Archive of Our Own

When James gets off the Hogwarts Express, he spots Mum right away, standing on the platform near Uncle Ron. James floats his trunk onto a handy trolley and waves Lily over, helps her heave her own trunk on top of his. She’s still a titchy little thing for being thirteen; James spends a moment worrying about who will help her next year, then decides she’ll be fine.

“Have you seen Albus?” James asks, perching his owl Frodo’s cage on top of the trunks. “Mum’s just there.”

Lily gestures down the platform. “He’s there with Scorpius and Dad and Mr Malfoy.”

“Oh,” says James, because he didn’t expect to see Dad today, it’s Mum who gets the three of them for the first month of summer holidays. But of course, Dad’s here with Mr Malfoy to retrieve Scorpius.

James looks over for a moment; he hasn’t seen the pair of them together except for a minute after Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup at the final game of his Hogwarts career, and James was understandably not paying much attention in that moment. They look – normal. They’re probably standing a little closer than they might have done if they were just two random dads waiting for their kids. But maybe not.

James turns away and pushes the luggage trolley towards Mum, Lily hurrying to keep up with him like a little hummingbird in his wake.

“There you are,” says Mum, and comes in to kiss them both. Lily resists, but James doesn’t bother. It’s good to see Mum, honestly. She looks happy and rested for a change. “Where’s your brother?”

“Over by Dad,” Lily says. “Should I get him?”

“I’ll do it,” says James.

“I’m coming along anyway,” says Lily, and then runs ahead of him, annoyingly. James is not going to run to his dad like he’s a kid, he’s nearly eighteen now, so he politely picks his way through the crowd until he reaches them at last.

“Dad,” he says, and Dad grins and hugs him tight. It’s still weird, Dad being smaller than James, but he feels like he always does: strong and solid.

“How does it feel?” Dad asks. “Leaving school for good?”

James never knows how to answer these questions from Dad, especially knowing that Dad himself never had a day like this. “Fine,” James says vaguely. “Er, weird.”

“We’ll see if he’s done for good,” Lily says, “James reckons he failed his Charms NEWT.”

“Oh shut up,” James says. “I don’t think I failed it, I just – didn’t feel it went as well as it could have done?”

“If he did fail, does he need to come back?” Albus asks, wide-eyed.

“No,” says Dad, “first off, I’m sure he didn’t fail, and secondly, he can always study at home and have another go at the NEWT next year if he wants to improve his mark.” Then Dad seems to remember that Mr Malfoy is standing next to him, and he clears his throat a little. “Lily, James, you haven’t said hello to Draco.”

“Hello,” says James, then sticks out his hand, not sure what to do.

Mr Malfoy shakes it politely and smiles. “Congratulations on leaving school,” he says. “What’s next for you?”

James hates this question too and doesn’t know why all the adults insist on asking it constantly. Besides, James’s next steps have felt like a foregone conclusion for years.

”He’s joining the aurors, isn’t he,” Dad says proudly before James can answer, clapping him on the back.

James smiles tightly, already anticipating Dad’s nagging over getting the application done within five minutes of him walking through the door at Grimmauld Place.

“We’d better be getting back to Mum,” says Lily pointedly. “She’s waiting for us, Albus.”

“Yeah,” says Albus, “sure,” and he begins gathering his belongings hastily.

“See you in a few days for my party?” James asks Dad. “At the house?”

“Yeah,” says Dad, “that’s going to be great.” He’s not paying too much attention, though; he’s frowning at Lily, looking worried.

“She’ll come round,” James says to Dad when everyone is busy helping Albus get his things in order. “She was awful to Professor Longbottom for weeks but she got over it. Mostly.”

Dad looks a little surprised at James’ reassurance, but then he gives James a thankful smile. “And you? You’re okay with everything?”

James grins. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course, Dad.” And even if it’s a little weird, it’s true. James can see that Dad is nervous, anxious for James to be okay with this, but below that, it’s obvious that Dad is pretty happy. He seems content in a way James hasn’t seen since he was a young kid.

“Good,” says Dad, and his smile isn’t nervous anymore. “You need a haircut.”

“No, I don’t,” James says.

***

Life settles instantly into normalcy at Mum’s flat, like it hasn’t been months since he and Albus were stuffed into a room together, or since Mum and Lily had a knockdown row over some stupid thing or another.

“What is it this time,” Albus asks, not even looking up from his book when James comes into their room and closes the door behind him.

“Mum found out that Lily put frogspawn in Longbottom’s tea,” James says. “It was months ago, but Mum’s doing her nut.”

“It was pretty awful of Lily,” says Albus, turning the page.

“I heard it was funny,” James says, just to be contrary. It was awful, he knows. But Albus can be such a prig, it’s infuriating.

James opens their shared wardrobe and starts shuffling through the clothes hanging there, then paws through the things that have fallen off their hangers, puddled underneath.

“You’re not going out again,” Albus says. “Honestly, James.”

“I know it’s hard for you to understand,” James says, “but I have these things called friends.”

“You don’t snog friends,” says Albus, rolling his eyes.

“You can,” James retorts. “Anyway, it’s not that, it’s a party.”

Albus huffs a sigh and turns the page again.

“A party,” James says, “is a thing where friends spend time together, eating and drinking and laughing.”

“Don’t come crying to me when you get spattergroit off one of your so-called friends,” Albus says. “Scorpius says your cock can fall right off.”

James pulls out a shirt and sniffs it experimentally. “Yours is going to fall off from wanking if you’re not careful,” he says.

“Shut up,” says Albus, flushing and hunching down further against his headboard.

James flings the shirt at him and pulls out another, sniffs it, and changes into it. Albus seems to have given up snipping at him, switching to his typical icy contempt instead. This suits James fine, as it means he doesn’t have to deal with any comments from Albus as James stands in front of the mirror and musses up his hair, just so.

“Don’t let them actually murder each other,” James says, by way of farewell.

“I can’t be held responsible for anything they do,” Albus answers, finally looking up again. “You look like a prat.”

“I look extremely fit,” says James. “Have a sad evening.”

***

James is thankful that Mum is still yelling, because it lets him slip out the door unobserved. She wouldn’t exactly try to stop James from leaving – he’s been of age for nearly a year, after all – but she would have a lot of questions and James doesn’t really feel like answering any of them.

Outside the flat door, it’s a quick check to make sure the coast is clear, and then James apparates to the outskirts of Ottery St Catchpole. His mates have rented a little cottage a few streets from the village square; it’s the first time any of them have lived on their own, and James is desperate to see what it’s like.

He meets up with a few Gryffindors on his way to the cottage, which is very identifiable as the site of the party from the music pounding through the half-open front door. James waves cheerily at a muggle villager who’s scowling across the street at them.

The cottage itself is tiny and crammed with people. James edges along the front hallway, bypassing a crowd gathered in the doorway, and finds himself in a little front room.

“James!” yells someone – Seb Spencer, a Gryffindor and one of the two blokes renting the place – and then someone’s pressing a cup of firewhisky into his hand and Seb’s tugging him across the room to a narrow space on a sofa. “You made it, happy nearly-birthday, Jamesie,” Seb says, still clutching James’ hand. He shoves James down into the spot on the sofa and then flops down himself on James’ lap, leaning heavy on James’ chest. “How’s life with Mother?”

“It’s okay,” James says, rolling his eyes; they can’t all have moved out already, some of them don’t have parents willing to pay the rent. “Is Wilson here, do you know?”

Seb slings an arm round James’ neck and squeezes. “Some people might take offence to you asking after your latest obsession while they’re sat on your literal lap, James Potter.”

“Lucky you’re not some people,” James says, grinning. “Is he? Here?”

“He’s in the kitchen,” Seb says. “But some advice: let him come to you, it’s much cooler.”

“I don’t really care about being cool,” James says honestly, “I just think he’s beautiful.”

“Again, I’m sat right here,” says Seb. “Finish your drink first, at least.”

James tips the whisky back in one and drops the cup to the floor, shoving Seb off as he comes to his feet. “See you later,” he says, winking at Seb, who’s still recovering from being summarily dismissed.

“You’re hopeless,” says Seb, but he pushes James away with good humour.

Wilson is in the kitchen; Seb’s intelligence was good. He’s sitting on the worktop next to the tiny fridge, and laughing at something.

He was a Hufflepuff, but a late transfer to Hogwarts, having only moved to the UK before sixth year. He’s tall, dark-skinned with brown eyes, and has a perfect Kiwi accent that hasn’t drifted one bit in nearly two years here. James has been eyeing him in the corridors for months, and he rather thinks it’s been mutual.

“Hey,” says James, “I heard you were here, Wilson.”

Wilson meets James’ gaze and smiles. “Did you.”

“Did you want to go have a look at the garden,” James says.

“Yes,” says Wilson, and slides off the counter, heading for the garden door.

“Honestly, I think you’re part veela like your cousin Louis,” says Deirdre Jones, shaking her head at James after Wilson has left.

“I’m not,” says James, “I’m just very good looking and confident.”

“Being Harry Potter’s son doesn’t hurt, does it,” she says, smiling a little meanly.

“Listen,” says James, backing away, hands spread helplessly, “who am I to refuse all the weapons in my god-given arsenal?”

“You’re a knob end,” she yells after him, but James is already halfway out the door after Wilson.

***

“It’s Ewan,” says Wilson, afterwards, buttoning up his jeans.

“What?” says James, still catching his breath.

“My first name,” Wilson says, pulling James to his feet, bringing him in for a kiss.

“I knew that,” James insists, and he probably did, but –

“What’s yours, again?” Wilson says, pulling away.

“James,” says James, a little thrown.

“Right,” says Wilson. “Potter?”

James quirks an eyebrow, thinking that Wilson is being cute now. “Yes,” he says, “Potter.”

But Wilson doesn’t look like he’s joking, honestly. “You’re really cute, Potter,” he says, and nips at James’ lip, threads his fingers through James’ hair and tugs on it a little. “See ya.” And then he’s gone.

James slumps against the garden wall and frowns.

***

“Oh, you decided to come home, did you,” says Mum when James slips in the door after midnight.

“Yes,” says James, “thought I would sleep for a few hours before I resume conquering the known wizarding world.”

“And by conquering you mean drinking your way through it,” says Mum, whose nose is a little too sharp. “I hope you didn’t apparate like that, you could have splinched yourself.”

“I Floo’ed to Diagon and walked,” says James. “I’m extremely responsible.”

“Responsible would involve you telling me when you leave,” Mum says, “and maybe mentioning when you’re planning to come back.”

“Oh,” says James, “right, I’ll work on it.” He tries a winning grin.

Mum unfolds her arms and sighs. “I’m going to bed. Do try to get up before noon.”

“What for,” James mutters, but not loudly enough that Mum hears him, thankfully.

James pulls out his wand and casts a lumos before going into his bedroom, but he needn’t have bothered. Albus is still awake, and still sitting cross-legged on his bed, like he’s been frozen in time for hours.

“Nox,” says James, tucking his wand away again. “Is there a permanent sticking charm between your arse and your mattress?”

Albus says, “You reek of whisky.”

“Get stuffed,” says James, flopping down onto his own bed. “August can’t come soon enough.” They each have their own rooms, at Dad’s house.

“The feeling is mutual,” says Albus darkly. “Well? Which friend were you snogging tonight?”

Normally James would tell Albus to mind his own business, but for some reason he actually answers this time. “Ewan Wilson,” he says. “Hufflepuff.”

“Wilson?” says Albus. “He’s dead clever.”

“Is he?” says James. “I mean, he’s got a clever tongue–”

“James,” Albus groans, “can you try not to be disgusting all the time?” He kicks his covers back and wriggles under them. “I was going to say, he was in the wizard chess club with me, he’s almost undefeated but Scorpius got him once.”

