Catachresis – a Harry Potter fanfiction by Xavien R. Maxwell

All characters and subject matter appearing herein are the copyrighted © creations of J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros., and are borrowed for the purposes of this fanfiction. No money in any form was earned in its production.

catachresis (kat A kreh sis), n. A figure by which one word is wrongly put for another, or by which a word is wrested from its true significance.

Source: Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary, © 1996, 1998 MICRA, Inc.

Chapter 3: The Long Journey Home

James awoke to the smell of frying bacon, which, he thought, sounded like a much better breakfast than the warm milk and kitten chow he'd been living on for the last few months. Stretching a bit, he hopped down from the windowsill and padded into the kitchen. A plump, jolly old woman was standing at the stove, humming as she peppered eggs. "Breakfast is ready!" she yelled, presumably at her absent husband.

Standing back a bit, James flicked his tail back and forth as he pondered how best to go about getting his share of the food. Let's see now. Old woman, hungry kitten… yes, the cute act is definitely the way to go.

As she shuffled past his position, he reached out with a paw and batted at her ankle. She stopped at the contact, puzzled by it, and looked down, only to meet James's gray eyes, which he made wide and innocent. He threw in a hopeful mew for color, and watched with satisfaction as her heart visibly melted into a gooey puddle.

"Ahh, aren't ye a sweet one!" she cooed, reaching down to scratch under his chin. "How'd ye get in here, I wonder? Ah well."

She turned back to the stove, smiling down at him when he followed and swatted playfully at the hem of her housedress. "Yer a lively one, plain enough." With a conspiratorial glance around to make sure they were alone, she took up one of the strips of bacon from the pan and dropped it to the floor. "Now don't tell him I be givin' you his breakfast," she whispered with a little giggle.

James grinned righteously and dragged the bacon off into a corner of the room next to the door, where he settled down to a fine meal. Damn, I'm good, he thought smugly. Shameless, but good.

By the time he'd finished the bacon and was licking his paws clean of grease, the farmer had come in, not even noticing the kitten feasting in the corner. After a brief but pleasant conversation with his wife, he took his coat off the hook and shrugged it on as he went out the door. Not one to pass up opportunity, James darted out after him just before the door banged shut.

It didn't take the farmer long to notice the kitten nipping at his heels, and he chuckled. "Goin' ta help me with the chores, are ye?" he said, bending down to pat him on the head before carrying on toward the barn.

James stopped following him then, and watched as the farmer disappeared. No, just trying to thank you, he thought, and with a wave of his tail he left the farm behind and started off down the road.

He kept to the far right of the pavement, so he could see any of the Muggle cars that happened to pass by in plenty of time to get out of the way. There weren't many cars to worry about out there, though; a couple times a little dilapidated car or truck puttered by, but otherwise the road was clear.

I wonder what direction I'm going?, he thought as he padded along. What direction should I be going?

They say all roads lead to London, but if I'm heading the wrong way, I could end up by the sea instead. Or in Scotland.

Hmm. Hogwarts is in Scotland. Maybe I should try to go there? Dumbledore would know what to do.

That is, if Dumbledore's even alive anymore. How long has it been since I died? I need to find a magazine or something – at least then I'd know what day it was. For all I know, this could be sometime in the thirtieth century, and all the people I know are long dead.

Yeah, right, James. You think Muggles will still be driving junky cars in the thirtieth century? Maybe it's only been a few months… maybe I was sent back the same moment I died…

I can only hope.

Eventually, he made it to the end of the road, where it ran headlong into another road that curved toward a small town in the distance. What luck! If I head there, I might find someone that's going to London or Hogsmeade or something. Or a place with a train station. That's what I need, a train, then I can go anywhere I want.

Maybe I'll get really lucky and the Hogwarts Express will come chugging by in a minute. Or the Knight Bus. That would be helpful. Chances are slim to none, though, without my wand to hail it.

Or maybe Sirius will come roaring down from the sky on that flying motorcycle of his.
Padfoot. I wonder if he's alright. And Moony, and…

Wormtail. He gave an involuntary hiss when he thought of Peter Pettigrew. That fucking rat! I thought he was our friend, and all that time he was licking Voldemort's boots behind our backs!

