Saturday evening

Gryffindor Common Room

James watched Frank Longbottom choose a spot for his shot. The sixth and seventh year boys were playing gobstones, but James pleaded out. His parents had joined him for a quiet family dinner at one end of the Gryffindor table, escorted him back to the Tower (where Harry had a brief conversation with a delighted Fat Lady), and returned to their room. James was relieved at the reprieve and doing his best not to think about why it had been given.

"Oi, Potter!"

He turned round.

"This is for you." One of the boys sitting by a window passed him an envelope.

"Who's it from?" Cameron said. "Both your parents are here."

"I dunno." James opened the oversized envelope and turned it upside down. A note and a blank piece of parchment fell out.

"Is that—"

"It's the map!"

"Do you think your dad—"

"No way. Not after what I said today." James felt badly about that. Harry was just trying to help, and he'd made an effort not to draw more attention to himself than necessary. He'd even cast a Muffliato at dinner. Despite the stares and the craning necks, they hadn't been disturbed. The pupils seemed more reluctant to approach Harry than they had been with Ginny. James unfolded the note.

the Three Broomsticks

Tonight, 10 pm

Uncle Ron

Cameron had been reading over James's shoulder. "The Three Broomsticks? Is he daft? Your parents will kill you. McGonagall said you'd be expelled if you were in her office again, and you know if you get caught out of the castle after curfew, you're going to end up in the Headmistress's office!"

"I won't get caught, not with the map."

"James—"

"I'm going," he said defiantly.

Cameron looked doubtfully at the parchment. "Are you sure that's from your uncle?"

"Who else would it be?"

"How did he get the map? McGonagall gave it to your mum."

"Who cares?"

"You don't think your mum and dad put him up to it? You know, to talk sense into you, or whatever?"

"And asked him to meet me in Hogsmeade after curfew? No way."

"He didn't give you much time," Cameron said, looking at his watch. "It takes almost an hour just to get to Honeydukes."

"Cover for me, will you?"

"'Course."

James made sure his brother was occupied and slipped through the portrait hole.

()()()()

Saturday night

the Three Broomsticks

The pub was packed. James hesitated at the entrance, unsure if he should wait here or go inside. A couple exited, the witch stumbling in high heels and the wizard leaning on her for support. James felt a hint of unease; he had never been in the Three Broomsticks—or any pub—this late, and it was obviously a different crowd than lunchtime on Hogwarts days. But the couple's exit had provided a rush of warmth into the frosty night, and buoyed by the thought of a butterbeer, he pulled open the door and squeezed his way around the bar.

Uncle Ron sat in a corner booth, his back to the wall and two shots of Firewhiskey on the table in front of him.

"Don't tell your mother," he said as James sat down. "Or—"

"Aunt Hermione. Yeah, I know." James picked up the glass and tossed it back. He managed to suppress the urge to cough—barely—but the effort forced tears out of his eyes. He blinked rapidly.

"You should have savored it," Uncle Ron said mildly, taking a sip of his own. "I'm not buying you another until you turn seventeen. And you haven't been expelled."

It was a full minute before James trusted himself to speak without breathing fire. The drink burned all the way down to his stomach, and he was no longer cold. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever be cold again.

"Mum blabbed."

"You made the Prophet, mate."

"What?"

"Rosie didn't tell you?"

"Everyone's been avoiding me."

"Just the usual rubbish. Famous Ginny Potter, throwing her weight around, making special exception for her son." He caught the waitress's eye and ordered James a butterbeer.

"It's not rubbish. McGonagall would never let someone else's mum follow them around."

"Probably not."

"It's not fair!" James said, his uncle's calmness inflaming his irritation.

Ron raised one eyebrow. "That's the best you've got?"

James flushed, conscious of the childishness of that argument. "She's absolutely horrid, and when I tried to tell Dad, he said—"

"You were lucky to have a mum who cared about you."

"Yeah." The waitress set down his butterbeer, and James tried not to gulp it.

"Your dad used to give me these long, dark looks whenever I complained about my mum when we were growing up. Made me feel like shit."

"Pretty much," James agreed. "He doesn't understand that having a mum can suck too!"

Uncle Ron took another sip of his Firewhiskey. "No one knows better than I do how much of a pain in the arse your mum can be. Harry sees some of it, but she's nicer to him. Always has been."