“Chess?” says James, surprised.

“Chess is a game where you use your brain instead of a broomstick,” says Albus, “and you have this little board with pieces instead of a big stupid ball.”

“I didn’t know he played chess,” James says, ignoring Albus. “Huh.”

***

A couple days later, they’re all over at Grimmauld Place for James’ birthday party. Mum makes them go early to help Dad get set up, and Longbottom meets them there with a cake box under his arm, and then it’s Scorpius’s dad taking it from him very politely, and James thinks this is all really weird.

“Many happy returns,” says Mr Malfoy, and hands James a creamy heavy envelope with a green seal – an actual wax seal – on it.

“Er, thanks,” says James. “Do I open it now?”

Mr Malfoy darts a glance at Dad, who’s elbow deep in sandwiches. “Maybe go someplace private, I don’t think that one will approve.”

“Is it money?” James asks keenly. “Oh, he’ll hate that, you’re right.” He sticks the envelope in his jeans pocket and struggles for the right thing to say. “Thanks, erm,” he tries, but doesn’t know how to finish.

“You can call me Draco,” says Mr Malfoy.

“I don’t think I can,” says James honestly.

Mr Malfoy’s mouth twists against an unwilling smile. “Fair enough,” he says. “If I were you, I’d clear off before your dad puts you to work. He’s not above doing that on your birthday, I think?”

James makes a break for it, ducking around Uncle Ron as he lands on the hearth from the Floo, and then taking the back staircase hastily all the way up to his bedroom on the top floor. He flings the door open and slams it shut behind him, ripping the envelope open, full of curiosity.

It’s not a card; James imagines that the Malfoys are too posh for a singing card bought at Scribbulus. It’s just a folded piece of paper with a bit of heraldry at the top – a dragon, of course – and then a scrawled note from Mr Malfoy reading Happy 18th, James. A little something to start you off in the real world, with a dashed off signature underneath.

There are no galleons, but there is a heavy piece of cardstock with the Gringotts logo, and a little brass key. On the back of the card, Mr Malfoy’s written a rather large number and then the words Vault 961.

“Ooh,” says James, stunned. It seems like Mr Malfoy might be trying to buy James’ approval, and he’s off to an excellent start.

Then there’s a pounding on the door at James’ back: Lily. “Mum says get down here and greet your guests!” she yells.

“I’m coming,” James says, hastily hiding both the letter and the Gringotts key in the top drawer of his dresser. He flings the door open. Lily is standing on the landing, glaring at him.

“What did the dragon give you?” she demands.

“A cage to lock you up in,” says James. “And a bag to go over your head, ugly.”

“Is it money?” she asks, following him back down the stairs.

“Shut up,” James hisses over his shoulder because they’re getting too close to the kitchen now, “if you keep quiet, I’ll buy you something, okay?”

“Deal,” says Lily, pushing past him. “Hugo!”

James finds Lucy in the living room amidst all the Weasley cousins; they’re the only two who were in the same year, and both in Gryffindor too.

“Happy birthday,” Lucy says, and then wastes no time. She grabs James by the elbow and tows him into a corner, away from prying ears.

“Were you at Seb Spencer and John Corner’s house party last week?” she demands.

James shrugs noncommittally. Lucy’s all right but she’s not terribly fun; she was Head Girl, just like her sister Molly before her. “Why,” he hedges.

“Because someone told me you were having it off in the garden with Ewan Wilson,” she says.

“Oh,” says James.

Lucy raises her eyebrows. “And?”

“Well,” says James. “Oh, look, there’s Teddy.”

“And,” says Lucy, not falling for it, “and Seb said that Ewan was asking after you and wondered if you lived in London too.”

“Was he?” James asks, charmed.

“James,” says Lucy, “Ewan is really nice.”

“I noticed,” says James, meaningfully.

“Shut up, I mean that he’s a nice person, he’s really funny and lovely and he’s so clever. He’d have been Head Boy this year if Rahim Das hadn’t been angling for it for six years already.”

“Wow,” says James drily. “Thanks for warning me? Sounds awful.”

Lucy reaches out and pinches James on the arm, hard. “I’m saying you’d better write him a note or something, you can’t just throw him away like you did Evelyn.”

“Throw him away,” James repeats, stung. “Who do you think I am?”

“I know exactly who you are, James Sirius Potter,” Lucy hisses, “so here’s his address, write him.”

She shoves a bit of parchment into James’ hand and storms off. James looks at the address – some ordinary sounding place in Hammersmith – then stuffs it in his pocket, feeling peeved.

Lucy’s got it all wrong, he thinks. First off, Evelyn was a mistake, James knows that; but she went from messing around in empty classrooms to practically planning their wedding in a week flat, and it wasn’t James’ fault that she sobbed and moaned for ages after he ditched her in a panic.

Since then, James has stuck to boys, because they mostly have the right idea about sex being for fun.

Anyway, Ewan was pretty clear that he knew what James was up to that night, and he’s probably just after more of the same, which is fine by James so long as he doesn’t come over all moony and clingy like bloody Evelyn Parker.

“Happy birthday, ickle Jamesy,” Teddy says, coming over. He throws James in a headlock and starts mussing his hair mercilessly.

James forgets to worry more about Lucy’s warning, too busy wrestling Teddy into submission.

***

Somewhere between sandwiches and cake, James sneaks back up to his room to scribble a quick note.

Ewan – Lucy Weasley gave me your address. I’m in London too. Did you want to hang out again sometime? - James

He creeps down one flight of stairs into Dad’s bedroom because he’s got a fireplace in there connected to the Floo network.

The note goes up the Floo in a moment.

But James can’t help but look around the room for a bit, since he’s in there anyway. It mostly looks the same as usual, like a boring adult bedroom with everything put away, except there’s a pair of socks balled up on the floor next to what used to be Mum’s side of the bed, and a tie lying over the top of the dresser. There are a few jars that look like skincare products on the dresser, too, and a couple of little bottles on Dad’s nightstand that are new.

It’s weird; James knows that Mr Malfoy must sometimes be funny and informal and relaxed, but right now, James can only picture the man as he’s known him: stiff and serious and well-mannered. He can’t imagine Mr Malfoy leaving his socks on the floor.

But it’s good James lingered, as it turns out, because a note blows back out the Floo a second later.

James – yes. Tonight?

***

James opens gifts in front of everyone, which feels very much like he’s six years old, but Mum insists. It’s not a bad haul: more than a few singing birthday cards with galleons inside, and some other good stuff too. A jumper from Gran – perfect for the hot July night, ugh – and a box of exploding cigars that actually explode from Uncle George, and – best of all, and totally unexpected – a new Comet L series from Mum and Dad, who seem to have pulled themselves together after last year’s watch debacle.

“Whoa,” says Hugo, reaching out. “Can I see it, James?”

James grins and hands it over, but mostly so he’ll have his arms free to hug Mum and Dad in turn. “Thank you,” he says, “wow.”

“I know you have your Apparition licence now but it’s handy to have options,” says Dad.

“It was my idea, don’t let him take all the credit,” says Mum.

“Can I take it out tonight?” James asks.

“After the party,” says Mum.

“Well, yeah,” says James. “Later, though?”

“Of course,” says Dad, glancing at Mum. “It has a good Disillusionment charm on it.”

“It’s just so cool,” James says, watching Hugo and the younger kids crowd around it. “Too bad I didn’t have it for the quidditch season.”

“You didn’t need it, did you,” says Dad proudly. “Gryffindor took the Cup.”

“Yeah,” says James, “but we could have beat Slytherin even more with that.”

People start to clear out after the gifts are opened, and James finally gets his Comet back from the younger cousins so he can admire it properly himself. He’s studying the footrests carefully when he realises that Mr Malfoy is standing nearby.

“James,” Mr Malfoy says, speaking quietly, “I just wanted to say – and I imagine you know – but the account is meant to be the start of your savings. It’s not just pocket money.”

“I’ve never had pocket money with commas in the total before,” James says. “I figured.”

“That being said,” says Mr Malfoy, “do try to piss some of it away, will you? You’re only eighteen once.”

James is startled into a grin at this. He sets his broom down and holds out his hand again, and Mr Malfoy takes it. “Thanks,” James says, “Draco.”

“You’re very welcome, James. And don’t tell your dad. Especially about pissing it away. Discretion is the better part of valour.”

“I’ll be sure to piss it away in non-obvious ways,” James promises.

“Clever lad,” says Mr – says Draco, and winks before walking away.

***

The Comet is fantastic, light and fast and the proper length for James, who’s gotten used to hunching onto the smaller school brooms. He does a few loops in the summer night sky just for the joy of it, London laid out beneath him in a great blanket of lights and petrol exhaust and noise. It’s a little hard to get a reckoning on where he is from up here, but James flies until he sees Trafalgar Square in the distance, then sets about heading to where he thinks Ewan lives.

It’s a flat like any other, and the street itself looks thoroughly muggle-ish. James buzzes the flat and waits, hoping nobody walking by thinks too long about why there’s a kid standing in front of a doorway with a broom in his hand.

Ewan appears on the stairs and pops open the door. “Hiya,” he says, smiling almost shyly. “New broom?”

“Birthday gift,” says James, holding it up. “I’m eighteen today.”

“Are you?” says Ewan. “I didn’t know. I’d have got you something.”

“Well,” says James, and smiles, waggling his eyebrows.

Ewan laughs and waves James inside. “Come up, my mum’s at work.”

James’ impression of a muggle street is confirmed with Ewan’s very muggle-feeling flat. There’s a television and electric lights and one of those video game boxes. Ewan must be muggle-born, James guesses, as he leans his broom against the wall and looks around.

“Did you want anything to eat or drink,” Ewan asks. “We had pizza earlier.”

“I’m stuffed, I just had a big dinner and cake,” says James. “Well, maybe a slice.”

Ewan puts the piece of pizza on a plate before handing it to James. “You’re a bottomless pit, aren’t you?” he says, watching James tuck in.

“I get it from my dad,” says James, between bites. “He’s the best cook.”

Ewan nods, jamming his hands in his jeans pockets, but he doesn’t have the light of interest in his eyes that most people get when James mentions his dad.

“My mum is crap at cooking,” says Ewan. “So am I.”

“It’s easy,” says James, “I can show you some charms that do the chopping and mixing for you.”

“Oh, I know them,” says Ewan. “My mum’s a witch.”

“She is?” James says, surprised. He looks around the flat again. “Oh.”

“I know,” says Ewan. “It’s different in New Zealand, we don’t go in for quite so much wizard-muggle segregation.”

“It’s not segregation,” says James, a little offended.

“I mean,” says Ewan. “Isn’t it? You looked round the flat like you thought I was raised on an alien planet.”

James flushes a bit, caught out. “It’s a nice flat,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to try a Nintendo.”

“It’s a PlayStation,” says Ewan, but he’s smiling again. “We can play some games,” he offers. “After?”

“After,” says James, repeating the word thoughtlessly, then he realises: “Oh, yes, after.” And slaps the plate onto a nearby coffee table before taking off Ewan’s shirt.

***

They have a go once right there in the living room, and then wind up in Ewan’s bedroom for a second round. It’s a small room with a large bed, and the walls are papered with posters for muggle bands James has never heard of.

“Where does your mum work?” James asks, feeling very satisfied and lazy, lying flat on his back with his jeans still unbuttoned and his shirt missing.

“At St Mungo’s,” says Ewan. “She’s a Healer.” He’s on his stomach next to James. He’s only got pants on. He has a very nice back, muscled and long, the skin brown and soft and fairly glowing. “What’s your mum do?”

“She’s a reporter for the Prophet,” says James. “Sports writer.”

Ewan nods. “And your dad?”