I hope he's rotting in Azkaban right now.

Incensed, the thought of Peter cowering under the gaze of Dementors carried him the rest of the way to town. It wasn't a very big place: there were a few small shops, a grocer, a hardware store, a fueling station, and some houses.

"All the comforts of home," James muttered in a low voice. He dashed across the road and slinked around the tire of a pickup truck. He spotted the vehicle's owner inside the station, chatting up the pretty cashier, so he waited patiently until the guy came out again.

Farmer, James assessed instantly, getting an eyeful of the man's scuffed jeans and dusty cap. Shaking his head, he watched as the truck pulled away, and trotted into the station.

After indulging himself in a quick petting session with the cashier, he poked around in the merchandise. There was a rack of Muggle candy underneath the counter, and a display of cigarettes behind it. Against one wall stood a cooler containing bottled drinks, but James didn't bother looking for pumpkin juice amongst the merchandise. Instead, he spotted the stack of newspapers next to the door, and his eyes lit up.

With one bound he was perched on the top of the stack and studying the front page. He found the date, and his mouth dropped open in shock.

April 14, 1997?! But that means… that means I've been dead for…

Sixteen years?! No, it can't be!

But he read a few of the headlines, and the truth of the matter slowly became apparent. Plans to go to Mars? Good grief, we just went to the Moon… And who's this Clinton bloke?

It HAS been sixteen years… wow. I'd have been thirty-seven years old.

Harry would have been turning seventeen in July. Almost a grown man.

James felt the tears stinging his eyes, and forced himself to turn away from the newspapers. No use dwelling on the… the distant past. Can't change it. Can only live with it…

Dammit, he was only a baby! Why, Peter, why?!

Slowly, he dragged himself out of the station and collapsed next to a petrol pump, watching as another farmer pulled his pickup truck in to refuel. I've got to find a way back… back somewhere. Hogsmeade, or London, or Godric's Hollow, I don't care. Just give me a way back, please…

He sat there for two complete days, watching each and every vehicle that came into the station, and losing more and more hope each time he saw the farmers that drove them. He managed to get his paws on the station's supply of beef jerky, which took a great deal of effort to open, but were rather delectable once he managed it. Once he'd thought he'd struck gold when a shiny little convertible drove in, but it had been headed for the Atlantic coast, and he'd watched it speed away with a despairing sigh.

It was nearly noon on the third day when the tour bus puttered into the station. James perked up from his lunch of cheese crackers, which he'd managed to steal when the cashier wasn't looking, and watched with interest as the driver filled up. The people inside were looking about with polite disinterest, as if wishing they were somewhere more exotic and interesting.

The driver ambled inside to pay, and when James heard him tell the cashier that he was taking the group back to London after a week of sightseeing, he almost shouted aloud in joy. Stealthily, he darted across the lot, bounded through the door of the bus, and was soon curled contentedly underneath the driver's seat. The driver, of course, took no notice as he boarded the bus and set it roaring down the road and out of town.

The trip took a good number of hours. James catnapped to pass the time, and when he woke up, the bus was empty and parked in a London bus terminal. Grinning to himself, he trotted leisurely out the open door and took a look around.

The sun was reduced to a mere sliver on the horizon. Looking up, he could see the London skyline, a good distance away, but nothing he couldn't manage.

Now let's see, James thought as he ambled down the sidewalk, What was the name of the Muggle road that Lily said had access to the Leaky Cauldron? Sharing-something… no, Charing. Charing Cross Road. That's it.

But how to get there from here? Frowning in consternation, he absently lifted his front paw to scratch his ear as he puzzled.

A strong wind blew up suddenly, ruffling his fur, but he ignored it, too preoccupied with his thoughts. The jolting boom that sounded from somewhere behind him he ignored, too, as well as the screech of tires. But he didn't manage to ignore the wave of muddy water that splashed over him when a vehicle sliced through a puddle. James shrieked wildly, careening backward into a mailbox. His short feline temper snapped instantly, and with claws bared he whirled to give whoever had violated him a piece of his mind.

