The Homecoming

James was a master, an artiste, a king among men, and he was certain that if he had been a muggle, they would have given him the keys to all of England by now.

At the very least, a holiday or two named in his honor seemed appropriate.

It occurred to him that it might be more prudent to approach his latest endeavor with something akin to humility. He was, after all, venturing out into unchartered territory, like James Cook – a pioneering wizard that the muggles always liked to take credit for – and he knew he could not be deterred by a silly little thing like his own self-doubt and stunning lack of necessary humility. Besides, he had already spent far too long bogged down in the weediest part of his own mind and he could not afford to get stuck once again now that he was doing delicate work.

"Hold still," James said, voice taking on a touch of bite as he spotted the squirmiest of the owls starting to move once again. It blinked back at him, unnervingly understanding and a bit too smart for his tastes, as it slowly stepped back in line so he could finish affixing the small bag of bright blue powder to the underside of its wing. He glanced around and, only after he was certain he wasn't being watched, bent down and kissed the top of the owl's head. He would deny it until his dying breath, but Mavis and her unnatural love of the feathery little sky rats had started to rub off on him in the worst possible way. "Good girl. Now, you remember what I told you?"

The owl blinked again.

"Good."

James stepped back and admired his handiwork.

Fifteen little owlets, all perfectly lined up and ready to cause mayhem, stared back at him.

"Look alive, bubbies," He said, bending down to eye level with them all. He eyed each of them in turn, pausing to give Hootbart an extra-long look for good measure, before he stood back up and clapped his hands. "Fly! Fly like your life depends on it! Fly!"

They lazily took to the air, unenthused by their task and very much unable to meet the moment like he would have liked, and headed towards the highest opening in the owlry. Hootbart lingered, staring up at him like he needed just a bit more motivation. James sighed and scrubbed the top of his head, smiling as the bird leaned into the palm of his hand. He followed the rest of owls, circling above his head for a just a brief moment, before he followed the rest of them and disappeared into the early morning light.

James chucked the remaining evidence of his crimes – or his latest masterpiece as he liked to think of it, out the nearest window and sprinted down the winding stone staircase to follow after the owls.

He could already hear the chaos in his mind and he ran faster.

He paused outside the Great Hall only briefly to steady his breathing and make sure the guiltiest of expressions was off his face, before he stepped inside to watch his great masterpiece unfold. James approximated his best attempt at nonchalance and leaned against the wall, folding his arms over his chest.

There was a delayed response – a brief moment of calm – before the first of the colored powder packets burst from underneath the owl's wings and blanketed the table, and the unfortunate student sitting at said table, in bright, brilliant blue.

He could only stay for a moment, what with not being present at the scene of the crime and all that, but he wanted to relish in the pride of a job well done while he could.

After all, James Potter was a master, an artiste, a king among men.

But there was someone who clearly was not of the same opinion.

Seated alone at the end of Ravenclaw table sporting the most unimpressed look James had ever seen, was Sirius Black. Eerily calm amongst all the chaos, he completely ignored the pink dust that landed directly on his head. It stood out starkly against his inky black hair, causing the second year girl directly to his right to positively swoon. He ducked out of the way of another owl swooping in his direction and stood up, roll and goblet of pumpkin juice in hand.

He paused next to James only long enough to lean to the side whisper to him before he moved on, thoroughly unimpressed.

"You're going to have to try harder than that, mate."

"Do you have any plans for the holiday, James?" Remus asked, scribbling away at his paper in the library. It was almost time for it to close, which was a ludicrous notion for the nerds and dweebs alike that had made it their second home. James never thought he would find himself agreeing with them, but there he was, desperate for even five more minutes with his book.

He shuddered at the thought, but pointedly pushed it away.

It was the first time he was alone with Remus and, despite the fact that James generally assumed that all social interactions that didn't involve Mavis as a buffer were awkward and uncomfortable, he found that he really liked the quiet boy much more than he thought he would. There was an agreeable quality to him, a level of support even, that well and truly caught him off guard.

"No. My parents don't like to go out much anymore. I think Mavis wants us over for New Year's. You?"

"No." Remus didn't elaborate. Not that James noticed, now fully engrossed in his book once again.

He was looking for a spell.

And not just any spell.

He was looking for the perfect spell – the spell – the only spell that would ever matter.

"What are you looking for?" Remus finally asked, peering up from his own book and giving James his full attention.

"A spell."

"I gathered that, thanks." James was certain his mouth fell open at the sudden sarcasm coming at him from across the table. It was so unlike Remus. Or at least, so unlike the person he had built him up to be in his mind. He was mostly content to ignore him, to entirely forget his existence the moment he left his presence. James looked up from the book and stared at him, feeling a touch of guilt at all the times he had overlooked his quiet would-be-possible-perhaps-just-a-touch friend.