James looks at him, thinking he’s joking again. “My dad,” he repeats.

“Your dad, what does he do?” Ewan says, reaching out to brush James’ hair out of his eyes.

“You’re kidding,” James says.

Ewan pushes up on his elbows and stares. “What?”

“My dad is Harry Potter,” James says.

“Okay?” Ewan says.

“Harry Potter,” James says again. “Harry Potter?”

“I feel like I should be saying congratulations but I’ve no idea what you’re trying to tell me,” Ewan responds, puzzled.

“The Boy Who Lived,” says James.

“Your dad is a boy?”

“No!” James says, laughing now. “My dad is the one who did Voldemort in.” He looks at Ewan. “You really have no idea, do you? Not talked about in New Zealand, I guess?”

“I’ve heard of Voldemort,” says Ewan, defensive now. “Your dad killed him?”

“Sort of,” says James. “He always says he mostly watched as he killed himself.” He shakes his head. “There’s a statue of him at Hogwarts, over by the Forbidden Forest – the boy holding the wand, with glasses?”

Ewan finally makes a face of understanding. “Oh, that one… I never read the placard. Isn’t that the statue where someone transfigured the wand into a toilet plunger last year?”

“That was me,” says James, grinning. “Anyway, he’s the Head Auror for the Ministry of Magic now.”

“Right,” says Ewan, “I think I might have heard that part. That your dad was high up in the ministry?”

James shakes his head, staring at the ceiling. “You really don’t know who my dad is,” he says, marvelling. “You might literally be the first one I’ve ever met.” He looks over at Ewan again. “So you weren’t just looking to say you had it off with Harry Potter’s son.”

“I mean,” says Ewan, “mostly I just thought you were cute?” He settles back down into his pillow. “Does that happen to you a lot?”

James has never thought of it that way; maybe he’s tried not to. He shrugs.

“What time is it anyway?” he asks, because it’s fully dark out now.

“Oh, nearly midnight,” Ewan says, looking at a green-faced muggle digital clock on the nightstand. “My mum is working overnight if you wanted to stay.”

“I can’t,” says James, sitting up regretfully. “I told my parents I’d be home by midnight, sorry.”

“S’okay,” says Ewan, pushing up onto his knees too. “That was fun, thanks for coming round.”

James is looking for his shirt, but he pauses long enough to smile back, duck in for a kiss. “Thanks for the birthday present.”

“Should we do something tomorrow night?” Ewan asks.

“Yeah,” says James, glad he didn’t have to be the one to suggest it.

He flies home on the Comet even though he should apparate, it’s faster, but James wants the cool breeze of the upper sky, the spill of London lights below him, and time to think about Ewan.

***

Dad’s in the kitchen in his dressing gown when James tries to sneak in the garden door.

“Late,” says Dad, sipping at a mug of tea.

“Sorry,” says James. It’s ten past midnight, James can see from the clock on the wall, but he knows from experience that arguing degrees of lateness isn’t worth the effort.

“Tea?” says Dad, standing up from the table. His hair is messier than usual, like he’s already been to bed and back. James decides not to think that one through.

“Sure,” James answers, relieved that Dad’s not going to pick a fight over ten minutes. There’s a loud peal of laughter from upstairs. “All the kids staying over, I take it?”

Dad hums his agreement and puts the kettle on. “Dare I ask where you got to?”

“Just round to a friend’s place,” James says. “He has a PlayStation.”

Dad rubs his finger over a spot on his neck, looking at James’ own neck meaningfully. “PlayStation, hmm?”

James remembers Ewan’s mouth on that spot, a little too late. Wilson must have left a mark.

“He does have a PlayStation,” James says, covering the love bite instinctively. “Don’t ask anything else, and I won’t ask you about the potions I saw on your nightstand.”

It’s Dad’s turn to look embarrassed. “Why were you in my bedroom?” he asks, defensively.

“Using the Floo,” James says. “Do we have a deal?”

“At least tell me his name,” Dad says.

“His name is Ewan Wilson,” James says. “He’s from New Zealand and he’s never heard of you.”

“How refreshing for you,” Dad says earnestly, pouring out the boiling water into a mug with a teabag waiting.

“It is, actually,” James answers. “He’s dead clever, he beats everyone in chess, and his mum is a Healer.”

“Chess?” says Dad, surprised. “Not quidditch?”

James rolls his eyes. “What.”

“I just didn’t see you going for a chess player,” Dad says, handing James his mug.

“I have hidden depths,” James says soberly.

“He must be very handsome,” Dad says, like he’s working it out.

“Oh shut up,” says James, lifting one foot to kick at Dad playfully.

They sit down to drink tea, and Dad brings out a plate of biscuits left over from the party, putting it between them. “I wanted you to know,” Dad says, “I’m likely going to be Head of Magical Law Enforcement before the summer’s out.”

“You’re changing jobs? Why?” says James, surprised.

“Philpott’s retiring, I can’t say no this time.” Dad sighs. “Draco would like me out of active duty too.”

“You’re not letting Draco decide for you,” James says.

“Of course not,” says Dad, “but he’s got a point, doesn’t he?”

“You never cared when it was Mum saying you needed to leave the aurors and stop getting blown up all the time,” James points out. “Or when Albus had a complete meltdown that time you hurt your knee.”

“I’m older now, and it’s a young person’s game,” says Dad. “If I’m Head of MLE, I can make bigger changes, things Aunt Hermione’s been working on. Elves’ rights, and regulations around anti-muggle nonsense.”

“You’re not old,” James says, annoyed. “Not that old, anyway.”

“Anyway,” says Dad, “I know you’ve planned to apply to be an auror, and I wanted you to know I’ll be well out of your way by September.”

“Oh,” says James. “Okay.”

“You don’t want to join up with your dad as your boss, right,” says Dad.

“No,” says James. “That would be weird, yeah.”

Except James always thought: him and Dad, going to work together. It was what he pictured when he thought about being an auror. It’s weird to imagine going it alone, maybe spotting Dad in the corridors of the Ministry sometimes, but not going out in the field with him, fighting dark magic together. It’s been James’ plan since he was little, and it feels odd to have the rug pulled out from under him like this.

Another roar of laughter upstairs followed by an almighty thump, and Dad’s on his feet. “If I have to come up there,” he bellows, striding over to the stairwell, “you’ll all be very sorry.”

“Sorry, Dad!” Lily’s voice comes floating down. “We’ll shut up.”

Dad’s grinning when he turns back, though.

James lifts an eyebrow, bemused, but Dad just says, “House is too empty when you’re all gone at school. And it’s good to see Albus having fun for a change.”

“I guess I’ll go up,” James says, rising. “Thanks for the tea, Dad.”

“Hm,” says Dad, coming over looking like he wants a hug.

Nobody’s around, so James lets him.

“Happy birthday,” Dad says. “Don’t be late again.”

James goes up to bed.

***

It’s back to Mum’s flat the next day, and it seems like Longbottom has moved in for the duration now.

“You should call me Neville,” he says to James over dinner, “you used to when you were little, all of you.”

“Okay,” says James, but he has to bite off the habitual Professor that wants to follow.

“Not at school,” Longbottom says to Lily and Albus, both of whom are practically falling asleep sitting up after their long night at Dad’s with Scorpius, Rose, and Hugo. “Sorry.”

“Maybe I should keep calling you sir so I don’t get mixed up,” says Lily very sweetly.

“Lily, stop it,” Albus says, which seems to make Longbottom realise she was being rude.

“Yes, stop it,” says Mum, glaring at Lily. James wonders idly if Mum will yell at Lily with Longbottom here; he thinks probably yes.

Lily glowers and stabs at her potato salad.

***

Ewan’s mum is working all nights this week, it turns out. James goes over a few more times.

“Slow down,” Ewan says, the third time James is over, “it’s not a race.”

“Right,” says James, and tries to slow down. He’s been accustomed to Hogwarts, where every minute stolen with someone is hard-won and you’re vulnerable to discovery by a prefect or teacher or nosy peer any moment.

He’s never had this: privacy and time in ample measure.

***

“Dad says it’s a boy named Wilson,” says Mum on Saturday morning.

James looks up from his toast, startled.

“The boy you’re seeing,” Mum says. “And Dad said he’s from New Zealand?”

“Sounds like Dad filled you in,” he says, going back to his breakfast.

“Do I ever get to meet him?” she presses.

“It’s not like that,” James says. “He’s not my boyfriend or anything.”

“No?” says Mum, surprised. “Lily says you haven’t stuck with anyone for more than a week before this.”

“Like Lily knows anything about my life,” James says, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, you’re always banging on about not getting serious with anyone too young.”

“There are a lot of gradations between being serious with someone and – well,” says Mum.

“Can we please not talk about this,” says James, agonised, glancing over at Longbottom, who is pretending in turn to find his eggs fascinating.

“I’m just saying,” says Mum, “if you like him, you can bring him round, I promise not to embarrass you.”

“Okay,” says James, having no intention of ever bringing Ewan over because Mum can’t help being embarrassing, any more than Dad can.

He makes a quick escape back to his room, where – of course – Albus is sitting on his bed, reading.

“Do you do anything else?” James asks, flopping down onto his own bed. “OWLs are over, you can’t revise your way to a better mark now.”

Albus lifts one hand to flash a two-fingered salute at James but doesn’t look up otherwise.

“That’s nice,” says James, reaching for his broom so he can preen the tail for the dozenth time. “Dad’s worried that you’re a sociopath because you never have any fun.”

Albus looks up, and James knows with a pang that he’s hit below the belt, given the wounded look in Albus’s eyes. “He is?” he says, blinking.

James sighs, regretful. “No,” he says, “but really, would it kill you to do something other than read? Why don’t you go and see Scorpius?”

“Isn’t it weird?” Albus asks, still looking worried.

“What’s weird?” James replies. “Dad and Draco?”

“Well, yeah,” says Albus. “Scorpius says Dad is always over. He says that he eats breakfast in the kitchen in his pyjamas and his dad is doing that too, and he never did that before.”

“So?” says James. “Neville’s in his dressing gown eating eggs right now.”

“That’s weird, too,” says Albus. “But he’s not someone else’s dad, at least.”

“What difference does that bloody make?” James asks, baffled.

Albus shifts unhappily on his bed. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” James says, setting his broom down, sighing.

“Well, you’re the perfect son already, aren’t you,” Albus says, shutting his book with a snap.

“Oh, am I?” James asks, laughing bitterly. “Someone should really tell Mum and Dad.”

Albus shakes his head, looking down at his hands, the closed book. “I told you that you wouldn’t understand,” he mutters.

James doesn’t know why Albus gets like this – it feels pretty obvious to James that it’s Albus who’s Dad’s real favourite, honestly. But they’ve had this argument before and nobody wins it. Instead, James says, “He’s not going to wind up liking Scorpius better than you, Albus.”

Albus hunches his shoulders. “He might do. Scorpius is – he’s brave and funny and clever.”

“You’re clever too,” says James hotly. “You are – I know I take the piss, but you do just fine, don’t you. And who cares about being brave, that’s just another word for being stupid and taking chances, isn’t it.”

“The Slytherin Squib,” says Albus, almost to himself.

“I socked Nigel Boot in the jaw when he called you that, your first year,” James says.

Albus looks up, eyes wide. “You did? I never knew that.”

“Detention for a week and busted up my knuckles on his big stupid head,” says James ruefully. “Worth it though.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Albus says.

“I was embarrassed,” says James. “Dad wouldn’t have liked me losing my temper, and I thought you might tell on me for getting detention.”

“I wouldn’t have,” says Albus. He runs his fingers over the cover of the book on his lap, thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll see if Scorpius wants to come here,” he says.

“Good idea, then you don’t have to watch Dad snogging Mr Malfoy in the kitchen,” says James.

