Nox
Matfreek: I believe this chapter and the A/N below answers those questions. And thanks...a lot.
searching4romeo: didn't get that last part of the review, but I think the first part was really positive...erm right?
Hot-Salsa: hehe, I like that name. Anyway, thanks. Yeah, I like the fact that I can pretty much do whatever I want with the characters(to a certain point, anyway) because they are really different than in the actual HP world. James, well, of course he doesn't quite exist in casual life and Harry has actually grown up loved this time. ::shrugs:: It's interesting to see, I guess.
Loviedovie: Ah! ::throws up arms:: I'm loved.
BluDiamond: Aww..clappies for me. Brilliant idea, huh? Well, wait until you read this before saying that, lol.
There is a greater plot...I swear it. It's foreshadowed a bit, I guess, but mildly.
I can't believe some people actually like this. It's my first fanfic in like...two years.
Aw well.
Treading in Your Footsteps: The Potter Way
Nearly Perfect
Chapter 3: Catching the Jarvey
"Fal-cons! Fal-cons!-"
"Kest-ral! Kest-rals!"
It was great. The anticipated match between the Falmouth Falcons and the Kenmare Kestrals had finally arrived and with a bang. Many said it was a hands down match, a national team against a non-national was no contest. The Kestrals would pummel the Falcons into the dirt. However, there was a good portion that believed that this was the Falcons chance to go national.
Kestral supporters were playing their harps routing on the emerald. Falcon supporters were chanting in unison the team motto echoing the roaring voice resonating throughout the stadium leading the whole mass.
"Let us win!" The anonymous voice would yell.
"Let us win!" The crowd repeated.
"But if we cannot win..."
"But if we cannot win..."
"LET US BREAK A FEW HEADS!!!" There was only sound barrier breaking shouts as advocation.
Harry, Hermione, Ron, Sirius, Remus and the rest of the Weasleys(aside from Bill and Charlie) were seated in the front two rows of the top box. They could see everything, and with Ron's, Harry's, and Hermione's omnoculars, they couldn't miss a bludger.
Harry turned and grinned up at James who was sitting directly behind him next to Mr. Weasley. It really was a perfect ruse. Around twelve, Harry had been urged by Mrs. Figg's head in his fireplace to come over immediately.
"Oh Harry, thanks so much for coming. I didn't know what to do." She seemed distraught.
"It's nothing, what's wrong?" He asked completely baffled.
"I think there's a Jarvey upstairs!"
"Oh." To be perfectly honest, Harry resisted the urge to laugh. Jarveys, little more than overgrown ferrets(and slightly resembling Malfoy when Mad-eye decided to have a little demonstration of how transfiguration can be an essential asset in DADA) did nothing more than chase gnomes and throw derogatory comments and insults at you. Trap them in a sack and toss them outside, and that's basically the end of them in your home.
"It's all right, Mrs. Figg. Do you have a satchel or a large blanket around?" Harry had caught a Jarvey at the Weasleys before. Mr. Weasley had brought one home from a friend in the DRCMC (Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures) in an alleged attempt to spare the boys from the tedious strain of constantly having to degnome the gardens. Though,"He just wants to see one in action." Ron had said to him.
"Oh," she put a finger to her chin, "oh, yes. Yes I do, in fact. In the broom cupboard, under the stairs there, there should be on the shelf-above you, there." Harry looked up from where he stood within the dank and dusty alcove. It was very uncomfortable in the little cupboard and hoping to spend as little time in there as possible, he searched for the satchel quickly. He reached up and grabbed a piece of what looked like burlap. It was much larger than he conceived and it came tumbling on top him with a wave of dust.
"What the-?" He felt a small, light rectangular object fall into his hand, like paper, almost before a pull behind his navel swept him away.
Arabella tucked her wand away with a satisfactory smirk, pleased with herself. "Have fun..." She sing-songed.
Harry was whirling. He had felt this before, but before he could think of where he recognized it from he hit something hard, the ground, actually. And flat on his face.
"Ow..." It was comprehendible. And the roaring laughter he was met with was not welcomed. Wait a minute, he knew that laugh...
"Dad?" He managed weakly as he began to get his ground. He was helped tremendously when two firm but gentle grips on each arm hoisted him up.
"That was quite possibly one of the worst landings I have ever seen in my entire life." A laughing, husky and bark like voice came from his left.
"Sirius?" He asked incredulous. He straightened his glasses. Yup, it was Sirius. He was sharing a grin and glance with James who was to Harry's right.
"What? What-" Harry stuttered.
Sirius slapped him on the back. "Oh come on, Har. Do you really think Prongs would let you turn sixteen without making a-what's the word-hit of it?"