"I'm trying to make a trick step."

"Like the one in Gryffindor tower?"

"Yes, but better," James enthused, not bothering to lower his voice in the deadly silent library now that he had a willing and enthused audience. "Better than my last attempt and certainly better than whatever monstrosity that was that Black tried."

Said monstrosity had been, strictly speaking, the exact opposite. It was perfectly planned, right down to the timing and the choreography, and James was practically incandescent with jealously and rage. Not only did Black manage to successfully charm all the goblets to leave behind a green ring on everyone's face, but he also did so while taking full credit for his accomplishments. He was now one week into a month long stint of nightly detention with McGonagall. He didn't mind. In fact, he wore it like a badge of honor.

James could do nothing but simmer.

And fume.

And glower everywhere he went.

But most of all, he needed to be better.

It was becoming a bit obsessive. He could freely admit that. What had started out as a simple desire to take his mind off his still ever-present, green-tinged misery, had quickly morphed into a beast all its own.

Remus stared at him, openly skeptical but not even remotely judgmental.

"What do you have in mind?"

James smiled and shoved the book he was reading across the table. It pushed Remus' book to the floor, but James hardly noticed as he rushed around the side of the table and squished in next to him. "I'm so glad you asked. It involves lake water."

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Most probably. Now, here's my plan…"

The smell of rotted fish and worms made him nauseous and he was certain he would never the muck of the bottom of his shoes, but the payoff would be well worth the hassle of the literal hours he spent to collect lake water in buckets.

As hard as the collecting had been, the spellwork was even harder. Mavis and Remus had unwittingly helped him out. An act he was certain would never happen again once they realize their good brains had been used for something so nefarious. For now he was thankful for their thoughts and their wands, and now that he was on the cusp of his greatest achievement to date, he could hardly be bothered by their moral compasses.

And if Mavis was truly that discerning, she would have put her foot down after he used her owls the last time.

Really, it was entirely her fault.

Or so James would claim if she ever confronted him about it. He thought she should be proud of him. She had always said he needed to find a suitable hobby that didn't involve following her around.

And look.

He found the perfect one.

And his latest project was nothing short of masterful.

The little ecosystem he made in the trick step was brilliant.

It was perfect.

It as dastardly, yet harmless.

All he had to do was sit back and watch. It was much harder to appear nonchalant this time around, lingering in the staircase like a creep, but he managed to find a suitable enough doorway to watch the prank unfold. This one, the latest in a long line of brilliance that James would certain would make its way into the history books, was his biggest to date.

He let out a whoop that echoed up the entire staircase. He covered his mouth and turtled down, pulling his robes over his head as it that would somehow make him less conspicuous. He slunk back into the first alcove he could find and pulled his robes the rest of the way over his head until only his eyes and the top tufts of his black hair were visible. He watched the stairs, anticipation building, and tried his absolute hardest not to let out another whoop when he claimed his first victims.

They gripped the railing, book bags forgotten and giggles turning into screams, and pulled their muck covered feet out the moment they could.

The older students were smart enough to skip the step entirely at the small signs of something being amiss. It was hardly noticeable, just a little flicker of magic that lingered, but it was enough to tip off all but the youngest students. The Gryffindors, well-practiced thanks to their own trick step in the dorms, skipped the step as well, greatly shrinking the potential pools of victims.

James had to keep his cackling to a minimum every time someone stepped into the stair swamp. Their reactions were all the same – cycling through shock first, and then disgust, and finally true annoyance. They pulled their foot out and shook off the mud and muck, muttering and cursing and looking around wildly for the person who did it.

Hardly something of note, he thought, and he settled in to wait until the bulk of the student body started to pass him by. It was his last opportunity before everyone left for Christmas break and James was determined to make the most of it. Prepared for the long haul, James accordingly packed the right amount of snacks and pulled out the first of them. A smushed pumpkin pastie was not exactly what he would call the perfect food for stakeouts, but he couldn't exactly shove sausage rolls in his pockets if he wanted to continue to be covert.

He made it through five pasties before he started to get antsy.

He made it through seven by the time Sirius Black showed up and approached the trap step.

James leaned forward, mouth half open and eighth pastie half chewed. It was almost too perfect to comprehend, too wonderful to imagine. To catch a nonce like Black was more than he could ever have hoped for and his gaping expression soon turned from gormless to gleeful. He rubbed his hands together like muggle villain, only holding in his cackle long enough to not tip off Black.

His foot hovered over the step.

James leaned forward even more, the anticipation only a few seconds away from literally killing him

But then Black paused and turned to look behind him, stepping to the side as a pair of students rushed past him.

