Disclaimer:I do not own Harry Potter. No I am not happy about it, but then again, if I owned it, then the series wouldn't be as captivating, as electric, as enticing as JK Rowling has made it, now would it? So then, maybe I am happy that I am not the owner.

Author's Note: Well, I did it! Another 2 updates in a row. Yuppiiii! So again, I want to take the time to thank everyone and anyone who's ever stumbled across this little story of mine, read a chapter, enjoyed it and continued to read on. And to those who review, your words mean much more to me than you'll ever know. Thank you ever so much. Oh, and I got the answer to my question about AU (thanks a bunch - you know who you are!) and I might dabble into one of them AU stories once this one's finished.

Oh, Author's Note part Deux: This chapter's kind of weird and random. I was super into the last chapter, then I folded clothes, and when I came back, my mind was completely out of the old chapter and already working on future chapters, skipping over this chapter. And so forgive the Patuuiiey I like to label as "where did that come from?" It may be horribly written right now but you will see that, eventually, all will work out in the end. (HURRAY for having written last half of last chapter!)

Enjoy yourselves!

Chapter 6 - The Book of Facial Expression Reading

The following morning, or rather afternoon, James was awakened by loud chimes that he guessed came from the front gates. Then, his mother used the sonorus charm to scream at him the following: "JAMES! GET OUT OF BED YOU LAZY WIZARD AND ANSWER THE DOOR!" James complied, although not without an annoyed groan.

Throwing the covers off of himself, James sat on the edge of his bed, put up his right arm and scratched his armpit while yawning quite unattractively, scratching the back of his head with the raised aforementioned right arm, and then stretched. Pulling a white camisole on, he stood, dragged his feet over to his nightstand and placed his glasses delicately (yeah right) onto his face. He opened the door with his right hand and scratched his behind (again unattractively) with his left, all the while mumbling to himself something about how unfair it was to be woken up early to attend to guests when they had house elves to do the less exciting work.

The corridors were empty (no surprises there), and so were the rooms he had a chance to peek in on the way to the front door, which was odd to him, as there were supposed to be two other witches with him in the house. Making nothing of it, he continued along his way, until finally reaching his destination: the front door.

He stood staring at the front door for a moment, not really noticing how large it actually was, or how much physical effort had been put into it, but simply to glower at it. He felt that if he could stare at it for a long period of time, then it would eventually disappear and he would be forced to turn around and go back to bed. Obviously, he was mistaken, as only a few moments later, a knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. He sighed and stretched out his hand, yanked on the large brass ring handle and opened the ten feet high door.

"Good morning," he greeted the …people…that weren't?

"Hey James!" James looked down and saw, to his horror, the little boy he had seen a few times in Diagon Alley. Mrs Potter had told her son that he lived in the general neighbourhood and that he'd often talk to his parents about James.

"He looks up to you, sweetie," she had told him once as he had ducked out of the little brown haired boy's sight and into the refuge of his mansion. "You should spend more time with him. He's really sweet you know." She had stopped talking as James had sent her this 'I-don't-want-anything-to-do-with-that-child look'.

"Hey, er – "

"Dorian," the boy chirped in.

"I'm Alexander," came another voice. James jumped. He hadn't noticed two of them there. He turned his head slowly in "Alexander's" direction.

"And I'm Matthew, but you can just call me Matt." And just as he had taken in Alexander's light brown hair, beady little blue eyes and crooked teeth, James jumped again at the third voice and moved on to inspect him. He was a bit rounder than the other two, but, James resolved, since he was taller that he was older and thus would be easier to communicate with. Little did he know, but James was dead wrong.

"How can I help?" James asked, desperately trying to hold back another yawn.

"We need your help with something," cooed in Dorian, no that was Alexander. Ah what did it matter? they both had the same high pitched voices that would inevitably drop a few octaves, after which time, James would actually care about differentiating the two. For now though, he wasn't in the mood and so he kept his gaze on the one called Matthew.

