Chapter 3: A Family At Last
December 5, 1963:
"So if Jacques is going to be English now, shouldn't he have an English name?" Sirius asked matter-of-factly, looking up from where he had been playing toy dragons with Jacques. Jacques' fifth birthday was today, the dragons had been his birthday present from William and Mairead, and Sirius had brought his own dragons to add to their little dragon colony. "It's awful French, Jacques."
"English now," Jacques corrected with a somewhat confused frown: Mairead had the idea that he hadn't quite caught the meaning of the whole question. "Not French, English."
"I know," Sirius told him, "but your name is French."
"English," Jacques repeated, looking at Mairead in bewilderment.
"You don't understand me," Sirius said.
Jacques paused and looked back at Sirius, trying to figure out what he'd said. Finally, he said, "No."
Sirius grinned. "So long as we've got that straight. Pass me that Norwegian Ridgeback, that's mine. Father only just brought it home for me, he'll have my hide if I lose it."
Jacques frowned at him again.
"Norvégien bossu, Jacques, c'est à Sirius,"Mairead told him. Jacques' face split into an 'ah-ha!' expression and he promptly passed it to Sirius. "Don't worry, Jacques, you'll get the hang of this English thing. We're a rather complicated language."
"But don't you think I'm right, though?" Sirius persisted, looking at Mairead.
"Maman," Jacques asked later that night, climbing up into her lap. "Qu'est-ce que Sirius disait? I didn't know," (What was Sirius saying?) he added hopefully, as if to win her with his mastery of another English phrase. As if he needed to win her over – she was literally incapable of saying no to him.
Mairead sighed and cuddled with him for a while before she said, "Il demandait si tu devrais avoir un nom anglais et non pas français." (He was asking if you should have an English name and not a French one)
"English, not French," Jacques said.
"Yes, that's right," Mairead agreed.
"What Jacques English?" Jacques asked.
"James," Mairead replied.
"So I James, not Jacques?"
"If that's what you want," Mairead said. "Papa and I can arrange that."
Jacques – or James now, she supposed – nodded. "When we go England?"
"Soon, sweetheart," Mairead replied. "We're going to Ireland first. Granddad and Grandmam Maguire would like to meet you. They're quite excited, you know."
"James, don't run too far ahead, sweetheart!" Mairead called as James dashed up the walkway to the expansive Maguire estates eagerly. James paused and bounced from one foot to the other while waiting for them to catch up, still carrying the little cage that held the toy dragon Mairead had let him bring – he was going to be by far the littlest one here, since the youngest of her nieces and nephews was finishing school this year, and the ones who had children around James' age weren't going to be there today.
"Come on!" he called impatiently. Now that English phrase he learnt very quickly from Sirius the Impatient.
William laughed. "We're coming, James, calm down."
"Come on!" James repeated, eyes sparkling as William caught him up into his arms and attacked him with hugs. He giggled hysterically and tried valiantly to escape, finally managing to wiggle down and take off again.
William put an arm around his wife's waist. "Are you happy, my love?" he murmured into her ear.
Mairead snuggled against his side. "Yes," she replied happily.
"Look at you, such a handsome young lad!" Orla Maguire cooed as she smiled at the small boy hiding himself behind her daughter's skirts. "Come out, I won't bite. You must be Jacques."
"James," the little boy's accented voice corrected softly, wide eyes watching her with mild uncertainty. "James Potter."
"Yes, that's right, I remember your mam telling me you changed your name. I'm sorry, you must be James. Now come here and let Grandmam take a good look at you," she repeated, holding out one hand patiently. At least William and Mairead had forewarned them that he was often slow to respond to new people, particularly adults and especially women.
"Go on, James, it's all right," Mairead said gently, nudging James out from behind her. Cautiously, James stepped forward, one hand holding his dragon cage and the other buried into his pocket, where Mairead knew his worn Chocolate Frog card was hiding. The poor boy had kept it in his pocket ever since he'd left France, still worrying away at the edges when he was anxious.
