Prodigy
Chapter 25: I'm A Platypus
So, the beta had this for a week, and never sent it back to me. Once she goes over it, I'll repost the chapter... but I had to post it, or I'd blow up. This originally had a totally different ending, but I changed my mind. Hope it didn't come out choppily. At over 14,000 words, you better like it.
Jan. 5, 2008
"Okay, James, we don't want to sound judgmental or anything," Malaki said, startling James with his eloquence, "but… why is there a dead body in your toolbox?"
James glanced at them for a second before he continued with finding bandages and… where'd it go… yes, his staple gun. James rummaged around for another second and found duct tape. "What in the name of Jesus are you doing?" Ida May demanded.
"Nothing. But in the name of James, I'm providing critical first aid." In less than a minute, the gashes on his chest and abdomen were stapled and covered in cloth, which was adhered with duct tape. Before he could think of anything to do for his face, Andron poured a healing potion on him. "I hate you," James said blankly.
"You are so against magical treatment," Andron said with a huff. "One day it'll kill you. That wasn't even a medical stapler. It was an industrial uber powerful one. Nutcase. So, on to more important matters. How did half my family fit in your toolbox?" James shot a look at his friend, whose head was poking out of the back window of the truck.
"Where were you Thanksgiving?" demanded Kelse, who tended to act a lot like her mother, Ida May. "James explained that his toolbox is bigger inside than outside."
"Thanksgiving? I was cooking!" Andron said defensively.
By then, Lindsey and Kathleen were sharing drink recipes, leaving their parents shocked and appalled.
Sirius Potter, however, cornered the market on shock.
"How did you bind him, when Albus Dumbledore couldn't?" the other Potter twin asked.
"Simple," James replied. "Dumbledore, like a punk, tried to use a rope charm one would use on a human. A werewolf is much stronger than a human, and therefore needs to be restrained differently."
"So what did you do?" Sirius demanded.
"The same charm used on out-of-control bulls at the rodeo," James answered with a shrug.
"You've been to a rodeo?" Andron asked. He sounded very skeptical, probably with good reason. James disliked most animals, being outside, and anything that did not happen for the sake of academia.
"Yes, Andy, oddly enough, I ventured out of my cave and went outside."
"You haven't answered my question, James," Malaki reminded with a bit of impatience.
"That is because it was a ridiculous, stupid question not worth answering."
"I thought there was no such thing as stupid questions," Andron said with a smirk. James glared at him briefly from his position of kneeling in front of the toolbox.
"That was a stupid question."
"That wasn't a question, it was a comment."
"Then it was a stupid comment." James sent a healing spell at Malfoy to rid the blond of any blemishes that Luther might have caused. He really didn't care that healing spells on Vampire bites stung a lot. Malfoy's feminine squeak was thanks enough.
Drake's voice carried over all of the chatter when he said, "Marvin is in your toolbox, isn't he?"
James smirked at the old man. "Marvin is in my toolbox. Sometimes you just need to do some killing."
Drake's laugh shocked most. "Isn't that what I told you twelve years ago? Murder is therapeutic."
"He was five twelve years ago!" Lily Potter snapped with uncharacteristic ferocity. Not that most in the hall knew it was uncharacteristic. The muggles simply decided she was an angry woman.
"Twelve years ago, I found out that James Potter is the sharpest shot in the west. Ten years ago I found out he won a national youth marksmanship competition; he was the youngest competitor by three years! When James was ten, I took him to a Basic Training camp for Special Ops Marines… meaning they're wizards. He beat all of them in marksmanship!"
"Stop, Drake, you're going to make me blush," James said evenly.
Andron snorted. "Oh, please. An emotional response besides anger? What next, am I going to find out you can cry, too?"
James glared at his friend. "I am quite capable of crying, Andy."
His friend merely raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? When was the last time you cried?"
Thinking deeply, James continued looking through the toolbox. "Oh. Mark, my doctor, decided to be an ass and hacked the Harvard database. He did some digging, and a week letter, I got a bill for my tuition and the like. Of course, it was over two hundred thousand dollars. He was just finishing med school at the time, so I sent him a letter that he had been kicked out."
"Dude, yer a beast. What did he do?" Andron asked.
"Stormed the dean's office and almost smashed his desk… which was an antique from the civil war," James said. He found the bottle he was looking for a moment later and hopped out of the bed of the truck.
Walking over to the prone werewolf, James kicked him onto his back and knelt down, pinning the wolf's chest with his knee. Prying open the jaw was no problem, as it continued snarling and snapping. Keeping it open was an altogether different problem. James took great care to avoid the sharp teeth as he poured some of the thick potion down the wolf's throat. The dog near the wolf growled, and his eyes flashed, but he let James finish.
Within moments, the wolf calmed dramatically. James checked his vitals, making sure his pulse and respiration were normal. When they turned out to be fine, James stood and looked to Andron, who looked curious.
"At some point, I forget when, I found that this solution," he said, indicating the bottle in his hand, "sedates a werewolf. Weird, no? Considering it's a mix of rum, yogurt, and something else."
"How…" Andron asked, drawing the word out, "the fuck did this come about?"
"I cleaned my refrigerator, I think, and the mentioned ingredients had pooled on one of the shelves. Don't ask. It was nasty."
"Who's Marvin?" Malaki demanded in a fairly petulant voice, completely negating his gangster look.
James opened his toolbox with a wave of his hand and summoned Marvin. Something appearing to be a man landed next to James. It leapt up on two feet and smiled benignly. James pulled a gun and shot it in the head.
"This is Marvin. It is an autonomic, artificial representation of human life, designed by the armed forces to simulate a real world kill or be killed situation," James replied. As he spoke, the 'man' rose from the ground and stood next to him once more, smiling contentedly. "It looks real, sounds real, acts real, bleeds realistically, and even screams realistically. Do to its being a magical entity, it can change shape to user specifications, or factory preset images."
"You sound," Andron said haughtily, "like a commercial. Are you hawking Marvins on the black market?"
"I gave the sales pitch at the original meeting six years ago. I was a member of the original design crew. I might also get ten percent of all profits. Not that that has anything to do with me peddling them," James said.
"That," Shawn Spencer said, "is the creepiest thing, like, ever. You just shot him in the head."
"Technically, Marvin is neither male nor female (lack of genitalia) and can assume the appearance of both genders. It can also become Mary," said James.
When James finished, Marvin morphed into more feminine characteristics. Its hair lengthened and features softened dramatically. "Why would it have to do that?" Olivia Benson asked.
"Because," Drake began in his rough Bronx accent, "the magical army recruits evenly between male and female. We want to rid the soldiers of their natural tendency to go soft when it comes to women."
Andron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, they want the guys to go hard when they see women."
"That was totally unnecessary," James said. "Women are just as deadly as men, and as such, should not receive any merciful treatment when encountered in combat."
"Damn straight," Drake said with a nod. "Any motherfucker that tries to kill me is going to get his head blown off."
"You would really kill a woman?" Derrick 'McDreamy' Shepherd asked from down the table. He was still wearing his dark blue surgical scrubs and a white coat.
"Kid, if a seven-year-old ran at me with the intent of ending my life, I'd stab him in the heart. Between me and him, hell yeah I'd choose me!" James said. "I have priorities."
"As convoluted as they are…" Andron muttered. The room lulled into silence for a few moments as James stored Marvin away once more.
"What are we going to do while we're here?" Amita Ramanujan asked from her seat beside Charlie Eppes.
Andron, apparently feeling more cheerful than usual, answered, "Ever tried knitting?"
The blank look he got from the woman pretty much summed up the answer. "I am a tenured professor, with a doctorate in computational mathematics, and another in astrophysics. I am an expert on asymptotic combinatorics. I was the 2006 recipient of the Milton Prize."
"Gus almost won a spelling bee, once," Shawn Spencer said candidly. A hearty thumping sound was heard as Gus punched Shawn's arm.
