Chapter 3: Trouble is a Friend

Disclaimer: I? – I own the car only, so what do you s'pose about the rest? :P

I know I said that I wasn't going to be around until after my birthday because I'm supposedly "studying", well, with studying, there's also dawdling, and so, I found myself writing another chapter. ;) Do enjoy James's ingenious acts.

Didn't you know love could shine this bright?

Well, smile because you're deer in the headlights.

~ Owl City

Near the village of Godric's Hallow, a fairly simple house was situated next to a running river. It was a divine landscape; it contradicted the house's simplicity, but with both united, they radiated an distinctive aura of tranquility together. For now, at least.

Indeed, tranquility did not last long in the Potter household, especially when one pair of chestnut eyes were still peeking above a raven-haired boy's blanket; one of the troublesome children had awoken – the leader of them, in fact – James.

For some odd reason, his eyes would not shut. No matter how hard he tried, he could not bring himself to fall asleep; normally, he could do it quickly, but now, insomnia has come to play.

In fact, there was a reason he was still up, and it was because – in James's opinion, at least – of a rare gem in the garage; furthermore, it was the reason why James's father had come home, ecstatic, which was very unusual for the Potter patriarch. He usually came home exhausted or irritated from work, but this time, it was different. This time he had brought home the initial "Potter Car."

The "Potter Car" held a black luminosity, one that James had never seen before. It shone with perfection; no flaws, whatsoever, and James had developed an immediate fondness to its beauty. This was the reason for James's insomnia.

James let out an exasperated groan, cursing (thanks to his godfather, Ronald) the gem in the garage. He threw his comforter over his eyes, shielding them from the moon's luminous gaze; he attempted to coerce himself with the consequences of the next day, yet insomnia was fighting a vicious battle. In the end . . . it emerged victorious, and James tossed his sheets and blankets to the floor, and inaudibly slipped out of his bed.

If he was anything like his brother Albus, he would fret about his parents' reactions, but he wasn't; he was James Potter, grandson of one of the first renowned Marauder; consequently, he never worried about getting in trouble. After all, trouble was merely a friend, a role model.

Without a breeze of thought, James's stubbornness beckoned him towards the door, and he quickly opened it without the slightest creak, in fact, for it had not been James's first adventure – and it definitely won't be his last. After all, it was not unusual for Harry Potter's son to be wondering around at night. Genetics play an enthralling game, doesn't it?

Cautious of waking the other dormant occupants of the house, James hurried down, shoving on his socks on his way down the hallway to mitigate the sounds of his footsteps, and to warm his feet, for it was a day after Christmas Eve.

Finally, James arrived to the garage, shoved the door open, and slipped inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Whoa," James breathed out softly.

His eyes were gleaming intensely as he observed the cause of his insomnia; it looked even more stunning up close, but there was one question that he had been longing to ask his father: just what did it do?

Harry had brought the car at night, and James had been awake when his father had arrived at midnight, bringing home the "Potter Car." Harry had been excitingly explaining the car's purpose to his wife, and James – who had simply yearned for a glass of water – had spied on the entire conversation.

Did he regret it? No, not at all.

But Harry had never mentioned its function; James supposed that his mother had already had some experience with it, but James had seldom been in the Muggle world; in fact, now, he couldn't blame his grandfather's fascination with Muggle tools. They were incredible.

James grinned widely as he slowly ran his hand on the hood, mesmerized by every detail; it was wicked! He bent down to observe the tires, poking the holes in between; it was solid rock. He, then, proceeded to observe the bottom of the car, pushing himself under it with his back flat to the ground.

"Cool!" James exclaimed, not bothering to lower his voice as his eyes caught sight of the countless wires and puzzling mechanics that he could not comprehend.

The freckled-faced boy pushed himself from beneath the car, frowning. There still wasn't a specific purpose to the car; what did cars do?

He observed everything about the car, but there was nothing – in which he knew, at least – that could actually prove the car useful. James huffed; so much for getting his hopes up. He kicked the car's bumper and the car's bumper hit him back, making him hop on one foot, clutching his throbbing toes.

James growled; they were right, a book shouldn't be judged by its cover, and he almost turned to walk away when his eyes caught sight of a small rectangle box settled on the side of the car. Who was messing with his dad's car?

James moved closer towards the box, and discovered that the box had a small – handle? – perched into it. The raven-haired boy reached his hand into the box, not knowing what he was doing. Indeed, he didn't, for when he tried to pull away:

"Argh!" His hand had stuck. He had pushed his hand too high up, and he couldn't pull it back. Brilliant work. For this ingenious action, a reward must be given; applaud, please.

