Sunday arrived much sooner than James would have liked. Following the revelation made yesterday, he had sent an angry letter to his parents, yet had regretted it almost as soon as he had done so. Matt had told him that he was sure that there had been a misunderstanding somewhere along the line, but James, in his anger, was unwilling to listen to reason, and sent the letter anyway.

Since sending the letter off after dinner he had been in his bed, and had no intention of leaving its confines anytime soon. He was sulking, and being somewhat unreasonable, but he didn't care.

Huffing, he buried his head under his pillow as sunlight streamed through the not quite opaque curtains that he had drawn around his bed. He groaned in frustration as he realised that his parents had probably received his letter by now. He could almost imagine it happening.

"Oh! We've got a letter from James!" his mum would exclaim before heading off to find his dad so they could read it together in that overwhelming couple-y way they had.

She would find him in the kitchen, starting to prepare breakfast, and they would open the letter to see what James had written.

And what would they find? James squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment.

What the HELL! You named me after a murderer? And then you LIED about it? Told me he was a good man?

Who on EARTH do you think you are? Lying to your CHILDREN!

Don't even bother writing back. I know this isn't the only thing you've lied to me about.

James.

He cringed into his mattress as he realised the implications of his actions, and how his parents would react. His mum would cry – she cried at everything – and his dad would… Well, he wasn't sure how his dad would react, but he knew it would be bad, whatever it was. Because James had let him down, and he was James' role model.

Matt stared at the only bed that still had an occupant in it. The curtains were drawn round the bed in what was clearly a 'Do Not Disturb' manner. But, he thought, he's been in there ages. And I'm worried about him. He didn't take his discovery yesterday well.

Chewing his already damaged lip, he made a decision. Stepping towards the bed, he grabbed the curtain in one hand, and pulled.

James had not been happy at being disturbed, but Matt had been persistent, and eventually his persistence won out over James' anger.

They had talked for a long time, and by the end of their conversation, Matt knew all about James' fears, worries, and insecurities regarding his family. He discovered that there was so much more than he realised brewing beneath the surface in his friend. And any doubts that there might have been regarding the depth of their friendship were entirely dispelled.

James emerged from the bathroom, having finally agreed that he really did need to get up. He smiled when he saw Matt lying across his bed, trying desperately to make things float – he had difficulty with the spell in charms, and Flitwick has made him promise that he would practice in his spare time.

"I think we've been obsessing over our research a bit," said James, announcing his return. "I think we need to find a distraction."

Matt rolled over to face his best friend, and saw the twinkle that was present in his eyes.

"Whatever were you thinking?" he asked, a smile spreading across his face to match that of the other boy.

"Well," said James, "I have this map…"

And so James found himself lying under a willow tree with his two closest friends – just as countless generations before them had – telling the story of four friends who were infamous under their pseudonyms, in the days before their innocence was corrupted, and their friendship broken.

"Wow," said Ali, rolling over onto her back, and holding the map above her face. "This is incredible! Imagine all the mischief you could cause with it."

"I rather think that that's the point," smiled Matt from the other side of James, who sat propped up against the tree between them.

There was a comfortable silence between the friends, who were all feeling rather tired after the day they had spent exploring the castle. They had found themselves out in the grounds at some point after lunch, and had decided to spend as long as possible enjoying the last of the summer sunshine.

"This has been good," said James as he looked out across the lake, "It's been nice to just relax."

"Hmm, I agree," responded Matt. Ali remained absorbed in her perusal of the map. "Though it's interesting and all that, the research, there's something to be said for being lazy too." He flashed a crooked grin at James, who leant over and thumped him in response.

"We've hardly been lazy today – think of all the walking we've done!"

Matt just laughed, and turned his face to the sun. Once more the friends fell into silence, and James found himself running everything he had learnt through his head again.

Trying to work out what was going on was like a big puzzle, but harder. It was as though it were several puzzles, and you had to sort through the pieces to find what was relevant and what wasn't. And at the moment, it seemed that none of the pieces fit together at all. It was like there was some hidden clue running through all of the pieces, almost tangible, tantalisingly close, and yet just out of James' reach.

There were the things he had already known before he left for Hogwarts, and then there were the things he had learnt about them.

He knew his dad had been in some cross-school competition. But he hadn't known that it was so dangerous, or of so much interest to the media.

He knew that he was partly named after Sirius Black. He thought he knew that he was a good man, who died fighting against Voldemort. But he hadn't known that the man was a murderer.

