Chapter 10

She was beautiful. Five foot nine. Jet black hair. Her eyes were sharp when she looked at you; James didn't know if he had ever seen her with a soft look on her face. And he liked it. She reminded him of the villains in the Muggle comic books that his father liked to read. Any moment, she would take the library hostage with her wand or jump down from the top of the astronomy tower after a chase and land right on her feet or…

"Mr. Potter."

James shifted his body in his seat, suddenly aware that he had been daydreaming in class again. His Transfiguration professor, MacMillian, gave him a sharp glare.

"If you're not going to listen, perhaps we can repeat this lesson in detention this evening," he told the young boy.

"Oh please no, Professor. I'm listening, I promise. I'll even stay after and help you clean up." James shot him a charming smile and sat straight up in his seat, which seemed to appease the man.

James kept his promise and helped MacMillian put some of the mice they had been changing into ravens back into their cages, which his Professor seemed to appreciate. With his stomach growling, he then hurried to the Great Hall to get some dinner. His best friend, Tiberious "Tibby" Gawmdrey, raised his hand and waved him over to where he was sitting. The boy looked similar to James, dark hair, brown eyes, and long eyelashes, although he was built a little bulkier. James got his long frame from his father—not the ideal body type for a Chaser, but the boy hadn't had any problems in his two years of playing for the school.

Tibby gave his friend a suspicious glare. "What is up with you, mate?"

"Nothing," James said with a shrug. "Just was thinking about something else in class."

"Are you kidding me? I don't mean that! Why have you been so goody-goody lately? The old James would have snapped right back to MacMillian—not stayed after class to help him clean up his blimey plants! What's been going on? You've been acting mental ever since we came back to school."

"Gotta agree with Tib, James," said his cousin Fred. Tall and lanky with the classic Weasley red hair and freckles, Fred looked like an image of his father and late uncle, his namesake, when they were in school. "You haven't even gotten the invisibility cloak out yet this year."

"Maybe cause I don't want my stupid kid sister asking to use it," James snapped back. "I think she's forgotten that I've got it."

Jonathan Blackwood, another fourth year Gryffindor, rolled his eyes at his friend's response. The sandy blonde haired boy with light blue eyes rounded out the group. "It's the middle of October and we haven't even left the dormitories after hours," he pointed out.

"And where do you suggest we go?" his friend retorted. "We've been all over this bloody school!"

Tibby rolled his eyes. "You're so full of it, James. Fine…don't tell us. But don't be surprised when your reputation goes down the loo. There's only so much good you can do before they start calling you Albus."

James gave his friend a playful punch on the arm. "Shut it, will you? I'm trying to stay out of trouble this year. My mum is going to go mental on me if I get one more detention. Happy now?"

"Did you hear that Blackwood? Potter's mummy will be mad!" Tibby said with a mocking laugh. "Poor ickle James. Don't want to make Mummy mad."

Fred laughed. "Hell, I don't blame him. I still remember the time his mother caught James and I surfing our brooms."

"Shut it, Tibby!" James said again. "You know how she can be. I don't need another howler this year, that's for sure. And besides…my dad implied that he will buy me the new Firebolt if I keep on the straight and narrow. So while you losers continue to ride Nimbus 2000's or whatever pathetic broom your folks have bought you, you won't even be able to see me as I soar past you on the field. I'll just be a tiny blur…"

"Ah, whatever, mate," Tibby mumbled, suddenly jealous that his friend might be getting the new racing broom. He and Jonathan played on the Gryffindor Quidditch team—the two of them were Beaters. Fred, afraid of heights, preferred to stay on the ground and cheer on his friends. On warm weekends, and even on cold days, it was almost impossible to get the three of them off of their brooms.

"Speaking of Quidditch—did you ask your parents if you can come to the World Cup with us this year? We'll just be a few campsites down from them," Fred asked before stuffing his face with a mouthful of turkey.

James sank down in his chair. "Ahh…no. I was grounded for most of the summer, so I didn't want to ask then. Maybe if I can keep this good streak up, they'll let me go. I doubt it though. My parents are going to think I need supervised. Of course, your dad said yes, Fred. God, what I wouldn't give for a trade…"

Jonathan scowled. "We're going to be fifth years by then. There's no reason we shouldn't be able to go out on our own."

