BLUE BLOOD

There was something about James Potter that positively reeked of blue blood. His sharp vivid features, his towering height, his royal hazel eyes, his lean rigid jaw and his aristocratic manners—the characteristic Potter traits—they had been passed down in legacy to him. They said the Potters were descendants of King William the Third. It could be true, you know. It was impossible to imagine James Potter anywhere but in a palace.

This very James Potter was leaning against a giant oak tree in the backyard of his friend Peter Pettigrew's home.

It was hot and humid, but his face showed neither a single trace of a frown nor a single drop of perspiration. These things were beneath James Potter.

"Hey, James," Peter cried out to him. "Come and try some of these hot scones. They're fresh from the bakery!"

Remus Lupin kept aside his newspaper to accept one of the jam tarts offered to him by Peter.

"James seems to be very pensive today,' said Remus, combing a hand through his sandy brown hair. "He's been off in the ozone ever since he's arrived."

"He had a chat with dear Aunt Virginia," said Sirius Black, who was reclining in the hammock in a very regal pose.

"What, again?" gasped Peter. "That's got to be the fifth time this week!"

"I suppose its Mrs. Potter's way of showing that she exists and cares about him," said Sirius with a scowl. Peter harrumphed.

"What did she have to say this time around?" asked Remus.

"Oh, nothing much!" said Sirius airily, "except that she thought he was growing into an exact replica of his Uncle, the Honourable Stephen Rodger Potter."

"She could not have given him a worse insult than that!" said Peter vehemently.

Remus looked around at James again, and observed his oddly blank, his expression-less face. He stood beneath the tree, as if he was waiting for something, as if he was greatly interested in the magpies twittering on the branch. But Remus knew better.

James was probably fuming that his Aunt Virginia had forgotten that today was his 20th birthday.

Remus often wondered who was more unfortunate between the two of them.

It was not too difficult a question.

Remus had been bitten by a werewolf in his early childhood, and all his life had been wasted away in fighting with this anathema. People who knew his secret shunned him and thought him a dangerous, wild monster. He could not stick to any job too long, because people did not like to employ a werewolf. Remus had had a very hard time, managing meager funds, living in broken-down shacks….Remus didn't know how he would have survived had it not been for the support of his loving parents and his three best friends.

On the other hand, there was James Potter… Son of a billionaire, owner of the largest estate in England, and who was definitely not a werewolf…. And yet James had never known the love of his parents, like Remus had, for they had died in the Dragonpox Plague (when James had been barely eight years old) and had handed him over to his relatives' care.

James's relatives—his Uncle Stephen and his Aunt Virginia—did not care a Knut about him, to say the least. They were too busy handling the gigantic Potter estate entrusted to them by James's father, Henry Darius Potter.

They packed James off to Hogwarts when he turned eleven, and from then on, washed their hands off him. James had never gone home for his holidays, he had never received a single letter from home, and his guardians had never felt an iota of love for him. James fit the description of 'the poor little rich boy' far too well for comfort.

Yes. Compared to James Potter, Remus Lupin often felt that he was a very lucky man indeed.

"Look at him," said Sirius bitterly, pointing his thumb at James. "Look at him! He's standing there as if he hasn't got a care in the whole damn world! He's pretending as if he's not at all affected by Aunt Virginia's lovely words, when actually, he's bleeding on the inside!"

Remus thought that Sirius was being a bit too melodramatic, but then Sirius was the one who cared about James most deeply.

"Well," said Peter heatedly. "You know Prongs, Sirius. When has he ever showed any of his true emotions? When has he ever really disclosed what's going on his mind? When has he ever lost control of his feelings? When has he ever—"

"Yeah, yeah, Wormtail," said Sirius. "Take a breath, mate. Oxygen is free around here."

Peter went pink, but wisely abstained from commenting further on James's—what the Marauders had christened—'The Closed Clam Mode'.

"Done talking about me?" asked James, as he plopped into a chair beside Sirius. Remus gave him a sidelong glance, and could not help observing that James's smile seemed too hearty to be real.

"How do you plan to celebrate your birthday this year?" asked Remus, when James caught his eye.

"The same as usual," said James in a bored voice. "Spend some money on you three pests, tease Madam Rosamerta, get reported for vandalism, and then be reprimanded by Aunt Virginia again."

"If you really end up doing all that again," said Sirius dryly, "Rita Skeeter might dub it as a plea for attention."

James was in the act of shrugging his shoulders, when—

"Miss Rookwood!" he exclaimed, rising up from his chair at once, the thorough gentleman that he was.

So, this was Ursula Rookwood.

Remus had heard a lot about her, and nothing too nice either.

There were rumours about her having murdered a person and then some more about her having escaped from a mental asylum. There was also the fact that James had given her many unflattering epithets the first time he'd met her two years ago.

Now was the time to find out whether James had been right.

"Happy Birthday, James," said Ursula in a strangely eerie voice, that caused the hairs on Remus's neck to stand up. "I've brought you a lily."

James took the offered lily into his palm with a distinctly disgusted face. "How did you know it was my birthday today?" he asked her.

"Ursula always knows," said the raven-haired girl in that eerie voice of hers. "Ursula knows that you've turned twenty today. Ursula knows that you prefer coffee over tea. Ursula also knows that Sirius Black is making rude faces behind her back."

Sirius nearly jumped out of his skin. He had been imitating, or rather, trying to imitate, Ursula's dull, lifeless expressions, and now his face was red with mortification. Peter couldn't help smiling.

"I—I—" began Sirius, but Ursula cut him off with an elegant wave of her hand.

"Never mind," she said. "Ursula is used to insensitive boorish louts like you."

"Er, really Miss Rookwood?" said James quickly, when he saw the shocked expression on Sirius's face. "These are my other two best friends—Remus…"

"Ursula has no wish to learn the names of the men who drive you away from her, James," interrupted Ursula, and Peter's jaw dropped open. "Ursula merely wanted to show you that her love for you stretches across the boundaries of time. Ursula wants to tell you that her love for you is even more beautiful than pain. That is all."

She turned away instantly, and was gone before any of the boys had time to digest what she'd just said.

"No wonder you call her Ursula the Oddball," said Sirius, still in a shock.

"I think she's a bit senile in the head," said Peter decisively.

Remus was very grave when he said, "You do realize, James, that she is in love with you?"

James graced Remus with an extremely ill-looking face. "Remus, you have no idea how that thought revolts me!"

"I wonder why she gave you a lily?" said Sirius. "Ursula Rookwood must have had an ulterior motive in doing so…. I remember old Mrs. Rookwood once telling me that she'd done a diploma in Iconography and Symbology…."

Remus and Peter burst out laughing, but James was much too disgruntled to join in.

He flung the lily to the ground contemptuously.
"Oh, screw Ursula Rookwood the Misfit!" he said impatiently. "She'll sour us all! And on my birthday, too! Gah! Why don't you play us a song on your new eklektik guitar, Sirius? You promised you would."

"Electric guitar, James," corrected Sirius through gritted teeth. When would James learn to say it properly?

And Ursula Rookwood was soon forgotten.

Perhaps, far too soon.

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