"What's this in here, dear?" Orla asked, going to take the cage from James.
"Dragon," James said softly, pronouncing it the French way. "Gallois vert," he added, taking the dragon out from the cage to show Orla. Carefully, his little hands placed the toy into hers, hazel eyes never leaving her face.
"Ah, a Common Welsh Green," Orla said with a laugh, watching the miniature toy in awe. The children had such amazing toys these days, when her own children had been young there hadn't been anything like these. "We have some of those around here. The real ones."
She smiled and gave the toy back as James started chattering rapidly in French, a smile starting to appear on his face.
"He's learning," Mairead laughed when her mother looked at her questioningly. "His language is about a quarter English now." She said something in French quickly to James.
James enjoyed himself immensely in Ireland. It didn't take very long before he had his grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins wrapped around his little finger.
Mairead's 25-year-old nephew Jude Maguire, who was a Chaser on the Irish national Quidditch team and the only other person in the Maguire family who could speak decent French (having played with the French national team for two years), took James along with him to a practice and let him come flying with him. Galen McArthur, the Seeker, let him play with the Snitch for a while.
James came back home hooked. He happily chattered away to Mairead and William the entire night about every single minute of the practice.
"Et puis, quand le Chercheur a libéré l'Or volant, je l'ai attrapé en premier!" (And then, when the Seeker released the Snitch (I've taken liberties with the Quidditch terms, I'm not sure what they're called in the French books), I caught it first!) he finished triumphantly, eyes sparkling as Mairead tucked him into bed.
"That's wonderful, sweetheart," Mairead told him.
"Je vais être Chercheur un jour," (I'm going to be Seeker one day) James informed her. "For England."
"I'm sure you will be, James," Mairead laughed, kissing his forehead. "Go to sleep now. We leave for England tomorrow."
James yawned and curled up to sleep. "Yes, Maman."
William's father Michael was just as taken with his new grandson as Mairead's family was. However, he was a little more pragmatic.
"Did you just Anglicize his entire name?" he asked.
"Good heavens, no!" William laughed. "Cut four names out of it." He smiled as James reached to be picked up and obliged. "Tell Grandfather what your English name is, James."
"James Phillip Potter," James announced promptly, giggling when William kissed his forehead and ruffled his hair.
"So does he actually have English citizenship?" Michael asked.
"We're working on it. Right now he's still a French citizen living abroad," Mairead replied. "It'll take a few years before it's finalized."
"Definitely before school, then?" Michael guessed. "I'm assuming you want to send him to Hogwarts, not to Beauxbatons."
"I'm not sending him back to that awful country for anything," Mairead said indignantly. "Of course he'll be going to Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts," James echoed his mother, "when I'm eleven."
"Yes, that's right, darling," Mairead replied, kissing his cheek.
Mairead moaned as she was awakened by James climbing over her to curl up under the covers. "James, what's wrong?"
"Est-ce que je peux aller dans tes bras?" (Can I come cuddle with you?) James whispered fearfully, the tears on his face evident in the moonlight.
"Of course, sweetheart, come here," Mairead said, pulling him into her arms and cuddling him closely. "The nightmares will stop, James. They won't stay forever. Maman is here. I won't leave you."
"Elle m'attaquait," (She was attacking me) James whimpered, burying his face into her shoulder. "Elle… elle… elle…"
"She's gone, baby, she's gone," Mairead soothed, rocking him gently. "Elle ne reviendra jamais. Papa et Maman te protegeront." (She'll never come back. Papa and Maman will protect you)
Venice, December 1966:
"James, Sirius!" 53-year-old Mairead called into the courtyard of the English Consulate from the door leading to their flat. "Come inside for dinner!"