"Yeah, can we come in?"

"No." He knew he was acting like a jerk, but was sure they'd understand that they had disturbed his perfectly peaceful sleep, and that right now, he was not in the mood to play Muggles and Aurors or teach them to fly. All James wanted was his bed, and pillow, and covers, with him in the mix. That's all he wanted.

"Don't be rude, James, let your little friends in." Lily Evans. Always finding ways to exacerbate him. He looked at her and found no hidden desire to see him suffer in her eyes. The Gleam of Death had actually gone!

Glad of this improvement, James visibly lightened up. "I was only kiddin'," he said as he moved out of the doorway and invited the three boys in. Lily seemed satisfied and was about to walk away until… "What are you laughing at?" It was honestly too early for him to even try to understand why Lily would erupt in a sudden laughing fit.

"Potter, you look like a baboon!" She shook her head in disbelief as she ran her eyes up and down him, most likely noticing that his pyjama pants had flying wizards and witches on them, that one of the socks he had pulled on in the dead of the night was fluorescent orange whilst the other hand been green and red with a large hole in the toes. She also probably noticed that James' morning hair stuck up three times more than during the day, and twice as much as after Quidditch. His glasses were on askew, he realised, and his eyes were still squinting as the windows around him let in too much light for his rested eyes.

"Albeit a very fine looking baboon, boys," he said to the three kids who had been the cause of this rather embarrassing situation, playing Lily's insult as coolly as anyone ever could. His quirky reply seemed to have subsided Lily's laughter and as he ushered the three kids (who he noticed were only about as tall as his belly button, really, he thought to himself, these kids get shorter every year!) into the lounge, he stole a last quick glance at Lily. Her head was held high, her back was straight, yet relaxed, and there was something on her face that, once again, he couldn't place. Note to self: get facial expression reading book. Pronto.

By the time the three kids had left around dinner time, James had changed his mind about them. They were okay, and reminded him slightly of Peter. They laughed at everything he said, whether it was meant to be funny or not. They clapped their hands when he demonstrated to them the plan he had concocted to help them. They had praised him and thanked him for at least fifteen minutes before the Rhett had come and called James back into the dinning room. James was really tempted to kiss the little elf, but thought better of it, remembering that he had once caught Rhett wiping his nose on his arm. Ewww.

"What did they want?" Lily inquired as he placed one foot inside the dinning room. The table wasn't set, and his mother's hair could be seen somewhere in the kitchen.

"My creativity and exceptional skills," he retorted.

Lily marched up to him and, to his horror, the Gleam of Death had returned. Oh, right, something he'd said had probably sounded self centered to her. "HA!" She screamed loudly, sending James' heart into his throat.

"What was that for you mad witch?" he asked as he tried to steady his breathing.

"You're funny Potter, a very funny one, you are. But I was being serious, what did they want?"

James rolled his eyes. "They needed help with a – er – surprise they want to throw their friend."

"A prank?"

"No, a surprise." The woman didn't trust him, of that he was sure. Just by the way she folded her arms across her chest and lowered her chin to glare at him from her shadowed eyes. His thoughts drifted away from her, trying to reach out and grasp anything that may be randomly floating in his head, and he found it: he thought of dinner. He thought of how much food he wanted (as he had only had tea so far today, and a biscuit or two) of how good it will feel inside his stomach. He thought of desert, and how he wished he could try putting gravy on chocolate chip cookies just once to see what it was like.

"Can I help?" If it was possible, although those words had come at quite a regular volume, one could even suggest it was just above a whisper, James' heart once again leapt to the top of his throat. His mind zeroed in on Lily Evans once more, and the only thought that came to his head was Lily Evans, helping out with a prank?

And so he said it. "Lily Evans, helping out with a prank?" His voice was heavy with utmost shock and disbelief.