The clever boy placed both of his feet onto the car, standing slightly sideways as he attempted to break his hand loose; in fact, it literally might be done if he pushed any harder, but once again, we must applaud the clever boy for wearing socks. Consequently, James slipped down the car, banging his head onto the door, but his hand came free as well, so that was a good sign, perhaps.

Rubbing his now bruised forehead, James's mouth fell open as his eyes caught sight of the open door inviting him into the luxurious car.

He quickly scrambled in, shutting the door behind him. James looked around, wide-eyed, all traces of sleep whisking away as if three in the morning had abruptly fused into three in the afternoon.

His eyes scanned the back seats, the comfortable chair in which he was sitting on, and the windows until his eyes zoomed to the steering wheel; it was perched in front of the seat next to James. Naturally, the mischievous boy hopped onto the seat next to him and settled down.

So this was it? This was the function of the car?

Let's let James figure it out, yes?

Fascinated, and without a single sign of cautiousness, James placed both hands onto the steering wheel, spinning it around, but he frowned when it stopped at a certain position. He set his hands down, and leaned forward to eye the puzzling buttons on the left side of the steering wheel.

And James, being – well – James, mischievously rubbed his hands together, a dazzling grin on his countenance; he cackled loudly, and began poking random buttons, dismissing the consequences.

Suddenly, the car let out an immediate alarm at one of the buttons James had pressed. He, in turn, abruptly jumped, hitting his head on the roof of the car; the car was definitely frustrated; this was the third time it had hurt him.

Blinded by the pain, he frantically groped around the buttons in attempt to turn off the alarm; instead, his hand had hit another button, turning on something else: the radio.

Now the car was rocking on its tires as James quickly scrambled, trying to find a halt to this absurd madness; oh, the many situations he got himself into. He pressed every button which he could reach his tiny fingers against, but he still couldn't shut it off.

Frustrated, he slammed his fist into the series of buttons, breaking several of them. He let out a gasp – not due to the buttons dangling from their wires – but at the pain in his knuckles. Merlin, it hurt.

But the noises had stopped! And James cheered.

The unruly boy remained immobile as his ears strained to detect the sounds of footsteps thundering down the stairs, yet he heard nothing, not even the sound of his breath. He let out a relieved sigh, yet there was still more to discover.

Now, the boy's chestnut eyes zoomed towards a handle on the left side of the steering wheel. Examining it closely, James noted that it had a button on the very top. Curious, James lifted his hand up to press it without the slightest hesitation, yet nothing happened.

Leaning back into his seat, James crossed his arms, frustrated, and huffed; there was clearly nothing remarkable about cars, then why was his dad so enthusiastic?

Simmering in his vexation, James failed to notice that his frustration was slowly thrilling his magic, steadily twisting the key lock; furthermore, James flew out of his seat as he heard the engine incomprehensively let out a fairly loud rumble. He hadn't woken his parents up after all, but he had certainly woken the car up.

James grinned happily in return; never had he felt so thrilled. He tested the handle again to see the results, and it moved!

"Yes!" James exclaimed, satisfied that he had finally developed a useful talent.

With the engine bobbing the boy on his seat, James scanned the car for a connection to the perplexing handle and engine; his eyes were as wide as a hawk now.

Concluding his examination of the outer shell of the inside, James crouched down under his seat, continuing his search. And find it, he did.

He found another two handles: one smaller than the other on the – floor? James frowned bemusedly; why was it on the floor, and how can an adult reach it? Especially an adult like his great cousin, Dudley; well, great was a good choice for diction.

James – ever the gallant son of a Gryffindor – reached out a tiny finger, and pressed the handle for a reaction. The reaction threw him back towards the driver's seat again, and caused him to bang the back of his head into the steering wheel. For a moment, he saw nothing but stars.

"Ugh!" James groaned painfully; he always got hurt! With slightly watery eyes, he lifted his head up, and peeked through the window; he was gob-smacked at the sight.

Indeed, when the valiant boy had pressed the handle, the car had slid forward, but James did not know that he had, actually, rammed into the wall in front of him. Again, James disregarded any further mention of damage and situated himself back onto the seat, grinning hysterically; even Albus Dumbledore's eyes couldn't have twinkled brighter than James's.