"I only lost because you sabotaged me." The darker skinned man looked to Amita with a wide, charming smile. "Please, continue."
"I get it!" Andron exclaimed before Amita could continue. "You, my friend, are a gamer!"
Amita smiled. "Exactly."
"What she really means is that she can't knit for-"
"Charlie!" Amita said, slapping his arm.
"What game do you play?" Andron asked.
And they were off, talking about Primacy, and other such nerd stuff. "James used to be a gamer, but he gave up all the fun stuff in his life," Andron said once he was sure James was caught up in a conversation with several other people and could not hear what was being said.
Amita raised an eyebrow. "James used to play video games?" she asked. "He seems the type to not want to waste the time."
"Oh, James used to be fun. Until we went to college, James was pretty much normal. Except, of course, the dissecting small animals and being an Elite class sniper thing. Something happened when he got his first serious job, though, when he was thirteen. His life became all work, work, work. And beer."
"Weird," Amita said. "Maybe, like Charlie, he'll loosen up as he gets older."
Leaning in, Megan Reeves, a psychologist on Don Eppe's team, said, "James is having a hard time reconciling his animosity toward his family with the rest of the world. He had an early traumatic experience that he remembers, so he is bitter toward most people. When he was young, this worked for him and he maneuvered around it. As he's grown older and been around more people, he's realizing that not everybody is trying to hurt him. He doesn't know how to react to that, so he has pushed everybody away."
"So…" Andron said, "you mean he was nice to people when he didn't like them, but now that he's liking them more, he's mean to them?"
"Essentially," Megan said. "When I first met James, I almost considered thinking of him as a sociopath. He was irresistibly charming, witty, aggressive, and showed no remorse for anyone's pain, whether he caused it or not. However, he was not eighteen, and that is a requirement of the diagnosis. I am, however, glad that I hesitated. Having seen him more, I'd say he's not socially gifted, and he never had an adult to tell him how to interact properly with people."
"I see," Andron said. "Um, so, James is a complete quack. Is it treatable?"
"No," George Huang of Manhattan SVU said.
"Oh, yes there is," Jethro Gibbs of NCIS said. He was sitting a few feet from them, obviously listening in. "Shoot him in the head."
"You're just mad because he kissed you," Andron said.
"Are you serious?" Catherine Willows asked. "You mean I've been trying to set him up with the wrong sort this whole time?"
"I dunno. Hey! James! Are you gay?" Andron yelled. Conversation in the area stopped. Half the people in the hall stopped breathing.
"That depends," James said without even turning around. His head as bent over a pile of papers that he held as he spoke with Drake. "Has Leroy come to his senses?"
"Who is Leroy?" asked Andron.
"Me," Gibbs replied. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs."
"That's unfortunate." Andron turned and yelled to James, "No, I'm afraid he hasn't changed his mind."
"That's a shame."
Catherine sat quietly for a moment with a thoughtful expression. "I know a bartender…" Within seconds, Catherine was caught up in conversation with a woman named Abby Sciuto, about what men would best suit James.
Andron ignored them to the best of his abilities. Girls are just weird.
A few hours passed, in which most people debated what would be done with the hostages, as James called them. Since, thank to Dumbledore, nobody could enter or exit the hall, all several hundred of them were trapped there.
"What kind of bullshit idea was this, anyway?" James asked Dumbledore.
"It is a natural defense employed by the castle, set up by the Founders over a thousand years ago. The castle is defending her occupants as best she can."
"I did not need five years of architecture classes to tell me that this castle is some stone and concrete," Andron said. "How are you going to tell me that the castle is pulling this bullshit?"
"Over the last thousand years Hogwarts has soaked up magic from the students in residence. Ambient magic, so to speak. Hogwarts is nearly sentient. She fears for the welfare of the students," the aged Headmaster said.
"And… she told you this?" James asked, sitting on the table.
"I am connected to the castle through the wards. I can sense the general feeling of the castle. It is how I know if a student is in danger, or up to something less than legal. Right now, this is the safest room in the world."
"Aside, you know, from the werewolves, vampires, and murderous teen," Andron said smoothly. "In fact, I think I'd rather be in a KKK meeting."
"What about our families?" Ron Weasley asked.
"Aurors are currently looking for your family, Mr. Weasley, to bring them here. Yours as well, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said.
"What about the rest of us?" a young Ravenclaw snapped. "I'd rather be with my family than locked up with Dark creatures and him," the boy said, jerking his thumb toward James.
"None of your families have declared allegiance to the light, and therefore, I can not take the risk of bringing them into the school," Dumbledore said firmly.
"That's ridiculous!" a seventh year Ravenclaw girl snapped. "You mean our families suffer because they did not swear allegiance to you! I notice that your family is safely tucked away; the cold bitch, the angry twit, the nine-year-old in a man's body, the whiny bastard, and the murderer."
"She's got you there, Albus," James said with a nod. "And you can't do shit about it."
"I am not a cold bitch," McGonagall said angrily. Her lips had thinned and her eyebrows were drawn together.
"Yes, yes you are."
"Yeah, she's right."
"Well, you're not the nicest person."
"That is quite enough," Dumbledore snapped. He looked around the hall with fire in his eyes. "This may not be an ideal situation, but this is still a school. Your school. That woman you just insulted could just ruin your lives."
"It happens," Andron said with a nod. "I had a teacher once… fucked me up. Asshole gave me a B. Still haven't forgiven him."
"What class was that?" James asked.
"Socio-political climate of pre-colonial India," Andron replied through gritted teeth.
"Whoa, man, how did you get a B in that class?"
"Don't ask."
"I'll find out. Now, about this sleeping situation."
Dumbledore, still looking about the room angrily, looked to James suddenly. "Do you have a problem with the floor?" he asked, obviously attempting to be calm.
"Well, I can think of four or five people here who do. Enter Gregory House," James said.
"I'm a cripple," House said. "The floor doesn't exactly work for me."
"Any other ideas?" James asked. He was a bit bored, and was having a hard time finding a cigarette. He was sure he had put a full pack in his pocket, but… Andron. "Give me my cigarettes, or I castrate you."
"Shh!" Andron said. "The old man is speaking."
"I could conjure beds, but not of the highest quality. Will that do?" the old man asked.
"I'm sure it will," replied James.
"Of course it works for James," Gill Grissom said. "You don't sleep."
James gave the man a winning smile. "Exactly. Now, on to other matters. Bathrooms, food, things of that nature."
"There is a bathroom in this room," Dumbledore said, gesturing to the hardly- noticeable door to his left, adjacent to the door that led to James' and Andron's rooms. "The house elves are still in residence in the kitchen, so food will be delivered as always. My apologies if the food is not up to your extraordinary standards, James, but tough times. . ."
"Fine, fine. I'll manage. Somehow. What time is it now? It's midnight. Wonderful," James said as he looked at his watch. "Andron, what do we do with the werewolves?" he asked.
Andron looked toward his two youngest brothers, who could be heard under James' truck, presumably still hiding from the frightening man that yelled at them. James looked to the bound wolf in front of the door. A big black dog was curled up next to the prone wolf, gazing about protectively.
"We should check the boys for injuries. Leave the other guy alone. He's cool until morning, at least," Andron said.
James lit another cigarette as he dropped to the ground and grabbed the two werewolves under his truck. Both of them were covered in blood from their fight, and one had a large gash along the side of his head, quite near his ear.
The other had a scratch down its midsection. Various other nicks and cuts abounded, but none as serious.
"They'll last till morning, as well, don't you think?" asked Andron.
"Certainly. Any stitches they're given now will tear open when they turn back."
"Which would be bad. Now, Dumbledore, about those beds? Some of us are tired." Andron gestured down the fifth table to Dickie and Lizzie Stabler, who, sitting between their parents, were dozing heavily. All around the hall, the younger students were sleeping with their heads on the tables. Except the ones closest to Lupin, who despite being knocked out, bound, and drunk, was still a werewolf.
