Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue me. Not that you would, lovely people you all seem to be…
Note: There are letters from James's parents in this chapter. I made his mum a healer, and his dad an Auror, and I gave them a couple of ongoing jokes. Jokes that will elude most people since they don't live in my head :) First of all, his mother cracks jokes about being in love with Remus's father to wind up James and her husband. Second of all, James is always pestering his dad for information on what's going on with Voldemort and thirdly, James is taller than his dad and constantly reminds him about it just to annoy him. More at the bottom of the page. I do drone on a lot…
Shafts of brilliant sunlight occasionally cut through heavy clouds, the light bouncing off the light rain that was falling to create dazzling light. Then the clouds would shift again and once more the countryside was thrown into a springtime gloom.
Frowning, Harry looked down at himself and he saw his normal, black, work robes. He also saw that, despite the continuing rain, the work robes were perfectly dry. This didn't surprise him. Nor did the fact that he was suddenly standing on the front lawns of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, next to the beech tree by the lake. After all, how surprised could a person really be in a dream?
"Wondered when you'd get here." a slightly bored, but clearly amused voice said from behind Harry. He whirled on the source with his wand outstretched and a curse ready on the tip of his tongue. He was met with the smirking face of James Potter, sitting comfortably under the beech tree in his scarlet Quidditch robes, playing with a tiny golden snitch. "Been waiting ages. And you know this thing gets boring after a while." He let the snitch fly off without glancing at it again and got to his feet. Harry gaped at him, still not moving his wand from it's outstretched position.
Apparently a person could be very surprised in a dream.
James chuckled and walked a few steps down hill towards the lake.
"When a guy's dead father stops in past for a visit it's generally considered polite not to threaten him Harry." he called over his shoulder, showing absolutely no concern for what Harry might do to him. Harry blinked a few times and then continued staring at him. He looked a bit different to the last time he saw him. He was taller for one thing, had broader shoulder and more defined facial features. He also had a very faint, and hardly noticeable scar on his cheek from where Snape had hexed him. His hair was no longer crumpled and was basically as neat as it was possible for a Potter's hair to get, and he was holding himself differently. More upright; he somehow seemed more approachable and comfortable with himself, while also seeming distinctly more hostile at the same time.
"What-who- why-" Harry managed to choke out before clearing his throat. "You're not real." he said finally. He shoved his wand away and glared at the dream James who was staring blandly out at the lake. "You're definitely not real."
"Well of course I'm not." James responded brightly before turning back to Harry. "I'm dead. Or hadn't you noticed? But since you've been rummaging my unmentionables," he said with a mischievous smirk "Your subconscious has decided to let me come to call."
Harry glared harder at his fictional father. He was slightly annoyed at figments of his imagination having a better handle of the situation than he did. "So you're a dream?" he asked sharply.
"Uh-huh. You got it." James told him, obviously waiting for something interesting to happen. Harry wondered vaguely what possible purpose there was for this dream. Would standing around by a lake somehow make him feel better about his father's behaviour? Would James suddenly launch into an explanation of why he cursed Snape? Would he tell Harry that he didn't mind him reading the notebook or that he did mind? Or would he talk to him about Sirius?
"I think you're over-estimating how much you can take in one dream, mate." James told him with a grin. "I mean you haven't even been to sleep properly for over a fortnight. You'll need to give it a bit of time before you get to the epiphany part. But if you really want to know: I cursed Snape because I wanted to and I thought he deserved it. I don't mind at all if you read that notebook or for that matter anything that I wrote. Sirius wasn't your fault whether you're prepared to believe that or not. And I don't have to justify myself to you." he winked. "It's one of the benefits of being dead Harry, you sort of stop caring what people think of you."
James ran his hand through his hair to remove excess moisture. Harry looked at his father incredulously. "Even your own son?" he demanded. To his surprise James just laughed.
"Especially your own son." he took one long stride towards Harry and looked down at him affectionately. "I'm not ashamed of my life, Harry, or anything in it because every single thing I did led to me becoming your father."
