Chapter Three
"Is this why you missed Potions?" Hermione asked. "Because it was really important today. We were brewing a--"
"Yes, but Hermione, making up a lesson is the least of my problems right now." Harry indicated James, who was currently shooting little sparks out the end of his wand absentmindedly, trying to appear as though he was indifferent to the frazzled boy who'd dragged him out of the Great Hall and into an abandoned classroom before he could eat lunch.
"Harry, is that--?" Harry nodded. Ron's jaw dropped and Hermione put a hand over her mouth.
"Oh, Harry…" she looked like she was about to throw her arms around him in what she thought would be comfort, so Harry cut her off quickly before she could.
"Look, you can't say anything. No one else is supposed to know." They both nodded.
"So, erm, what do we call him?" Ron asked.
"David," Harry said. "David… erm, something with an 'a'…"
"Ayers," James supplied, looking as though the name left a bad taste on his tongue. "Don't see why I can't just be David Potter though…"
"People would think we were related."
"Well, we are, aren't we?" Harry was dumbfounded. James twirled his wand a final time, stuck it behind his ear, and jumped up to sit on the nearest desk. "I'm not stupid, you know. You responded to the name Potter. And there aren't that many wizarding Potters in Britain. So," he leaned forward, resting his chin on his fists and his elbows on his knees, "how about you do a little explaining now."
Harry suddenly became very interested in his shoes. "It's a little more complicated than you think."
"Try me."
"Harry's right, James," Hermione said quietly. "Whatever we tell you now will effect your future, and that could change our past."
Harry looked up at Hermione gratefully. Trust her to always have a cool head and a rational explanation.
James continued to stare at her evenly. Then, all of a sudden, his angry expression changed to a grin and jumped off the desk. "Alright, I get it. So can we go back to the Hall and eat now?"
Ron opened the door without another word, and he and James set off down the staircase. Hermione, rolling her eyes, followed them at a brisk walk, but Harry hung back a few steps. He had a nasty suspicion that James was plotting something.
The next morning, Harry understood. A school owl landed in front of James and held out its leg. James took the letter and scowled.
"No reply?" he muttered. "But Lily always replies right away."
Harry nearly choked on his toast. "You tried to send M—Lily, a letter?"
"Yeah, and it's not like her to leave them unanswered." He sighed. "I guess she's just busy now; probably has a family." His eyes darkened a little, and Harry nearly knocked over his pumpkin juice. "It's alright though. I'll just wait for Sirius'."
"You contacted Sirius too?"
James looked sideways at Harry. "Yeah. Why?"
"Hey, Harry!" It was the twins, and Harry had never been more grateful for one of Fred and George's interruptions. "Is this the new kid?"
"David Ayers," James replied, shaking each hand in turn. Harry, at least, was glad James seemed to be adapting to his new role.
"Fred--"
"--and George. Or--"
"--as some like to call us--"
"--Gred--"
"--and Forge."
"Care for something from the snackbox?"
James was selecting a candy when Hermione and Ron entered the Hall. "Oh, seriously, you two, can't you lay off with the pranks?"
"Pranks?" James was suddenly very interested.
Harry gave his seat to George while Fred slid in on James' right, and the twins set off explaining their plans. Harry, meanwhile, pulled Ron and Hermione aside before they sat down.
"I'll meet you in Transfiguration," he muttered. "I have to send a letter."
Hermione looked confused; Harry shook his head. "I'll explain later. Just… I don't know. Don't let them give him any ideas."
Harry was already composing his letter in his head, but everything he thought of sounded ridiculous. "Hi Sirius, we've had a slight problem and now a fifteen year old James is running around Hogwarts. Yes, that's right, the James you were friends with. My father. The one who's dead."
Yeah, definitely scratch that last thought.
He finally decided on a simple, direct approach. "Dear Sirius. I don't mean to scare you, but there's been an accident here at Hogwarts. Not with me, though; with James (and it feels really weird calling him that). Maybe you remember him telling you when you were in school, but somehow he's been transported to our time. And he's a little upset, because we've sort of left some of the details out when we've told him things. I don't know if it's gotten to you already, but he sent you a letter, probably asking a lot of questions. But Dumbledore doesn't feel it's safe to give him the answers. And, I mean, I'm not even sure I'd know how to answer them anyway."
He didn't really know why he included that last part, but it seemed important. The bell rang somewhere above him, and he hastily signed the letter and gave it to Hedwig.
He arrived back at the classroom just before McGonagall closed the door. "Where'd you go?" James asked.
"Left my homework upstairs," Harry replied.
James didn't look convinced. He linked his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his seat, and watched McGonagall semi-attentively while she began the lecture. He'd stuck his wand behind his ear again, and soon he was staring out the window. Harry, too, found his attention wandering… what use was there, really, in turning a teacup into a candle?
"Mr. Potter!" Harry jerked back into reality. Unfortunately, so did James. A few people cast him confused glances, and McGonagall, who had lectured him the night before about the importance of keeping his guise as David, glared.
"Sorry," James said smoothly. "There was something shiny over your head. It attracted my attention."
McGonagall pursed her lips. "Well, you might try paying a bit more attention. Both of you."
"But professor, I am paying attention." And, to everyone's surprise, James held up a full page of notes. McGonagall narrowed her eyes.
"Mr. Ayers, wandless magic is, as you know, frowned upon in this school."
"My apologies," James replied, though he didn't look sorry at all. "I'll continue taking notes by hand." But, rather than pick up his quill, James tapped his parchment with his wand, and the next note – no wandless magic – appeared in a neat cursive.
And Harry realized, with a sinking feeling, that James really was just as arrogant as Snape had always described him.