"Right. If everyone could stand?" Dumbledore asked. As everyone did so, the five tables turned into hundreds of cots, each with a pillow and blanket.
Within the hour, the lights were off and most everyone was asleep. James, Andron, and Charlie Eppes were noticeable exceptions. They were huddled around a blackboard that James had attached to the wall to the left of the entrance, near his truck.
"I'm no scientist," Charlie said quietly. "I can tell you that the math is sound. I'm not sure about the actually biology, and it doesn't help that I just found out about werewolves today," the professor said with a small smile.
He was standing with his right hand on his chin, his index finger crossing his lips, and his left hand supporting his right elbow, a stance James had come to recognize as "Charlie Thinking". Shorter than the other two men, Charlie was looking up at them, mostly though his hair, which was longish and curly.
"Thanks, professor," James said, clapping him on the back. "So, you think this will work?"
"It's very possible," replied Charlie.
"We'll have to talk to some of the sciency people," Andron said. James nodded as the three of them continued to look at the blackboard.
It was covered in chalk. Miniscule writing was scrawled in every available inch. Barely legible numbers and symbols chased each other around the board, in a sequence only a genius could understand.
Charlie went to sleep, leaving James and Andron to work through the night, until the first people began waking at six.
"Have you slept at all, James, Andron?" Dumbledore asked as he quietly approached them.
"Nope," the two teens said calmly.
"But we're startlingly close to a discovery, here. We just need to run it by Warner, Mallard, House, Fleinhardt, and Sciuto," said James. "When does the sun rise?" he asked Andron.
Andron raised an eyebrow. "Oh, let me pull my star chart out of my ass!" he hissed. Checking his watch, which had a digital read out of sunrise and sunset, he said, "Eighty-one minutes."
"Exceptional." James walked around and woke the five people he needed. Greg House was a bit cranky, and tripped James with his cane. Not fazed at all, James continued back to the blackboard.
When the five people gathered around James, Andron, and Albus, they looked politely curious. Except for House, who just looked grumpy.
"Hello," James said. "We need your help. See, the magical world suffers from a bit of a werewolf epidemic. Andron and I have established a basis for a cure, and we've made a bit of headway on a vaccine. This is a bit like curing AIDs and cancer all in the same day."
"So, you can't just…" Abby made a vague wand-waving gesture. "And cure it?"
"Sadly, no," Andron replied. "James and I have been working for several years on a cure, intensely over the last six months. We need you to look over all of our work and tell us what you think."
"You will, of course, be compensated," James said evenly. James handed each of the five people a separate copy of the work, and asked them to read it over.
Dumbledore changed the cots back into tables. Everyone sat down to breakfast, reading or talking. After a few minutes, a large commotion near Dumbledore left everybody staring at the old man. He smiled benignly and conferred with Minerva for a moment.
He stood and waved his hand. All who knew what to look for felt the magic sweep the room. A Portkey arrived behind the staff table. Several redheaded people, and one or two with brown hair, stumbled to a stop.
"Mum!" Ron Weasley yelled, running toward them. The family was introduced; Molly, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George. Hermione's parents, dentists, were also introduced as Jean and John Granger. Everyone settled down as the newcomers sat down for breakfast.
Halfway through the meal, a dinging sound rang through the hall, startling most people. "What was that?" Shawn Spencer asked, when it became apparent no one else would.
"Drake gets all of his mail forwarded to his pocket. He's much too lazy to get up, walk down the hall, and get the mail," James said.
Drake gave him an angry look as he checked his mail.
"Hey, James, you've got a letter from the Governor of Illinois," Drake said loudly. James heard the sound of ripping paper. "The magical dude, not the muggle guy. Um, Mr. Potter, blah blah blah, oh, good stuff! Due to recent events, you are no longer allowed to operate emergency vehicles within the state of Illinois, owing to your recent rampage across the state in a hijacked ambulance. Holy crap, James! The total damage you caused is estimated to be –Heaven above!– approximately one hundred million dollars."
"I'm speechless," Andron said, somewhat dazedly. "How do you… cause that much damage… in an ambulance?"
"Okay, so, some buildings are just really inconveniently placed, so I just drove through them. They don't seem inclined to mention that by doing so, I saved the life of a member of the wizard's congress." James sat back in his chair and put his cigarette in his mouth. "Just ignore all the good stuff he does… let's focus on the bad, illegal stuff. Assholes, all of them."
"Who?" Andron asked.
"Them," James clarified, unhelpfully. Andron gave him a look that clearly displayed everything he felt for James. And at that moment, it was not very compassionate. James looked around and then turned to Andron. "It should only be another moment before the boys transform. You ready?" he asked.
"Oh, it's what I live for. Mhhm." Andron and James conjured surgical tables and tools. They picked up the frantic wolves, who obviously knew what was about to happen. Lupin was going through the same thing. The boys were placed on the table for the duration of the transformation. The howls slowly turned into the screams of little boys.
Blood quickly began coating the metal suface of the tables and James and Andron each pushed a boy into a laying position and charmed them asleep. When the boys were knocked out, James and Andron sanitized and prepared.
James found a bit of damage to a kidney, and quickly and efficiently made an insicion and stitched the organ. He masterfully searched out other damage, and fixed it artfully. Andron hit a snag.
"Jamie! Artery!" Andron yelled. James moved around the table and pressed his fingers into the boy's abdomen, clamping the artery as Andron worked to repair it. "Thanks, bro. For a second, I thought the last moment i was going to see my brother alive was going to involve arterial spray."
James smirked at him. "Next time, Andy, don't nick the artery."
"Shut up."
They each got their patient patched up and woken. "Man, that was a bitch," Jamal, James' patient, said.
"Jesus, Andron, what did you do to me?" Jamil asked his older brother, rubbing his stomach.
"Oh, don't worry about that," James said calmly. "Andron got a little clumsy and dropped a sandwich in there. You'll be fine once you digest it."
"Is no one else worried about Voldemort, you know, attacking?" asked Andron, deciding to ignore James' stupidity. He figured diverting attention would be best. The twin boys slowly climbed down from the tables that vanished as soon as they removed contact.
James turned to look at him, as the man had managed to clean up and move in only seconds. Andron was sitting on the end of the fifth table, next to Lindsey. The two were holding hands casually, and Lindsey was talking to Kelse and Kathleen, who were sitting on the bench next to her.
James was leaning against the wall next to the door, where he could see everybody. With a wave of his hand, James shrank his truck and slipped it back in his pocket. He ignored the muggles that were muttering about the surgery.
"We'll just sic Sirius on him!" Ron Weasley said, slapping Sirius on the back. "He is, after all, the Boy-Who-Lived."
"I'm not fighting Voldemort!" snapped Sirius. Ron looked confused.
"But, you have to. You're the Chosen One."
James and Andron instantly thundered, "And in the time of greatest despair, there shall come a savior, and he shall be known as THE SON OF THE SUNS!"
"That was one of the most hardcore geek moments ever," Shawn Spencer said.
Ron, giving James and Andron a weird look, said to Sirius, "But you're the only one that can kill Voldemort. The prophecy said so."
"Did the prophecy say my name, Ron? No. Born as the seventh month dies, born to those who have thrice defied him, and the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal."
"What are you saying? You're not the Chosen One?" Hermione asked.
Sirius Potter stood, looking about the hall angrily. "You know what?" he demanded. "I wasn't the one that stopped Voldemort! James was! It's obvious to anyone that looks hard enough! I've never been smart, or powerful, or strong. I'm a friggin coward! You chose the wrong kid!" Sirius accused, pointing at Dumbledore. "I will not be the one to kill Voldemort. James will."
"Hey man, I only pick fights I know I can win. Yer fucked," James replied.
"What do you mean, you can't win?" snapped Sirius, breathing heavily.