“Yeah,” says Albus. “Just Longbottom snogging Mum, ugh.”

“Lily reckons she caught him singing to his bubotubers the other day,” says James. “Still, it’s better than how Mum and Dad were by the end, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Albus concedes, “definitely better than that.”

***

Sunday night, Mum packs them off to Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron’s place for dinner with Dad.

“You’re altogether too happy to get us out of the flat,” James tells her when Lily and Albus are distracted, fighting over something in the living room.

“Of course I’m not,” says Mum, but she’s got on lipstick and earrings. “Give my love to everyone, darling.” Then she goes off to yell at Lily and Albus about not yelling.

There’s no fireplace in Mum’s flat, so James has to take them side-along. They go into a quiet stairwell in their building so no passing muggles will spot them, and James takes Lily and Albus by the hand.

“Don’t splinch us,” says Lily.

“He won’t splinch us,” says Albus, but he sounds nervous too.

“I’ll only splinch you if you don’t stop bloody wriggling, Lily,” James says, shaking Lily’s hand in his. “It’s like trying to disapparate a tadpole.”

“I’m nervous!” she yells.

“Shut up and hold still,” James says, and disapparates with them to Ottery St Catchpole.

The Weasleys’ house looks the same as ever, cosy and cluttered with books. It’s not as big as the Burrow but feels just about as crowded as the Burrow does at Christmas, with four adults and six teenagers crammed into its little main floor. But Scorpius, Rose, and Albus almost immediately disappear up into Rose’s room, and then Lily and Hugo go to his, leaving James feeling rather like a fifth wheel next to all the adults.

“D’you want a beer?” Uncle Ron asks, then catches a look from Aunt Hermione. “Butterbeer?” he revises hastily.

“Please,” says James, and pretends not to notice when Uncle Ron pours a regular beer into an opaque butterbeer stein. “Thanks,” he says quietly, taking it as Uncle Ron winks at him.

Dad and Aunt Hermione are going on and on about something boring happening at the ministry that has them both worked up and shouting animatedly. Uncle Ron is setting out the takeaway containers – looks like Italian this week – and Draco is leaning in the corner of the kitchen looking like he might be feeling as left out as James. James edges over to him.

“They do go on,” says Draco, noticing James now, nodding towards Dad and Aunt Hermione.

“Dad said he’s going to be head of MLE soon,” says James, casting about for anything at all to say to Draco.

“That seems likely,” agrees Draco. “He said you’re still thinking of going for auror?”

“I think so,” says James. “Yeah.”

Draco cuts a narrow look his way. “Such enthusiasm,” he says, lifting his wine glass to his lips.

“I’ve got to do something,” James says, “right?”

“Well,” says Draco, but then Uncle Ron is yelling upstairs for everyone to come to dinner, and it’s chaos and eating and shouting.

“Do you want to come up,” says Rose, after they’ve eaten.

James hesitates; he doesn’t particularly want to stay here with the adults and their wine and boring conversation, but he feels weird being with the kids, too.

“Come on,” she says, “Albus and Scorpius aren’t very fun to be around, they just want to talk to each other and it’s so boring.”

“I thought Scorpius fancied you,” James says, grinning.

“He’s moved on,” says Rose, rolling her eyes, “and fine with me, too – there’s some Hufflepuff he’s got his sights on these days according to Albus. Come on, James…what if we played some one-on-one quidditch?”

James glances around to make sure the parents aren’t listening. “We could nip round to Seb Spencer’s,” he suggests. “Might be a little more fun there than here?”

Rose pulls a face. “Oh, James,” she says, “they’ve been upsetting the whole village all summer, it’s nothing but parties over there.”

“We could play two on two if we get both Seb and John to join us,” says James. “And if they’re busy playing quidditch they can’t be upsetting all the old ladies, can they?”

“Well,” says Rose – but it’s clear she likes the idea of quidditch. She gave it up this year at school to focus on her OWLs but James can tell she’s missed it. “Fine, fine, let me just ask Mum.”

“Oh Merlin, don’t ask her,” says James, grabbing Rose by the arm before she can turn towards Aunt Hermione. “You know she’ll say no. Tell her we’re going to play quidditch, she doesn’t need to know who with, does she.”

Rose dithers for a moment but it’s clear she wants to play, and she knows it’ll be more fun with four than two. “Okay,” she says, “but we’re on a team together.”

“Of course,” says James. “We’ll destroy them.”

***

They leave the adults drinking wine and moaning about the Ministry, Scorpius and Albus reading together, and Hugo and Lily playing spitting gobstones noisily in the corner. It’s a delicious warm night and still bright out, but with the moon nearly full, low in the sky before them.

James thought about popping home long enough to grab his new broom but decided it was a bad idea when he remembered Mum wearing lipstick and earrings; it could be Neville and Mum have something planned, and James doesn’t want to drop in unannounced if so. Instead, James is shouldering Uncle Ron’s old Cleansweep Eleven, and Rose has her own Nimbus from quidditch.

Seb and John are home, and clearly bored because James barely has to do more than wave at them with his broom before they’re running out the door with their own brooms and a regulation quaffle.

There’s a field outside the village where James and Rose have played before, so they make for that spot. James does a quick muggle-repelling charm just to be safe, and then they’re up in the air with disillusionment charms on — which makes it that much harder to play, and therefore more fun.

As Rose predicted, she and James take Seb and John down quickly; the others were never on the Gryffindor team, and James and Rose have the further advantage of having played together since they could fly. They accept the opposing team’s concession after they’re a hundred and eighty points ahead, and then they lie down on their backs in the middle of the field while the sun sets and the moon rises.

“I’m going to play again next year,” says Rose, pink-cheeked and happy. “It’s two years until NEWTs, after all.”

“You were mad to stop,” James tells her. “Imagine missing a whole year of quidditch and winning the cup.”

“Imagine caring more about school than quidditch,” says John, with even more incredulity.

Eventually they peel themselves off the ground and brush dead grass off each other’s backs.

“Did you want to come over?” Seb asks them.

“No, I should be getting home,” says Rose.

“What about you?” Seb asks James, and James knows from the speculative gleam in Seb’s eyes that he’s thinking they could hole up in his bedroom and mess around a little.

James shakes his head. “I’ve got to get Lily and Albus home,” he says, but of course that’s only part of it — Dad could run them back if he needed to.

Seb cuts a look at James. “You and Wilson,” he says.

“No,” says James immediately, then reconsiders. “Maybe.”

“Look how the boy becomes a man,” Seb says grandly, and then James has to stop to pummel him, to make him stop smiling like that.

But really, it’s not like that with Ewan, James thinks.

He’s pretty sure.

***

“Ewan Wilson?” Rose says, simply, once they’ve parted ways with Seb and John.

James just shrugs, but he feels the smile playing at his lips even as he fights it.

“Wow,” says Rose. “Ewan Wilson.”

“I really hope everyone keeps saying ‘wow, James Potter’ to him,” James says, annoyed now.

“Oh yes,” says Rose, “because you’re famously so difficult to snog.”

“He wasn’t difficult either,” James says, defensive. “I asked him and he did.”

“Ewan Wilson did?” Rose says.

“Shut up, Rose,” James answers, hurrying ahead.

***

Scorpius goes home with Albus and Lily – Dad does wind up popping them back as James isn’t sure about taking three people sidealong just yet – and then James goes home with Dad, so Scorpius and Albus can have the room to themselves without annoying James.

“You’re not coming?” James asks as they stroll out of the Weasleys’ house into the night air.

Draco shakes his head. “I’ve got a few potions that need tending at the manor,” he says.

“It doesn’t bother me,” James says, in case the potions thing is as fake as it sounds. “You staying over too. Longbottom has pretty much moved in.”

Draco smiles and shakes his head. “I really do have to get home,” he says, “and your dad and I do need some time apart now and then.” He walks a little ways down the road with James and then stops. “Are you okay to disapparate to Grimmauld Place, then?”

“Yeah,” says James, “of course.”

“Just checking,” says Draco. “Have you found a chance to piss away any of that money, yet?”

“Not yet,” James admits. He hasn’t been to Diagon Alley even to get into the vault, yet. Most of his time has been with Ewan and they haven’t done much, outside – well.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Draco says, and then, “oh, here’s your dad.”

Dad has apparated across the street, and he’s heading over to them. “Ginny didn’t mind the swap,” he reports. “Neville says hi.” He looks at James. “Well? Shall we?”

“Goodnight,” James says to Draco.

Dad comes over all awkward for a moment, apparently realising he has to say goodnight to Draco too, in front of James.

Draco just steps forward and takes Dad by the elbow, nipping in for a quick kiss. “Goodnight,” he says, and then he’s gone.

“You don’t need to be weird about it,” James tells Dad. “Mum is always kissing Neville.”

“Is she,” Dad says, distractedly. “Okay, let’s go.”

***

It’s late, but James feels restless when they get to Grimmauld Place. Dad doesn’t seem tired yet either, offering to make a pot of tea while they sit in the kitchen.

“How was playing quidditch with Rose,” Dad asks, pulling out a loaf of bread. He doesn’t bother asking James if he’s hungry because he knows James is always hungry. “Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” says James, “and she says she’s back on the team next year, she misses it.”

“You’re going to miss it too,” Dad says, sighing. “Well, there are the auror intramural teams, but it’s not the same and the level isn’t as high.”

“I know,” says James, now feeling a little glum at the thought. He takes a plate of toast from Dad – buttered with jam – and takes a bite. “I guess there are more things in life than quidditch.”

“Not many more,” Dad says, “but yes, a few more.”

James takes another bite, pondering. “Would you teach me to play chess?” he asks, feeling a little embarrassed about it. Dad tried to get James interested for years, but gave up once Albus started playing.

“What — now?” says Dad, and he’s on his feet so fast that James doesn’t have the heart to admit he didn’t mean immediately. Dad comes back with his old battered board and grizzled pieces, opening it up and setting it up between them.

James is surprised how simple it is once Dad starts explaining – he always had the idea of chess being enormously complicated – but it doesn’t take more than a few moves of their first game before Dad has James’ pieces cornered, and James starts to get the idea that the game’s rules might be simple, but the game itself isn’t.

“Don’t worry,” says Dad, “I’m crap at chess too, but it’s fun, you’ll see.”

He doesn’t seem very crap at it, James reflects after losing his fifth game running – but he did feel like Dad had to work harder to defeat James each time.

Finally, James is too tired to think, and he declines a sixth game. “Don’t you have work in the morning,” James says when Dad looks disappointed.

Dad glances at the clock and shrugs. “This was more fun than sleeping anyway.”

James grins but stands up. “Goodnight, Dad.”

***

Ewan’s mum is working days this week, so after Dad goes to work the next morning, James has a leisurely breakfast and then heads over to Ewan’s.

It’s nice, James thinks, having sex in the sunlight spilling over Ewan’s bed, warm and slow and lovely.

“Did you want to play on the PlayStation?” Ewan asks when they’re done.

“What about a game of chess?” James asks.

Ewan’s pulling a shirt over his head – when his face pops out of the neck hole, he looks satisfyingly surprised. “Really?” he says.

“Yeah,” says James. “I’m just learning, you can have fun winning every game.”

Ewan seems to need a minute to consider this, but after a pause, he nods. “Sure, why not.”

James quickly learns that either Dad was going easy on him, or Ewan is much better than Dad. He’s back to losing within a dozen moves, every game.

“Can I show you a few things,” says Ewan after the fifth game that ends before James can even figure out what Ewan is doing.

Last time Ewan offered to show James a few things, it wound up being tremendously fun, so James agrees quickly.

