Okay, sorry this one has taken so long; school's back in. Alot of you have mentioned your annoyance with the 'Harry James' thing, so I'll explain it. Or, rather, I'll post what the only person to get it right said.
'HARRY JAMES' THING EXPLANATION:
Harry isn't living his dream, he has not been doing what he wanted. Everything is what his father wanted or wished he did at Harry's age. James is living vicariously through his son. Not only that but nobody sees Harry as an individual but as James's son or an extension of James. Hence Harry James.
But, Harry like in canon wants to be just Harry and to be just Harry he has to be not James, and the easiest way to show a dynamic difference between the two of them is to be a Deatheater.
So the possible plot reason for using the middle name is to have a constant reminder of why Harry is doing what he is doing, and to easily point out what the character who said it sees or thinks of Harry as ex: Lupin and Dumbledore call him 'Harry'.
Thanks to Necrule Paen at I told you there was a reason.
A Spot of Plot
Ginny was in a small pink room in the back of Madame Malkin's being fitted for another set of dress robes. The turquoise piece she had worn for the Gala had sold out the very next day, so Madame herself had graciously offered to dress Ginny for all her events for free. Ginny thought it was hilarious. Now that she could finally afford better clothes, she didn't have to pay for them.
There was a knock at the door and the seamstress stuck her with another needle before bustling over to answer it. "Yes?" she inquired through a mouthful of pins.
"There are two men here to see Miss Weasley," the muffled voice of a woman came through the door.
She took the needles out of her mouth with an aggravated gesture. "I told you not to let anyone in, Libby!"
There was an indignant gasp from Libby as someone else shouted through the door. "Gin, open up! It's us!"
Ginny tried to step down to open the door herself, but the sudden movement caused several pins to poke her all at once. "Let them in."
The seamstress frowned but opened the door. Fred and George entered, wearing their frumpy Ministry robes and carrying a rolled-up magazine.
"So, sister of ours, where's the ring?" Fred asked, waving the magazine.
"What ring?"
"According to Witch Weekly, you're engaged to Potter."
Ginny accidentally swallowed her gum. "What? Give me that."
Ginny Weasley: A True Cinderella
Born Ginevra Molly Weasley, Ginny is now better known as the "Gin" half of "Ginarry." Photographs of her can go for upwards of 400 galleons, and double that if Harry James is in the picture as well. She gets stopped in the streets for interviews and autographs. But before she began dating the English national Seeker, Weasley was a complete unknown and from a very humble back ground. Mrs. Holland Hornehand tells Witch Weekly that the Weasley family bought their Hogwarts robes from her every year in her second-hand shop. She distinctly remembers the youngest child, Ginny, mostly because she was the only girl in the red-headed brood of seven.
After Hogwarts, where she did reasonably well (and even played as a Gryffindor Chaser), Weasley worked as a bus girl for Florean Fortesucue's Ice Cream Parlor. Following her appearance at the Hogwarts School Benefit Gala on the arm of WW's Most Eligible Bachelor (12 December 1998 issue) three months ago, Florean's became the "it" spot on Diagon Alley. Photogs and fan-girls alike had so swarmed the place that many other celebrities soon became regulars, no doubt hoping for a share in the attention. Florean's now boasts a new V.I.P room and a Hogsmead branch.
Obviously, Miss Weasley now found it more than a little difficult to work there. Her new role in the spot light landed her her current job as a Quidditch analyst for the pre-game wireless show, The True Sport. As it turns out, our Ginny is no ordinary flier's girl; she is actually interested in Quidditch!
This spunky little red-head from Ottery-St.-Catchpole has certainly risen quickly. A source close to the couple told WW just yesterday that whispers of an engagement have begun to spring up already! Keep reading Witch Weekly for further developments on the wedding of the century!
Ginny laughed and tossed the gossip rag back to Fred, though she earned another poke for doing so. "Actually, it says I've been 'whispering' about getting engaged. But what were you doing reading Witch Weekly, anyway?"
"We weren't."
"We were bombarded by every girl in the department this morning yelping 'Is it true, is it true?'" George did the jumping and hand motions to go along with the impression.
"So we came to find out for ourselves."
Ginny laughed again. "No, it's not."
"You're absolutely positive you're not going to marry Potter?"
"Well, I seriously doubt it."
"We're not untying Ron until we've got an 'absolutely'."
"Sure, George; 'absolutely.'"
"Good, because Ron was already making plans to cut off his—"
Ginny winced as the seamstress poked her harder than before in the neck.
The twins snickered. "Having fun?"
"Would you two leave already?"
-------
Lily brushed herself off as she stepped out of the fireplace and into a small, extremely purple room where a few of the England team members' wives and mothers were chatting before the game.
