One: The Purest of Parties

This was a challenge. And as with every challenge, James Potter rose to the occasion with amazing wit and fortitude.

Taking a deep breath and knowing that the following words would ruin his competition for good, he declared, "Mum, I'm not going."

"Oh, yes you are," Mrs. Potter said in her calmest of voices, flipping through her copy of The Daily Prophet and eying an advertisement for a sale at Madame Malkins' witches' robes. "Now eat your porridge, James darling. There will be plenty of goodies at the party, and I want you to at least have something wholesome in that bottomless stomach of yours."

Frowning, James tried a different tactic, the tactic that usually makes most mothers eye their adoring, obedient (James forced a grin down at this thought) sons with pity.

"Mum…I don't think I want to go."

"You're eleven, darling, you don't know where you want to go."

His mum wasn't most mothers.

"If I'm old enough to be shipped off to Hogwarts, then I should be old enough to decide

whether I want to go," James Potter retorted, arching a black eyebrow at his mother, who slowly put down her paper and met his shrewd look.

Score! She's looking back – sure sign of defeat.

Estelle Potter pursed her mouth, although her warm brown eyes were twinkling as craftily as her son's were staring back at her. "Well, then…good point. I suppose that I can make a deal with you, since you are such a big lad. If you finish all of your porridge before your father gets back from work to go to the party, then you don't have to go. How's that?"

James grinned to himself, flipping his glasses on top of his head in his usual gesture of triumph, and squinted down at the murky brown porridge in his bowl. The porridge gulped a burping bubble in response. He didn't know why his mother was so set on his going to the party this afternoon. It was only going to be another stuffy party for all of the families his parents had known for all of their lives. They would be endlessly blabbing throughout the entire party while valiantly trying to keep James silent, and there was sure to be nothing interesting gained from trying to stay quiet and smile at old aunts who tried to squeeze your cheeks out.

But…if that's the condition… James shrugged and dived his spoon into the bowl, grimacing at his mother as she read the newspaper. He finished it within a few minutes, his insides thick with the slimy stuff, but his face filled with the biggest smile.

"Oy, Mum – " James handed his empty bowl to his mother, who examined it carefully, then inspected his hands to see if he had hidden his breakfast anywhere.

"Right then," Mrs. Potter said briskly, setting the empty bowl on the table. "Oh, James – be a darling and look after Karos, will you? His food bowl is quite empty."

Still strutting with victory and relief, James walked to their owls' cage perched beside the kitchen counter, and peeked into their midnight black owl's cage, but saw that there was still some food left. He petted Karos's silky feathers as the owl shifted and continued to sleep.

"Mum, he has enough food –" James stopped as he was coming back to the breakfast table, horrified to see that he had some porridge left in his bowl.

"What – why –"

Mrs. Potter took in his bowl, and shook her head, going back to her paper. "Tut, tut, James…you still have some left. Go on and eat it now – your father will be here any minute."

"But, I know I finished!" James frowned, flicking the porridge with annoyed fingers. "I know I did – didn't you see –"

"Eat with your spoon, not with your hands, darling – you are not a troll," said Mrs. Potter, placing her wand back into her robes ever so quietly while James dug into his porridge once more with a scowl. "I saw no such thing – there's porridge there, and you should fulfill part of your deal if you don't want to go. You are a big lad and all, aren't you?"

Before James could answer, the front door opened, letting in the crisp autumn air that cooled his porridge even more (Great! Now it'll go down even slower! James thought irritably) and shut with a sharp bang. Footsteps drawn from weariness echoed in the front hallway and all the way into the kitchen's arching doorway, revealing a wizard of medium height with hazel eyes that unlike his tired, wiry frame, were still bright with vigor. A set of black hair and determined chin wearing a warm smile greeted his family, who, unfortunately, were wrapped up in their own endeavors so much that they didn't see him come in. Instead of disappointment, however, Tomas Potter merely smiled wider.

"Well, hello, kitchen wall," Mr. Potter said in a mechanical voice, staring at the kitchen's wallpapered wall in front of him. "How are you today? I am greeting you thus because I know that you've had such a long, arduous night that you'd welcome any hint of affection and warmth at this moment."

Breaking into a smile as she put down the newspaper, Mrs. Potter stood her petite frame up and reached out to encircle her arms around her husband's neck, planting a soft kiss on his overnight stubble. "Glad to see you still have some of your sanity, Tomas darling."