James – at last knowing how to operate a car – reached out his hand, once again, to grab the handle next to the steering wheel, and slid it further down. Then, he crouched down onto the floor (beneath the seat) and without further ado, slammed his fist into the same previous handle, and cheered.

This time, however, the car reversed, and James was thrown towards the handle, landing flat against it. Hastily, he picked his wild head back up and cautiously scanned the car. There was something peculiar about it now; something different.

Oh, the lights!

Indeed, the lights to the garage had dimmed, tossing James into a shadow of darkness. This was bad; what had happened to the lights?

Cautiously, James peeked through the window again: there were trees, a green ground, and a translucent river – wait, a river? The troublesome boy gaped at the sight of the outdoors; in fact, his house was innocently sitting a few feet away from him; it teased and guffawed at him: the obnoxious git.

Without delay, James scrambled out of the car with speed that literally threw him to the floor; he quickly heaved himself back up, and prepared to sprint towards the house, but precisely when he had circled the car with the intention of fleeing from the scene, the headlights of the car flew on, drowning James in a blinding light as he squinted.

"Well, well, well," A mocking voice greeted him – a female's, and James's heart sank to the floor, "What do we have here?"

"A deer," responded a male's voice, and the boy died inside: why does he always get caught? "In the headlights."

Slowly and apprehensively, James peeked open his eyes to squint at identical sets of blazing brown eyes that were from his mother, and through his peripheral vision, he could also see another pair of piercing green eyes that were from his father (who had work in a few hours, by the way).

James had expected the familiar reaction from his mother: she had her arms crossed, and her eyes were blazing with irritation, but he hadn't expected that he would be caught in the act. His father, on the other hand, bore a grimace on his weary countenance, probably because he had merely a few hours of sleep to cherish, and his own son had ruined it. James winced.

"Of all the stupid – not to mention reckless! – things you've done," Ginny berated in a deathly soft voice, gradually growing louder with each word, "This," she pointed an accusing finger at the car that was cowering behind James, "has got to be your worst."

In an attempt to lessen the intensity of her frustration, James "guiltily" bowed his head towards the grass and shifted his feet, whispering in his most contrite tone, "Sorry, Mum."

"Sorry?" Now his mother had started her usual scolding tone: yelling, "It's three in the morning," she emphasized, causing James him to elicit a grimace not unlike the one his father was still expressing, "and you're awake when I specifically told you to go to bed! Not to mention, you've wrecked the car, and "damage" doesn't even come close to describing what you did to the garage door!"

Indeed, the car, in desperate attempts to escape to the outdoors, had burst open the garage door when James had exerted enough pressure on the gas pedal; in other words, it was lying on the grass behind the cowardly car.

"That can be fixed," Harry suddenly interjected, attempting to reconcile the two; Ginny, in turn, sent him a death glare, and he hastily readjusted his glasses and looked away, suddenly finding the car tremendously interesting.

"Don't. This is entirely your fault to begin with!" Ginny accused, pointing a finger at her husband; he was taken aback and outraged by the sudden change of blame, and James almost chuckled at his father's facial expressions; always the peacemaker, his father.

"Wha–?" Harry said in disbelief, all traces of exhaustion vanishing from his eyes, "I'm not the one who wrecked the car."

"But you bought it, and I did tell you it was a bad idea."

"Yes, but you agreed afterwards."

Ginny glowered, and Harry looked mildly complacent. James, in turn, was enjoying the show; watching someone get in trouble when it wasn't directly their fault was comically amusing to the boy.

"Well," James's mother continued, now sounding questionably smug about something as well, "I do hope you enjoy your car," Harry's eyes narrowed challengingly in return, "If it lasts, that is."

"With magic," he responded not fazed a bit, "anything does," flashing her a genuine smile, "And besides, the front and back might need a little attention, other than that, it's not that damaged, right?"

They both reverted their attention back to their troublesome oldest, and the boy was startled at the abrupt change of subject; he was enjoying the show.

James thought back to the car, but he couldn't recall any serious damage, other than some broken buttons and maybe the handle on the door, but that's it; well, that's what he thought, anyway.

"Erm," James winced again, but was momentarily distracted by the expressions of his parents: his father was now looking suspicious while his mother – well, he had never seen her look so smug, "Not much." He finished concisely, flashing them an innocent smile. At times, it worked; he just hoped it did now.

"Not much?" Harry asked, raising a coal-black eyebrow, and moving forward to examine the car for further damage.