"Which worked out so well for you." Harry commented sarcastically. James smiled happily.
"So you feel guilty do you? I must admit, I sort of suspected that. I mean every other bloody thing is your fault, so why not that too?" Harry opened his mouth to argue with that sentence but was cut off by an impatient James. "Look. I may have been a lot of things that you don't like, and I may have done a lot of things that I'm not proud of. But one thing that will never change, in spite of everything, is that I loved my wife and I loved my son. The day I was married, I knew that I would die for Lily and the day you were born… no, even before that. When you were in the -womb- I would have died for you."
Harry scowled at him. Not because he felt particularly hostile, but because he couldn't think of a more suitable response.
James smiled. "I think the real problem we have here… is that you know that. And that you can't seem to wrap your head around that being true after what you saw me do. But here's the thing son: I'm your father. You know that, you've always known that. You can hate me, you can ignore me, you can spit on my grave… nothing you do will change the fact that you're my son. In fact," he said carefully, "There really is only one thing you can do at this point Harry. Other than move on with your life that is."
"And what's that?" Harry demanded. James smiled.
"Wake. Up."
- - -
Harry's eyes snapped open. An event he instantly regretted taking place as soon as the sunlight blinded him.
He clamped his hands over his eyes and moaned loudly. Everything ached, his mouth was dry and his neck felt like someone had shoved an iron rod down it. He was absolutely ravenous and could have quite easily drained the Atlantic in a single gulp if his sandpaper-like tongue was anything to go by. How long had be been asleep anyway? Gathering all his Gryffindor courage he opened one eye a crack and peeked at the clock. One o'clock.
The still-semi-unconscious part of his brain asked "What's the sun doing up at one AM?" the rest of him just screamed in protest at being awake all of a sudden. But Oliver Wood had certainly done one thing for everyone on his Quidditch team; he had made it habitual for them all to wake up under less than favourable conditions, with every fibre of their being complaining about it, and get up anyway.
To this end, Harry rolled out of bed and to his feet and headed for the bathroom.
Half an hour later he came back into his room practically singing the praises of the man who invented showers. Not to mention the genius who came up with tea. He held in one hand a plate piled high with crackers and cheese and in the other a very large glass of ice cold water.
Aunt Petunia had complained slightly about him taking the last of the crackers but he'd muttered something about 'cracker deprivation being considered child abuse in the Wizarding world' and she'd let it go. He had been asleep for fourteen hours and had, to his knowledge, dreamt once. That was rarely a sign of brilliant health and so he needed food.
Outside the birds were singing, the sun was shining and children were laughing merrily. Harry found it all rather annoying, but he still kept his window open to let the breeze in.
He collapsed into the chair by his desk and stooped to grab his father's notebook. The room was small enough that he didn't even have to move to reach it but he didn't mind. His dream had settled one thing for him if nothing else: He was going to read the rest of that notebook and he was also going to read every scrap of paper stuck inside it.
With that thought firmly in mind he flipped it open to where he'd been the previous night. A collection of envelopes were stuffed into the page with different addresses on them. Harry grabbed the first one and pulled out the contents.
The first page held James's now familiar handwriting while the second held a loopy, feminine, barely legible script. Harry shoved a cracker in his mouth and started reading James's letter.
- - -
Dear Mum,
Before continuing this letter any further I would like to make one thing clear: I do not expect the phrase 'bright side', 'learning experience' or 'justified punishment' in your response.
Now that's out of the way: HELP ME MUM!
I've got to take care of four little kids and I have no clue how to do it. Add to that the fact that one of them can't or won't talk, two of them are too ill and unhealthy to do anything anyway and the other one is terrified of broomsticks and you've got a problem or four.
I wanted to talk to you about the two unwell kids actually. Ping and Iggy. Ping doesn't have anything really wrong with him, he's not even obese or anything, he's just really unhealthy and has low stamina. I was wondering if there's any nice, safe, healthy way to whip his arse into shape. Preferably one that would mean you won't yell at me for endangering him.
Because I don't particularly want to endanger him.