"Hilda!" Lily called, and an older woman with short, graying hair and too many rings turned around. Hilda Vangarde was the team matron; two of her sons and now her grandson had played for England.
"Oh, hello, Lily dear!" she replied as she made her way over. "How have you been?"
"Just fine, and you?"
"Oh, you know, I get along." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Though I daresay I'd be getting along a lot better if Henry would come to his senses already and dump that Miranda girl." Lily glanced in the direction Hilda was scowling at and frowned. The woman in question was letting way too much hang out to be considered tasteful.
"I see what you mean."
"She dresses like that everywhere. I thought old Eliza was going to choke on her biscuit when she showed up for tea at Manningdorf's last Sunday." She shook her head. "Well, how are things going with your Harry James and Miss Weasley?"
"Oh, Ginny's a sweetheart. In fact, I was just about to ask—has she shown up yet?"
"Yes, actually. She left before any of us could introduce ourselves, but I think she's already in the box."
"Well, this is her first Quidditch game as our guest. She's always arrived by Portkey before."
"Ah, this is true. Since the Gala fiasco we've all been dying to meet her, though. You'll have to introduce her to everyone after the game tonight. All the ladies will be meeting in the reception room outside the lockers. The Italian Minister's wife is bringing refreshments."
"I'll make a point of it."
Lily found Ginny in the top box sitting next to Remus.
"Hello, Ginny! Glad to see you found your way up alright." Lily hugged her and Remus then took her seat beside Ginny. "How've you been?"
"Just fine."
"Glad to hear it. Oh, I've been meaning to ask you—did Sirius ever come to set up security at your new place?" she asked, placing her purse beneath her seat.
"Security? No, I mean the photographers are annoying but I don't need anyone to come—"
Remus leaned into their conversation. "It's not just for photographers."
Lily glanced around to be sure no one was listening.
Ginny's eyes widened. She lowered her voice. "What? Why would he come after me? My family is pure-blood, we've never done anything to anger him."
"But if you're not for him, you're against him." Remus replied. "And You-Know-Who likes to make…examples of the well-known."
"You saw what happened at the Gala. He got the attention of the press because of the type of people there." Lily added. "I'm sorry about all this dear, but it really is necessary."
"No, I mean, it's fine." Ginny said, shifting uncomfortably under all the unwanted attention. "I just never thought about it that way, I guess."
"Good. Well, we'll take care of it tomorrow morning. Sirius and James will have nothing better to do."
"Speak of the devils." Lupin pulled his feet in to allow his fellow Marauders to pass.
"What have you volunteered us for tomorrow morning, O dearest wife?" James asked as he offered Remus a glass of firewhiskey.
"I'll explain it to you at home. Look! They're coming out onto the field."
James and Sirius suddenly ceased all conversation and leaned forward intently in their seats, eyes locked on the players. Lily sighed. This was the first game of the World Cup and England was playing the host nation, Italy—not to mention that this was the fulfillment of all James and Sirius' hopes and dreams since Harry James was born. Those two had been trying to get him on the England team since his fifth year, but the International League had had some apprehensions about allowing an underage wizard to play (despite the fact that he was already on Puddlemere), and for the past two years the Seeker position had been held up by Alvarius Mondain in some shady deal with Ludo Bagman.
"They'll be like that until the end of the match." Lily said to Ginny, and the two struck up a conversation again as all the pre-match pomp went underway.
"Where's your other friend, Peter?" Ginny inquired politely sometime later during a lull in the match.
"Oh, he said he had some business report to finish tonight. We did have a ticket saved for him."
"Does anyone know what that was about?" Remus interjected into their conversation once again. "It's the World Cup; no-one's working."
"You know Peter; he's still vying for that management position."
Remus made a humming noise and took another sip of his drink.
"SCORE ENGLAND!" the British commentator's voice came over the loud booing of the Italians and Lily, Remus, and Ginny stood up to cheer with the rest of the crowd.
------
Where is that worthless Snitch? Harry was ready for this match to be over with.
Once upon a time, he liked Quidditch—or at least he thought he did. James and his "uncles" (as he used to call the Marauders) began passing on their fanaticism the moment he was born—he had had more than one Snitch-shaped pacifier as a baby. As soon as he learned to walk James began trying to get him on a broom. He even enjoyed playing Seeker when he got a little older; like any other kid, he wanted to please his parents.
But then he went through puberty.
Where was the effing Snitch? Ah, here we go.
-----
"What time is it, Pettigrew?" Lord Voldemort demanded.
"6:37, my Lord."