He knew that Aunt Hermione was one of his dad's best friends. He hadn't known that anything had ever happened that could have even hinted at them being more than that.

And then there were the things that he had learnt.

He hadn't known that his dad had ever done anything of much note, much less that he had been awarded for 'Services to the School' when he was only a year older than James was now.

He hadn't known that the papers had had such an obsession with his dad, or that there was any reason for them to make him out to be a liar.

He hadn't known that there was some link between his dad and Voldemort.

That was the thing, the main point. That was what everything seemed to want to come back to. Everything seemed to link back to Riddle. But, why? James ran everything he knew about him through his mind again.

He was an evil man, obsessed with power and gaining immortality. And he had a vendetta against muggleborns, and anyone whose blood was deemed 'impure'. He thought himself superior to them, a Slytherin through and through.

He had first begun to rise to power around fifty years ago, and a fierce war had been fought against him. Many innocent people died, yet it seemed impossible that he should be defeated. The wizarding world was in terror.

And then, somehow, he disappeared. Some people thought he was dead, but there were those who disagreed. The world returned to normal, and there was relative peace for around fifteen years.

Then, he returned, and the second war began. Like the first time round, there was fear, and numerous deaths. This war culminated in the Battle of Hogwarts, when he was finally defeated. That was sixteen years ago, during his dad's seventh year, and his mum's sixth. Since then, there had been peace.

James furrowed his brow. This wasn't answering any of his questions – what else did he know?

Voldemort's followers called themselves the 'Death Eaters'. After the first war, many were imprisoned, but some claimed innocence, saying that they had been controlled. When Riddle returned, many went back to his side, and those who were imprisoned were freed.

There were organisations that opposed him. Dumbledore set up the Order of the Phoenix, to which many of his older relatives belonged. Then there was Dumbledore's Army, the 'teenage gang' inside Hogwarts, which rebelled against the Death Eater control that the school experienced during Riddle's final year of power.

Many people lost relatives in the wars, and almost everyone knew someone who had died. When he was finally defeated, the Ministry had difficulty maintaining the secrecy of the wizarding world from the muggles, such was the celebration that occurred.

After the war, there was a re-haul of the Ministry, under the leadership of Kingsley Shacklebolt. One of the biggest changes occurred in the aurror department, who had the responsibility of rounding up the remaining Death Eaters. His dad, Uncle Ron, and Professor Longbottom had been a part of this, but only his father had remained on after its completion.

He knew that neither his father, nor Aunt Hermione, nor Uncle Ron had returned to school in their seventh year. His aunt because of her 'blood status', his uncle because of a case of spattergroit, and his father because, because…

James realised that he didn't actually know why his dad hadn't returned to Hogwarts in that year, and he could add that to the growing list of things he didn't know about his father.

His father had told him that he got his scar on his forehead when his parents died, but he didn't know how. His father had somehow been allowed to join, and eventually become head of, the aurror department without having any of the necessary qualifications. He was missing a whole year of his life – James never heard any stories about his year when he didn't go to school. In fact, he was supposed to have some exciting stories, which James certainly didn't know anything about. Then there was the mysterious award, and the newspaper articles, and the fact that people seemed to know who he was. It just didn't make any sense.

He pulled himself up off the floor, and turned to his still seated friends. Somehow, his father was linked to the bigger picture, to Voldemort, but how was still remaining elusive. He wanted to know why – of course he did – but he had come to realise, as he sat beneath the willow, he couldn't let his curiosity consume him.

"I think we need to let this go."

Teddy glanced down at the piece of paper for the umpteenth time, then looked up as the portrait hole swung open to reveal James and his two friends entering. Hiding the paper behind his back, he watched warily until he was sure that they wouldn't come and sit with him.

Taking the paper from behind his back, he looked down at the words he already knew by heart once more.

Dear Teddy,

I'm worried about James. I think his curiosity has been caught, much like yours in your first year. However, I don't think he's going to do the simple thing, and ask outright.

I'm not telling you to do anything, and I think that we should just leave him to carry on with whatever he's up to at the minute, but please can you keep an eye on him for me? Let me know if he seems out of character, or does anything odd at all? Please?

Love,

Harry.

Teddy looked up at the boy in question, just in time to catch him laughing enthusiastically at something someone had said. He knew he would watch out for him, even though he seemed to fine, at the moment at least, as much for himself as for Harry.