He's quirky and he does this great Daffy Duck impression too, which is so much funnier in Chinese for some strange reason. Daffy Duck is this muggle drawing that moves really fast and has this guy talking over it. I think they call it a car-wreck or something.
Iggy is a bit more of a problem, he seems to have every ailment known to mankind. Except I can't find anything that's actually wrong with him, he's just got all these symptoms and no obvious cause. He seems miserable and depressed anyway, and he doesn't want to be here, even if he is starting to have fun. He's having fun thanks to yours truly by the way, I'm just so innately likable.
Would greatly appreciate any advice, love you loads, missing you,
James.
P.S. Please make sure that Sirius remembers to visit Remus before Saturday night.
-
Dearest James,
First of all Mister Potter, I'm your mother so don't you dare try to order me around. (Besides, if you already knew what I was going to say then where's the fun in toying with you?) And: Aww. My little boy still needs his mummy. I'm welling up.
All right sweetheart, I'll be serious from now on. I think it's great that you're taking care of children, you'll do marvellously I'm sure. You've always had a way with young children even if you have tried your very hardest to pretend that you don't over the years. Just be yourself and trust your instincts and everything will be fine.
Now about these children in your care.
I would recommend that with "Ping" you simply start making him exercise more often. Be careful however, if you make it seem like you're making him exercise he might get angry or, more likely, his mind will realise that he's doing exercise and he will think he shouldn't be able to do so. His body will immediately begin to react as if he can't do it even if he already is, so my advice would be to take his mind off of it when you do it. Your father suggests screaming "Oh no! A stampeding heard of Hippogriffs!" at the to of your lungs. Personally I would recommend the more sedate approach. Something like "Oops, I forgot something. Would you run back and get it Ping?" Be careful to discreetly monitor his health and make sure you aren't pushing him too hard.
As for Iggy, I would recommend a placebo. It's sort of a crude muggle concept whereby they give the patient a pill or potion that has no healing properties whatsoever and is, very often, completely useless. The theory goes that the patient will THINK they are getting better and so they automatically WILL start getting better. This is also helpful in the case of psychosomatic illness which I believe your charge is suffering from since he does not wish to be there in the first place. I've included a few phials of realistic looking potions but rest assured, none of them have any effects on the human body whatsoever. Well except the purple one, that turns your tongue green. But you can tell him it's just a side-effect or something.
Your father is looking over my shoulder and calling me a nutcase as we I write this, so if he doesn't write back to you himself within the next few days you can take it as read that I killed him and ran off with Remus's father.
I will, of course, ensure that Sirius visits Remus before Saturday. He's actually already been twice, he's very bored without you here to finish his sentences for him. So bored he's already done all his homework. In fact I think he's starting on yours.
I'll always be here if you need any advice, I love you sweetheart, and I, too, am missing you terribly. (Which is slightly strange for both of us since you spend most of the year away from home.)
Your loving mother
P.S. Your father has apologised. Such a shame… I was looking forward to running away with John. We could have gone to Fiji…
- - -
Harry smiled slightly at the paper in his hand. Saturday night, he supposed, was a full moon. If his earlier notes on the lunar cycles were anything to go by, James Potter was quite aware of when Lupin would be changing and when he wouldn't be.
Harry had never really thought about his grandparents before. He remembered asking Aunt Petunia about them once when he was little. Her only response had been to say 'They died before you were born and don't ask questions!' Don't ask questions, don't ask questions. That rule seemed more and more bizarre to him the older he got, and yet it hadn't been too long ago that he'd accepted it as a fact of life.
Harry got to his feet and cleared a space on the floor. He then started pacing the room. He wasn't feeling particularly anxious or stressed, it was just that his muscles were still a bit off as a result of his sleep marathon and he had to work the stiffness out. After his fifteenth lap around the room he grabbed the next envelope. There was, he rationalized, no reason he couldn't pace and read at the same time.