It took James less than half a moment to respond when he saw Lily Evans and Severus Snape. If it was just Snape, James would be perfectly content, overjoyed even, to sit back and watch it all unfold. If he was lucky, he might even get Snape and Black in one fell swoop. But it wasn't just Snape. It was perfect Lily Evans with her very perfect red hair and even more perfect face.

How, exactly, were they going to get married if this was her very first memory of him?

James scrambled to his feet and sprinted up to the three of them, taking the steps two at a time. Lily moved as if in slow motion, her poor, innocent foot moving closer and closer to the trick step.

"No!" James called, trying to stop her before she stepped.

"Potter," Black greeted, stepping back to make room for Lily.

"Don't…" Her leg sank down to the knee, the squelching sound of her foot buried in muck more akin to a bone breaking than anything else. "Don't step there," James finished, grimacing at the sight of her ruined stockings.

She rounded on him, face as red as her hair, and immediately punched him in the shoulder.

"You did this?"

"Yes," James started, only to be cut off by her small fist connecting with his shoulder again. "Oi!"

Snape reached out an arm to support Lily as she pulled her foot the rest of the way out, glowering at James.

He never thought it was possible to find anger so incredibly inviting from a girl, having been on the receiving end of his mother – who he supposed still qualified as a girl – and Mavis one too many times, but there he was smiling like a loon.

"Impressed?"

"Hardly," She said, rolling her eyes. She hitched her bag up higher on her shoulder and tried to maintain what dignity she could with her shoes and stockings covered in slime. Her shoe squelched when she took step and James was forced to dodge her flying fist as she turned around took aim at his head.

James stumbled back and, tripping over his own feet. He flailed for a moment, impending disaster settling deep in his stomach for a brief moment, before he fell down entirely and sank, arse first, into his very own creation. Like a parent betrayed by their own child, he had never felt so disappointed in his entire life.

That was perhaps an overstatement.

He was still a Slytherin, after all.

Lily and Snape, who had been content to skulk to the side up until that moment, both snorted and shook their heads. She made a big show of stepping around him and practically skipping down the stairs. Snape followed after, very much reminding James of a sickly shadow. Whatever prank he did next, he was sure it would be target at that overgrown bat. They pushed their heads together and muttered under their breath as they walked off.

James stewed.

Unpleasant wetness and fish currently tunneling their way into his pockets aside, he was too stubborn to extricate himself just yet.

And so he committed himself to his sudden misery and crossed his arms over his chest and positively seethed.

For a moment, he forgot that he wasn't alone on the stairs as he continued to glare in the general direction Lily and Snape sauntered off in.

But then Black's laughter continued to grow and the sound – so very much like nails on a chalkboard to James – started to rattle around in his brain and drown everything else out.

He laughed like a small dog.

All barks and lacking in real substance.

It grated on him almost as much as his easy successes did.

"That was spectacular."

"Buggar off!" James snarked, pressing his crossed arms even tighter into his chest.

"Really, Potter, that made my day." To add insult to injury, Black made a big show of clapping him on the shoulder as he passed him by still laughing. James scowled at the back of his head, practically willing one of the paintings to spontaneously fly off the wall and hit him. "Happy Christmas, mate."

James gestured as rudely as he could at his turned back, but the effect was all but lost.

It was hard to cut an imposing figure with your arse buried in a step. It was even harder still when little fish were actively tunneling their way into his robes.

"Happy Christmas," James mocked, pulling every single petulant face he could muster. "Smug prick."

A pot and kettle situation, if there ever was one.

But James refused to acknowledge that.

Because he was a master, an artiste, a king among men, and he was now more determined than ever to come back from the holiday and make sure Sirius Black knew who he was dealing with.

James sank down into the compartment and immediately threw his feet up onto the other seat, completely ignoring the slick of half-dried muck he left everywhere. Mavis managed to convince him to get to the train early – not that he could understand why – and now he was forced to find a way to entertainment himself for the next hour or so before the train left.

"I brought snacks," Mavis said, flopping down next to him. She dug around in her robes for a moment before she pulled out a clumped up collection of candies, pasties, and a large mass of something unidentifiably green and sugary. He obligatorily picked out the feathers as he dug through the mess. Across from her, Remus, her distinctly grey and bookish new friend – who he thought should probably start considering his friend as well- ignored them entirely as he pulled out a book that was almost as big as he was and began to read.

"You smell like a bog."

James ignored her, subtly shifting just enough to conceal his entire backside from her.

"Why are we here so early?"

"Because I wanted to get a good compartment."