Harry looked up at James, who nodded still grinning. Looking past his father, Harry saw the banner. "Falmouth Falcons Vs. Kenmare Kestrals!" Half of it was in emerald and the other half was dark grey. A white falcon head and a leprechaun were facing each other scowling. The leprechaun was yelling soundlessly(if it weren't Harry doubted it'd be appropriate to display that kind of language in a public area) while the falcon was squawking like mad.
Harry looked down in his hand. It was actually three slips of paper. "Top Box. Row 1." It read, seats 19, 20 and 21. Bursting with gratitude, Harry jumped at his father in perhaps one of the first bearhugs he had ever instigated. Sirius was next.
They met up with the Hermione and the Weasleys nearer to stadium, Bodmin Moor, Cornwall, the Falcon's home turf. After browsing around the stands and purchasing an assortment of Fudge Flies, Licorice Wands and sugar quills, they headed for their seats.
Three hours later, in a sugar quill and adrenaline induced stupor, the gang headed for home. Waiting orderly in a small circle, James, Mr. Weasley and Hermione checked their watches for 6:00 to arrive when each of their tickets would once reactivate as portkeys.
"15...14...13..." Hermione was announcing.
"Hey, dad." Harry whispered.
"Yeah, Har." James' breath smelled like cinnamon. It had since Harry could remember.
"12...11...10..."
"This was...it was really..." Harry had heard the entire plan, entirely conceived by James, for Harry. James had done this just for Harry.
"Wicked?" James suggested with a grin.
"9...8...7..."
"Well, yeah. That, too." Harry grinned back. James ruffled his hair.
"Thought so."
"6...5...4..." Hermione shifted her weight to her opposite hip, becoming impatient.
"Dad?" He tried again.
"Yeah, Har?"
"3...2..."
"Thanks." They were gone.
Back at home, Harry and James were talking animatedly about the match.
"Well, it's no wonder the Kestrals won. Not just because of the nationals, but did you see that Hawkshead Attacking Formation?!" Harry gesticulated emphatically.
James laughed, "Which one?"
"I know! I couldn't believe how often they used it. It was like...in every other bloody play!" He laughed.
"Well, can you blame them?" James asked in earnest. "The Broadmoor's sure aren't missed too much anymore with the keepers the Falcons have now."
"Plus, they're pretty heavy down with the Keitch-Horton Braking Charm." Harry reminded him.
"Well, 'course they are, it was created by two former players."
"Exactly, everyone in the league uses it but they're supposed to know all these spells that are supposed to really sturdy it."
"What?" James asked skeptically and waved his hand. "I don't believe it for a minute."
"It's true! There's a whole page on it in Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I'll show you if you want."
"Nah." James checked his watch. "Time for bed. It's been a long day, you." He added as he stood from their kitchen table.
"Oh, yeah," Harry rolled his eyes. "It must have been so tiringthis past week to spend an entire day lounging at Mrs. Figg's house."
"Hey," James replied defensively in good nature, "d'you have any idea how hard it is to get Basil to set up a portkey for a surprise party? The man was ready to give up at the World Cup."
"Yeah, well..." As James ruffled Harry's hair for the third time that day, Harry became quiet.
Harry looked around the kitchen that just that morning James had rushed out of, Harry smiled, when he was pretending to go to work. He had turned sixteen today. He had seen a wicked quidditch match. He had spent the day with friends. It was a good day.
He looked up at James. He had his back turned to him as he was at the sink. He thought of all the trouble he had gone through in the last week. He was well aware of some of the less than willing employees at the ministry. But James had dealt with them all. He didn't ask how much the tickets cost, or how many of the various favors he had accumulated at the ministry he had to call in to pull it off. He'd also have to thank Mrs. Figg next time he saw her...
Everyone told him that he looked just like his father but he had his mothers eyes. He reflected on his earlier study at the mirror. Slowly, Harry supposed that if this was good enough for James, it was good enough for him, too.
Harry supposed that he loved his father, even if it was...hard to believe he could be loved back.
A/N: Okay, I'm not exactly sure if Ireland and Britain would play against each other...but for the sake of four pages lets just say yes, okay? I was never too hot on depicting a Quidditch match, therefore I didn't get very much into it. Hope that didn't take away too much...but whatever.
Everything here is real in the Harry Potter Universe. Again, I proclaim the wonder that is hplexicon.
I've revised the previous chapters a bit, as I tend to do..damn perfectionism. Anyway, not much is different. Just subtle things that might answer more questions. i.e. "James had not yet informed his son of his taken vacation days. He couldn't just yet..."(chapter 2. Section 3, paragraph 2)
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lumos