- - -
Dear Dad,
I need your help. You see there's a kid here who is afraid of broomsticks. Actually, he seems to be pretty much afraid of everything. But broomsticks more than most other things. I asked him what was wrong but all he said was 'You wouldn't understand' and then he ran off back to the cabin. How can I get him to talk to me? I mean if I don't understand then I can't help and if I can't help then there's no point in me being here in the first place.
Actually give me pretty much every tip you can think of on teaching kids to fly. It might make basic flight training easier for when I'm with all the other kids. I mean the only brats that are vaguely tolerable are the ones in my cabin but I guess I still need to do my best with the others.
I know this is a short letter but I figured that you had to be pretty busy just now, with work and everything (not that I'm fishing for details), so I'll write you a longer one, pestering you for yet more advice, later on. And I'll also pester you for Quidditch results (hint, hint).
Love you, Miss you, Am still taller than you and feel the need to remind you of this fact,
Your son,
James.
-
Dear Son,
I really don't know what to tell you, except that you need to gain this boy's trust and somehow become his confidante. If he genuinely had a bad experience with flying then it's a miracle he's even there if you ask me. Which I suppose you are doing as it's the entire point of your letter.
And as much as I would love to give you tips on dealing with insufferable brats, the only kid I ever taught how to fly was you. While I realise this gives me great insight into insufferable brats, you were a natural flier.
You're right though, I am busy at work. The Ministry, in all it's wisdom, has once again decided that Voldemort is not an immediate threat to their position and whilst he is a 'growing concern' he is not to be treated as a serious threat.
You would have thought that after all that business with Gindlewald they would have realised that ignoring a problem does not make it go away. It simply gives it time to grow stronger. Ask your mother, yesterday she had to deal with someone who had been suffering spattergroit for seventeen years but had "hoped it would go away on it's own".
Idiot.
There have only been two games of Quidditch played since your departure:
- Magpies vs. Cannons lasted ten minutes. Final score was 190 - 10 (to the Magpies, naturally)
- Harpies vs. Tornados lasted a day and a half, Final score was 2180 - 2190, that was one hell of a game son. The Harpies lost it but they were clearly the better team. Also, the Harpies captain wounded four of the Tornados players which was quite entertaining since they were all huge Quidditch players and she weighs just under a hundred pounds.
Love you too, miss you, is still able to go where he wants and do what he wants without reporting to some cheerful git in Quidditch robes, and feels the need to remind YOU of this fact,
Yours,
James Potter, the elder and handsomer.
- - -
Harry frowned and sat back down at the desk. Was every letter here a desperate plea for advice? Surely the Quidditch camp wasn't so bad that he needed this much help?
On the other hand, Harry knew how awkward it could be to write a letter to someone you were used to talking to in person. He was also quite aware of how little a person had to say when they were stuck somewhere the person they were writing to didn't understand. Several of his summer letters to Ron were centred wholly around homework. Not because he didn't have anything else to talk about but rather because he didn't have anything else to talk about that Ron could possibly understand.
With a shrug he returned the letter to the notebook and grabbed the next one. This letter, he felt, was the definition of "Nothing to say".
- - -
Dear Wormtail,
I thought you should know that I made Sirius look out work to help you with your Transfiguration homework so you just need to ask him for it and he'll give it to you. Also, there's a potions book in there with extra notes.
Prongs.
-
Dear Prongs,
Thanks! I've been working on that potions essay for days and I couldn't do a thing! How did you know I'd need help? Oh and Sirius is missing you terribly, he keeps on snarling at me. Though I suppose he normally does that anyway but he's doing it more and more. And Remus has spent all summer reading books! He never gets a chance to do that if you're here to keep him company. Oh, I need to stop writing now, mum's calling me for dinner. BYE!
Wormtail.
- - -
Harry re-read the letter several times but no, that really was all it said. These people were supposedly best friends? He shook his head and seized a slightly more promising looking note.
- - -
Dear Moony,
Hey mate. Bet you're having the time of your life without me there to drag you away from your books right? Ah well, you knew you couldn't get rid of me forever, so I decided to start pestering you via post before you got too comfortable with all the peace and quiet.