"It wasn't much of a race, Mav." James had grown aware of his own tendency to whine over the last few months. But it was hard to control the urge where she was involved. She had been saddled with the job at birth, having the misfortune of being born so close to him and to one of James' dad's best friends, and he liked to think she bore the burden with grace. He picked out a chocolate frog leg and popped it in his mouth, only to immediately spit it back out again. "This tastes like owl."

"Ignacio has been sleeping in my pocket."

James shot her a look, rolling his eyes as she smiled back at him and pulled out the owlet in question. She cupped him in her hands and held him just enough that his soft feathers would brush against James' cheek. Out of pure habit, he turned sideways to kiss the top of the owl's head. It occurred to him, as Mavis gestured for him to take Ignacio from her so she could get something from her trunk, that it had been several weeks since they had time to spend together.

He had been singularly possessed, of course, by his one man quest to become the greatest prankster of all time.

And it was sort of exciting, all things considered, to have a nemesis in this day and age.

Granted, Black was a bit of a nonce.

But he was all he had.

Well, him and Severus Snape.

James felt his face scrunching and forcibly tamped it down so that Mavis wouldn't notice as he turned his attention back on her. She'd been busy as well, as evidenced by the new boy sitting in the compartment, but James still felt a pang of guilt by how little he'd tried to spend time with her.

Using his shoulder as an anchor, she propelled herself up onto the bench seat and grabbed the edge of her trunk. She opened it just enough to fit her arm inside. After grubbing around for a moment, she hopped back down, now happily armed with a bright green sweater and a pair of maroon jeans.

It was going to be a garish combination that was sure to set her mother's teach on edge and he had little doubt that that was exactly why she picked it. She was surprisingly mum about the entire relationship, considering she told him everything else in excruciating and often embarrassing detail. But he knew enough to know that she only spent time with her when she had to and that, more often than not, she did everything in her power to keep their interactions to a minimum. Her weapon of choice was perfecting the art of subtle annoyance.

It was something James most admired about her.

"What do you think?" She asked, holding the sweater up under her chin.

"It's a nice color."

"Is it?" She said. He noticed the strangeness in his voice immediately. "Odd."

Mavis looked down at his green tie pointedly.

"Oh come off it, Mavis. I'm not in the mood."

Remus glanced up from his book, eyes darting between the two of them.

"It's just a color. It makes my eyes pop."

"You picked it on purpose to bother me."

"Not everything is about you, Jim." They glared at each other, neither one really meaning any of the venom behind their stares, before she finally relented and let out a long sigh. She scooted just a little bit closer, pressing her boney shoulder against his. She smelled like peppermint tea and spice. He squirmed away, unwilling to let himself fall prey to her familiar comfort. "I know you're nervous to see your parents…"

"Nervous? Me? Never."

"They already told you they aren't upset," Mavis said, standing up. She moved to the compartment door, clutching her clothes to her chest.

"So in addition to their disappointment, they also lied."

"You're annoying me."

"Feeling's mutual, Mave."

She rolled her eyes and stomped out of the compartment, letting the door slam behind her. He heard her stomping down to the bathrooms before she slammed that door as well. James scoffed, certain that she was being dramatic just for the sake of it.

"I don't know your parents, James, but from what Mavis has told me, that seems highly unlikely," Remus said, speaking up for the first time now that it was just the two of them.

James didn't respond.

Remus was probably right, but James didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, he crossed his arms across his chest and sank down further in his seat. Even when Mavis came back, he remained committed to his moodiness with an almost mercenary approach. It had come and gone in waves over the last few months – oscillating back and forth between something that might be approaching acceptance and abject horror at the very idea. He recognized that it was probably exhausting to those around him, Mavis in particular, but he just couldn't quite break himself free of the cycle.

And he wanted to.

He wanted to wake up in his dorm and not enjoy the moment of forgetfulness that always came over him before it all crashed down.

He wanted to proudly put on his robes.

He wanted to not worry so much about what his parents might think of him.

But he just couldn't. Not when the panic and fear had been gnawing at him, biting off little chunks bit by bit, until he was nothing but a little ball of anxiety. Even his diversions – history making and great though they may be- hadn't been enough to quiet his spiraling mind.

He blocked out Mavis and Remus as the train started to roll out of the station.

Time moved fast and slow all at once and much to his great panic, they arrived at Platform 9 ¾ faster than he ever thought possible.

And just when he was going to let himself get worked up about the fact that he had never changed clothes, he caught sight of his parents huddled close together on the platform -charm-bracelet sized, with matching white hair and bright smiles.

And covered head to toe in Slytherin green.

I. Love. James. Potter.

He's my favorite little anxiety monster and I refuse to write him any other way than the obnoxious little twat that he is.

Anywho, reviews are always nice! See you next chapter where we all get to watch Peter try and flirt!