Mr. Potter chuckled, kissing the top of his wife's head, her fine black hair wrapped in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. "Well, the walls need their share of affection, too, Estelle."

"Hey, Dad," said James glumly, dipping his spoon into his porridge and making it to slurp back down into the bowl, causing his scene to look even more pathetic than he was already trying to make it appear.

Patting his son on the shoulder, Mr. Potter placed his dragon-hide briefcase on the kitchen counter, picked up a chair, and sat backwards on it beside James. "James, m'boy, why the long face? Is your porridge attacking you again?"

"It doesn't want to be eaten," said James, pasting the most naive look on his face. "That's a sure sign that I shouldn't go to the party this afternoon, you know."

"Of course," his father nodded wisely. "Porridges do have much sagacious knowledge to share. I remember that my team of Aurors and I found a tea set once which, when heated, would sing the national anthem with its steam. Very useful, very useful."

"You're going to the party, James," Estelle Potter said, patting her son on the head as she picked up the breakfast dishes and looked around the kitchen and breakfast room with a distracted air. "And that's final. Now, where did I leave the pot of floo powder? I know I left it right here the last time I went to work…my camera was here…I left the other photographs there…where could it be?"

"Now, I want to see that bowl empty, son," said Mr. Potter, patting James on the shoulder again and standing up.

In seeing his mother search for the bowl of floo powder (which he had actually hidden underneath a loose floorboard in the staircase), James realized his unmistakable defeat and became angrier. His parents never listened to a word he said; wasn't it enough that he was going off to Hogwarts, never seeing them again save for a few months during the year, never seeing his friends again, never being able to finally beat Larry Skrimwit at gobstones and get his two sickles back…

"JAMES POTTER!" Mr. Potter shouted, jumping back from his son and staring at his porridge-filled robes in annoyance.

Estelle Potter spit out the porridge that had dived into her mouth, and all over her robes, with a grimace, sighing as she looked at her kitchen. It was entirely covered in thick, mushy porridge – even Karos's cage was dripping with the stuff, while the owl slept on unknowingly. The only spot in the entire kitchen and breakfast room that was saved from James's porridge was his bowl, sitting innocently in front of James, who was trying to look ashamed while endeavoring to get porridge out of his messy hair.

"Well, that's another way to empty your bowl, I suppose," said Estelle warily, wiping the porridge off her eyes.

-----

James was surprised that his parents still had so much to talk about, after being two hours at the party. He'd think they'd be tired out by now, but their tongues, as well as those of the dozen or so witches and wizards at the party, were snapping away about boring stuff like the Ministry of Magic and goblins who were revolting for their rights as magical creatures. Who cares about that stuff? Only adult wizards and witches, I guess…that's probably why they're yakking away. They can't talk about this stuff with their kids, since that kind of talk will probably kill them.

He stretched his scratchy robes' collar (part of the robes that his mother had forced him to wear, "To have people see you dressing decently, for once," she snapped as he tried to get it off) with an uncomfortable frown, starting to feel suffocated, especially with the heat of the August sun beating down on him as he attempted to cool his sweating form by walking through the noisy crowd and underneath a scraggly old oak tree on the edge of the park. Cheesy "adult" music blared from an expensive radio's Wizarding Wireless Network, hurting James's ears as he passed it and tried not to step on the long toes of the Bones family's House-Elves, who were bustling importantly around serving glasses of firewhiskey. He eyed the buffet table his parents and a couple of their friends were standing by: there was every type of pasty, tart, and biscuit lying there, alongside an enormous, elegant-looking bowl of magically permanent iced punch. But as he tried to lift himself off the dry grass, James sighed and fell back on the ground, squinting in the sunlight's beams that peeked through the tree's cover of leaves.

Too hot – not enough oxygen – can't walk –

"Oi, don't cause any racket, will you? This is the only place that's worked, and I don't want to lose it because you're too fat to get up," barked a boy's voice from somewhere above James.

Scowling, James glared up at whatever was snapping back at him – gnomes from the Bones' family's park, he supposed – and to his surprise met a pair of black, accusing eyes from inside a large, engrained hole inside the trunk of the oak tree.

"Yeah, that's right, I'm talking to you, Potter," said the boy, his frown deepening as he looked down at James, shaggy black hair hanging down his face. "Shut your mouth – you're gonna get me exposed, and if my mum kills me, the first bloke I'm going to come back and haunt is you." He said the last word with a sour look, as though James was a disgusting taste in his mouth.