Now, certain morons in this Encampment-O-Doom have decided to put me in a position of authority - not a good idea, I'm sure you'll agree -, I have been in this position of authority for all of two days and have already managed to give small children nightmares. And I mean this literally.
I told them the same thing that Arthur Weasley told us in first year about the Bloody Baron. You remember how we spent the entire night huddled on Sirius's bed, cursing anything that moved? Well it turns out that people younger than eleven respond even worse to it. Who'd have thought?
So if you know of any nice, non-horrific horror stories that I can use to keep the little brats happy then I would be very much happy to hear them. In fact if you have any weather forecasts then I'd be happy to hear THEM. Because, you see, I'm bored. And everybody here who is about my age is annoyingly cheerful. And there's some prat called McLaggen who is trying to intimidate me which, while it would normally be extremely amusing, is just plain irritating right now. Since Sirius's advice would be to turn him into a sea turtle I've decided to tell you about this little problem of mine as well, just to ensure that if someone DOES attack and kill McLaggen around here you can tell the nice people at the ministry that it was probably me.
Please, Merlin and Agrippa, write back and tell me every single thing that has happened to you in the past week. I mean everything. Down to breakfast foods. Seriously.
Yours, desperately,
James
-
Dear Prongs,
Wow, you actually signed a letter to me with your real name for once. I'm impressed. Enclosed with this letter is a book of muggle 'ghost' stories that my mother liked when she was young. She assures me that it's all pretty tame and she added that "with you and your friends history at school the entire book probably amounts to a tame Thursday night".
So I think you'll be safe with it.
Also, I would like to mention that I never had a chance to get comfortable with the peace and quiet in the first place, as Sirius has been visiting far more than usual. He is also starting to mutter darkly whenever someone mentions your current location, so I would appreciate it if you wrote him a letter the length of a small novel, just to keep him going.
I swear to Merlin, when you two are on the same continent again I'm making you see other people. This level of attachment is not healthy behaviour for adolescents.
The weather, since your departure, has been atrocious. I have spent most of the time huddled indoors muttering at the howling winds while trying to hear Sirius's rants and ramblings. On second thoughts maybe it's a good thing I can't hear him.
He's cursed Peter twice already. The first time was because he kept on humming and the second time was because he suggested that you'd have a good time in Australia. Not to worry though, he healed pretty quickly. And now I think I'd better go since I just heard a loud bang followed by Sirius swearing.
Yours, amusedly,
Remus.
P.S. I've had cereal for breakfast every day this week except the first Sunday home -when Mum made me a full breakfast- and this morning -when she made pancakes to keep Sirius happy-. I hope this makes you feel much more enlightened and able to deal with the stress of your situation.
- - -
Harry snorted at the postscript. It struck him as a very Lupin-ish thing to say, though he wasn't sure why he found that so amusing.
However Sirius's treatment of Peter Pettigrew, combined with James's obvious lack of anything constructive to say to him, made Harry wonder just why exactly they were friends with the boy in the first place.
He put away Remus's letter and looked at the remaining envelopes. One was quite small, another was absolutely huge and the last appeared to get pride of place amongst the rest. Harry closed his eyes and picked one randomly.
The shortest letter was apparently the one. A quick look at the contents of the envelope told him that the letter was from Hagrid. He opened it and started reading enthusiastically.
- - -
Hiya Hagrid,
What can I say mate? I found myself in a country populated by deadly, poisonous, and terrifying insects, arachnids, and non-specific beasts, and I thought of you.
Since you somehow seem to know more about what's going on around there than anyone else (except maybe Dumbledore) I also decided to bug you for information on the goings on around Hogwarts. We all know, for example, that when the students are away Madam Pince and Filch decide to play. But I'd still like the information direct from the Hagrid's mouth. Blame Sirius, I swear I never came up with that phrase, it was him.
Oh and I was also wondering if you were having any headway in finding that dog. You know and I know that you need a dog. Dogs are brilliant and you should get one. And before you even think it, no I won't stop annoying you about it until you get one. I'm prepared to keep this up for years.