Ewan is a good teacher in this, too – he seems to have a knack for translating the strategies into analogies James can grasp immediately. “Pawns are chasers,” he says. “They’re handy and they can do a lot, but ultimately, if you lose one to a bludger, you can still win.”

“Which one is the seeker,” James asks, watching Ewan’s pawns glare up at them both, disgruntled.

Next, Ewan shows James a few opening moves that he says are good for beginners.

When they play again, instead of just beating James, Ewan pauses when James makes a blunder and shows him where he’s exposing his pieces to danger. He doesn’t let James undo a move once he’s made it, but James starts to see that he needs to consider the whole board before he makes a move, not just the piece on Ewan’s side that he’s eyeing.

They stop to eat lunch – leftovers from the fridge – and then they wind up back in Ewan’s bedroom for a while before returning to the chess board out in the living room.

James thinks he’s having his first decent game, finally, when there’s a rattle at the door and Ewan’s mum comes in. James leaps to his feet as guiltily as though she walked in on them naked in the bedroom – but of course they’re fully dressed and just sitting opposite each other. Still, he feels weirdly caught out.

“Oh, hi,” says Ewan’s mum. “Ewan, you didn’t say you were having a friend over.”

Ewan stands up too, and it seems pretty clear from his expression that he lost track of time. “Er,” he says, “yeah, sorry. Mum, this is James Potter.”

“James Potter?” says Ewan’s mum, looking back at James with surprise. “Not Harry Potter’s son?”

“Yes,” says James, embarrassed even more, though he can’t think of why. He’s mostly proud to be Dad’s son, as long as people aren’t weird about it, and Ewan’s mum is just being polite and normal.

He glances back at Ewan, and has the sudden realisation that Ewan hasn’t told his mum anything about James.

“I should go,” James says.

“Oh, no, you should stay for dinner,” says Ewan’s mum.

“I can’t,” says James, “but thank you,” and he makes for the door. “Nice to meet you,” he says, and Ewan is following him now.

Out in the corridor outside the flat, Ewan has the grace to look a little embarrassed, too. “Sorry,” he says, “I forgot she would be home by this time.”

“It’s okay,” James says, “she seems nice.”

“She is,” says Ewan. “Well, she’s my mum, she’s okay.”

James pauses to see if Ewan is going to apologise for not telling his mum about them, or at least explain why he hasn’t. But Ewan just bites his lip and sticks his hands in his pockets. “Did you want to come over tomorrow?” he says.

“I’m busy tomorrow,” James says, though of course he isn’t.

“Right,” says Ewan. “Well, maybe the next day.”

“Maybe,” says James. “Okay, bye.”

***

“Hello,” says Dad when James slams the door behind him at Grimmauld Place. “Not going back to your mum’s tonight?” Dad’s sat on the sofa with some parchment on his lap, but it’s clear from the delicious smell in the air that he’s making dinner for more than himself.

“I thought I’d stay if I could,” says James, in no mood for chatting.

“Yeah, of course,” says Dad. “Draco’s here.”

“Great,” says James, “I’ll be in my room.” Which isn’t fair on Dad, it’s his house and he can have his bloody boyfriend over for dinner, James knows it, but he just feels suddenly like he’s not welcome anywhere.

James doesn’t pause to apologise, though, just thunders up the stairs and shuts himself up in his room.

***

The smell of dinner is too alluring, in the end, and James moodily descends at six. Dad’s made chili and corn on the cob and fresh-baked buns. Draco is at the table in the kitchen reading the paper while Dad gets everything laid out for them.

“Good day?” Draco asks when James sits down.

“Yeah,” says James, unenthused. “Brilliant.”

Draco looks up at him over the paper, then over at Dad in an annoyingly meaningful way.

“Did you have a row with Ewan,” Dad says, putting a bowl down in front of James.

“No,” says James. “Can we not?”

Draco and Dad exchange another look, infuriatingly, but Draco at least seems to accept James’ request, setting aside his paper and taking a bowl from Dad. “Did you see this nonsense about the proposed muggle artefacts legislation?” he asks Dad, nodding towards his copy of the Prophet.

“Don’t get me started,” Dad groans, sitting down now too. “Hermione has been on a tear all day about it.”

“Personally I can’t see the point of the bloody things,” says Draco.

“Can’t you?” Dad asks, passing the bread bowl around. “I suppose you wouldn’t. But the junior aurors won’t stop telling me how useful they’d be on the job.”

“Useful,” snorts Draco. “If they’re anything like muggles with those devices, they’ll never get a thing done. I see them all over London, they look like they have a neck breaking hex on them, faces glued to those little screens. I can’t imagine what they find so interesting.”

“I’m sorry to say it,” says Dad, “but that was the most middle-aged observation you’ve ever made to me, Draco.”

James eats, tuning out the adult conversation until it feels like a low-grade buzz at the back of his brain. He can’t stop seeing the look on Ewan’s face when his mum walked in, and the surprise on hers when Ewan introduced him.

***

James can’t stay at Dad’s house any longer, not when it’s Mum’s turn with them, so the next morning he apparates back to the flat.

“Oh, do you still live here,” Lily says from the sofa when James comes in the door.

“Hi, James,” says Longbottom, busily tending the plants that seem to be multiplying all over the flat.

“Hi,” James says, and heads to his bedroom.

Scorpius is still here, it seems – James stops short when he realises his bed is occupied even though it’s almost noon. Albus is still curled up under the covers of his own bed.

“Merlin,” James says, thrown. “What did you two get up to last night, dare I ask?”

Albus reaches for a bucket that James now notices near his bed, and leans over it before heaving. He looks grey and sweaty and grim.

“Don’t lose it,” says Scorpius with a croaky voice. “Albus.”

“I won’t,” says Albus – though it seems rather late to be promising that, James thinks, disgusted. Albus sinks back onto his mattress, setting the bucket down again. “It’s fine.”

Scorpius has his own bucket, James can see now. “Lightweights,” he says. “What was it, firewhisky?”

“Don’t mention firewhisky,” Albus says piteously.

“What possessed you,” James marvels. “You idiots.”

“Shut up,” Albus says, “and please sod off.”

“Take your nifflers with you,” says Scorpius, muttering now, possibly mostly asleep. “They’re – so purple.”

“Right,” says James, “this is perfect, thanks. You’ll be changing my sheets before you go, Malfoy.”

“Sheets are made of sandpaper,” Scorpius complains.

“Made of sand,” Albus agrees.

James rolls his eyes and leaves the room.

“Any sign of life in there?” Longbottom asks as James goes to forage in the fridge.

James can’t rat out Albus to Longbottom, as annoyed as he is with him; it’s too strong an instinct to lie to a professor after all this time. “They’re fine,” he says, “just stayed up too late.”

On the sofa behind Longbottom, Lily is miming being sick into the potted mimbulus. James glares at her when Longbottom is distracted.

“I imagine they’ll be fine,” James says. “Leave them be.” He finds a yoghurt and grabs it. “I might go to Diagon Alley this afternoon.” He remembered to take the Gringotts key from his room at Dad’s house, and he can’t stop thinking about Draco’s directive to spend some of the money on something fun. He thought maybe something for Ewan, but –

“Can I come?” Lily says. “Oh, please! It’s so boring here!”

Longbottom looks relieved at the suggestion. “There’s a thought,” he says hopefully.

“Fine,” says James, “but I’m not hanging out with you, I’ve got my own shit to do.”

“Perfect,” says Lily, “I don’t want to hang out with you either.”

“Glad we’re agreed,” says James.

***

James ditches Lily at the first opportunity once they apparate into Diagon Alley. “Meet me back here at four,” he tells her, and then she’s gone.

James has been to Gringotts before with Dad when he was little, but it’s been a long time, and he’s certainly never gone in as a client. He isn’t quite sure how to queue or which wicket to approach, but a kind-looking witch nudges him towards an open wicket when he hesitates in front of her.

The goblin takes his key and says, “New client? Very well, we’ll need to see your wand. Mr Malfoy has already vouched for your identity.”

“How do you know I’m me, then?” James asks, but he produces his wand anyway. “Couldn’t I just be a chancer who stole the key off the real James?”

The goblin smiles, though the expression is a little pinched. James thinks maybe it’s rude to question Gringotts’ security, and maybe especially rude given that his dad famously robbed Gringotts once. “Mr Malfoy’s provided us with a Vouching Spell, of course,” the goblin says, and when he takes James’s wand off him, a weird blue light flashes and strobes over James, then turns white. “That will suffice,” the goblin says, and puts the wand on a set of scales. “Cherry, phoenix core, twelve inches,” he says.

“Yes,” says James, still a little dazzled by the light show.

“We will retain your wand’s identity to verify your ownership of your vault going forward,” says the goblin. “You need only bring it and your key. Did you wish to access your vault today?”

“Yes,” says James. “Er, please.”

He’s done this part before, too, with Dad, but the ride feels longer than he remembers. It makes sense that newer vaults should be deeper down, James supposes. When the cart finally stops, they’re in front of a brass door numbered 961. The goblin takes James’s key again and opens the vault for him before standing aside.

James can see the vault is smaller than Dad’s, but it’s still stacked impressively full of galleons. He isn’t sure what Draco would consider to be a reasonable amount of money to spend, but James also doesn’t fancy coming back again this summer, so he scoops up a few heavy handfuls and shoves them in the bag he brought along.

Back out in the sunshine, James doesn’t quite know where to begin. He’s got a broom, a good one, and it’s new enough that it doesn’t need maintenance. He did promise Lily a present in exchange for her silence, though, so he starts at Eeylops where he gets her a pygmy puff that’s bright green.

Then he supposes he should get something for Albus, too; he finds a pair of two-way mirrors second-hand in a dusty shop and remembers Dad talking about Grandad having a set to talk to Sirius Black in separate detentions. They’re pricey – more than the pygmy puff – but James feels a little sorry for hungover Albus and Scorpius, so he splurges and buys the set.

At Scribbulus there’s a little games section. James hesitates over a selection of wizard chess sets. He’s about to turn away but then, impulsively, he grabs a set with gold and blue pieces.

“Good choice,” says someone standing behind him – James turns around, startled. It’s Seb. “Chess, hmm?”

“We all need our hobbies,” James says, though he’s considering putting the damned thing back again now.

“Either things are going very well or very poorly if you’ve started playing chess together,” says Seb, slinging his arm around James.

“Is it possible to say it’s both,” James says, sighing.

“Of course,” says Seb. “Come on, let’s buy your chess set and then go have a pint. My treat.”

“My treat,” James says, feeling the weight of the galleons in his bag. “But yes.”

***

“Maybe his mum would have been too excited to know he was having it off with James Potter,” Seb suggests, once James confesses everything. “He was trying to manage her expectations.”

“I don’t know,” James says, “Ewan didn’t even know who my dad was.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Seb says. “How can you live in wizarding England for more than a minute and not know?”

“He says he didn’t know,” James says, “and I believe him. But she did know my dad’s name, so she would have known who I was if he bothered mentioning me. Wouldn’t most mums think it was exciting?”

“Not any mum familiar with your reputation,” says Seb affectionately.

“At least I’m not spending my summer shocking the old muggles of Ottery St Catchpole into early graves,” James mutters, then tips down the last of his beer.

“I always wondered what would happen to you if you caught feelings over someone,” Seb says, giving James an uncomfortably long look.

“I haven’t caught feelings,” James says crossly. “I just didn’t expect to be treated like a dirty little secret.”

Seb takes a pointed sip of his beer, wide-eyed.

“I never treated you like that,” James says. “Come on, mate, I didn’t!”

Seb sets his beer down again and reaches over to pat James on the shoulder, condescendingly. “You did, a bit.”

“I did?” James says, a little breathless with this revelation.