"In case you've missed it, I don't roll with the magic thing. I despise the shortcuts it provides in most cases, and I think wizards are lazy, despicable creatures that hate muggles, even though they couldn't live the life of a muggle if they tried. The inbreeding and cousin-marrying is vile, and the perpetuation of prejudice is contemptible. Draco Malfoy is a perfect example of all cases. He is a rich little bigot that's half sterile and couldn't work a toaster given a diagram and written instructions. Witches and wizards are not trained in any form of logic or problem solving, so when the one in a millions comes along and can comprehend multi-step problems, he's hailed as some sort of genius!" James yelled, with a vague wave in the direction of his grandfather. His voice took on a tone of mockery when he added, "Because, honestly, knowing that perhaps Dark Lords should be killed… It's not rocket science."
"You have some serious unresolved issues, don't you?" Andron asked.
"I am not sterile," an enraged Draco Malfoy said from where he stood at the Slytherin table.
"Need I remind you," James asked, "that your mother married her cousin, and you're betrothed to your mother's cousin once removed? Don't worry, it's not just you! The Weasley's, as it is, are just as inbred. Septimus Weasley, Ronald's paternal grandfather, married Cedrella Black. Ignatius Prewett, Ronald's maternal grandfather, married Lucretia Black. Molly Prewett married Arthur Weasley, thus marrying her cousin, both descended from Phineas Nigellus Black. I am, of course, related to the Black," he pointed to Sirius Black, "Bullstrode," he pointed to Millicent Bulstrode, "and Flint families," he said, pointing to Martin Flint, younger brother of Marcus Flint. "I think the only reason I don't twitch oddly is because James Potter dipped outside of the gene pool, and didn't marry his sister. Lord knows every British pureblood in this room is Voldemort's cousin!"
"You need to stop reading up on genealogy," Andron muttered. "It's making you crazy."
"Well, if we really want to be technical," James snidely added, "Adam and Eve weren't married, so we're all bastards in the eyes of God."
Andron laughed even as Ida May huffed.
"Your blasphemies will one day be judged," she said mightily, though without much hope. She knew better than to try to talk to James about religion. She usually ended up whacking him with her handbag.
"The point!" yelled Sirius Potter, "is that you should all shut up about the Boy-Who-Lived shite, and leave me well enough alone. James is the martyr you're looking for."
"Whoa, hold up. I'm no martyr. I doen't like anything, or anyone, enough to run off and die for 'em," James said. He sat on the table occupied by his colleagues. "There's never going to be any type of sacrifice on my part."
"Dude, you've done nothing but run around the world rescuing people for the last six months," Andron said with derision. "You've been shot, stabbed, blown up, electrocuted, hit by cars, hamstringed, poisoned, and tortured. Who's not a martyr?"
"I have done most of that for the money and political power I have gained. I am an entirely selfish person."
"You are not," Andron said. "You just want people to think you are."
"I'm glad I'm not James!" spat Sirius. "A cold-hearted, mean-spirited, soulless machine! A robot capable only of logic and facts and figures. Not understanding fun, or excitement, or love. Who would want such a life?"
The young man that had portkeyed in with Drake snorted. "Not knowing excitement? My name is Cambal Reed, journalist with the New York Wizard's Voice. I'm doing a series of articles on the most influential American wizards of the century. Drake Herr and James Potter are the top two. As such, I have done much research on the life of Doctor James Potter. I've watched hundreds of hours of video, read scores of books, and spoken to almost all of his magical colleagues," Reed said with a glare toward Drake. "James Potter leads one of the most exciting lives… ever."
"How so?" demanded Sirius. "Sure, he does some rescue missions, but he seems to be against fun for all intents and purposes."
"Not until he entered college," Reed replied easily. "I have a video, if you wish to see my point."
Andron leapt up and gleefully shouted, "I wanna see! Jamie, I know you carry a TV in your pocket, so bust it out! It's movie night!"
Rolling his eyes, James pulled a shrunken TV from his pocket. "What else do you carry in there?" Lindsey asked. "Because I sort of wonder what it is you keep in your house."
"Sweetie, everything a man could need is in my pants," James said with a smirk. Andron, DVD in hand, ran toward James and grabbed the television, throwing it at the wall and enlarging it.
"One of the perks of magic," he said to no one in particular. "You can buy a sixteen inch screen, and turn it into a sixty inch screen without an issue."
"That's considered a charmed muggle artifact," Arthur Weasley said dryly. "And it's illegal."
Without looking at the aging redhead, Andron held up his hand toward him and said, "Hush. That's beside the point. And unimportant. Who are you to make such accusations, anyway?"
"I am the Head of the Department of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts with the Ministry of Magic," the man stated with dry humor.
"Yeah, well… shut up. Nobody cares about charmed muggle artifacts where I come from." Andron struggled for another moment to get the DVD to play.
"That Ivy League education put to good use, I should think," James snarked.
"I'm'a bust you in the nose," threatened Andron, with humor. "I got a PhD in DVD."
"Porn, that is," James muttered.
"Is it pick on Andron day?"
"No, that's only when the Raiders are playing."
"I am so offended right now," said Andron, "that we're not friends for the next five minutes."
"Fine then. Your lab procedures are sloppy."
Andron turned around, gaping. "I have never, ever been so insulted in all my life."
"Play the damn movie," Malaki said shortly.
"I'm getting there, you whining little. . ."
Reed explained as Andron finished setting up. "This is a documentary I made to convince a director to make a movie about James. His story is phenomenal. The director I spoke to agreed to the production after witnessing the following highlights of the life of James Potter. That is, of course, if James himself agrees."
"Yes. But only if Andy Burbank plays the role of me," James said, referring to a well known magical actor.
"James… Burbank has been dead for ten years," Reed said.
"That seems like a personal issue you're going to have to work out," answered James as the DVD finally played.
__________
A black haired, green eyes toddler was on the screen, intently reading a book. When an older man entered the room and told the boy to go to bed, the child looked up at him with a glare. "Kindly get the fuck out," he said calmly. Unperturbed, the man left without another word.
The proceeding movie was a recap of James' life, with the images heavily supplied by Andron… the traitor.
James was three years old, and had only been in America for a few months. His accent was quickly wearing off, and the other orphans had stopped looking at him as if he were a science experiment gone horribly wrong. Mostly. "Harry!" a deep voice called from across the yard.
"Will you not call me by that wretched name!" snapped the small boy. Fire had entered his eyes, and he was standing in a fierce stance.
"What should I call you then, you wretched little child?" the man yelled back.
"Anything but Harry! What kind of evil, vile human would name a child 'Harry'?"
"Isn't your name Harold?" The man asked, moving closer.
"The hell it is. I was born Harry James Potter."
"Then I'll call you James."
Green eyes stared at the man a moment before the boy shrugged. "Yeah, you could think of something better. I have that much faith in you."
At five, James met Andron at a meeting of young geniuses. After they got into a fight and each got a broken nose, they bonded quickly and became friends. It was around that time James had met Drake, who taught him Occlumency. Using that method, James was able to recall his life back to being six months old. He vividly recalled Voldemort attacking his family, and using a killing curse on him. He remembered unimaginable pain, and then blackness.
The memory of his father taking him to the orphanage was hardest for James to recall. Standing in the middle of the studio where he practiced with Drake, James snarled, "Worthless hack."
"So, you have a twin brother? One can only hope he's not as violent as you."
"Shut up."
"Oh, so sorry to interrupt your revenge plotting. Hey, at least Dumbledore was a good fellow, no?" Drake asked, trying to cheer the kid up a bit.
"Lovely. One person in my entire family actually liked me. Total win."
"You could always write to him, you know."
"I could also pull all my teeth out with pliers," deadpanned the small boy.