Write back pronto
James Potter, a.k.a. that git with glasses who keeps turning up in the Forbidden Forest for no apparent reason
-
Dear James,
Yeah I heard you'd been sent to that Australian Camp after what you did to Mister Black. How many times do I have to tell you not to go round cursing people Potter? And anyway, Australian creatures aren't terrifying, they're fascinating.
I don't have anything to tell you about what's going on around Hogwarts either, but I did hear a rumour that might affect you quite a bit next year. Can't say too much though. And when do you plan on dropping that theory of yours about Pince and Filch anyway?
And now that you mention it, a friend of mine has a boarhound who's carrying a litter. Maybe I'll take one of them. Any ideas for names?
I'd write more but the rock cakes are ready,
Have fun, Hagrid.
- - -
Harry had read the letter several times before he decided to actually put it down.
James Potter had the same theory about Pince and Filch that he himself had. That was surprising. Particularly since most people thought he was out of his mind to suggest such a thing. Granted, he mostly used that theory to wind up Hermione or the Weasley twins but that wasn't the point.
It was also apparent that his father had been instrumental in Hagrid's acquisition of Fang. Or perhaps a relative of his since he didn't think that Fang was that old.
"I did hear a rumour that might affect you quite a bit", surely he was talking about becoming Head Boy? What else would he be talking about?
Harry didn't even look up this time when Uncle Vernon shouted out to him. "What are you-"
"Writing a letter!" Harry cut him off impatiently.
"What, another one?" Uncle Vernon asked dubiously.
"Yeah, they're really paranoid." Harry deadpanned. As expected, Vernon didn't pick up on the subtle insinuation. All he did was grunt and walk off. Harry, for his part, just shook his head in irritation and grabbed the gigantic letter from the notebook. It was, as he'd suspected it would be, to and from Sirius.
- - -
Dear Sirius,
I am so BORED!
I mean there's so much to do and yet there's absolutely nothing to do. All of the kids here (except the ones in my cabin) are completely impossible to deal with and hardly any of them can fly worth a damn anyway. Then there's this one kid that seems to be a female Remus if you ask me.
Except she scowls like you used to and probably looks more like you. Black hair, disturbing eyes, ability to glare on behalf of her country, etc,. Her name is Sofia and she won't fly around anyone else. Or talk. Or blink excessively or throw things or eat or anything. All she does is glower, read, glower some more and roll her eyes a lot. How on Earth do I get this kid to talk? I figured you'd be the one to ask since before my oh-so-beneficial influence you were pretty much the same… except you didn't read. You swore at people. (Kidding!)
There's this other one who's scared of broomsticks. How do I train someone who's afraid of broomsticks to play Quidditch? It's impossible.
That's not even half of it. There are the other counsellors for one thing. Some Swedish guy called Arvid is the only one I find tolerable, and that's because he mutters a lot and hates everyone.
The only girl around my age is called Amy, she's from South Africa and she's out of her tiny little mind. She keeps batting her eyes at me and acting like I'm the second coming or something. Daft bint. She's practically stalking me you know, and I can't get rid of her. All I can think is that Evans would make her cry within about five seconds of meeting her just because she's so bloody clueless. And we all know Evans can't stand idiocy. And speaking of idiocy!
Do you remember some guy called McLaggen going to school with us last year? He says he was in Gryffindor but I don't remember him. And people tend to remember a neck like that on a guy. Or rather a lack of neck like that. He's a smug git, keeps on talking about how brilliant a flier he is. Personally I don't see much brilliance, in fact I'm fairly certain Snape could fly better than him. And he's in love with the South African chit and apparently sees me as "competition". Moron.
I can't believe that someone so inept at flying, so innately idiotic and so plainly behind on the evolutionary scale was actually allowed to come here to teach younger generations.
Maybe "Uncle Seth" (as we're supposed to call the lunatic who runs this place) was drinking a bit much that night. Did I mention Uncle Seth?