Her 8-year-old son and his best friend stopped their playing. Both boys' clothes were grass-stained and any exposed skin was dirtied. James' knees were scraped and Sirius had a scratch on his cheek. Merlin, little boys were such rough-and-tumble creatures – but she wouldn't change it for the world.
Mairead laughed. "What have you two been doing all afternoon that you're in such a state?" She brushed some dirt and grass out of James' hair and from Sirius' shirt. "Sirius, you go change into some of James' clothes and I'll get yours cleaned up before you go home tomorrow. Your mother would have a fit if she saw you like this. James, you change into clean clothes as well."
"Yeah, she would throw a tantrum," Sirius agreed mischievously as the two boys dashed inside.
"And both of you, scrub your hands and faces!" Mairead called after them warningly. "You're not eating with dirt all over you!"
William and Mairead rolled their eyes at each other. They could barely get a word in edgewise between James and Sirius' animated conversation.
"What were you two doing all afternoon?" William finally managed to ask, eyes laughing.
"We were playing Quidditch," James replied. "Except without the brooms."
"Or the balls," Sirius added.
"It looked more like brawling to me," Mairead teased.
"Well, what else is left of Quidditch after you lose the brooms and the balls?" James said with a sparkling grin.
Mairead couldn't help herself. She burst out laughing.
"Don't forget your appointment with the Healer tomorrow," William said softly to her after she sent the boys off to bed.
"I know, William," she replied, equally as soft.
"Don't lie to him this time," he ordered, wrapping his arms around her waist. "If there's something wrong, tell him."
Mairead bit her lip. She was getting tired more quickly lately, and her magic was weakening. The Ceara's was advancing, and it scared her. She didn't want to hear the professional say it, for fear he could pin it down to a deadline. Literally.
William kissed her cheek lightly. "Don't worry so much about it, Mairead. We'll take it as it comes."
Evidently the 'Quidditch' had tired both boys out. They were out cold on the floor of James' bedroom, tangled into their separate sleeping bags.
Mairead smiled softly and knelt down, straightening out James' sleeping bag and brushing a lock of hair out of his face. She kissed his forehead lightly. "I love you, darling," she whispered to him.
"Je t'aime, Maman," James mumbled sleepily back to her before he curled up tighter to continue his slumber.
Sighing, Mairead straightened out Sirius' sleeping bag and then crept silently back out of the bedroom.
Mairead stared at the Healer in horrified shock. "You can't be serious," she said weakly.
"I'm afraid so, Mrs. Potter," the Healer said gently. "Your Ceara's is advancing very quickly now. My most generous estimate is five years."
"No," Mairead said, shaking her head. "No, it can't be. I have an 8-year-old son, Healer DiAlessandro. I can't die when he's only 13."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Potter."
Mairead forced the diagnosis out of her mind as she collected James from the Blacks' home, putting on a smile and a laugh as James excitedly recounted everything about his morning.
When he stopped briefly to breathe, she quickly jumped in. "So, my darling, would you like to go out for lunch?"
"Yes, please," James answered happily. "Where are we going, Mum?"
"Oh, I thought perhaps we would go pick up Dad from the Consulate and go out to one of the cafes," Mairead replied.
"Can we go to the café that had the really good gelato?" James asked eagerly.
"Of course, sweetheart," Mairead said, ruffling his hair affectionately.
Mairead couldn't help but laugh as she watched James ask William if he would join them – they made quite the picture. William – getting on in years, smooth blonde hair streaked more than just a hint of grey and white, his robes immaculate and very smart; and James – eager and young, hopelessly windblown jet-black hair, clothes rumpled and already with a grass stain or two from play.
"Mum says we'll go to that café we went to last time," James said excitedly, one hand holding onto William's sleeve. "Will you come, Dad, will you?"
"Certainly I'll come, James," William laughed, ruffling his hair and giving him a quick kiss. "Just let me finish here and then I'll be right out."
"Oh, that's quite all right, William, I think we're done here for the morning, at least," came an amused English voice from inside his office.