Encouraged by the sympathy of the first person to not blindly defend his mother, James told his uncle all about the last ten days. Ron grimaced and groaned at all the right points in the story.

"So tell me this," he said, leaning against the wall and stretching his long legs towards the aisle. "If she's been that bad, why haven't you got shot of her?"

"Haven't you been listening? She won't let me alone!"

"What, she's going to follow you for the rest of the term? Be a bit difficult to keep her job and her marriage intact if she's living up here with you."

James scowled. His uncle was being deliberately obtuse. "She says she'll go home when she's convinced I'll be a good little prefect and not get in any more trouble."

"Then what's the big deal?"

James opened his mouth, then closed it. Uncle Ron had walked him in a neat little circle right to the heart of the problem.

James went on the offensive. "Why did you send me the map, then, if you think I should do what Mum wants? And ask me to meet you after curfew, and buy me a Firewhiskey when I'm still underage?"

"I asked you to meet me here because I didn't think you'd appreciate a third grown-up at school. I asked you to meet me tonight because it's not a school night, and I didn't want to wait for next weekend. I sent you the map so you could get in and out of the castle safely. I bought you a Firewhiskey because I was hoping we could talk man-to-man."

"We could've met tomorrow afternoon." James knew he'd already screwed up that last bit.

"How were you supposed to shake your mum, eh?"

"Well, it gets confusing! One minute you and Dad are telling all these stories of things you did, or the DA, or whoever, and the next minute I'm supposed to follow the rules and be good!"

Uncle Ron considered him for a moment. "That's a good point," he admitted. "The biggest problem this year, James, is the mean spirit behind your pranks."

"Nobody was supposed to get hurt!"

"You threw a firework in Potions and released a boggart in a room full of unprepared twelve-year-olds. McGonagall is nearly one hundred years old. What did you expect?"

"I just wanted…."

"What? Attention? You've got plenty of it now, and you don't seem to like it much."

"I just—"

"Wanted to make a name for yourself?"

"Maybe," James said sullenly.

"One that didn't have anything to do with your parents?"

He shrugged.

Ron was silent. James knew it was pointless to resist; Uncle Ron made a living teaching interrogation skills to Aurors. And James wanted someone, anyone, to understand.

"It doesn't matter what I do, somebody always has some comment about how I remind them of someone—Dad or Mum or you or Uncle Fred and Uncle George or even Louis, it never ends! I just want something that's mine."

"Then why are you playing Chaser? Your mum and Angelina both played Chaser for Gryffindor."

"Because I like Quidditch, and I like scoring points, and I thought being scared I might not be as good as they were was a stupid reason not to play!"

Ron savored the last of his Firewhiskey before speaking. "Let me make sure I have this straight. You want to do what you want, even if it's something someone else in the family is well-known for, without having anyone else, even people who know both you and the other person, say anything about that other famous person who is directly related to you."

James shifted in his seat. "It sounds stupid when you say it like that."

Uncle Ron sat up and leaned forward, resting both forearms on the table. "Listen, I understand what it's like to always be compared to somebody else. I had five talented brothers to live up to and a baby sister who was the apple of everyone's eye, not to mention one of my best mates was a genius and the other was the most famous wizard in Britain. No matter what I did, how skillful or impressive it was, it wasn't really, because Bill or Charlie or Percy or Fred or George had done it first. There were kids in Gryffindor who didn't even know my name—I was just somebody's little brother or Harry Potter's ginger mate. I hated it, but I couldn't change my family any more than you can. And your dad was always going to be famous, and Hermione was always going to be brilliant, so it was either learn to deal with that or stop being their friend."

"But I don't have a choice," James argued. "I'm always going to be their son. I can't stop."

"You can stop being a prick," Ron said bluntly. "You will always be their son, and despite its occasional drawbacks, it has a hell of a lot of benefits, not the least of which is your parents love you like crazy."

James stared at his butterbeer, thinking of Cameron. James was honest enough to admit he had the better of their two situations, even with his mum at Hogwarts.

"I don't mind being known as Harry and Ginny Potter's son, not all the time. I just don't want that to be the only thing I'm known for."

