James Potter and the Hall of the Elders' Crossing

        'It means Zane here thinks he can give Ted a run for his money in the romance department,' James said. He both admired and worried about Zane's lack of inhibition.

        'It means,' Zane replied, 'that Petra doesn't know what she wants in a man until she's had a chance to get to know as many men as possible. I'm thinking only of her best interests.'

Ralph studied Zane for a moment. 'You do know you're eleven years old, right?'

        James stopped as Zane and Ralph began to walk on. His eye had been caught by a picture in the trophy case. He leaned in, cupping his hands around his face to block the glare of the sun. The picture was black and white, moving, as all wizard pictures did. It was his dad, younger, thinner, his black hair wild and unruly over the famous, characteristic scar. He was smiling uncomfortably at the camera, his eyes moving as if he were avoiding eye contact with somebody or something outside the camera's view. Next to the framed photo was a large trophy made of silver and a sort of blue crystal that glowed with a shifting, curling light. James read the plaque below the trophy.

The Triwizard Cup

Jointly Awarded to Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory,

Hogwarts students of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff Houses, respectively,

for winning the Triwizard Tournament, which was held upon these grounds

with the cooperation of representatives from the

Durmstrang Institute and the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

        There was more, but James didn't read it. He knew the story. Harry Potter's name had been drawn as a competitor fraudulently, having been placed into the running by a dark wizard named Crouch. It had led to both Harry and Diggory being sent via Portkey to Voldemort's lair, resulting in the evil wizard's bodily return. No wonder his dad looked so uncomfortable in the photo. He had been under the legal age for the tournament, and had been the superfluous fourth contestant in a three wizard competition. He'd been in a room full of people who suspected him of cheating and dark magic, at best.

        James glanced at the photo on the other side of the cup, the one of Diggory. His smile looked genuine and hearty compared to his dad's. James had never seen a photo of Diggory before, but it looked familiar nonetheless. He knew the story of Diggory, knew he had died next to his dad in the graveyard they'd been sent to, killed at the command of Voldemort. His dad rarely talked about that night, and James understood why, or at least thought he did.

        He sighed, and then ran to catch up with Zane and Ralph.

        Later that day, when James stopped in his room to swap books for his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, he found Nobby waiting for him, scratching the windowsill impatiently. James grabbed the rolled parchment off Nobby's leg and read it.

Dear James,

        Your father and I are thrilled to hear you are settling in well, as we knew you would. Your Uncle Ron says congratulations on becoming a Gryffindor, and we all concur. Can't wait to hear how your first day's classes go. Also, I hope you hear about this from us first: your father has been asked to go to Hogwarts for a meeting with the American wizards about international security and other matters of 'mutual interest'. I'll be staying home with Albus and Lil, but your father looks forward to seeing you next week. Make sure you are eating more than pastries and meat pies and be sure to get your robes and yourself washed at least once a week. (That was a joke. Actually, no, it wasn't.)

Love and kisses,

Mum

        James folded the note into the book he was carrying as he ran down the steps. The knowledge that he'd be seeing his dad next week had left him with mixed feelings. Of course, he was excited to see him and to introduce him to his new friends. Still, he feared that the visit would also make the shadow of his famous father that much harder to escape. He was fleetingly thankful that Zane and Ralph were both Muggle-born, and therefore, relatively ignorant of the exploits of his legendary dad.

        As he joined the crowd of students filing into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, James saw another of the badges on a Slytherin's robe. 'Progressive Wizards Against Magical Discrimination', it read. He felt a sort of aimless, sinking feeling, and then he noticed the newspaper clipping tacked to the wall near the door. 'Harry Potter to Join International Wizarding Summit', ran the headline. Below it, smaller type read 'Head Auror to Meet United States Representatives During Hogwarts Ceremony. Security Questions Prevail.' Pinned to the newspaper clipping so that it obscured the photo of a smiling adult Harry Potter was another of the blue badges. 'Question the Victors', it flashed.

        'Come on,' Ralph urged, joining James. 'We'll be late.'

        As they navigated the crowded room and found two seats near the front, Ralph leaned toward James. 'Was that your dad on that newspaper story?'

        James had assumed Ralph hadn't noticed it. He glanced at Ralph as they sat down. 'Yeah. Mum just wrote me about it. He'll be here beginning of next week. Big meeting with the Americans, I guess.'

        Ralph said nothing, but looked uncomfortable.

        'You already knew about it, didn't you?' James whispered as the class quieted down.

        'No,' Ralph muttered, 'at least, not specifically. My housemates have been talking about some sort of protest all day, though. Looks like it's about your dad, I guess.'

        James stared at Ralph, his mouth open slightly. So that's what Tabitha Corsica and her Slytherins were up to, behind all the friendly smiles and speeches. The Slytherin tactics had changed, but not their purpose. James pressed his lips into a grim line and turned to the front of the room as Professor Franklyn approached the main desk. Professor Jackson was walking next to him, carrying his black leather case and talking in a low tone.

        'Greetings, students,' Franklyn said crisply. 'I suspect many of you have already met Professor Jackson. Please forgive the short delay.' Jackson eyed the seated students from over his shoulder, his face like granite. Zane's nickname for the man did seem to be rather appropriate, James thought. Franklyn turned back to Jackson and spoke in a hushed voice. Jackson seemed discontent with what Franklyn was saying. He set his case down on the floor next to him, freeing his hand to gesture minutely.

James looked down at the case. It was only a foot or two from where he sat in the front row. Jackson was never seen without the case, which was unremarkable in nearly every way apart from the fact that he guarded it so closely. James tried not to listen in on the conversation between the two professors, which was obviously meant to be secret. Of course, that made it all the more intriguing. He heard the words 'grotto' and 'Merlin'. Then a third voice pierced the room.

        'Professor Jackson,' the voice said, and while it wasn't a loud voice, it rang with an air of understated power. James turned around to see who was speaking. Madame Delacroix was standing just inside the doorway to the room, her blind gaze hovering somewhere over everyone's heads. 'I thought you might like to know dat your class is awaiting you. You are always such a…,' she seemed to search the air for the right word, 'stickler for punctuality.' Her voice had a slow drawl that was somehow both French and Southern American. She smiled vaguely, then turned, her cane clicking the floor, and disappeared down the hall.

        Jackson's face was even harder than normal as he stared at the now empty doorway. He glanced pointedly at Franklyn, and then dropped his gaze, reaching for his case. He froze in mid-reach, and James couldn't help