"He's had twenty minutes now. Give me your arm." He was eager to get on with his plans for this evening.
"Yes, my Lord." He began to wince in anticipation of pain even before Voldemort got out his wand. What a whiny little thing.
The Dark Lord had made a personal call on the "rat" earlier that afternoon, inviting him to listen to the match on the wireless so that he could make sure he would be on time for this evening's meeting—not that Pettigrew knew about the last part. No, Pettigrew had been first surprised, then had wavered between hope that this meant he was on his good side and fear that this was a cover for something else. His confusion only made him more irritating.
They had been sitting on a raised platform beside a lake listening to the game for the past two hours, Lord Voldemort in his typical green, high-backed chair and Pettigrew on a wobbly three-legged stool. Merlin, he would be glad to see the back of that pitiful excuse of a wizard.
Soon enough, his other Death Eaters began to arrive, many obviously drunk. Pettigrew was still sitting on the platform, gloating in what he perceived to be his Master's favoritism.
Lord Voldemort scanned the crowd. The elder Malfoy, along with a few others, appeared very displeased about Pettigrew's position… Snape must have gotten that job with Dumbledore, because he wasn't around….Morment seemed particularly intoxicated…and, ah! Harry Potter, the man of the hour. One wouldn't have known he had just "saved the nation's dignity," as the radio commentator had put it. But, no matter, his languid manner would change soon enough.
The Dark Lord stood and silence fell over the group. "Harry Potter! Come forth." Potter wound his way through the crowd and many craned their necks to catch a glimpse. Most, if any, didn't know that he was a Death Eater. He stood upon the platform and kissed his Master's ring.
"Harry Potter," Lord Voldemort said for all to hear. "A question has arisen concerning your loyalty."
His body went rigid with fear, but he didn't run. "My Lord, I can assure you, I—"
"Of what relation to you is this man?" He gestured to Pettigrew, whose eyes had grown to the size of dinner plates.
"A friend of my father's." Potter appeared puzzled.
"What does he mean to you?"
"Nothing."
Pettigrew's jaw was hanging.
"Rise." Potter did so. "This man is a traitor." He gestured to Pettigrew again.
"Master! My Lord! I never, I couldn't! Please, I beg you! Listen! I—" Pettigrew was kneeling upon the platform, clutching the hem of the Dark Lord's robes.
The Dark Lord ignored him and addressed Potter again. "Stand behind him. His fate is in your hands." Lord Voldemort's wand was extended, its tip touching Pettigrew's forehead. Everything was arranged perfectly. Potter stood in Pettigrew's wake; the little national hero would be kept safe enough for now. He would never even know what really happened.
Pettigrew was shouting out of the corner of his mouth and trying to look out the back of his head. "Harry James! Please, it's me, your Uncle Peter! You couldn't! You can't! Please! What would your mother think? Your father—"
"Kill him."
Lord Voldemort cast the curse, and, in the temporary confusion that inevitably follows death, he cast another spell, or curse—he wasn't sure that it could be defined—upon Potter. They were both thrown backward. The Dark Lord regained his stance and, not even bothering to make up an explanation for his Death Eaters, rushed over to Potter. He had fallen onto several Death Eaters and was fighting his way back up, but there, on his forehead, was a purpleish lightning bolt scar, partially hidden by his hair. A twisted smile stretched itself from ear to ear across his deformed face.
After all these years, Lord Voldemort had something of Gryffindor's.
-----
Severus Snape Apparated to the meeting out of breath. There was only the Dark Lord, sitting in his chair upon the platform, a disturbing grin lingering upon his face, and a dead man.
"You're late, Snape."
"Master," he said, leaning upon the platform, panting. "There has been a prophecy."
-----
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…
------
"Someone overheard it." Dumbledore said, his hands rubbing circles over his temples. He was seated in the Potter kitchen across the table from Lily. James was bent over the sink, running cold water over his head to sober up.
He turned off the tap. "Someone overheard?" He dripped water all along the floor as he walked to the table.
"I've sent some others to tail him."
Silence.
Lily had her hands over her eyes. "Approaches?" She questioned, referring back to the prophecy, trying to find a flaw in its meaning.
"That one word has too many connotations to draw any conclusions from its implications," Albus answered.
"But it still means it may not be Harry James." She looked up at Dumbledore.
"I'm afraid," he said, sitting up and clasping his hands, "that it could only be one of two people; your Harry or Neville Longbottom."
"Neville?"
But before any more could be said on the matter, Harry stumbled through the cellar door and into the kitchen. He obviously hadn't expected anyone to be home.
-----
Lily rushed forward and held him in a loose hug, crying. James went over and put his hand on his shoulder.