A huge, purple doubledecker bus idled next to the curb, positively reeking of magic, which was why none of the people nearby seemed to notice it, even though it had just made a spectacular entrance. James forgot his anger at the sight of it, remembering all too well the many tight spots the Knight Bus had helped him out of in his previous life.

A door slid open, and a gangly, acne-ridden young man poked his head out. "Who stuck out their wand arm?" he asked, looking around.

James glanced down at his paw in sudden understanding, scratched his ear again, and shook the water from his fur. "I did," he said, walking toward the bus.

"'Choo hidin' for?" the young man asked, searching around in bewilderment.

"I'm not hiding, I'm right here… no, here!" James groaned when the young man twisted his head frantically. "Look down!"

He did, and stared dumbly. "A cat?"

James sighed. "Yes, a cat. Can I get a ride, please?"

"Er… well, alright. Guess so. All aboard, then," the young man said, standing aside so James could clamber onto the bus. "Never had a cat passenger before. I'm Stan Shunpike, by the way. 'Chur name?"

"James."

"You ent lyin', now, are you? That's what Neville did when we picked 'im up couple years back. Said 'is name was Neville, but it ent really."

"Fascinating," said James dryly. "How long will it take to get to the Leaky Cauldron?"

Stan eyed him dubiously. "Well, you'd normally get yer turn after everyone else's, but seein' as it's jus' across the city…" Trailing off, he ambled up to the driver and spoke to him a moment. The next thing James knew, the bus had appeared with an almighty bang on Charing Cross Road, right in front of the Leaky Cauldron, where it squealed to a halt.

Luckily for James, who had no money to speak of, Stan didn't even think of charging a cat for a ride. Stan just waved as James hopped off the bus, a dazed look in his eyes. Then, with another bang, the bus was gone.

James rolled his eyes. "Idiot."

Turning, he took a long look at the natty little pub, and at all the passing Muggles that didn't even spare it a glance. Beyond that door is my world. I'm finally back.

So why do I feel like I've just swallowed a bowl of flobberworms?

Because I'm afraid that it might not be the world I remember. What if everything has changed? What if I don't find anyone that I recognize?

What if all my friends are dead?

Uneasiness chilling him to the very core, James quietly slipped through the door of the Leaky Cauldron behind some customers.

And sighed in relief when he realized the place hadn't changed much at all.

There's something to be said for such dependability, he thought with a fond glance at the familiar bar, with wizened old Tom still tending it faithfully. No matter how much times changed, or how hard things got, it was comforting to know that places like this would always be there for you in the end.

So silly of me to think otherwise. I'm worrying too much.

The tavern was hosting a variety of patrons that night, many of which, to James's delight, were willing to sneak a couple morsels to the pets under the table. He spent a pleasurable half-hour just mingling and sampling the menu – the two witches at the center table were quite generous with their onion rings. Finally, when he started to feel as though he couldn't even look at food anymore without vomiting, he curled up contentedly on a barstool and watched the people go in and out, feeling very sleepy and satisfied. It wasn't quite home, but it was civilization, and that would do for the time being. At least, for the night.

Around eleven-thirty, the crowds started to wear thin, and the more serious drinkers started to emerge. The two witches still occupied the center table, now joined by a couple of hopeful young wizards who laughed raucously at anything that was even remotely humorous. In the corner booth, an older wizard in romantic red robes was quietly drowning his sorrows after being stood up by his intended. And James had almost been sat upon earlier by a tearful woman who'd been blubbering about her son, who'd been admitted to St. Mungo's that afternoon. Tom had required assistance in carrying her up to one of the spare rooms when she'd finally collapsed in a drunken stupor.

It actually made him a bit jealous. He badly missed being human. His current body wasn't anything to sniff at, of course, but it just wasn't the same.

What he wouldn't have given for a drink right now. But alas, his weak kitten stomach had struggled hard enough with onion rings, much less hard liquor.

A merry jangle sounded as the back door – the one that led to Diagon Alley – opened, and a rather tired-looking wizard entered the tavern. James raised his head to get a look, and about gasped aloud.

Tom looked up at the new arrival and smiled fondly.

"Evenin', Remus."