Author's Note: Hello again! New chapter!

Hope you like it!

- A Creature of The Dark

Pride.

Pride washed over James like a tidal wave. He was more like his namesake than many thought. James Potter the first, his grandfather, also had a stag for a patronus. Harry Potter, his father, also had one. And now, James the second was carrying on the legacy.

The little male deer galloped with a larger one around, both glowing brightly in the dark.

James turned to look at his father standing behind him, the moon making his eyes sparkle.

"See, I told you. I knew you could do it," Harry said, with a proud smile on his face.

James returned the smile.

Until a few weeks ago, he was constantly pestering his father to teach him the patronus charm after he had heard his mum and Aunt Hermione talk about Harry's patronus talents.

The eldest son of Harry Potter then asked his Uncle Ron, his dad's best friend and the 'cool' uncle to tell more about patronuses, his dad's patronus and then, he came to know about his granddad.

When Harry finally agreed to teach him, in exchange of good behavior, James was willing. For the first few days, all his attempts were in vain. Harry said that the memory was not happy enough but James was sure that the feeling when he first rode the broom was the happiest moment of his life yet.

Or so he thought.

After a few days, James concentrated more, determined to produce a patronus. Slowly, faint wisps of light came from the tip of his wand. He concentrated harder. The wisps were stronger but nowhere near producing a corporeal patronus.

James grew frustrated those days, stomping his foot and running to his room to vent out the anger.

He would secretly try in his room in the dark of the night, whispering the incantation. He didn't achieve anything but the same wisps.

One night when he thought that he could try no more, that he wasn't capable of conjuring a patronus, he lay on his bed, thinking. Thinking about all the happy times he had. With his family, with his friends.

And a memory struck in his mind.

The next night, after Harry had come home from work, he and James went to the backyard for their usual training. Harry noticed a slight change in his son's behavior; he was more jittery and excited than the last couple of days.

James strode into the backyard, confident that now he'll have a proper patronus in front of him.

They went through their normal procedure of calming the nerves and then James concentrated on the memory.

It was his fifth birthday, and James was sitting on the stairs with a sad look. The party was halfway through but his father didn't yet come from work. The five year old refused to cut his cake without his father.

Just when he was about to go up to his room in despair, Harry burst through the front door, hair all messed up, his glasses out of place and his robes wrinkled. He looked up to his son, who was in mid-step and said, "Happy birthday, Jamie."

James was so delighted that his father had come that he practically flew down the stairs, ran to his father, and tackled him in a hug. "Thanks, Dad," he whispered when Harry leaned down to look his son in the eye.

It was James' happiest memory. It felt extremely good that his father had tried his best to arrive at his birthday party from a hard day of work just to say those three words. It made James feel that he wasn't ignored by his parents, no matter how busy they were or how famous they were.

He didn't need to focus much as the joy was so instantaneous and so…..humungous. He said loudly, "Expecto Patronum!"

A blast of light erupted from the tip of his wand and James watched in wonder.

The light morphed itself to a handsome young stag, its antlers not so big but existent. It gazed at James for a few seconds with soft eyes before turning to a larger and older stag behind James, which Harry had conjured silently.

Both the stags looked at each other, and then turned away to run in the country-side.

James Potter the second proved that day that he was more than a pretty face and more than a rich kid living off of his father's money.

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P.S: Whom should I write about next?