"Trust me, they'll think of a reason," the Potter boy said with a sigh. "I'm working on it, okay?"

"Working on what?" asked a voice. James turned sharply to see his younger brother sitting next to him.

"Bugger off, Albus," James snapped. He hoped he hadn't really heard any of the other parts of the conversation. He wouldn't put it past Albus to tell his parents the plan before he had a chance to warm them up to it.

The younger brother held his hands up in surrender. "Fine. Just wanted to tell you that an owl accidently gave this to me instead of you this morning." He tossed an opened letter on the table and stood up to leave.

"It's opened!" James yelled.

Albus shrugged. "It came to me."

"It says my bloody name on the front!"

"Ahh, sorry about that. At least you got your Thorton Fretter card!" With a laugh, he quickly moved out of the way so that his brother's swat did not hit him. "See you around, James."

"I'm going to kill him one of these days…" James mumbled. However, his mood quickly changed when he pulled out the treasured card from his uncle Ron.

There she was…walking down the hall. Alone. This was his chance.

Evelyn was a Slytherin, so James didn't get to see her around very often. But when he did, it felt like his heart stopped pumping in his chest and fell down into the pit of his stomach. There she was, walking with her books held to her chest. God…he wished he were those books.

"Evelyn!" James said. However, what he meant to say in a deep, confident voice came out more like a squeak. Get it together, Potter he snapped at himself. "Evelyn, er…hey," he repeated. Oh god. She stopped. She's looking at me. Say something, you prat!

But he just stood there. As if he had never spoken to a girl in his life. Which was…not all that ridiculous. He of course had spoken to girls before. He had plenty of girls follow him around at school, being the Chaser of the Quidditch team and all. But none even remotely compared to this girl…this goddess. Oh god, please. Get ahold of yourself. Say something. SAY SOMETHING!

She gave him a curious look. Her hips twitched, as if she was ready to move on, but wanted to stay a few more moments in case this got interesting. James gave her one of his classic smiles; it felt forced on his face. "Er…great weather we're having, right?"

The look of pity and confusion she gave him made James want to melt into the floor. "Right," she said with a nod. She wasn't laughing when she turned around, but he could have sworn he heard a small chuckle as she walked down the corridor and into the basement to her Potions class.

James cursed under his breath. How could he be so thick? His one chance…one bloody chance…to talk to the girl of his dreams, and he asked her about the weather. Muttering more curses, he hurried off to Defense Against the Dark Arts, wanting to be anywhere but at this school. This very moment, Evelyn was sitting in her Potions class, replaying the awkward hallway encounter she'd had with a boy whom she didn't even know. James Potter wished he had his invisibility cloak right now.

This wasn't even something he could speak to his father about. First of all, his father would tell his mother. And then his mum would get all sappy about how her baby was growing up and finding love. Not going to happen. Second, what sort of problem was this compared to the problems Harry had faced when he was in school? James' problems were downright pathetic in comparison to fighting the darkest wizard the world had ever known. Year four, Ginny was already in love with Harry. He had the world at his fingertips: Seeker of the Quidditch team, admired by all of his peers and professors, brave, honest…not to mention he was the boy who lived. How could his father relate to anything he was feeling right now?

"Potter?"

With a blink, James snapped out of his trance. He prayed he wouldn't have to stay after class again for not paying attention. "Oh yes, Professor," he said quietly.

"Will you show us?"

"Show you…?"

"Your Patronus, my boy. I know your father could produce one at your age."

The pit in his stomach grew ten times larger. "I…I can't do one. My father has tried to teach me. It…just hasn't happened yet."

His professor gave him a small smile. "Ahh, I understand. Well, it does take some time to learn, James. Now, as I was saying, a Patronus takes a specific form...

That's not what he meant, James thought, lost inside his own misery once more. He meant 'I thought you were the son of Harry Potter. It doesn't take that long to learn if you actually had talent'…

James didn't think he could get any lower.