"How do you know my name?" James asked with equal contempt as he jumped up to faced this pleasant creature.

The boy seemed shocked that James was talking back to him, as if he had thought he had scared James mute. But, not losing a second, he glared at him further, glanced at the guests and their young children screaming around the park, and jumped down smoothly, shaggy hair flying over his face, reminding James of a dog jumping over a fence with ease.

"I know everybody here," said the mysterious boy, flipping his hair back airily. "The Black family knows everyone…we're part of the purest of pure-blood lines, you know."

"Good for you," James snapped, his patience already wearing thin. "Why don't you stuff that line up your arse and do us all a favor?"

Instead of looking insulted as James hoped he might however, the boy broke into a grin. "Heeey…quite good comeback you got there. Clocked it in less than two seconds. Pretty good – for a little tyke, that is."

"I'm not the one who was horsing around in tree holes," James retorted, lifting his eyebrows significantly at the tree trunk hole behind them.

Suddenly, both of their annoyed glares met, and for some reason they broke out laughing, falling down on the grassy floor with surprised grunts, and then laughing harder. Mrs. Potter, who had been chatting with bubbly Mrs. Bones about her latest fetish with decorating her house with Cornish pixies, looked over at her son and the Black family's boy, raucously laughing on the floor, and smiled, turning back to the chat with an inward sigh.

"Sirius Black," Sirius Black said as their guffaws finally died down, extending a pale hand to James, who took it without a second look.

"James Potter," said James, nodding. "But how'd you know my last name?"

"You look like him from far away," Sirius answered, nodding at Tomas Potter, who was entertaining himself by levitating Mrs. Bones' enormously floppy hat and bringing it back down, while listening to Mr. and Mrs. Pummings talk about their purebred Arabian horses that they were teaching to fly. "I figured I couldn't be wrong by guessing you as a Potter."

James ran a hand through his messy black hair, grinning. "Yeah, I guess you're right…but my dad's hair is brown."

Sirius shrugged, leaning against the oak tree and digging out a Fizzing Whizbee out of his elegant robes' pockets, handing another to James, who took it as a sign of acceptance. "Same difference. So, what are you in for? Parents grounded and made you come to this crummy party?"

"Pretty much," said James with a cringe, remembering his parents' outburst at finding the floo powder pot underneath the staircase. "But this is only the beginning…I have to clean the entire kitchen without magic."

Sirius gaped at him. "What? Isn't that kind of work for House-Elves?"

"Dad doesn't agree with House-Elves," said James, kicking at a rock underneath his shoe. "Says that we don't need them…but they sure would come in handy to clean the kitchen, and anytime I test to see whether dungbombs are really as dirty as they're advertised. Have to get my money's worth, you know."

"Hey! I do that too! Only, I order mine straight from Diagon Alley – can't go there, since my prison keeper, our House-Elf, keep watch over me like a Sphinx. Doesn't like me to go anywhere…or walk around the house…or breathe, for that matter."

"Doesn't fancy you, do you think?" James asked in interest.

"Nah, but that just makes getting back at him a lot more fun," grinned Sirius, chewing loudly on his candy. "Just out of curiosity…why don't you have House-Elves? I thought this was a pure-blood only party."

Shrugging, James snatched half of Sirius's Fizzing Whizbee and popped it into his mouth with his other one. "Dunno – ask my dad. Never really bothered to ask…why's it so important?"

"Because every pure-blood family has House-Elves – they're passed down," Sirius hesitated, arching thick eyebrows. "Unless you're not completely pure-blood…" he stared at James in awe. "I've never met an un-pure pure-blood before!"

Just then a loud outburst broke into the relative peace of the Bones family's party. The boys turned around questionably, expecting to see another brawl between adult wizards who had sipped far too much of their firewhiskey and were trying to fight, instead of sleep, it off. Instead, they saw a towering, black-haired man with Sirius's eyes – yet cold, instead of energetic – glowering at the regal frame of Mr. Bones, the ebony wand in his pale hands pointed straight at poor Mr. Bones' terrified face.

"Don't ever take that tone with me, Edmund Bones," snarled the man, his elegant robes matching the color and cloth of Sirius's, yet while they hung haphazardly on Sirius, they seemed to be made for the wizard's fit frame. "My blood-line will not be made a fool of in front of these guests. If I remember, this is your party, and you are the ones who invited pure-bloods here," he added, glancing in disgust around him.