He thinks back; he always thought they both just liked messing around, and it wasn’t exactly a secret, but… James has to admit, there were times when Seb might reach for his hand in the common room and James would pull away, in case someone else got the wrong idea.

And – yes – more than once, James came to Seb after one of his other obsessions faltered; Seb always felt safe and easy, James thought. But he’s never before thought about how it might have felt from Seb’s perspective, being James’s fallback position.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” James says, heartfelt.

“I never could stay angry with you,” Seb says. “Well, if nothing else, I’m a bit glad you finally know how it feels, Jamesy.”

“Why are you friends with me, I’m such a tosser,” James says, horrified.

“You’re an extremely pretty tosser,” says Seb. “And anyway, you’re buying, you said.”

***

Lily is delighted with the pygmy puff. “How much did the dragon give you?” she asks, peering into the little cage. “Should I have held out for an owl? Do you think he’ll give me money on my birthday in August?”

“None of your business, and don’t call him that,” James says as they walk up the street to Mum’s flat. “Draco is nice.”

“He’s okay,” she says. “I would probably like him more too if he gave me money.”

“I don’t like him because he gave me money,” James sighs. “But shut up about it, that was the deal. Dad would do his nut.”

“I know,” she says, and flies ahead of him to get into the building.

Upstairs, Scorpius and Albus have emerged at last from the bedroom, looking slightly less wretched than earlier in the day. “Here,” says James, slipping them each a mirror after checking to ensure Mum is busy getting dinner ready in the kitchen. “Two-way, now you can talk constantly, you’re welcome.”

Albus straightens up a bit on the sofa, perking up in spite of the greyish cast to his skin. “Thanks, James,” he says, wonderingly. “Why, though?”

James shrugs. “I figure if you’re only going to have one friend you’d better hold onto him.”

Scorpius, who seems a little more recovered than Albus, manages a smile. “Thanks, James,” he says. “This will come in handy when I’m in Japan, won’t it?”

“Dinner!” Mum yells. “Now!”

***

A screech owl comes swooping in the open window of James’s bedroom late that night, moonlight glinting off its feathers. Frodo is annoyed by the intruder, but the owl doesn’t linger once James takes the letter off it, swooping away again almost immediately.

James - are you going to Seb and John’s tomorrow night? Want to go together? - Ewan

Seb did invite James earlier on, of course, and James has a dark suspicion that the invitation to Ewan is more of a joke on Seb’s part than a coincidence, but James can’t help but feel a little warmed by Ewan’s overture. Going together isn’t the same as being there together, after all. And it’s the first time Ewan has ever asked James to do anything other than come over for sex, honestly.

James scribbles a note back straightaway, not caring if he seems overly eager, and sends Frodo off with it.

Yes, he writes, come to my mum’s flat at seven and we can leave from here? Address below.

Mum will insist on meeting Ewan, James knows it. He’s surprised to find he’s okay with the idea, suddenly.

James sits down on his bed and nearly kicks over the bucket of sick that Scorpius left behind. “Evanesco,” he says, rolling his eyes, then glances over at Albus, who’s a lump under his covers again. James doesn’t think he’s ever had a hangover so bad. Trust Albus to overdo it so spectacularly the very first time he even tries drinking.

***

James should have bought clothes yesterday. He’s furious with himself now, because he’s got absolutely nothing to wear.

“What about the green shirt,” says Albus, who has been helpful instead of disdainful for a change; he spent half the day talking to Scorpius in the two-way mirror, which has improved his mood vastly. “Mum always says green is good with our eyes.”

“I can’t find the fucking green shirt,” James moans, rifling through the pile of clothes again.

“Hang on, I might have one,” Albus says, and goes into his dresser, coming back with a neatly-folded button-down shirt.

“It’ll be too small,” James says.

“Are you a wizard or not,” Albus answers, rolling his eyes. “Hello?”

“Oh,” says James, and pulls it on. It’s not exactly the sort of thing James favours, but it’s not bad – and a quick adjustment or two with his wand gets the sleeves and shirt tails to the right length. “How’s that?”

“It’s too baggy now,” says Albus.

“Seb says that tight clothes are cheugy,” says James, uncertain.

“Scorpius says that clothes should fit you properly,” Albus counters.

James tries taking in the shirt a little, and he has to admit that the result is flattering. “Is it okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” says Albus, “I think so.”

“Thanks,” says James. He glances at Albus’s reflection in the mirror now, too; the kid still looks drawn and pinched. “Are you drinking enough water? You should be better by now.”

“I’m fine,” says Albus. “I think I just caught a cold or something.”

Mum comes in the room then, holding a basket of clean laundry. “Oh, you look nice,” she says. “I heard you shouting about your green shirt, I think it’s in here.”

“That’s okay,” says James, “Albus loaned me his and the alteration charms should hold for a day or two.”

Mum divides a pleased look between them, clearly happy they’re getting on for a change.

“Ewan’s going to come over, we’re going to Seb and John’s together,” James says, figuring he might as well warn her and give her a chance to react now.

“He’s coming up to get you?” she asks, setting down the laundry basket. “Oh, lovely.”

“Don’t,” says James.

“Don’t what?” Mum says.

“Don’t be excited,” James says. “He’s just a friend.” But even as he says it, he sees Mum looking at his shirt again. “He’s mostly just a friend,” James revises. “Mum, don’t be weird when he comes up.”

“I promise, I won’t,” says Mum, but she’s smiling and it’s awful.

“Mum,” says James, agonised.

***

“Mum, this is Ewan. Ewan, you know Albus and Lily, and of course, er–”

“Neville,” says Longbottom, sticking out his hand. “Nice to see you, Ewan.”

Ewan shakes Longbottom’s hand rather calmly given that he probably didn’t expect to encounter a teacher at James’s house.

“We have to go,” says James.

“Nice to meet you,” Ewan says, very polite and adult.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” says Mum, who is actually incapable of not being embarrassing.

James bolts out the door and Ewan follows him.

“Sorry,” James says. “I have a lot of cousins; there’s no hope of keeping a secret in my family for long.”

“Am I a secret?” Ewan asks, following James down the stairs.

“No,” says James confusedly, slowing down. “You’re not a secret.” He halts on the landing and looks at Ewan. “Am I?”

Ewan looks a little abashed. “No,” he says. “I’m sorry, you’re not. I just – I don’t tell my mum much, I guess. She had about a million questions after you left the other day so I reckon she knows everything about you now.”

“Everything?” James says, and he’s impressed that his voice sounds so normal when his stomach is doing backflips.

“You know,” says Ewan. “Captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, star athlete, popular.”

“Am I,” James says, charmed. He backs Ewan up a little until he’s against the wall, planting his palms on either side of his head, trapping him. “What else.”

“It would be weird if I told my mum how fit you are,” Ewan says, but he’s grinning now. “But I did tell her you’re rotten at chess.”

James ducks in and kisses Ewan’s mouth, abruptly dizzy with how much he likes him. Ewan’s hands come up to hold James still, to better kiss him back, and James gets lost for a little while, forgetting they’re stood in a very public stairwell.

A cleared throat, and James leaps back, looking up towards the source of the sound. It’s one of their muggle neighbours, looking rather stern and unimpressed. She bustles down past them, fairly stomping; her little dog is in her arms, clearly on its way to do its nightly business right outside the door as usual.

“Come on,” murmurs James the moment she’s gone, “let’s disapparate, it’ll give her a turn when she comes back up in a minute and we’re gone.”

***

“Ah,” says Seb, answering the door. He’s wearing a feather boa and has a long smoking pipe jammed into the corner of his mouth. “Guinevere and her Lancelot,” he says.

“Dibs on being Guinevere,” says Ewan, and when he moves to go into the house, he grabs James’ hand by the fingers and tows him along behind.

“She certainly has a queenly grace,” Seb proclaims, and Ewan mimes a small hair toss with a grin.

It really is a smaller gathering tonight – other than Seb, John, Ewan, and James, there’s Lucy and a couple of Ravenclaw girls James recognizes. Seb passes around cups of firewhisky, but James has Albus and Scorpius’s recent suffering too clear in his mind to drink with much enthusiasm.

And then it’s just – nice. They talk and laugh and gossip, and through it all, James sits next to Ewan on the sofa. Once in a while, Ewan picks up James’ hand and squeezes it.

Not a secret, James thinks. Not a secret at all.

***

They leave about eleven o’clock even though neither has to be home until midnight. It’s nice to wander through the quiet village with its lights dimmed, the moon pouring down on them, hand in hand. They walk all the way to the edge of the village and out to the field where James played quidditch with Rose and the rest just a couple of days ago.

“Here?” says Ewan, and when James nods, he conjures up some blankets and pillows.

“I like your shirt, did I say,” Ewan says softly, skimming his fingers just inside the sleeves. “Usually everything you wear is kind of loose.”

“Thought I’d try a change,” says James, heart hammering, which is weird. They’ve done this, they’ve done it a lot, actually.

But when he takes Ewan gently by the jaw and leans in to kiss him, out in the moonlight and the stillness and the night, James feels like he’s somehow never kissed anyone before this moment.

***

He makes it home by midnight – just – and it’s Longbottom sitting up to wait for him.

“Fun night?” asks Longbottom, looking up from his book, checking the clock.

“Yeah,” says James, and goes to the fridge to find sustenance.

In the bedroom, Albus is huddled under his covers yet again.

James takes pity on him and casts an aguamenti to fill the water glass next to his bed. In his sleep, Albus does look a little sweaty; he might be right about having a cold, now.

“Drink this,” James says, nudging him awake.

“Thanks,” says Albus muzzily. “Did you and Ewan have fun?”

“Yes,” says James, watching Albus drink down all the water. “Thanks for the shirt.”

“Looks better on you anyway,” says Albus, eyes closing again. “Thanks for the water.”

“If you’re still poorly tomorrow, you need to tell Mum,” says James.

“I’m fine,” says Albus. “It’ll pass.”

James climbs into bed and lies awake for a long while, staring at the shadows of the tree branches outside cast on the ceiling.

***

It suddenly gets a lot easier to spend time with Ewan now that they’ve gone out together and met each other’s mums. Ewan comes to Mum’s flat and hangs out there some days, and James eats dinner with Ewan and his mum other days. They play chess and video games and listen to music.

Ewan’s mum is a lot stricter than either of James’s parents, but she’s nice enough to James when he’s around. She tells them both stories of the cases she’s treating at St Mungo’s, which are mostly pretty funny: hexes gone wrong, potions carelessly brewed, or charms used inappropriately.

“And what about you, James,” she says one night, passing Ewan the egg rolls. “What’s awaiting you in the fall?”

James glances at Ewan to find that Ewan’s suddenly looking back at James with keen interest. Somehow, this question has never come up between them before now. “Er,” James says, “well, I thought of going for auror, actually.”

Ewan’s expression is hard to read, some mixture of surprise and maybe even a little dismay. “Because of your dad,” he says, not really asking.

“He’s always been happy in his work, yeah,” says James. “But I always liked Defence Against the Dark Arts and I don’t fancy being stuck in an office, at least not yet. You get to go around helping people, don’t you.”

“It’s an admirable goal,” says Ewan’s mum.

“What are you doing, then?” James asks Ewan, embarrassed that he’s never thought to ask. They had a couple NEWT classes in common this last year – Arithmancy and History of Magic – but James isn’t sure what exams Ewan even sat, otherwise.

“I’ve got a few things on the go,” Ewan says. “Some apprenticeships I’ve applied for, and a couple of entry-level positions at the Ministry. But everything hinges on NEWT results at the moment, so nothing’s set in stone.”

His mum gives him a proud look. “I’m sure you’ll have your pick of what to do next,” she says.

James squeezes a smile at Ewan and takes another helping of fried rice. He’s had everyone telling him how clever Ewan is, James reminds himself. Probably no surprise that he’s set up for any number of careers already.