James was seven the first time he jumped off a building. He landed in a swimming pool… well, mostly. His lower body slammed against the cement, smashing his legs. He fell into the pool fully and sank to the bottom. A skinny Andron ran and jumped into the pool, dragging his friend back up. Blood began reddening the water where bone fragments had torn through skin.
James smirked as he was helped into an ambulance.
At eight, James took up motorcycle riding. A few months after his first try, he and Andron were racing on a motocross track. On the last jump, James' engine died in midair. When he hit the ground again, his femur snapped and his arm smashed. Regardless, he ran the ten feet to the finish line and demanded that Andron acknowledge his victory.
Andron didn't.
James punched him in the stomach and walked away.
A few months after that, James and Andron were in a library, discussing genetics in relation to selective mating. James stopped mid-word and stared at a row of books. "Oh hell no," he said, looking both shocked and angry.
"What's up. . . Oh, my." Andron sounded as if he were resigned a terrible fate.
James was staring at a row of religious texts on a non-fiction shelf.
"Someone has gone outside of their mind." He was muttering crazily to himself, as he had begun to do when angered. "What in the hell do they think they're trying to say? Now," James said as he dropped every holy book to the ground, "I don't suggest we put these in the fiction section –that would be rude- but instead, they should have their own section. Short of that…" Despite what James had said, he piled all of the books on a fiction shelf.
Andron seemed to be having some sort of fit. "You can't… that's not… Oh, we are so going to Hell. Karma is going to kill us for this. As soon as we walk out of here-BUS… and then we're dead. You've lost it!"
James slowly turned to Andron with a look that said Andron was the insane one. "Dude. We're in a library. Shhh."
Small choking noises escaped Andron's throat as he stared wide eyed at James. As they were walking through the expansive building, a strict, fierce looking older woman with graying hair walked up to them.
"Are you the hooligans that moved the holy books?" she demanded. She went on without waiting for an answer. "Get out. Don't come back. You're no longer welcome at this library."
"Whoa, lady. This is a public library," Andron said. He wasn't much concerned; with the ability to portkey, every library in the country was available to him. He knew, however, that James would be pissed at the miscarriage of justice.
"Get out, you ruffians. You," she said, indicating James, "smell like a dead animal. You," she said, pointing to Andron, "look like you just crawled out of a dumpster. Out, get out."
As the two boys stood on the steps of the library, they looked down at themselves and at each other. James wrinkled his nose at Andron. "I smell like dead animal because I dissected a squirrel two hours ago. You have no excuse, though," he said haughtily. He proceeded forward, leaving a steaming Andron behind.
At nine, James got a job working with a medical examiner, lugging bodies and sweeping floors every day after school and most of Saturday. It wasn't quite his dream job, and it severely cut into his study time. But he figured it was worth it.
Even Einstein had to learn to add and subtract.
One day while he was washing the autopsy table, a commotion in the next room caught his attention. Apparently, someone very important had died, and ME Williams had been asked to do the autopsy. The problem, though, was that they were headed into the back room, where James was. Where James, an unqualified minor was working illegally, was standing.
Thinking quickly, not thoroughly, hid in the freezer where unclaimed bodies were kept. It was very much like a walk in freezer, but instead of delicious frozen foods and ice cream, it housed several rolling tables each with a dead body covered by a sheet on it.
Cold and shivering, James sat on a metal table for several hours. When ME Williams opened the freezer and pulled James out, he was blue and angry. He tried to say, "Could you have taken any longer?" but it came out as, "C-c-c-c-c-c-"
"Jesus, James," Davie Williams, a man of about fifty-five with mostly grey hair and mustache, said. "I didn't think that would take so long. Why didn't you hide in the bathroom?"
James glared at him. "I hate you," he finally said.
"What are we doing?" Andron asked as the two ten-year-olds crept through the orphanage. "I'm hungry."
"Shut up. We're hunting," James said.
"Hunting? You're trying to shoot another kid with a sling shot."
"Wrist rocket," James said easily.
"What?" Andron asked, confused.
James turned to look at him. "A wrist rocket causes way more damage than a slingshot. There's more wrist support and more leverage. It'll pierce skin if needed."
"James," Andron said dryly, "you're a cruel person. Why would you need to pierce skin? The kid is twelve."
"I have reason to believe that he stole my pencil."
"This is bullshit. We're going to be arrested because some jerk stole your pencil. My life is ruined over some graphite. What a way to go. Bullshit- Holy shit!"
The small metal ball James had shot went right through the victim's arm, hitting the wall on the other side. "Told you," muttered James. Within a moment, Andron was holding the slingshot, and James was running away at top speed.
"Oh, come on!" Andron yelled after him.
The FBI filed into James' bedroom when he was ten. "Is this going to be a monthly thing, James?" the Agent in Charge asked, wearing sunglasses and a black hat that said FBI in yellow letters.
"Agent McDowel, your life will be much easier when you realize that I build bombs. I build them with great regularity."
"Do the people that run this place know you have enough explosives in here to blow the building? Because if they do, they are guilty of child endangerment, and quite possible child neglect."
"I don't know what those people know, and if I did, I would know that they know very little compared to what I know about explosives, and I know a lot," James said. The agent rolled his eyes. "When can I have my room back?"
"Why don't you come down to the office and we can talk about the situation."
James sat in the FBI office that would later be run by Don Eppes. He was staring down Agent McDowel, who, he had determined, was bent upon ruining his life. First, it had been his bomb, then his jet, then his other, even better bomb. James felt no love for the FBI.
"So, why were you building an explosive?" McDowel asked.
"Well, I want to see if one of the damn things will blow up, but you keep taking them, so I have to keep making them." McDowel rolled his eyes. He dropped a file on the desk as he tilted his chair back and clasped his hands behind his head.
"Listen, kid, I have a deal for you. We're having a retirement party for a well respected, high ranking agent in six months. I'm in charge of entertainment for this, because I'm such a fun guy," McDowel said in a tone that implied that he was not, in fact, a fun guy. And he wasn't. "The finale of the event is a firework show. The guy I hired dropped out yesterday."
"You set up that whole search just to get me to do this, didn't you?" James asked shrewdly. "You knew I couldn't resist lighting stuff on fire."
"Of course. I should remind you, of course, that we did find a sword in your room that is illegal in the state of California. Moving on. I would give you full license to set up and run the show. Which, it happens, includes covering all expenses for the fireworks and set up, and a hefty check for you. How does that sound?" asked McDowel. James looked him over for a moment.
"Where is this being held?"
McDowel outlined the location of the hotel where the party was going to be held. "Can you do that?"
"Can I…" James stared at the man. "You must be joking."
Six months later, James stood on a hotel opposite the one hosting the party. He and Andron were surrounded by computers and cords and buttons. A phone call signaled the time.
"Ready?" Andron asked. With a nod, James began punching keys on a keyboard with stunning precision.
The show consisted of seven hundred and twenty-three individual fireworks were scheduled to go off before the finale. The finale consisted for three hundred explosions. At the very end, fireworks spelled out the words 'GOOD LUCK AGENT MASON!' almost perfectly.
James smirked when he saw the check handed to him for twenty-five hundred dollars. To think, it had only taken him three hours to set up! James could make a living on more than five hundred dollars an hour…
James' life between eleven and fifteen consisted of countless hours of school, study, and training. He spent most of his weekends at Quantico, learning hostage rescue, sniping, interrogation, and countless other dangerous things. At one point, a group of FBI trainers 'kidnapped' him, and parachuted him down into a forest. He was there for three days with only a knife. Which, as it is, he used quite effectively when he found the campsite of the guys that had left him for dead.
When he had cleanly carved his initials into their chests, he ran away before they had woken up. He would deal with their angst after he had taken a proper shower.
James was thirteen, arguing with a smartly dressed man three times his age at least. They were in a room which any magical American could recognize as the President of the magical community. James was nearly beside himself, having absolutely lost control of his anger.
"Have you gone insane?" James yelled. "You can't go to war!"