What's going on? Harryt didn't like this at all….
"What were you doing in the cellar?" Dumbledore asked. Harry looked up with a start; he hadn't even noticed the old man was in the room.
Lily broke away from her son and James quirked his head. No, Harry most definitely did not like this. He grabbed the door handle behind him to make a run for it, but James still had a good hold on his shoulder. He was forced into a chair at the table.
"Harry," Dumbledore tried again. "What were you doing in the cellar?" The old man was trying to use Legilimens on him. He kept his eyes shut, which was only certain to raise their suspicions. But at that point, there wasn't much else he could do. His hand slowly inched toward his wand.
"Harry James?" Lily knelt before his chair and took him by the shoulders, her distress apparent in her voice. "What's the matter? Oh!" She cried as her hand went to his forehead. Oh shit. "Where did you get that scar? Tell, us dear, please, whatever it is. You can trust us…." But he kept his eyes stubbornly closed and his mouth tight. He felt her move away.
Someone spun Harry's chair around. His eyes were still closed.
"Harry, what were you doing in the cellar?" It was Dumbledore before him now. He seized his wand, but James quickly snatched it away. He was beginning to panic. He grabbed his father's hands, which were still holding his shoulders in a firm grip, in an attempt to escape, but James yanked his hands out of his grasp. Dumbledore conjured ropes around his wrists and ankles, tying him to the chair. "James, get Horace Slughorn on the Floo. I need a bottle of Veritaserum, but tell Horace to stay put." Harry heard Albus pull another chair from the table and sit down facing Harry, whose eyes were still closed.
James came back to the table. Lily was sniffling somewhere to Harry's right.
"Hold his head."
James placed both hands over Harry's forehead, covering that scar, and held him back against the chair. Albus uncorked the vial and pulled Harry's jaw down. He thrashed about and tried to wriggle out of his bonds or move his head, but it was of no use.
Dumbledore forced a single drop down his throat, and his mind became eerily blank and his body still. He opened his eyes. The room was too bright after closing his eyes for so long and the old man's face swam before his.
"What were you doing in the cellar?" he asked.
"Changing robes." The answer came to his mind and out of his mouth without his consent.
"What were you wearing before?"
"Black robes."
"Anything else?"
"A white mask."
"You are a Death Eater then?"
"Yes."
"Of your own free will?"
"Yes."
Lily broke into a fresh wave of sobs from her position in the door. James looked upon his son as if he had never seen him before.
"Who gave you that scar?"
"The Dark Lord."
Lily gave a yelp and tried to get to Harry, but James held her back.
"How?"
"I was too close to a killing curse."
-----
Dumbledore frowned. The excess of a curse never left so distinct a mark… He held a steady gaze into Harry's eyes and immediately found what he was looking for. There was a flash of green, and then another spell was cast; something very old, and very dark—something no man should know.
He leaned back into his chair and James let Lily go. He wasn't sure what to think of this. It was highly unexpected for Lord Voldemort to use a living creature; it was too rash.
But it did bring one conclusion.
"Well, Harry is definitely the one mentioned in the prophecy." He said,
and suddenly the senselessness of it all washed over him. How on earth was he to work this problem out?
Lily turned around to face Albus. "What?"
But Harry was beginning to stir. James put a gag in his mouth. By the look on his face, he was clearly repulsed by his son. Had things really come to this?
"Lord Voldemort lied to Harry about this scar. It is a Horcrux—or an indication of one." They had been backed into a corner; Lord Voldemort now held the definite upper hand. At that moment, Albus felt every bit of his eighteen seconds, twenty-seven minutes, three hours, twenty-one days, five months, and one-hundred-fifty-five years.
"What in Merlin's name is a Horcrux," Lily asked, instinctively moving toward her son, but stopping short. Harry's eyes were wide and his brows were furrowed; he had look of a wild man, ready to attack at the slightest threat.
"It's something for the bastard to keep part of his soul in." James replied bluntly, his jaw rigid and his knuckles white from gripping the back of a chair, keeping his eyes intently upon the ground.
"What?"
Albus sighed. "Voldemort has pieces of his soul, though I don't know how many, stored in various objects for safekeeping, so that when his original soul dies, he can use another. I believe he has been trying to get one from all the Founders for quite some time now. But four have been destroyed—three by myself—so far. One quite recently, actually…" he explained, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a scab that had turned green rather than the typical burgundy. He had acquired it while retrieving a Horcrux in the form of a teacup. "One has to kill another person and then know the proper spell to create a Horcrux. It's very, very old, dark magic; there are only two books, to my knowledge, that touch upon the topic." Despite popular opinion, he had no pretensions of being some sort of all-powerful, all-knowing pseudo-deity. But he couldn't help but feel that he should have seen this coming; he knew that the Potters were never the picture of perfection they pretended it to be. Albus had always thought it was just their way of "keeping up with the Joneses," so to speak. If he had just taken the time, he would have seen that something was seriously wrong. He had made an error, a lapse in judgment that could cost them their lives.
