appeared in. He glanced around hopelessly, unable to keep himself from looking for some subtle clue or hint of where the doorway was hidden. What had his dad called it? The 'Room of Requirement'? James had remembered his wand this time. He pulled it out and shook his hand out from under the cloak, revealing it.
'Uh,' he began, whispering harshly and pointing his wand at the wall. 'Room of Requirement… open?'
Nothing happened, of course. And then James heard a noise. His senses had grown almost painfully sharp as his body shot full of adrenaline. He listened, his eyes wide. Voices. Franklyn and his dad were coming back already. They must have begun their return journey at almost exactly the same time as James, but a little slower. He heard them talking in hushed voices, probably as they stood by the door into Franklyn's rooms. His dad would be returning in mere moments.
James thought furiously. What had his dad done to open the room? He had just stood there, hadn't he, waiting, and then bang, there was the door? No, James recalled, he had spoken first. And paced a bit. James replayed the evening in his memory, trying to remember what his dad had said, but he was too flustered.
Light bloomed at the end of the corridor. Footsteps approached. James looked down the corridor frantically. His dad was approaching, wand lit but held low, his head down. James remembered that he had his own wand held out, his arm outside the cloak. He yanked it in as quickly and silently as he could, arranging the cloak to cover him completely. It was hopeless. His dad would enter the room and see that James wasn't there. Maybe James could follow him in and claim to have been to his rooms to get a book he needed? He had never been any good at lying. Besides, he'd have the cloak with him. He almost groaned out loud.
Harry Potter stopped in the corridor. He held the wand up and looked at the wall. 'I need to get into the room my son is sleeping in,' he said conversationally. Nothing happened. Harry didn't seem surprised.
'Hmm,' he said, apparently to himself. 'I wonder why the door won't open. I suppose…,' he looked around raising his eyebrows and smiling very slightly, 'it's because my son isn't sleeping in the Room of Requirement at all, but is standing here in the corridor with me, under my Invisibility Cloak, trying as hard as he can to remember how in the world to open the door. Right, James?'
James let out his breath and yanked the Invisibility Cloak off. 'You knew all along, didn't you?'
'I assumed it when I heard you gasp downstairs. I didn't know for sure until the trick with the door. Come on, let's get inside.' Harry Potter chuckled tiredly. He paced three times and spoke the words that opened the Room of Requirement and they went in.
When they were both in their beds, James in the top bunk, staring up at the dark ceiling, Harry spoke.
'You don't have to follow in my footsteps, James. I hope you know that.'
James worked his jaw, not ready to respond to that. He listened and waited.
'You were down there tonight, so you heard Professor Franklyn,' Harry finally said. 'There's one part of what he said that I want you to remember. There are always plots and revolutions in the works. The battle is always the same, just with different chapters. It isn't your job to save the world, son. Even if you do, it'll just go and get itself into danger again, and again, and again. It's the nature of things.'
Harry paused and James heard him laugh quietly. 'I know how it feels. I remember the great weight of responsibility and the heady thrill of believing I was the only one to stop the evil, to win the war, to battle for the ultimate good. But James, even then, that wasn't my duty alone. It was everyone's fight. Everyone's sacrifice. And there were those whose sacrifice was far greater than my own. It isn't one man's duty to save the world. And it certainly isn't the duty of one boy who can't even figure out how to open the Room of Requirement yet.'
James heard movement from the bunk below. His dad stood, his head rising to look at James in the top bunk. In the darkness, James couldn't make out his expression, but he knew it nonetheless. His dad was smiling his crooked, knowing smile. His dad knew it all. His dad was Harry Potter.
'What do you think, son?'
James took a deep breath. He wanted to tell his dad about everything he'd seen and heard. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell him about the Muggle intruder, and Cedric Diggory's ghost, and the secret of Austramaddux, the plot to return Merlin and use him to start a final war with the Muggles. But in the end, he decided not to. He smiled at his dad.
'I know, Dad. Don't worry about me. If I decide to save the world single-handedly, I'll send you and Mum a note first. OK?'
Harry smirked and shook his head, not really buying it, but knowing there was no point in pressing the point. He climbed back into the bottom bunk.
Five minutes later, James spoke up in the dark. 'Hey, Dad, any chance you might let me keep the Invisibility Cloak with me for the school year?'
'None at all, my boy. None at all,' Harry said sleepily. James heard him roll over. A few minutes later, both slept.
When James and Harry Potter entered the Great Hall the next morning, James sensed the mood of the room change. He was used to the reaction that the wizarding community showed whenever he was out with his dad, but this was different. Rather than turning to look at them, James sensed people looking pointedly in the other direction. Conversations quieted. There was the strange sensation of people glancing at them sideways or turning to watch once James and Harry had passed them. James felt a surge of anger. Who were these people? Most of them were good witches and wizards, from hardworking parents who had always been supportive of Harry Potter, first as the Boy Who Lived, then as the young man who helped bring about the downfall of Voldemort, and finally as the man who was Head Auror. Now, just because some rabble-rousers had painted a few signs and spread around a few stupid rumors, they were afraid to look directly at him.
Even as James thought that, however, he saw that he was wrong. As Harry and James sat down at the end of the Gryffindor table (James had pleaded with his dad not to make him sit up at the teachers' table on the dais), there were a few grins and hearty greetings. Ted saw Harry, whooped, and ran down the length of table, giving Harry a complicated handshake that involved a lot of banging fists, hand grips and finally, an embrace that was one part hug and one part body slam.
Harry collapsed onto the bench, laughing. 'Ted, you're going to knock yourself clean out one of these times.'
'My godfather, everybody,' Ted said, as if introducing Harry to the room at large. 'Have you met Noah yet, Harry? He's a Gremlin, like me and Petra.'
Harry shook Noah's hand. 'I think we met last year at the Quidditch championship, yes?'
'Sure,' Noah said. 'That was the game where Ted scored the winning point for the opposing team. How could I forget?'
'Technically, it was an assist,' Ted said primly. 'I happened to wallop their team's Quaffle carrier through the goal on accident. I was aiming for the press box.'
'Hate to interrupt, but do you guys mind if James and I get a little breakfast?' Harry asked, gesturing toward the table.
'Have at it,' Ted replied magnanimously. 'And if any of these malcontents give you any trouble, just let me know. It's Quidditch tonight, and we hold grudges.' He eyed the room grimly, then grinned and sauntered away.