"I can, and I will. I will not allow this country to be bullied."
"Listen to me, you belligerent war hawk! You are invading the wrong country! This will not lead to an American victory!" James snapped. He was breathing deeply and looked wild-eyed. The man he was arguing with had light brown eyes and black hair, which was graying at the temples. Sharp eyes glared at James from across the desk.
"I am doing what I believe to be best for the country."
"Well, Mr. President, you are wrong. If you sign that paper, I will guarantee that you are not reelected next year."
"You think you hold such sway?" President Woods asked.
"You would not get a single vote after I explain what it is you have done here. You care more for this office than you do for this country. You think with your wallet more than your brain and your heart. Worse yet, you think with the country's wallet."
"You can not come to my office and speak to me like that-"
"I will speak to you as I please. This is not the right road for the country to take."
"Why should I listen to you?" demanded the man. He bent slightly and signed a paper with a flourish. He looked up at James with a smirk, picked up his phone and spoke, "I have signed the war declaration. Deploy the troops."
"Idiot," James hissed. "You will regret that."
President Woods was not reelected. James backed a man named Andreas Kline. Kline won by more than seventy percent. Woods was so ashamed he left office out the back door, covering his face.
___
When the quasi-movie ended, James glared at Andron. "That was ridiculous. It left out all the cool parts of my life."
"Hey, I didn't make it. Reed did. I liked it. It made me look taller," Andron said.
"You yelled at the president?" Ida May asked. Andron smirked at James, happy his mother was angry at James for once. And then, "Thank the Lord somebody did. That man was a menace."
"I agree," Drake said. "Some of my best soldiers have died in that war he caused."
The room fell silent as everyone looked at him. "So, man, like, what the hell do you do? You're the Chief of Police of New York City. You write books on magical theory…" Malaki said.
"I am also the General in charge of the Seventh Army. I've been a full time military officer since eighteen-seventy."
"Can you imagine the pay-grade?" Maleek asked.
Cambal Reed stood looking at James. "That was the first draft, so to speak. I gathered all the video from Drake and Andron. It would be cooler if… I got some footage from you," he hedged.
"I'm sure." James was staring at Drake with a glint that the old man knew all too well.
"No. Whatever you are planning… No. It is not a good idea."
"It's a wonderful idea!" James said.
"What's the idea?" asked Andron.
"I don't know, but I don't like it," replied Drake.
"We're calling in the Seventh to destroy Voldemort!" James said cheerfully.
"Uh, no!" Drake declared.
"Fine, maybe not the whole Seventh… at least the 501st."
"No, James! They are the craziest motherfuckers in uniform! They'd roll all up in here," Andron said, pausing to take a breath to continue his rant, "and blow everything not bolted down straight outta the stratosphere! Not one of them niggas can be trusted! They like callin in the residents of San Quentin to break up a catfight!"
"You are overly dramatic," James said calmly. "The men and women of the 501st are some of the best fighters we have."
"You have. Have you noticed? They don't like anyone as much as they like you. That's probably because you're the head crazy. You're the leader."
"Damn straight. Drake, call them in."
"Hell no-"
"Drake, call them in."
"This isn't a-"
"Fine, I'll call them in." James pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and pressed three on his speed dial. When the person on the other end answered, James said, "Hey, Andreas. Minor problem. That psycho Head of the International Confederation of Wizards has kidnapped almost a hundred important muggle law enforcement personnel."
"I did not," Albus Dumbledore said, sounding hurt.
"And he is holding them hostage until his Dark Lord issue is solved for him."
"I am not!" Albus said.
"So, to retrieve these people, you will send the 501st to this school, under the command of Drake Herr, and declare war upon Voldemort to make it legal. Also, you will compensate these people for time lost. Sound good?" James asked in a no-nonsense, business like tone.
"Um, oh, yes, sure. I'll get on that. Anything else?" Andreas Kline asked. He was a nervous man, who was very grateful that James had gotten him elected.
James smirked as he replied, "No, that's it for now. Thanks, Andreas. We'll be expecting the troops within a day."
James hung up the phone and turned to the rest of the people in the hall. "I did not kidnap them, nor am I holding them hostage," Albus snapped.
"Of course not. But Andreas is a sucker for a good crime drama. Troops will be here in a few hours. Do you have any plans for where the students will go?" asked James. He looked about at the students and then back at Dumbledore.
"Go… when?" Albus asked.
"When the fighting breaks out, my slow friend. Where will the students go? They are a liability to the rest of us."
"Us?" Andron asked. "What the hell? Nigga, soon as I see any type of hostility, I'm about to bounce. Peace, nigga."
"No, you're not," Drake said. "Because I've just conscripted you into the Armed Forces of the United States. And you," he said, pointing to Andron's brother, Malaki. In half a minute, all magical Americans in the room over the age of seventeen were drafted.
Except, "Sweetie, I'll say this once," Ida May said calmly, "I am eighty-one years old. Past the draft age. Sorry, dear."
"And I," Lars Schwartz said with a confident grin, "was born in Germany between 1910 and 1950. Though I am only seventy-nine years old."
"What is the draft age?" Catherine Willows asked.
"Between seventeen and eighty. On is ineligible for the draft if they were born in an enemy country. Germany was so declared an enemy country from 1910 to 1950," James replied.
"I notice you weren't drafted," a glum looking Andron said to James.
"No, this crazy punk enlisted the day he turned seventeen," answered Drake. "We've just been deferring his commission."
"Do I get no say in this?" Albus asked.
"Yeah!" James said coldly. "Come off of your high horse and mingle with the commoners!" He said, referring to the fact that Dumbledore's chair, like all the teacher's, was on a platform, far removed from the student's. The fifth table that had been added was somewhat squished between the Gryffindor table and the wall.
"I have a better idea. If everyone would stand for a moment…" Dumbledore said, standing himself. Everyone followed him. He waved his wand and said a string of words from a long dead language. The long rectangular tables disappeared, leaving several dozen round five person tables. "If at least one non-magical person could sit at each table… Perhaps this is as good a time as any to foster some understanding of other cultures."
There was a mad dash for tables, and before James could register what was happening, there was only one seat left. James lost his appetite as he walked toward the empty chair and sat down. To his left was Albus Dumbledore. To his right was Shawn Spencer. Next to Shawn sat Sirius Potter. Along with him sat Lily and Jim Potter. James shot his grandfather a look, wondering if the man had had anything to do with it.
All he got in reply was a small smile. "So, James, would you like to introduce everybody?"
"Of course. Shawn, this is Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and a distant relation of mine."
"Is it pick on Albus day?" the bearded man asked, with a small twitch of his mustache.
"No, if that were true, I would certainly have something to say about your robes," James said, gesturing to the midnight blue robes with sparkling silver stars. "Moving on. Shawn, this is Sirius Potter, my brother, Jim Potter, and Lily Potter. Distant relations, this is Shawn Spencer, Psychic Detective."
"That was wonderful, James," Albus said.
"I thought you said all your family was dead," Shawn said.
"I believe I said they were no longer with me. Which is true. Potatoes?" James asked, offering a bowl of mashed potatoes. Shawn took them with a blank look. He hadn't even noticed food appear. James looked over and saw that sitting on either side of Draco Malfoy was Ida May and Jethro Gibbs. Poor kid.
Talk at his table turned to James' Psychic Detective agency. He explained what he did and gave hints as to how. Jim Potter seemed to instantly like Shawn and his odd manner of… everything. "James, stop being a sour patch kid. Today is a day for celebration."
"Why?" James asked.
"I convinced Gus to buy me a pineapple tree!"
"You… No, I don't care," James said.
"James, what are your plans for this army you have hired?" Albus asked.
"They are vicious fighters. They kill without mercy. We draw the Death Eaters here and set the 501st loose. They have no chance."
"And what would you plan to be doing?" Albus asked.