"Why, yes, Potter. I am finally seventeen after all and my skills are quite comparable to yours at times even superior to them, and, not to mention the outrageousness of watching you plan and carry out a perfectly good prank whilst I sit in your very big, very nice, very comfortable home or backyard and pretend as though I'm not bored. Whether you want it or not, Potter, I'm joining you."

James smiled. "What?" she snapped nervously as he stared at her for going-on forty three seconds. "What?" she snapped again, pitch a little higher, as the time lapse between her last 'what' and this one turned to twenty six seconds. He liked this moment very much. Nothing was special about it, nothing life altering or anything, but it was so…how to describe it? Unexpected yet most certainly welcomed. Not to mention, something was brewing in the back of his mind and James found he really liked whatever was happening back there.

"Fine, Lily, you may accompany the boys and me out on our little adventure next week." His stomach growled. He squealed with delight and immediately wished he hadn't. "Let's go eat, now, though, as I haven't properly nourished my demanding, strapping young body yet today."

She rolled her eyes at him. He figured she could see right through his feeble attempts to distract her away from that horrid squeal by reverting back to arrogance and self love. Darnit, he thought, now I've made myself look like a real baboon. That was when he realised he was still sporting his sleeping attire. Well, it was too late now to turn 'round and get changed as night had already fallen and he was to crawl under his covers in a few hours' time. He also reasoned at this point that staying in pyjamas all day was actually highly underrated and that he would make a habit of doing this for the remainder of his life – even at Hogwarts.

James' mom had immediately given out orders as James and Lily had walked into the kitchen. Lily had been 'asked politely without the actual option of declining' meanwhile James was downright told to go outside and light a fire. Weird, isn't it, as guests get fancy treatments while the offspring had to endure endless commands from their parents. Of course, James was only kidding himself, and he knew it. His mother had made it quite clear that, although she did expect him to carry out her demand, she had used a playful approach and her eyes had shone with promise.

As he took out his wand and practice his voiceless magic skills, James reflected on the past few years he had spent with his mother. Granted, the year before had been spent in the lovely company of the one and only Mr Sirius Black, whom his mother had shown nothing but love and support for. But James wanted to focus his attention on what happened before that, during it, and after, how it got to this, how their relationship got to the point it had been in up until three days ago.

He tried to think back on his childhood, tried to focus on how life was before the Healers had informed his mom and dad that they indeed were dying of a not so uncommon wizarding illness. As far as he remembered, life had been great. He had been the pride and joy of both his parents; they constantly sought out his company, encouraged him to go on adventures (by himself!) in the forest, tucked him tightly in his bed every night, sat by his bedside telling him stories until he would finally close his eyes and snore lightly. They gave him everything he could ever dream of, and although some people believed that he was spoiled, they actually spoiled him in moderation. True, James had learned on his own how to moderate himself, and he wasn't the type to point at everything he saw in the shops and scream "I WANT IT!" until someone bought it for him. He had actually been a very fussy child, not accepting just any old toy but only the one he wanted. And the one he wanted was always the one he got.

He allowed his mind to drift to his father again. His birthday was fast approaching, being the fifteenth of August, and James couldn't help but think of him during the summers. His mother had always arranged to give the house elves a holiday and she would storm up the kitchen, cooking the best food James had ever tasted. They would either picnic (should the weather permit) or eat a candle lit dinner indoors. Edgar Potter's birthday was spent as strict family time, and even James could appreciate his mother's efforts. Like it was mentioned before, James had the ability to be quite perceptive at times, and the first time he had been allowed to stay up past suppertime on August the fifteenth, James had been able to recognize the romance between his parents. They loved each other as much as they loved him, and James was ever so grateful that they did.