Uncle Ron smiled that patronizing smile ubiquitous to grown-ups. "You're a lot like them whether you see it or not. Your dad always thought it was stupid to be famous for not being murdered, especially once he'd done other stuff. But you're not making life easy for yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"Choosing the same things your parents did—Quidditch, the Aurors. You can't expect to do the same things and not be compared."

"If it wasn't them, it would be someone else! You, or Aunt Hermione, or—"

"Yes, it would. You're part of a large, well-known, and popular family. That's your life. Deal with it."

James scowled. "I thought you came here to help me."

"I am helping. I'm trying to get you to see that your behavior has been not only reckless and childish, but pointless. No matter what you do, good or bad, you're going to be compared to someone. Your parents, your godparents, your namesakes, someone. And I'll tell you right now, James—if you don't show some significant improvement in maturity, I won't even consider you for the Auror Academy. If you're thinking about joining because you want to prove you're as good as your dad, you can forget it."

James flinched.

"No, no, I don't mean you're not as good as him," Uncle Ron said hastily. "I mean that's a lousy reason to take up a dangerous and difficult career. Do you remember the summer after your first year, when you wanted to try out for the Quidditch team but couldn't decide which position?"

James nodded. "Someone in the family had already played every position. And for Gryffindor too."

"Do you remember what I said?"

"That I should pick the position I liked best because if I had fun playing, I would work hard and be good at it."

"And look at you—Captain this year. They don't give out captains' badges because somebody has famous parents."

"But Mum was Captain—Dad too!"

"That doesn't mean you didn't earn it, James."

He sat back. He'd never thought about it like that before. Although he'd been excited when the badge fell out of the envelope, once his parents started reminiscing, it just hadn't seemed special any more. Especially not when he found out Uncle Charlie and Aunt Angelina had been Gryffindor Quidditch Captains too.

"I also said if you never did anything because someone in the family had done it first, you were going to—"

"Have a really boring life," James finished. "I'd forgotten about that." He drained the last of his butterbeer and licked the foam from his lips. "So, how did you handle it? Living up to all your brothers and Dad too."

Ron passed his empty shot glass between his hands. "I finally realized I didn't have to do the same things as my brothers—or Harry—to be as good as they were. I stopped worrying about beating them and became proud simply to join them, to be one of the six Weasley boys. And you know your dad. He's always quick to share credit."

James traced a scratch in the table. "What if I'm not as good?"

"What if you're not?"

He shrugged, wanting to hear the answer from his godfather.

"The only thing anyone in this family expects from you is your very best. Why do you think your mum's so upset? She knows you've been going off half-arsed all term. You're right, James—being scared you won't be as good as someone else is a crap reason not to try something. Do what you like and give it your best shot. Everybody else can take a hike."

"That's easy for you to say. You had it made. You didn't even have to take your N.E.W.T.s."

Uncle Ron laughed. "Are you kidding? When I joined the Aurors, everyone thought I was riding on Harry's coattails. They said Hermione was the one smart enough to skip exams, not me. They said I should be working at the Wheezes—that's what Mum and George and Percy wanted. I worked my arse off that first year trying to prove I belonged and help with the shop too. If Hermione hadn't gone back to school, we probably would have broken up anyway. No time for a girlfriend," Ron said, anticipating James's question. "In fact, your dad was so absorbed in work he nearly missed your mum's first professional match. We've all worked for what we have. You'll have to do the same."

"I don't want to be prefect," James blurted.

"Why not? It will look good on your Auror application."

James hesitated. He didn't want to be compared to his dad, but he wanted people to think they were alike all the same. "Dad wasn't."

"Make up your mind, James."

He shrugged, watching the waitress weave through tables with a full tray.

"Look, you want to be an Auror, right? You, James, have decided that of your own free will. Not because your dad is, or because I am, or even because of Teddy, but because that's what you want. Right?"

James met his gaze and nodded.

"You want to be an Auror, and being a prefect can help you. So, why not be a good prefect? That's not being like someone else. That's doing something that will get you what you want. That's being smart."

Ron left some coins on the table. "Come on, let's go."

He led the way out of the pub, and they walked to Honeydukes in companionable silence. James had a lot to think about.

"You going to be okay getting back to the Tower on your own?"

"Yeah. Thanks for the map."

"You're welcome. And James? If you want to annoy your mother without getting in trouble, offer to help her through the portrait hole." Uncle Ron winked and disappeared into the night.