It does make James feel a little weirdly behind, though, like he should have a few different things on the go too. He hasn’t even filled out the auror training application; it’s been sitting on top of his school trunk for weeks now. There’s no hurry to apply before NEWT results come back anyway, James thinks, but maybe he should start working on it anyway.

***

“Come to a gig with me,” says Ewan, and they go to see a wizarding band in Camden that’s playing a muggle venue. “Happens all the time,” Ewan says. “Muggles don’t seem to notice if a musician is a wizard.”

James just likes the press of the crowd and the darkness, the volume and the energy.

“You should try a quidditch game,” James tells Ewan as he walks him home afterwards. “Have you been to a match in England? A real professional one?”

“No,” says Ewan, not looking too keen.

“My mum can get us tickets,” says James. “There’s food and drink?”

“Sure,” says Ewan, conceding. “Stop making that face, you’re impossible.”

Mum gets them box seats and it’s Puddlemere versus Chudley; both teams are playing amazingly this season. James brings omnioculars for Ewan knowing they’ll help him grasp what’s happening in the fast action.

“Well?” says James, when the game ends in only fifty-two minutes with a spectacular Wronski feint by Cannons’ seeker. “Are you a convert?”

“I’m a convert of watching you get that excited,” says Ewan diplomatically. “And it doesn’t hurt to be able to zoom in on a bunch of men who have really nice bodies.”

“There is that,” James concedes.

One thing that has become more difficult is finding time to be alone together. Ewan’s mum develops a habit of popping home for lunch or dinner during her work shifts, and Mum’s flat is right out with Longbottom hanging around day in, day out. It’s a frustrating few days before James realises that the answer’s right in front of them: 12 Grimmauld Place stands empty every day while Dad’s at work.

“This is the room you grew up in?” asks Ewan, the first time they sneak into the house via Floo. He’s looking at all the photos on the walls, the faded posters of quidditch players, the old medals from primary school sports days.

“Yeah,” says James, who rather thought they’d be undressed by now. He wishes he’d arrived earlier to put some things away, as Ewan is now studying an old family photo where James has a bowl cut and he’s missing both front teeth.

But when Ewan looks over his shoulder at James, he looks more introspective than mocking. “This whole house just for one family,” he says. “Your dad must be loaded.”

“He’s not,” says James quickly, because he’s not. He’s not Malfoy rich, certainly. But James suddenly realises how this must look: the single family house in Islington, huge and empty these days. “He inherited the house from his godfather, he didn’t buy it,” James hastens to explain.

“So his godfather was the loaded one,” Ewan says.

“Not really,” says James confusedly. “He was actually an escaped convict – oh, it’s a long story. But the house was in his family for generations, he was the last of his line and he left it to Dad when he died. Dad couldn’t buy a house like this on a Ministry salary.”

“He must do okay,” says Ewan curiously. “You seem to have loads of pocket money.” And okay, James has maybe been splashing it around a little, insisting on paying for everything when they go out, but it felt nice to be able to treat Ewan.

“Well,” says James, squirming now, “that’s actually – my Dad’s boyfriend, he–”

“Your dad is gay?” Ewan interrupts.

“He's bi,” James says, “but he has a boyfriend right now. I mean, he was married to my mum before, obviously.”

“My dad wasn’t ever married to my mum,” says Ewan offhandedly.

“Right,” says James. “I didn’t mean they had to be married, just that they were married.” He hesitates, because he’s never asked. “Where is your dad, anyway?”

Ewan shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he says, then pulls his shirt over his head. “Enough chatting, do you think?”

It’s been a long few days; James doesn’t need much persuading.

***

“I’ve got some exciting news,” says Mum at dinner one night, passing round the bowl of salad.

“Please don’t be pregnant,” says Lily.

“That’s one,” says Mum darkly. “Don’t let me count two, Lily Luna Potter.”

James pretends to be coughing so he doesn’t get a glare as well.

Albus, predictably, just looks worried. He’s barely touched anything on his plate tonight.

“I’ve got holiday booked the last week of July and I thought we might join Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione in Bordeaux,” Mum continues, cheery again. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Looking around the table, James can see that nobody thinks this sounds particularly fun. Lily shrugs, and Albus listlessly spears a cherry tomato on his fork. Only Neville is smiling, and it looks rather forced.

“Swimming and sunshine and delicious food,” Mum says, as though she’s already convinced everyone. “Doesn’t it sound lovely?”

For his part, James is thinking that it’s a whole week that he won’t see Ewan, a whole week where he’s stuck between the domain of adults and the land of teenagers. He heaves a short sigh, but then rallies because he can see that Mum is hurt over their collective lack of delight.

“That sounds nice,” he says. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” echoes Albus – and really, the kid does look like he could do with sunshine and good food, he’s peaky and drawn.

Lily doesn’t follow their lead, but she at least doesn’t say anything awful. “Are you coming?” she asks Longbottom.

“Yes,” says Neville. “I am.” He’s using his professor voice now, brooking no opposition, which is a relief. James prefers it greatly to the anxious kind voice Longbottom has employed while trying to curry favour with them.

“May I please be excused,” Albus says.

“You’ve barely eaten,” Mum says, and reaches over to feel his forehead. “Is your tummy still upset? It’s been over a week.”

“No,” says Albus, “it’s fine, I just had a late snack today, I’m full.”

James, who knows for a fact Albus was sleeping most of the afternoon, frowns but doesn’t contradict him.

“Okay,” says Mum, not quite buying it either from her expression. She glances at Longbottom as Albus gets up and heads for his bedroom. “James was a human hoover at that age,” she says.

“He still is,” Lily says.

“Maybe he’s done growing,” Longbottom says. “Some of them stop sooner, I see it all the time at Hogwarts.”

“I hope he’s not done growing,” Lily says. “If he’s stopping now, there’s no hope for me.”

Mum goes back to her dinner but there’s a little frown line between her brows that stays.

After pudding (two helpings) James goes to the bedroom. Albus has the two-way mirror out but he makes a shushing hand signal at Scorpius as James enters, and the conversation stops.

“What are you two up to,” James says, exasperated. “Are you running a bet or something?”

“Of course not,” Albus says scornfully. “I just didn’t care to have our private conversation interrupted. Aren’t you supposed to be off holding hands with Ewan anyway?”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt a secret meeting of the sad loner club, my apologies,” James snaps back. “Anyway, I was just grabbing my broom because I do actually have somewhere to be.”

***

“France, though,” says Ewan when James is done moaning to him about it the next day – a whole week apart! – “That’s nice, isn’t it? I’ve never been. Is it expensive, do you think?”

James feels his cheeks go hot, because he hasn’t even stopped to wonder about that. “We’re staying with my aunt and uncle, they’re letting a house I think.”

“Wow,” says Ewan. “Lucky.”

“Yeah,” says James, feeling a little embarrassed now for complaining. “You’re right, it’s going to be fun.” He props himself up on his elbows and looks at Ewan. “I guess I was just thinking about missing you.”

Ewan smiles at this. “You won’t even remember me,” he says.

“I will, and you’d better think of me, too,” James says, wriggling closer to where Ewan’s laid out on his back, on James’s narrow bed in his Grimmauld Place bedroom. “I should have kept those two-way mirrors for us,” he says, now pulling Ewan closer until he’s got him curled up in his arms. It feels perfect, and James sighs happily. Then his stomach makes a loud complaint.

“Bottomless pit,” says Ewan, cracking up. “Did you want me to grab you something from the kitchen?”

“No, I’m fine,” says James nobly. His stomach voices its dissent. “There are usually biscuits in the pantry,” he says, giving up. “But I can go, it’s fine.”

“You’re naked,” Ewan says, “I have jeans on, at least.” Then he’s up and off the bed, and the next moment out the bedroom door. James folds his hands over his stomach and waits, content, listening to the thump of Ewan’s feet down the stairs from James’ attic room.

Then – a distant shout.

James is up before he has time to think, trying to make it to the stairs while pulling on pants and jeans himself. He nearly tumbles down the first flight buttoning his jeans before he remembers he’s a wizard and darts back for his wand, disapparating downstairs. The shout sounded far-off, so James aims for the main floor, then runs again when he sees the light on in the kitchen at the end of the front hallway.

He slides to a stop on the tiled floor and realises, too late, that they’re not alone in the house today.

“Hi Draco,” he says, wishing he’d put on a shirt before apparating.

Draco himself is not dressed either – oh Merlin – wearing a dressing gown that (thankfully) is belted, but nothing else that James’ horrified eyes can discern. He’s got the packet of biscuits in his hand and his cheeks are rather red, James hopes from embarrassment and not recent exertion.

“Hi, James,” says Draco. “So this must be the famous Ewan.”

Ewan seems to have got over the shock of finding someone in the kitchen. He’s now very obviously trying not to laugh. “Nice to meet you,” he says, covering his mouth.

Then Dad comes running down the back stairs in pants and nothing else, brandishing his wand, and everything is terrible for a minute.

Ewan can’t stop laughing, which is the worst of it.

Dad and Draco hurry back up the stairs, and James and Ewan do the same, all hastily agreeing to reconvene with more clothes on.

“Your stepdad is fit,” says Ewan, wiping away tears of mirth. “Oh no, it’s not funny, but it is.”

“I’ve never been more mortified,” James says, pulling a shirt on. “And he’s not my bloody stepdad.”

“Thank god nobody was actually naked,” Ewan says, and then bursts out laughing again. “Sorry, but – your dad’s face.”

James shakes his head. “Imagine if it was your mum,” he says, and that finally stops Ewan from laughing.

Ewan stays upstairs this time – the coward – and when James goes back into the kitchen, he sees that Draco has taken the same strategy. It’s just Dad standing there in his work robes, looking deeply unhappy.

“So,” Dad says. “Er.”

James folds his arms over his chest and wishes he, too, had robes on. His t-shirt feels inadequate.

“I suppose I don’t need to ask what you… I mean, why you’re here,” Dad says, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

James fidgets, and does not point out that he could say the same thing.

“I’m guessing Mum doesn’t know where you are,” Dad says.

“No,” James answers, deciding to look at the dishes stacked on the drying rack instead of at Dad.

“And neither does Ewan’s mum, I’d wager,” Dad says, sounding even sterner.

“No,” says James. He grits his teeth and forces himself to speak further. “I’m sorry.”

Dad nods. “You know you’re welcome here, this – this is your house. But you were sneaking in – and I’ve never met Ewan, I might have taken him for a thief, it could have been a lot worse than just embarrassing, James.”

“I know we shouldn’t have been sneaking into the house,” James says, “but – it’s just impossible to have any privacy sharing a room with Albus, and Ewan’s mum is around a lot.”

Dad sighs deeply. “Did it occur to you that Ewan’s mum is trying to prevent…well, this sort of thing?”

“Of course it did,” James says, blushing. “But I mean – we’re kind of talking about closing the cage after the owl has flown?”

“She might be less painfully aware of the fact than I am,” Dad says tightly. “Ewan should probably tell her that – I know not every parent is okay with – does she even know he’s gay?”

James blinks. “If she didn’t, I’m pretty sure she knows after she walked in on us snogging the other day.”

“Okay,” says Dad. “Well.”

“We won’t sneak in again,” James says. “We’ll – er. Find someplace else. I’m really sorry.”

Dad shakes his head, to James’s surprise. “No,” he says, “I – I guess I’d rather you’re someplace safe.”

“It might be too weird now anyway,” James says, because really, it’s like Dad’s giving them permission to shag in his house.

“Really?” Dad says, sceptical. “I do remember being eighteen, James.”

“I might get over it,” James says, rethinking his options, “but please never tell me about you being eighteen.”