Seth Jefferson is this insanely happy freak who bounces around all day and yet doesn't seem to actually DO anything. And he's got this annoying wispy beard thing that makes him look like a goblin. And not the nice kind either. Oh and he calls me 'little buddy'. "How's it going there little buddy?" "You feeling good today little buddy?" "What are you doing standing over me in the middle of the night with that hatchet little buddy?" Stuck up prat. Don't know who the hell he thinks he is.
Then there's the actual flying itself. I never thought that being on a broomstick could be so dull! The average days lesson is like "Okay kiddies now fly fifty feet in the air. Now land again. Now do that again and this time try not to fall off your broom." I mean I know they're young and new at flying but the fact remains that they should be better at this than they actually are.
I can't believe that idiot judge actually subjected me to this. He only did it because we turned his nephew blue a couple of years ago. Did you hear is ruling? "This incident combined with other questionable actions on your part over the years". Like he never pulled a prank or two on anyone? Aye right.
And that's all just the people. I haven't even started on the place.
It's like living in an oven around here, everything is roasting hot. They told me I'd get used to it after a couple of days but so far I'm not used to a bloody thing. And we can't even take proper showers. We have exactly three minutes of water before it turns off. Apparently water needs to be rationed. Why! They ARE wizards aren't they? Would a quick "Aguamenti" here and there kill them?
The food is deplorable. The brooms are annoying and all the kids who aren't in my cabin are, frankly, snot nosed brats.
Particularly the girls. There are only six girls in the whole place (other than Sofia and Amy) and they just giggle a lot and talk about the pretty patterns the clouds make. Why they're even here is beyond me.
And last but not least, the accommodations are terrible! I'm staying in this stupid little cabin that is little more than a hut (not the Hagrid type or anything, the bad kind). And I have to share it with four kids, one of whom suffers night terrors. I have this "private" area which consists of the most uncomfortable bed on the planet and a desk. Oh, and I have to go three cabins down to get to the showers and toilets. I swear in the name of all things good and right in the world; Hell is a place on Earth and it's name is The Little Champions International Quidditch Camp.
And guess what?
When I get back home, two days before term starts, I'll still have all my homework to do. Spec-bloody-tacular.
Yours, the soon to be infamous, James "Quidditch spree-killer" Potter.
-
Dear Prongs,
YOU'RE bored? What about me?
Not that the hell-hole you're in doesn't sound awful, it does, but spare a thought for the rest of us as well mate.
Your parents are great, they are. But do you have any idea how annoying Wormtail gets when you aren't there to take care of him? And Remus is trying to read all the time, the weather is too crap to play Quidditch with anyone and the most interesting thing that's happened in the past week is that I met Evans on Diagon Alley. Which I know will make you really jealous but for me is fairly average.
Oh and about the South African bird who's in love with you? Why don't you engage her in a two hour conversation about the colour of Lily Evans hair? That certainly made it clear to the rest of us that you weren't going to be dating anyone else in the near future.
McLaggen did go to school with us but not last year. He quit after OWLs. Remember Bertha Jorkins telling us about some guy who'd had a nervous breakdown in the middle of his Transfiguration exam, started singing Jingle Bells at the top of his voice, upturned his desk on a Hufflepuff girl's head and attached himself to the examiner's leg screaming "Mummy"? Well, guess who.
As for the joker in charge of that place, if you're actually calling him Uncle Seth then I'm disowning you as my best friend.
Now onto my sage advice part of the letter. The kid that's afraid of flying but won't talk? Well just because he won't talk doesn't mean he won't yell. If you get into a screaming match with him and call him a coward for not flying he'll probably deny it and then you can cut in with the great, original line "Well then why won't you fly?" He'll probably spill the beans. If not then I'm out of ideas.
The Remus-ette is completely out of my normal range of manipulation. Maybe you should just start annoying her until she finally snaps and tells you to shut up. After that first sentence or two things can only get easier, right? After all, that's how we got Moony to talk on the train.
Well, I've got to go now. There are certain measures being taken to keep you occupied while you're over there and one of them is about to be taken. Don't interpret this wrongly James, I expect another obscenely long letter next week too.
Yours, the soon to be the only living person treated for rigor mortis, Sirius Black.