"I am a fully qualified sniper. Trained to a range of up to fifteen hundred yards. I could kill Voldemort if he were standing in Hogsmeade."
"What grudge do you hold against magic?" Lily Potter asked.
"By the age of six, I was much more concerned with the manipulation of genes than turning matchsticks into needles. I am, admittedly, quite mediocre when it comes to magical ability," James said calmly.
"Really?" Albus asked, sounding genuinely surprised. James looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Really. Magic is a bit tame, and boring."
"How well do you duel?" asked his grandfather.
"It depends on the rules of the duel. I would lose a gentleman's duel, because I am too… I cheat a lot. In a no holds barred duel, however, I could hold my own fairly well, I think."
"Really, now? Well then, I challenge you to a duel," Albus said.
"I only pick fights I know I can win," replied James.
"I'm picking this fight," corrected Dumbledore. "Do you accept?"
James looked at the other man for a moment. "Sure. Anything to ease the monotony."
"Splendid! After lunch, then? Wonderful, wonderful. You wouldn't harm an old man, would you?" Dumbledore asked playfully.
"You are two years older than Drake… and I put him in a coma for a month and a half with a Blasting Hex to the head. After I had thrown sand in his eyes and kicked him in the nuts."
"I see."
After lunch- the memory of which James was sure he was going to repress into the deepest, darkest places of his mind, considering after a few glasses of wine Shawn was hitting on Lily- Dumbledore cleared away all of the tables and asked everyone to move to the edges of the room. Then he cast protective charms around the onlookers.
As James stood across from his grandfather, he felt as if he had made a huge mistake. Albus, who usually looked calm and kind, suddenly looked like the Grand Sorcerer he was.
"Shoot him in the toe, James!" Andron called from the sideline.
"So, how do we start?" James asked.
"It is customary for a judge to call a time, but I think I will give you the first spell." Dumbledore stood with a thoughtful look on his face.
James, as was hit habit, started with a Splitting Curse. It ripped the skin apart, not cleaning as the Cutting Curse did, but it literally pulled the skin until it split. Dumbledore blocked the curse easily, and sent a Tickling Charm at James. James, unaffected, let it hit him. In return, he sent a blasting curse, followed by a blood boiling hex.
Within moments, the rhythm of spells was blinding, and the intensity of each was bordering on Dark Arts. James' left arm had splintered into little fragments of bone, while Albus was sporting a severely broken leg and lacerations to his face and chest.
The duel ended after an hour, when both men scored with a Stunning Spell. Andron revived them, laughing. "So, I guess it was a tie?" he asked.
James stood up, splinting his broken arm. He looked down and saw Jim Potter trying to help Albus up, oblivious to most of his injuries. "Will you get away from him," ordered James as he walked over. He knelt next to his grandfather and gently pushed him back to the ground. "Don't move, you'll aggravate your injuries. Stop it!" James said, slapping Albus' hand as the older man tried to poke a cut.
"You're not a qualified healer, James," Albus said, worry tingeing his voice.
"No, but I am a fully qualified doctor. Now, stop whining." James bandaged the cuts and splinted the broken leg.
"Thanks you," Albus said sincerely. Their eyes met for a moment, and James nodded. They smiled and James helped his grandfather to his feet.
"That's going to hurt for a few days. No magical healing for at least two days," James said sternly. "And that means… NO magical healing for AT LEAST two days."
"Okay, okay," Albus said with a smile and a wince. "Ow."
"Wuss," James muttered.
The rest of the day was a culture sharing experience. Many of the more open minded witches and wizards spent several hours listening to explanations of how muggles lived. The muggleborns were very interested in the various careers the muggles represented.
After breakfast the next morning, Severus Snape called all of the fourth year Hufflepuffs for a potions lesson. Other teachers followed his example, and soon, all of the Hogwarts students were split up and studying. The muggles were talking amongst themselves. James and Andron were talking to Albus Dumbledore about the plan for the arrival of the military and Voldemort.
"James," Albus said quietly, "how do you plan on doing this?"
"Relax. I've got this. You, the teachers, the students, and the muggles are going to hide out-"
"Excuse me," Albus said calmly. "I will not hide away with the women and children-"
"You are old and valuable, and you will do as you are told," James said in a firm, unyielding voice.
Albus' eyes widened, before they narrowed. "Listen to me, boy. I won't be spoken to like that. I am a capable wizard able to take care of myself."
"You listen to me!" James snapped, taking care to keep his voice low and not heard beyond the two people he was speaking with. "If you fight with us, you could die. I don't want you to die. If you die, I'd never forgive you. You're…" James trailed off and looked down.
"Aw…" Albus said, pulling James into a hug, "you're worried about me! That's so sweet! James, nothing is going to happen to me."
James briefly hugged the man back before pulling away. "Exactly. Because you're going to be safely tucked away someplace safe-"
"I can't do that James. I have to be there."
It took an hour to convince James that Albus could fight with them. James was reluctant to let Andron fight, but his friend point blank told him to shove it. Andron liked to act like a coward, but he was fairly noble when the time called for it.
It was only a few moments later that the 501st entered the building. "How…" Albus asked, looking to James. "The castle is locked down completely. A draft shouldn't be able to get in, let alone two hundred people. At least, not without me allowing it." James simply smirked at him.
The Great Hall expanded a bit more to accommodate the added people. The men and women stood at attention with straight backs and grim faces. Drake stood and, in his order giving voice, yelled, "Do you think you're on leave? Straighten up, chin up, feet together. You're in the presence of the highest ranking member of the Armed Forces!"
Each one of the two hundred people was in battle fatigues the color of dirt and sand. They had heavy backpacks and long guns invented by the magical government. Pant legs tucked into boots, shirts tucked into pants, and the women had their hair pulled into strict, tight buns. All of them looked very similar to the person next to them, with minor exceptions.
They were set in rows, with twenty across and ten deep. Each row of ten had a different patch then the next. The first five and the second five of each ten had a different color background, red or blue.
James had helped design the structure of the 501st. The two hundred people made a company. There were twenty groups of ten, which made up the twenty crews. In each crew were two groups of five, or squads.
The oldest looking man in the 501st stepped forward and turned to address the company. He was Sergeant Major Giles Morten, Third Crew, Red Squad. He reminded most people of a grandfather stuck in World War II, a real life career military man.
Straight backed, the man called out, "Seventh Army, 501st Company reporting for orders, sir!"
"At ease!" Drake barked. There was a very small relaxation among the group. Drake went through a fairly standard welcoming speech, explaining the situation and snapping orders. Crews One to Ten would fight under Drake. The other ten would fight under James. The men and women had no problem reporting to James; he had grown up with them, and they knew he was sharp, and trustworthy.
"What of the other's that wish to fight?" Andron asked.
"You will lead them as a 501st task force," answered James. "Take Dumbledore and your family, and…" James looked toward the muggles. "Any of you feel like fighting?" he asked. They stared at him, but Colby Granger stood up. Don Eppes followed him, as did Elliot Stabler. Jethro Gibbs followed shortly, and then Michael Weston. It took another second for, surprisingly, ME Melinda Warner to stand.
"I was in the Air Force," she said when she got strange looks from the standing men.
"Really?" Andron asked, seemingly just for something to say.
"I did two tours of duty in the Gulf War, as a doctor."
"Oh, cool," replied Andron.
"What are a bunch of muggles going to do against the Dark Lord?" Draco Malfoy scoffed.
"The Dark Lord terrorized muggles because he surprises them. Yeah, if I sneak up behind someone and jump on them, they'd be scared of me, too. Forewarned is forearmed. And speaking of such…"
James waved his wand and muttered a word or two. A smoky image of Lord Voldemort appeared in the room, pacing to and fro. At some unseen cue, the looming black-cloaked figure turned and stared in the direction of the muggles.
"Ew," Kathleen Stabler said. "He needs a serious nose job."