"But, but whyHarry James?" she asked, next to tears.
Albus turned to James, who let out a short, bitter laugh. "That bastard," he muttered and shook his head. "I'm something like the great-great-great-great-great grandson of Marigold Thorbring, whose maiden name was Gryffindor." Lily's jaw dropped.
Albus certainly wasn't surprised that Lord Voldemort would have such information; he put very little past his former pupil and had come to expect most anything from him. No, it was more a question of how he had acquired it. He had been certain that he and James were the only people left with that information—after he had learned of the Horcruxes, he had made sure of it.
"Why didn't you tell me?" She was absentmindedly turning the wedding ring around on her finger.
James shrugged. "I didn't think it mattered."
"Your ancestry has very little to do with who you are; it only matters to those who want to use you for what you symbolize."
"Like Voldemort."
"Precisely."
They all sat in silence once again, letting the information sink in. Harry still had a feral, incoherent look, but he had momentarily given up on his struggle. The sun began to rise with the new day's light and Albus was reminded that he too had responsibilities to get on with. This was not the end; they had stuck this out for far too long. They would come up with a temporary plan and then handle each new day as it comes. His mind began to work furiously.
"It is imperative that Harry does not leave the house or come in contact with anyone apart from you and perhaps Messrs Lupin, Black, and Pettigrew; I think I'm I right in believing they can be trusted." He broke the long-held stillness and rather startled all three Potters. "I'm going to the Prophet to make a press statement. I'll be back shortly."
"You're not really going to tell the papers about all this?" Lily looked very tired and borderline hysteric. James clasped her hand tightly. "You don't plan on turning him in, do you?"
"No, not at the moment," Albus replied, fixing Harry with a stern gaze. Harry almost didn't seem to see him. " But I think that it will be for the best if we tell the press that he has died, so no-one will question his absence from the Cup."
-----
NATIONAL SEEKER DEAD!
The body of Harry James Potter was found at 1:42 this morning just two streets over from I Mutandoni della Strega, a wizard's pub in Rome's Fattucchiera district, where the rest of the English team was celebrating its victory. He was presumably on his way to join them when he was attacked by a group of Italian-side hooligans. In the press statement made by Albus Dumbledore on behalf of the Potter family, it was revealed that the body was found by the Seeker's father, James Potter, who had been attending another party in the area. Reportedly, he had recognized one of his son's Quidditch gloves lying beside a pile of boxes and over-turned rubbish bins. Upon closer inspection, he saw a foot sticking out from under one of the boxes and quickly removed the waste from on top of what turned out to be Harry James' body.
Augustus Pye, assistant to the coroner in London, performed the inspection and declared Harry James Potter deceased at 3:23 this morning. The cause of death was listed as 'internal bleeding,' indicating that his attackers had beaten him in Muggle-fashion, though traces of the Cruciatus and Body-Bind curses, as well as a Silencing charm were found on his person. A press conference with the Healer and Headmaster Dumbledore, as well as the Potters' lawyer, Quinton MacMillan, has been scheduled for seven p.m. this evening. The Potters themselves will not be in attendance and have declined to comment.
World Cup officials are leading the investigation and have already apprehended several known hooligan leaders, though official questioning has not yet begun. As of 5:51 this morning, the International Quidditch Federation's team of investigators and lawyers were still insisting that there was no involvement by the Italian team or its officials, and soon after Italian team captain Adalberto Adamo issued his own press statement expressing his grief at the loss of "one of the sport's most prolific players" and his sympathies to the Potter family.
There will be a public mourning at Puddlemere Stadium tomorrow evening at four p.m. The funeral will be a private, closed-casket service held at St. Herman's Hall in Ipswitch at ten a.m. on Tuesday.
------
And all England mourned their World Cup chances.
A/N: So, whadduya think? I'll keep posting unbeta'd chapters here, since most of you guys requested that I do so. Beta'd chapters will be on http/www (dot) fictionalley (dot) org/authors/liseli/shells01.html and http/groups (dot) yahoo (dot) com/group/liseligroup, and I think you should definately check out the group--there's a loverly picture of James Dean (similar to how I see Harry in this story) there, and a banner coming from my wonderful beta sometime soon, hopefully.
By the way, I really do appreciate the reviews. Reviews help keep me writing, people. They're like my crack.
-Eli