- - -
Harry's only clear thought was "Whoa! That's a long rant!"
Apparently James did have a lot to say. And apparently he knew exactly who he wanted to say it to. Harry ignored any emotional response he had to his father his godfather's easy and comfortable exchange and focused instead on the fact that he had yet another person to add to the "List of People who died needlessly because of Voldemort".
Bertha Jorkins. He'd forgotten Sirius knew her. He'd also forgotten the fact that if Sirius knew her at school then his father would probably have known her too. The girl was cursed, tortured, anti-cursed and then, eventually, killed… It wasn't exactly a happy tale.
However there was one thing that made Harry happy. McLaggen was doomed.
The story of THAT particular breakdown was still retold at Hogwarts. In fact it was widely considered one of the best all-round exam stories known to Hogwarts students. People either told it in a joking sense ("Hey, no matter how bad it gets at least you won't start calling the examiner Mummy") or they told it as a horror tale ("Do you know what these exams do to people? There was this one guy…"). It occurred to Harry that Cormac McLaggen must have worked hard to keep his connection to that tale quiet, otherwise Harry was almost certain that there would have been someone even more famous than himself at Hogwarts.
He turned the page to the last letter. This one apparently got it's very own page because it was so special. It was thinner than the other envelopes which was because, he soon realised, there was only one piece of parchment in it rather than two. Or, in the Sirius correspondence case, seven.
He pulled out the paper and saw that it was not the normal, thick, yellowing parchment used by wizards. It was, in fact, a light green piece of regular, Muggle stationary that held a faintly exotic sort of scent to it. It wasn't, he noticed, like that hideous pink scented stuff Umbridge used. In fact this paper seemed to have been scented almost by accident rather than intention. It was also covered in astonishingly neat, spindly handwriting. A quick look at the elaborate signature at the bottom told him why James had given it pride of place.
It was signed Lily Evans.
- - -
Potter,
I hope you realise that I'm being forced to write this by your slightly unhinged best friend, who is sitting on my bed glaring and refuses to move until I've written you something. He also threatened to turn my sister and her fiancé into geckos. Not that I especially mind that last one but still, just so you know. And no, I don't blame you for his erratic behaviour but I firmly believe you should be utterly informed of his deranged manner as of late.
So I hear you're trapped in hell with lots of shiny, happy people? From what I was able to discern from the madman's mutterings one of the aforementioned shiny happy people is none other than our very own Duane McLaggen.
Do me a favour and mention my name to him, just to see how he reacts? Oh and if he starts talking about some fighter jet or something then kindly remind him that it wasn't a fighter jet, it was a sparrow. And he wasn't two weeks old or whatever rubbish he's spreading around now: He was thirteen.
And if a girl isn't talking to you she either has a crush on you (unlikely) or she did something wrong and feels guilty. Or perhaps she's mute and everyone just forgot to mention it.
According to the nutcase in the corner I have now written an acceptable amount to be permitted to leave my own room. He's such a gentleman isn't he? By the way Potter, be sure to tell your little friend that I'm cursing him into oblivion just as soon as we get back to school.
(Quite emphatically not) Yours, Lily Evans.
- - -
So that had been what Sirius meant when he'd said "certain measures".
Harry couldn't help but chuckle slightly as he imagined Sirius threatening the Dursleys and resolutely refusing to move from his mother's bed until she wrote to his father. Her comments about McLaggen were hardly sombre either. And, he supposed, you couldn't help but respect the way she managed to deftly insult James without actually insulting him.
He slid the pale green sheet of paper away and decided that he might as well actually write some of those letters he kept telling the Dursleys he was writing. After that he'd probably get something to eat.
But even as he did these things, the notebook and it's subsequent entries still pulled at his curiosity.
Other Note: I'll be honest, this is sort of a boring chapter up until the last couple of letters. Or it is in my opinion anyway. But it had to be done because if I'd ignored the letters completely then people would have asked "Why is no one trying to cheer him up!" Besides, this way I got to write insane Sirius and irritated Lily which is fun for me.