"You're welcome to join us, sir, if you wish," William offered.
"Well, I'd like that very much if it's not an imposition," and out from the office came Albus Dumbledore in all his commanding glory. James' eyes went huge and he was momentarily struck dumb by being in the very presence of the man who had been somewhat of a hero for him ever since that day in the courtroom, when he had gotten the Chocolate Frog card.
Dumbledore laughed as James chattered excitedly to the three adults, stopping only when he had no more air and needed to take a deep breath. "He's quite the elocutionist, isn't he?" he said in amusement to William and Mairead.
"This is nothing," Mairead laughed in reply. "Wait until you get him and Sirius Black in the same room. Now that's elocution."
"C'est quoi ça, elocution?" James asked curiously, looking at her.
"Talking, James," William replied. "It means you chatter too much. Eat your lunch before it gets cold."
"I do not chatter too much," James said stoutly, though he ceased his flow of words and started to eat his pizza again.
"So how old are you now, James?" Dumbledore asked.
"I'm eight," James said through a mouthful of pizza. "My birthday was yesterday. Sirius came over for the night. And then I went to his house this morning to play for a while because Mum had a Healer's appointment."
"Don't talk with your mouth full, James, sweet, that's impolite," Mairead chided gently.
"Ah, the joys of being eight," Dumbledore laughed.
"Were you ever eight, sir?" James asked, swallowing his mouthful before asking.
"James!" both William and Mairead scolded.
"I said 'sir'!" James exclaimed indignantly.
Dumbledore fairly roared with laughter. "A very long time ago, James. A very long time ago."
Beijing, September 1969:
"What's going on with your parents today, Sirius?" 10-year-old James asked as they took off from their new quarters at the Consulate, 9-year-old Regulus tagging along as usual. "They're even more snappish than usual."
"Andromeda just told the family she's marrying a Mudblood," Regulus spoke up.
"Don't call him that," Sirius snapped at him. "Andromeda can marry whoever she wants. Besides, I thought he was a nice guy. His name's Ted," he added to James. "Ted Tonks. He's a Hufflepuff. Or I guess he was a Hufflepuff, seeing as they're not in school anymore. He was a pretty nice guy, I liked him."
"Any way, they blasted Andromeda off the tapestry in Grimmauld Place last night, before we left for Beijing," Regulus continued, unperturbed by his brother's angry snap about the slur. "Andromeda didn't even look like she cared." He looked quite appalled at his cousin's apparent lack of trauma.
"Who would care, if that's the way your family's going to treat you?" Sirius demanded.
"You're just mad because Father and Grandfather Black and Great-Grandfather Black and Great-Great-Grandfather Black's portrait gave you the speech about protecting the purity of the Black bloodline again," Regulus shot back. "They only give it to you any way, because you're the oldest boy."
"I agree with Andromeda," Sirius said sullenly. "If keeping the bloodline pure means inbreeding, I think I'll marry outside the purebloods. Maybe I'll marry a Muggle, just to really make them mad."
"You're going to end up blasted off the tapestry too, Sirius, if you keep talking like that," Regulus warned. The two brothers lapsed into angry silence, until James broke it.
"So I think it's stupid that we have to wait until next year to start school," he announced. "Just because we weren't 11 by the first, doesn't mean that we couldn't keep up with the others."
"Yeah," Sirius said. "You are still going to Hogwarts, aren't you?" he asked suddenly, looking at James with a flash of fear in his eyes. "You're not going to Beauxbatons?"
"Of course, I'm going to Hogwarts, I'm English, not French," James said indignantly. "And any way, even if I wanted to, Mum wouldn't let me go back to France. She won't even let Dad take a post at the French Consulate anymore."
"The French Consulate wouldn't take him any way, they're too mad over that whole scandal," Sirius said confidently. "Come on, let's go find a Quidditch pitch. Reg, you can't tag along everywhere! Go back to Mother!"