"Yeah, just look at his skin. Never heard of moisturizing cream?" Lindsey Willows demanded.
"What is wrong with you people?" Malfoy growled. "Mocking the Dark Lord! How dare you, you dirty muggles!" the blond howled.
"Sir," Giles said to Drake, "this seems to be a security risk."
"Right you are," Drake answered. "James?"
"Nineteenth Crew, Blue Squad!" barked James. "Search and detain!"
Three men and two women moved forward among the students and systematically checked for Dark Marks. After each squad member had found a person, the student was dragged back and forced to his knees against a wall. Two Slytherins, a Ravenclaw, and two Hufflepuffs.
Each member of the squad pressed the barrel of their rifle to the back of a shocked head. "Does anybody here wish to give up information in exchange for their life?" James asked in an eerily calm voice.
"Fuck you!" on of the yellow clad boys yelled, trying to turn to look at James. "My Master will destroy you!"
"Is that so?" James asked with disinterest. "He is certainly welcome to try. Detain them," ordered James, turning back to Andron. Rethinking, James added, "Please, do not cause irreversible damage. I would hate to have to explain that away to the government, theirs or mine." The men nodded.
"That was…" Andron paused for a moment, before he added, "uncommonly gracious of you, James. Especially after. . ."
"You mean, after I found out that Death Eaters killed my dogs?" James helpfully supplied.
Andron, looking uncomfortable, nodded. "Well, yeah. I mean, you were very attached to the dogs."
"They killed the dogs?" Ida May asked. "Those bastards."
"Oh yeah," Malaki said, nodding. "Soon as those bitches broke in, Sunshine and Daisy straight mauled them. Went right for the nuts. Couple'a Killing Curses took the mutts out, though."
"Since I feel especially kind at the moment, and I like you, I will ignore the fact that you just called my highly trained, combat quality purebreds 'mutts'. Now, on to other matters, Private Johnson," James said calmly turning to a light haired man to his left, who snapped to attention. "Please lead a squad in finding every person in this hall marked as a Death Eater." James stepped forward and, in a very faint whisper, said, "There is a man marked at the staff table, black hair, black eyes. Do nothing with him. He is a spy."
"Aye aye, Cappin," Johnson deadpanned. He turned and walked away, signaling the four other men in his squad to follow. Twenty-five marked students were found. James ordered that they be questioned and detained.
"What about using enhanced interrogation techniques?" Lieutenant Curtis asked, straight-faced.
"Legilimency is as far as you will take it. If I hear one thing about you using the Cruciatus Curse. . ." James said, leaving the sentence open.
"Right. We'll put up a silencing charm."
"Good man," James replied as the Lieutenant walked away.
"James," Dumbledore said calmly. "What is going on? Being the head of this school, I suppose I've gotten used to knowing what is happening. Can't imagine why, of course."
"Were you always this sarcastic, or is this a new development?" James didn't wait for an answer before he continued. "Lieutenant Curtis is trained in many things; interrogation of hostile entities is his specialty. He is now going to retrieve all of the information on Voldemort that he can."
"How could he possibly know what to ask? I doubt he knows much of the situation," Albus pointed out.
"Come now, Albus," Drake said with his usual politicians charm. "Did you think that just because I did not support you, that I did not pass on the information you gave?"
"Pardon me?" Albus gave Drake a questioning look.
"You really have no idea who I am?" Drake asked, feigning hurt. He then smiled brightly. "I've called you a doddering old fool at every meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards for the last fifty years. In fact, a few months ago, I impressed even myself when I called you a 'persnickety pouf with your head shoved so far up your own-' "
Dumbledore cut him off with a quick, "Hank Smith."
"Right in one!" Drake said. "I use varying names, depending upon the situation. All those years, I told you that you should be nicer to me."
"You have metamorphmagus abilities, I assume?" Albus nodded without waiting for a reply. "Very clever. This explains why you have not supported anything I have ever said in those meetings, even something as mundane as the weather being nice."
"The enemy of my friend is my enemy as well," Drake said with a shrug.
"You hated me long before he came along," Albus said shrewdly.
Drake smirked. "Yes, well, you're an ass. You had defeated Grindewald, you were recently made Headmaster… people looked at you like you were shittin gold. Moreover, you were very close to Nicolas Flamel, a man whom I oppose on a moral level. Then, for the love of god, that damn child was born. I've never heard somebody so damn over the moon about anything. I wanted to kill you."
"How wonderful," Albus said. "Why do you oppose Nicolas?"
"What kind of a selfish bastard spends a century creating an object that would ensure immortality? Immortality is for fools and cowards. Nicolas Flamel is a fool and a coward, and has lived long passed his time."
"Agreed," James and Andron said.
"Death really isn't all that bad," added James.
"And he would know. He's been legally dead more than twenty times," supplied Andron.
"So…" Ron Weasley said as the silence stretched. "Do we get to fight?"
"No. You are a liability," replied James. "You have no training, and no skills. And you annoy me."
"What? This is totally anti-climactic! I've been helping to fight Voldemort for years, and all the sudden you jump in and take over?" Ron demanded. His mother attempted to shush him, but Ron brushed her off.
"We are better qualified, better equipped, and better prepared," Andron said coldly. "You would get in our way."
"And the muggles wouldn't?" snapped the angry redhead.
"As odd as it may seem to you, most of those muggles are better suited to these things than you are," James said airily as he paced in front of the assembled troops. "Many of them have military background. Military is something you British wizards don't understand. You rely entirely on your… Aurors," James said with disdain.
Michael Weston, a blacklisted CIA spy, asked, "What does that mean?"
"Aurors," Andron said, as if reading from a boring book, "are a bit like police. Imagine protecting your entire country using only the NYPD."
"Which is why," James continued, "these people suck at going to war."
"And why the casualty rate is so high," added Drake.
"So, you're pro-military, I take it?" Shawn Spencer asked.
"To a degree," James answered. "I believe in defense and protection. A belligerent military, however, is one to be avoided. Speaking of that, Albus, you might want to call in the Aurors, to keep up appearances. You obviously know some spell to allow portkeys in… even though you said no one in or out."
"Did you not use the same spell to get these soldiers in?" Albus countered, avoiding the subject.
"Nope. They apparated," answered James.
"You can't apparate in or out of Hogwarts," Hermione Granger scoffed. "Especially not with the castle acting the way she is."
"Have you ever apparated before? Once, twice? Hmm. You'll find that there are some ways around such wards. I, it so happens, have one of these," James said as he held up a small metal cube, a little smaller than a golf ball. "This enables a person, or large group of people, to apparate directly to me. Andron, if you would."
Andron apparated to James' side, causing a few shocked looks, mostly from the non-magic folk in the area, who had never really seen apparation. "See, to apparate, you have to know what your intended location looks like. These people, never having been in Hogwarts, did not. But, they know what James looks like. Effectively, they did not apparate to Hogwarts, but to James."
"And You-Know-Who hasn't tried this… why?" Ron asked.
"Because Voldemort," James said, emphasizing the name.
"Is a bitch!" Andron finished before James could. "That motherfucker is scared of his own shadow. The last thing he needs it to apparate into the middle of enemy territory."
"Okay," James muttered. "I was going to mention the fact that there are only three of these in existence, and they are programmed to self destruct if they should fall into the wrong hands. But your explanation is accurate, as well."
"You two are impossible," Albus said. "What do you plan to do with the students you have captured?"
"Kill them. Burn the bodies. Vanish the ashes," James said, deadpan.
"Very funny," Dumbledore said, rolling his eyes. "Hysterical."
"And here I thought James had no sense of humor," Andron muttered.
James smirked. "Never underestimate me."
Well, that was exciting! As I was finishing the editing on this, the first HP movie came on, and I was reciting it word for word without noticing. Odd.
If you notice any plot holes throughout the story, please, please, please point them out to me! I need to know what I've left out.
Thanks for reading!