harry and Al were exiting the Quidditch store at the same time.
"What did you buy him this time?" Ginny sighed.
"Just some gloves," Harry said innocently.
Al extended his arms and wiggled his fingers. "Look, Mummy, they're just like yours!"
"They sure are, sweetie," she said, running her hand through Al's light auburn hair while shooting Harry a look. Harry only smiled sheepishly in response.
"Wand, wand, I want a wand!" Lily shouted.
"Maybe don't say that so loudly, Princess," Harry said a bit nervously, glancing around them.
She blinked hazel eyes up at him. "Why not?"
"You'll understand when you're older,"
"But Daddy, when will that be?" Lily whined.
Harry looked at Ginny helplessly and she raised her brows back at him. James and Al were also watching their parents with confusion.
"Er, we should go to the next shop," Harry said quickly. "Yes, that. Books. Yes."
With only that is an explanation, Harry led the way to Flourish and Blotts. Except for the time he was trying to figure out why his parents were so famous, James hardly ever read for fun, and so he stayed by his mother's side while Lily darted toward the small art supply section. He scowled at a row of seven books in the front window. It was one of the few series he'd completed, but he hadn't much liked the last two books. They felt rushed and forced to him.
He was relieved not to see an eighth book among the set. That script was hardly worth mentioning. In fact, Al had particularly enjoyed burning it.
James glanced at the clerk's name tag. Susan Macmillan was a sensible woman, he decided.
"Oh, yes, my daughter's starting this year, too," she was saying to Ginny. "She keeps complaining about a stomachache."
Mrs. Macmillan caught James' eye.
"And what about you, young man? Are you nervous about the upcoming school year?"
He shook his head and stated confidently, "I'll be a Gryffindor."
"Of course you are," she said fondly. "Well, good luck. Oh and Ginny, tell Hermione congratulations, won't you?"
"Sure. Bye, Susan!"
Once collecting Harry from the Quidditch section, telling Al he had too many books about dragons, and promising Lily more supplies at a later point, Ginny ushered the family out of the shop.
"Next the Apothercary," she announced, "and then we can get James his… wooden… stick… Oh bloody hell, let's just stick with calling it a wand."
"Or a baguette," said James, ignoring his parents' eye rolls. His cousin Louis insisted that was how the French referred to wands, and James stuck his nose in the air, knowing he was right.
Then he gagged as he got a whiff of bad eggs mixed with rotted cabbages.
If it weren't for the dank smell which saturated the entire shop, James might have found the Apothecary more fascinating. As it was, James was holding his nose pinched closed as he dragged Al away from a sign which listed what ingredients shouldn't be mixed together.
Honestly, this kid is explosive enough on his own…
Finally, at last, they left the Apothecary for Ollivander's Wand Shop. James suddenly lost the appetite which had been building all day as they drew closer to the shop and entered, a small ball on the door announcing their arrival. The elderly man behind the counter indicated for the Potter family to wait while he finished with another girl.
"That'll be ten galleons, Mr. Nott," the man said to the girl's father, who stiffened.
"Ten? But that's ridiculous –"
"Dad, it's fine," the girl said softly.
"It's not fine, Ivy. Your mother wouldn't stand for such a rip-off."
"Yeah, she would," the girl replied. "Mum knows when to pick her battles."
Mr. Nott's face was still pinched with annoyance. Finally, his jaw clenched, he withdrew a moneybag from his robes and threw the coins onto the counter.
"Contrary to what you might think, Mr. Ollivander," he said tightly, "I am not made of money. And I don't appreciate being made a fool in front of my daughter."
The elderly man's lips pressed into a white slash. With one last sneer at him, Mr. Nott put a hand on his daughter's shoulder and guided her toward the exit. He paused a moment when he noticed the Potter family off to the side watching them, nodded curtly toward Harry, and then continued on his way. There was a gleam in the girl's green eyes when she looked over her shoulder at James, but before he could analyze it, the door closed and his view of her was cut off.
"I'm sorry you had to see that, Mr. Potter," said Mr. Ollivander in a heavy tone.
James didn't know to which of them the man was speaking, so he was glad when Harry answered.
"Oh, no, we completely understand."
"Nothing but bad news, that lot," Ginny agreed.
James glanced out the window. He got the feeling his mother was right, but not in the way she imagined.