That wasn't to say that they didn't have their fights. Most of them were not necessarily caused but brought on by James and his weird ways. James recalled, with a faint smile the time his father had caught him using his mother's wand, reading her old spell books, desperately searching for a way to turn a throw pillow into a lion. His father had choked back a chuckle, bit back a smile, but his mother, when she found out, had been furious. James remembered how his father had defended him, claiming that he was "too smart for his own good, too curious for his own good," and that the blame shouldn't really be on him for being sneaky, but should be on them for having so carelessly allowed for such a magical thing as a wand lay around the house. James had, of course, nicked it from his mother's own pockets, though he never admitted to it. His father had slept in the Gryffindor Common Room replica for two nights before he had finally apologized to his wife and took James for a walk, which he used as a way to talk to him about the importance of being responsible and such.

His mother came back to his mind at this point, and he realised that he had not accomplished what he had set out to do. His eyes were fixated on the fire, he watched as the bright orange flames grew taller and taller, flickering here and there. He sat back letting the light heat his face. He was comfortable here, and felt it safe to dive back into his thoughts. He never got the chance to get very deep, as his mother and Lily had shown up as soon as he had jumped.

"That's a very nice fire, honey," his mother said as she kissed his mop of hair, feigning an attempt to flatten it down. To be honest, she had been the one to convince him that having wild hair was not such a bad thing, and that it actually added to his already irresistible charm. Of course, back then, James had shuddered to think that his mother thought him to have irresistible charm. He realised that now, he found it quite nice, actually, to have his mother be so nice to him.

Dinner was nice. It was peaceful, as no one seemed to be in the mood to talk much. James kept stealing glances at Lily, trying to figure out whether or not she was actually happy to be staying here with them instead of in the familiarity of her home. Then he remembered that what made her home so well…homely had gone. Her sister resented her, James had learned during The Argument, and so now she really most likely did not have much of a home to go to. Which made him think of his mother. Did she want to stay here with him, or would she rather close her eyes to fly off to her husband, in the home she called his arms.

After a very loud crack from the fire, Mrs Potter, smiling wildly, took out a photo album from behind her back. "It's our story," she informed Lily who had suffered a major fright from the loud crack and was now struggling to maintain an even breath. James recognized the photo album, as he had heard the story loads of times. It had never been his favourite story of his parents, but it had been a comforting one, a familiar one, and his mother or father preferred using this story to calm James after a nightmare and especially during his night terror phase.

Lily's eyes grew wide with interest. "Mrs Potter, if you don't want to tell me – " she began but was immediately quieted by the older witch's hand.

"Nonsense, my dear, complete and utter nonsense. I love this story and it would make me beyond happy to tell it to you." Lily smiled slightly, then looked towards James as though asking him if it was okay for her to hear it.

He thought about making large circles with his head, leaving the gesture to be interpreted by Lily herself. Then he thought better of it. Maybe it was the dancing flames reflected in her eyes, or the excitement twinkling from behind them, all James knew was that he found himself standing up, walking over to Lily, and sat down beside her. "You'll want to hear it, Lily. It's actually quite good. Although it's not the best Potter story - in my humblest unbiased opinion," he added after his mother had opened her mouth in retaliation, "it is definitely one of the top four."

Lily's eyes had followed him from his old sitting place to right beside her. She looked at him now, a grateful blink of the eye (how did he know it meant that she was grateful? He hadn't a clue. Perhaps he didn't need that book after all…). Then she smiled at him, obviously due to a change of thought, for the smile wasn't as homely and thankful as the eye gesture, but it was definitely something personal. A smile meant only for him.

Then she turned her attention to his mother, or, more precisely, the photo album in her hand. "I would love to hear your story, Mrs Potter."

James had never thought nine words could make his mother so happy.

A/N prt Trois - If anyone notices spelling or grammar mistakes, please please PLEASE feel quite free to point them out to me. I will gladly take your suggestions and will fix the problems as soon as I can. I do revise my work, but you know how it is - you anticipate something and so you see what you should be seeing rather than what is really there. Something like that anyway - something my English teacher said a few years back.

Question: Would you like to hear the story, or would you like me to skip over it and continueon from after the story?