"In James's dictionary," his mother replied, smirking pretentiously, "It means a lot."

James, in turn, was outraged by the hyperbole; after all, he hadn't done anything that bad, he vehemently exclaimed, "No! I was only curious."

"At three in the morning?" James's mother asked.

"I was trying to see how it worked, that's all."

"By wrecking it?"

"It's not that damaged!"

Precisely when James had cried out that respond, the bumper of the car had fallen with a soft thump to the grassy ground while Harry had been levitating the car back to the garage; Ginny tilted her head pointedly.

James huffed.

"What were you saying, Jamie?" she asked teasingly.

Her son pouted in return.

"No worries on my part, though," Ginny said smiling, and James was shocked to the core; she was not thinking of a punishment? That was virtually impossible!

"Wha –?" James exclaimed, gaping at his mother; her actions were incessantly unpredictable, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," and suddenly her smile fused into a smirk as she turned to look at her frowning husband, "That I'm not the one you should be worried about."

Finally, she winked, and James felt even more daunted as he moved forward with her to greet Harry in the garage; he attempted to hide himself behind her, out of sight. Harry was a scary man when he was angered; hence, why the children tried their best not to anger him.

It was relief, though, that he only got angry when they did something seriously wrong, but James did not know whether wrecking the car was one of them.

"So," Ginny said, leaning against the open door of the car to meet her husband's eyes; he was inside the car, "Any severe damages?"

"I wouldn't say severe," he replied, his eyes catching the barely discernible scratches; he was an Auror, after all, "But there are countless."

"Like what?" she asked, her eyes full of laughter as she switched her attention back to her son. So this was her punishment, huh? James scowled.

"Hmm, let's see," Harry said sarcastically as he exited the car; he closed the door a bit to show them the damage, and James nearly groaned exaggeratedly; oh, why today, "The door's missing a handle, so I can't really close it without it being shut forever," Ginny hummed, impressed; now, he pulled the door back open to show them the inside, "The fabric of the seats are torn, all the buttons in the front are hanging from their wires, the front looks like it's been smashed against some boulder, and –"

"You're not finished?"

"I found this," he concluded briskly, holding up something that looked like a boomerang in his hand. The mother and son stared blankly in return, "underneath the driver's seat."

"What's that?"

Harry, in turn, rolled his eyes, shook his head exasperatedly, and stated, "It's the brake. It stops the car."

And that was the last statement for Ginny; she collapsed into a fit of giggles at the sight of the brake out of its original position. However, James was outraged.

"I had no part in that at all!"

"Then who did?"

"I dunno, but I never touched it."

"Were you next to it?"

James frowned and said, "Well, I might have been . . ."

"So you were."

"Well, I might've been . . . you know . . . crouched down . . ."

"And?"

James sighed, finding the end of the loop-hole, "Erm, I might've . . . fallen on it – but that's all!"

His parents glanced at each other; Ginny's eyes gleaming with laughter, and Harry's full of nothing but exaggeration. His mother gestured towards her oldest, and James knew that the punishment was coming, but for the first time ever, his father was now giving it out:

"No brooms for a month."

James gaped at his father; that was awful! How was he going to play Quidditch with his cousins? Quidditch was his life!

"But–"

"You poor deer," Ginny said in mock-sympathy, "You're the one who chose to be in the headlights."

James scowled, pouting and crossing his arms.

Well, he had wrecked his father's car, after all, but that didn't mean he had to appreciate his punishment. With a desire to kick something, James scanned the room for a source, and what he found fueled that desire, and he had feeling that he would take pleasure in it.

He found his little siblings' eyes peeking in from the slightly ajar door into the garage; their eyes were full of laughter, and James knew that they had witnessed the entire scene due to their mother's previous yelling.

Their eyes widened as they caught sight of their oldest brother advancing towards them; they let out small yelps, and quickly fled the scene with James on their tail.

"Gah!" James yelled, "Al! Lily! I'm gonna kill you!"

A/N: I confess: I know nothing about British cars, not even the slightest, so I don't really know the difference between British and American cars; all I know is that British cars' driving seat is antithetic from the American. Oh, well.

Technically, I am studying: I'm practicing my writing skills for the SAT. ;) I'll try to keep my word this time (which I have a really time doing so). It's just that if I thought of something I wanna write down, I have to – so, yeah. But this one came to me when the stupid DPS wouldn't let me get my license. Hope you enjoyed the chapter.

I'll give you the keys to my future car if you throw in a review. Happy new year.