James Potter and the Hall of the Elders' Crossing

        'I'd tell him not to sweat it, but that'd be taking away his fun, wouldn't it?' Harry said, watching Ted depart. James grinned. They both began to fill their plates from the steaming platters along the table. As they began to eat, James was pleased to see Ralph and Zane enter. He waved them over enthusiastically.

        'Hey, Dad, here're my friends, Zane and Ralph,' James said as they piled onto the benches, one on either side. 'Zane's the blond one, Ralph's the brick house.'

        'Pleased to meet you, Zane, Ralph,' Harry said. 'James tells me good things about both of you.'

        'I've read about you,' Ralph said, staring at Harry. 'Did you really do all that stuff?'

        Harry laughed. 'Straight shooter, isn't he?' he said, raising an eyebrow at James. 'The major points, yes, those are probably true. Although if you'd've been there, it would have seemed a lot less heroic at the time. Mostly, me and my friends were just trying to keep ourselves from getting blasted, eaten, or cursed.'

        Zane seemed uncharacteristically quiet. 'Hey, what's the deal?' James said, nudging him. 'You're a little too new to all this to have an idol complex about the Great Harry Potter.'

        Zane grimaced, and then pulled a copy of the Daily Prophet from his backpack. 'This stinks,' he said, sighing and flopping the paper open onto the table, 'but you're gonna see it sooner or later.'

James leaned over and glanced at it. 'Hogwarts Anti-Auror Demonstration Overshadows International Summit', the main headline read. Below it, in smaller type: 'Potter Visit Sets Off School-wide Protest as Magical Community Re-evaluates Auror Policies'. James felt his cheeks flush red with anger. Before he could respond, however, his dad placed a hand on his shoulder.

        'Hmm,' Harry said mildly. 'That's got Rita Skeeter's name all over it.'

        Zane frowned at Harry, then glanced at the paper again. 'You can tell who wrote it just by the headline?'

        'No,' Harry laughed, dismissing the newspaper and digging into a slice of French toast. 'Her name's on the byline. Still, yeah, that is pretty much her typical brand of tripe. It hardly matters. The world will forget it by this time next week.'

        James was reading the first paragraph, his brow furrowed furiously. 'She says that most of the school was there, protesting and shouting. That's complete rubbish! I saw it, and if there were more than a hundred people there, I'll kiss a Blast-Ended Skrewt! Besides, most of them were just there to see what was going on! There were only fifteen or twenty people with the signs and the slogans!'

Harry sighed. 'It's just a story, James. It isn't supposed to be accurate, it's supposed to sell papers.'

'But how can you let them say things like this? It's dangerous! Professor Franklyn--'

        The look Harry gave him stopped him from going any further. After a second, Harry's expression softened. 'I know what you are worried about, James, and I don't blame you. But there are ways of handling these things, and one of those ways isn't arguing with people like Rita Skeeter.'

        'You sound like McGonagall,' James said, dropping his eyes and jabbing at a chunk of sausage.

        'I should,' Harry replied quickly. 'She taught me. And I think it's Headmistress McGonagall to you.'

        James poked at his plate sullenly for a moment. Then, not wanting to look at it anymore, he folded the newspaper roughly and stuck it out of sight.

        'First Quidditch of the season tonight, then, right?' Harry asked, waving his fork at the three boys in general.

        'Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor!' Zane announced. 'My first game! I can hardly wait.'

        James looked up and saw his dad grinning at Zane. 'You made the Ravenclaw team, then! That's very cool. If I can finish early enough, I plan on coming to the match. I look forward to seeing you fly. What position will you play?'

        'Beater,' Zane said, pretending to swat a Bludger with his fork.

        'He's pretty good, Mr. Potter,' Ralph said earnestly. 'I saw him fly his first time. He just about made a crater in the middle of the pitch, but he pulled up at the last second.'

        'That takes some serious control,' Harry acknowledged, studying Zane. 'You've had broom lessons?'

        'Not a one!' Ralph cried, as if he were Zane's public relations agent. 'That's the amazing bit, isn't it?'

        James looked at Ralph, his face grim, trying to catch his eye and warn him off the topic, but it was already too late.

        'He probably wouldn't have figured it out at all,' Ralph said, 'if he hadn't taken off after James when he did the big outta-control-like-a-bottle-rocket-rumba.' Ralph squirmed on the bench, mimicking James' inaugural broom flight.

        'But you'll be supporting the Gryffindors, of course!' Zane interrupted suddenly, planting his palm on Ralph's forehead and pushing him backwards.

Harry glanced around the table, chewing a chunk of toast, a quizzical look on his face. 'Er, well, yes. Of course,' he admitted, still looking from boy to boy.

        'Yeah, well, that's cool. I understand completely,' Zane said quickly, waggling his eyebrows at Ralph who was sitting there looking nonplussed. 'Be true to your school and all that. Whoo. Look at the time. Come on, Ralphinator. Classes to get to.'

        'I have a free period first,' Ralph protested. 'And I haven't had any breakfast yet.'

        'Let's go, ya lunkhead!' Zane insisted, coming around the table and hooking Ralph's elbow. Zane could barely move Ralph, but Ralph allowed himself to be tugged along.

        'What?' Ralph said loudly, frowning at the meaningful look Zane was giving him. 'What'd I do? Did I say something I wasn't--' He stopped. His eyebrows shot up and he turned back to James, looking mortified. 'Oh. Ah,' he said as Zane pulled him toward the door. As they rounded the corner, James heard Ralph say, 'I'm just a big idiot, aren't I?'

        James sighed. 'So yeah, I stink at Quidditch. I'm sorry.'

        Harry studied his son. 'Pretty bad, was it?'

        James nodded. 'I know,' he said. 'It's no big deal. It's just Quidditch. There's always next year. I don't have to do it just because you did it. I know, I know. You don't have to say it.'

        Harry continued to stare at James, his jaw moving slightly, as if he was thinking. Finally he sat back and picked up his pumpkin juice. 'Well, that's a load off my chest, then. Sounds like you've done my job for me.'

        James looked up at his dad. Harry looked back at him as he took a very long, slow drink from his glass. He seemed to be smiling, and hiding his smile behind the glass. James tried not to laugh. This is serious, he told himself. This isn't funny. This is Quidditch. On that thought, his composure cracked slightly. He smiled, and then tried to cover it with his hand, which only made it worse.

        Harry lowered his glass and grinned, shaking his head slowly. 'You've really been worried about this, haven't you, James?'

        James' smile faltered again. He swallowed. 'Yeah, Dad. Of course I have. I mean, it's Quidditch. It's your sport, and Granddad's, too. I'm James Potter. I'm supposed to be excellent on a broom. Not a danger to myself and everybody around me.'

        Harry leaned forward, putting his glass down and looking James in the eye. 'And you may still be great on