"I invited the oldest wizarding families to my home, Cadfan," said Mr. Bones, who, though he remained frightened at the tip of Cadfan Black's wand tip aimed at his chin, he maintained his voice as calm as he could. "I did not pick them out for the purity of their blood."

"Oi, there's my brother," whispered Sirius, his black gaze drifting to a little boy, about seven or eight, to their right hidden behind a rose bush.

"Maybe he knows what's up," James whispered back.

"Psst!" Sirius hissed at the younger boy in front of them by only a few paces, who was also staring at the argument with stunned eyes. "What's happened, Regelus? You better spill, or else –"

Regelus, who was shorter but had the same shape of face as Sirius, looked back at Sirius with wide eyes. "Father got mad when Mr. Bones began talking about some pure-blood families going bad…getting into the dark arts…" his small voice trailed off as he met Sirius's masked gaze, and he scurried away behind the buffet table, continuing to stare at the scene.

"This is bad," Sirius muttered, avoiding James's questioning look.

James had vaguely heard of wizards getting into the dark arts before – after all, his father was an Auror. And Grandfather Nolan had lived during the time of Grindelwald, the darkest wizard in history. But now he remembered that his parents were talking quietly after dinner, while James supervised the dishes' self-washing, about several findings of the Ministry of a mysterious increase in the practice of dark magic and in the sale of dark items. Examining the hatred etched into Mr. Black's handsome but pallid face, James wondered if he had anything to do with it.

"My family has never been tainted with the dark arts," snapped Mr. Black, his shoulders very tense as he continued to stare at Mr. Bones with repugnance. "We are loyal to the Ministry of Magic and to our brothers and sisters in magic, unlike some here. Now, do not presume to tell me that you didn't accuse me of being involucrated with such blood traitors as those dark wizards and witches! You were speaking to me, you were eyeing my wand hand, and…there are other ways of finding out thoughts that uncivilized wizards keep hidden."

"If you're speaking of Legilimency, Cadfan, then you better take it back before you find yourself with a lawsuit," Estelle Potter barked, her brown eyes, usually so inviting, cold and disdainful as they glared at Mr. Black.

Mr. Pummings bristled his heavy-set frame, his whiskers dangling off his chubby face. "I am a Ministry notary, Cadfan, Estelle is right."

"You know that it's illegal to practice Legilimency without reasons for defense in a duel," said Mrs. Clearwater, mopping her nervously sweating forehead with a lace handkerchief.

"But of course, being the purest of the pure-bloods, Mr. Black wouldn't break any rules," said Tomas Potter, his chin clenching.

Cadfan Black's gaze snapped back to Mr. Potter, as if he wasn't sure how to answer. But he sneered, his eyes narrowing. "But of course. I wasn't talking about Legilimency. I was talking about insinuations…something you're not very adept at, Edmund," he drawled, lowering his wand and allowing Mr. Bones to breathe again, with Mrs. Bones flying to his side and breaking into sobs.

"How – could – you – do this – here – Cadfan?" Mrs. Bones blurbed, wiping huge tears from her pink face. "In our house! You and Winifred are our guests! We invited you into our home!"

"Don't exert yourself, Patrice," said a voice that was so bitterly cold James felt a chill go down his back. A woman with bright green eyes came up beside her husband, who was trying to calm himself down, and slid her slim arm through his. "I wouldn't want your party further spoiled. But, as to not trouble anyone else," Winifred Black went on, her perfectly made-up face delicately meeting everyone else's with a mechanical nod, "We will leave. Thank you for your, ah, invitation, Patrice…Edmund," she added, barely nodding at Mr. Bones.

Cadfan Black nodded perfunctorily as well, not meeting anyone's gazes as though he was too disgusted to. "Andromeda," he called out without looking at anyone, "Look after your cousins." With that, they disapparated with a sharp SNAP that crackled the air's tension.

"Gotta go," Sirius muttered, glancing at a tall, black haired girl walking toward them. "Uh, sorry about all this."

"Nothing to be sorry about, you didn't do anything to me," James shrugged. "Wait – are you going to Hogwarts this fall?"

"If my parents let me," Sirius said with a scowl. But then he broke into a smile, patting James on the back. "They wouldn't want me to go with an un-pure pure-blood and all!"

James grinned. "Yeah, I'm highly contagious."