“Just – leave a cup out on the table or something,” Dad says. “Something I can see when I come through the Floo?” He glances at the clock. “I’ve got to get back to work,” he says, straightening up and smoothing out his robes. “You – James. Try to make sure you’re doing other things?”

“Other things?” James repeats, thinking for a horrified moment that Dad is suggesting variety in the bedroom.

“Like going out places together,” Dad clarifies hastily. “Seeing friends.”

“We do,” James says, not bothering to add now to the declaration. “Don’t worry, Dad.”

“I guess at least I don’t have to give you Aunt Hermione’s lecture on contraceptive charms,” says Dad. “Oh – don’t go messing around with polyjuice and sex, that reminds me. You wouldn’t believe the fixes some people get in. Accidental Magic Reversal have a whole team just for polyjuice mishaps – if you transform back at the wrong moment, it’s...”

“I don’t think I want to know what you’re talking about,” James says.

“Probably not,” says Dad. “Just – no polyjuice, okay?”

“No polyjuice,” James agrees.

“No engorgement charms either. Actually, just generally, no magic and sex. And,” Dad says, looking awkward all over again, “you know you can always ask me, erm, anything – I know they don’t cover much in school, and even less about, er, being with another man–”

“Please go to work,” James says, agonised. “I promise, I’ll ask if I – but really, I think we have it worked out.”

“Thank god,” says Dad, and all but leaps for the Floo.

***

James considers trying to corner Mum and tell her that he bumped into Dad today, just in case Dad tells her first, but it’s impossible to get her alone. If it’s not Lily in the room with them, it’s bloody Longbottom pruning his plants and humming to them.

“Mum,” James finally says quietly, when he finds her emptying rubbish out of the fridge.

“Were these noodles at one point?” she asks, holding out a container.

“I think they’re flobberworms,” James says, recoiling. “Or they are now, anyway.”

Mum wrinkles her nose and tosses the carton in the bin.

“Mum,” he tries again.

“Dad told me,” Mum says, glancing over at him. “I think he was afraid I’d be more angry with him than with you, honestly.”

“Are you?” James asks hopefully.

“You’re both idiots,” says Mum, but not without affection. “I already talked to Brenda, she had a suspicion the two of you found someplace to hide out.”

“Who’s Brenda?” James asks.

“Ewan’s mum,” says Mum. “Honestly, James, what have you been calling her?”

“Mostly I just try to avoid calling her anything,” James admits. “Wait, you’ve been talking to Ewan’s mum?”

“Of course I have,” says Mum, pulling out another carton. “Is this the hot and sour soup?”

“No,” says Longbottom, coming over, “that’s a tonic for the mandrakes, don’t toss that, darling.”

“It smells appalling,” says Mum, but puts it back. “This fridge is a horrorshow.”

Longbottom retreats, probably sensing that Mum is a few discoveries away from a shouting spell, and James tries again to talk to her. “Why have you been talking to Ewan’s mum?”

“Because we wanted to embarrass you, of course,” Mum says, rolling her eyes. “Because it’s polite, James.”

“So you’re not angry,” James checks.

“Of course I’m angry,” says Mum, “but I agree with Dad that I’d rather you were someplace safe so long as we know where you are.”

“Okay,” says James, “thanks,” and tries to exit as quickly as Longbottom, but Mum grabs him by the elbow; she’s got a strong grip for being pretty small.

“Not so fast,” she says. “Stay and help me with this mess.”

James sighs; on balance, it could be worse.

***

He gives up complaining about the trip to Ewan as a bad job, and feels it’s his duty as eldest to not encourage Lily or Albus to complain, which leaves James with nothing to do but pack his things and try not to show how annoyed he is by the whole situation. It doesn’t help that apparently Dad has decided to take advantage of their collective absence and fuck off to Mykonos with Draco.

“Why can’t we all just stay in England,” James says when Dad lets him know; they’re having a slice of cake together in the kitchen. Dad’s just got home from work, and said an awkward hello to Ewan as they crossed paths in front of the Floo, Ewan going home and Dad just arriving.

“Travel enriches the mind,” says Dad.

“Oh yes,” says James, “I’m sure you’re going to be really enriched in your villa with the private pool.”

“I’m old, I don’t need enriching,” says Dad shamelessly. “And I know you might not feel it, but you will in fact survive one whole week without Ewan.”

“It’s not about that,” says James grumpily, though, honestly – it is. It’s stupid to worry whether Ewan will find someone else to hang out with, but it’s all James can think about lately.

“You know your NEWT marks will be sent to France,” says Dad. “Hogwarts arranges that sort of thing automatically.”

“Right,” says James, though he hasn’t given it a thought since King’s Cross. “Can I have another slice?”

They take a portkey to Bordeaux the next morning, but not before Mum spends an hour yelling at everyone about why nobody has bothered to finish packing before now. Neville won’t stop fussing about his plants, checking and re-checking that the self-watering and sun charms are going to keep going in their absence. Albus keeps stuffing more books into his bag, and Lily takes them out again every time he turns his back.

But when they arrive, it’s to sunshine and happy embraces, and Aunt Hermione has done something to the rental house so it’s grown to give each of them their own room.

“Thank you,” James says, giving her another tight hug when he finds out. His room is tiny but it’s just his, and it’s marvellous.

Mum and Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione immediately plunk themselves down on the terrace and open a bottle of wine, while Rose and Hugo pair off with Albus and Lily to walk into town.

James hangs back, not sure where he belongs, but Rose rolls her eyes and grabs him by the elbow. “They’re going to talk about work and it’s going to be incredibly boring,” she says.

And, in spite of himself, James starts to have fun – there’s swimming and quidditch matches and endless games of chess against Rose. It’s nice, he thinks, to be a kid again for a few days. Even Albus seems to relax, losing some of the pinched look he’s carried around the last few weeks, his appetite improving until it’s closer to normal.

James writes Ewan on the second day – not wanting to seem too eager – but thankfully, there’s a response the next day, and they go back and forth after that.

Ewan - sunny and hot here, beach today, my uncle Ron convinced Mum to let me sit with them after dinner and drink wine. Dead boring but the wine is nice. I’ve got sunburn on my face. How’s London? - James

James - rainy and awful here, you wouldn’t know it’s summer. You aren’t missing much (except me of course). Went to a gig last night, tired today. Mum is working every night, boring when you’re not here. Spent some time with Hufflepuff mates but it wasn’t that fun. - Ewan

Ewan - We’ll be back Sunday and then we go to Dad’s for the rest of the summer. Portkey is in the morning but we’ll spend the rest of the day packing to switch houses. Did you want to come for dinner with everyone? It’s my Dad’s birthday so we’ll be going out to eat. Two more days – seems too long though. - James

***

James has no sooner sent Frodo off with this last letter when three owls come swooping down from the sky, gliding cleanly through an open window of the rental house and landing on the kitchen table where James was sitting to write.

“Oh shit,” says James. He forgot they’d be coming.

“Oh no,” says Albus, coming into the kitchen and spotting the owls. He immediately goes pale with anxiety.

“Quick,” says James, “let’s grab our letters and run, we can open them together in my room. If Rose sees them, we’ll have to open them in front of everyone and compare endlessly to all her sodding Os.”

Albus grabs his letter from the school owl and bolts upstairs, and James doesn’t hesitate before doing the same. He passes Rose on his way up. “OWL results are here,” he says, and races up before the squealing starts.

James gets to his tiny room and slams the door shut behind him. Albus is already there, fiddling with his envelope and staring at it. “Get it over with,” James advises.

“What if I failed everything,” says Albus.

“You didn’t,” says James. “Go on, open it.”

Not much time, now. Rose will be raising the alarm over the whole house, and that means Mum will come knocking any minute to demand to know what the letters say.

Albus’s hands are shaking now, but he rips the envelope open in one go and pulls out the sheet of paper inside. His face goes from ashen fear to rosy joy in about five seconds. “I didn’t fail anything!” he says. “James!” He holds out the letter like he wants James to confirm it’s real.

James takes it and scans it – and yes, Albus passed everything, mostly As, but two Es and one – “You got an O in History of Magic!” James says. “That’s amazing!”

“I did?” Albus says, grabbing the letter back. “I was just looking for Ps and Ds and Ts!”

James leaves Albus to it, taking out his wand and slitting open his own letter.

JAMES SIRIUS BLACK HAS ACHIEVED:

Arithmancy: A
Charms: E
Defence Against the Dark Arts: A
Herbology: E
History of Magic: A
Potions: O
Transfiguration: E

James reads the letter once, then realises he’s done the same as Albus and just checked for failing marks – and there aren’t any. When he goes back again, he’s shocked as Albus to see his own O. He was sure he flubbed Charms, but apparently not. And –

An A in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

“Can I see?” Albus asks. “I still can’t believe you sat seven NEWTs, you nutter. I bet you passed everything with Es, too.”

“I passed everything,” James agrees, but pulls his hand back when Albus goes to take the letter from him. “You should go tell Mum about your O,” he says.

Albus’s expression of confusion at James pulling away melts into one of delight. “She’s going to be so surprised,” he says. “Wow.”

“Go!” James says, waving him off.

Albus bursts out the door and thunders down the stairs. James can hear Aunt Hermione’s delighted exclamations – all Os from Rose, as expected – and in a moment they’re all cheering for Albus and his results too.

James sits heavily on his bed and stares at the letter. An A in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Mum slips in the door a minute later, her cheeks still red from the excitement below. “Is it a good thing or a bad thing that you’re hiding up here?” she asks.

“Mostly good,” says James. “Passed everything.”

“Seven NEWTs,” says Mum warmly. “That’s wonderful, darling.” She hesitates. “What’s the bad part, then?”

James can’t quite say it – he hands her the letter instead.

It takes Mum a while to figure out what’s wrong – “An O in Potions! Dad is going to think you’re the milkman’s son after all” – but then she spots it. She sighs and lowers the letter. “Oh, James.”

“Let me be the one to tell Dad,” says James, and that’s the worst thought of all – telling Dad.

“It’s a passing mark,” says Mum. “You still did incredibly well considering how many NEWTs you sat, sweetheart.”

“I needed an E in Defence,” says James, though he knows Mum remembers. Dad was the one who tightened the application requirements, after all, saying they needed to be choosier now that the post-War auror effort was waning.

Mum hands the letter back to James. “You know you can take it again next year, and you do have a fairly good tutor handy in the meantime,” she says. “Come down, we’re having ice cream to celebrate.”

“I’m not hungry,” James says, flopping back onto his bed, pinning his letter between his palms and his chest.

“Yes, you are,” Mum says. “You’re always hungry. Besides, if you stay up here, Aunt Hermione’s going to think you failed everything and she’ll die of second-hand anxiety.”

James groans, but Mum is right. He peels himself off the bed and folds up the letter before stowing it safely in his trunk. “If anyone asks, it’s all As and Es and one O,” he says.

“You know that won’t satisfy Rose,” Mum points out.

“Too bad for Rose,” says James. “Promise you won’t say anything about DADA.”

Mum draws a cross over her heart and waves James up. “Let’s go,” she says.

***

It turns out that everyone’s so chuffed for Rose and Albus that they don’t spare a lot of worry for James’s results. Rose laps up every word of praise like a pleased cat while Albus almost immediately starts picking away at his own smaller victories.

“History of Magic, that’s just writing and memorization, isn’t it?” he says when Uncle Ron claps him on the back.

“I failed my OWL in it, don’t ask me,” Uncle Ron says.

“It’s not practical magic, though,” says Albus. “And only an A in Transfiguration, do you think they’ll even let me go on to NEWT level with that?”

“They might,” says Rose, with the sweet condescension of someone who has their pick of NEWT subjects.

“Transfiguration is dead boring,” says James. “I would have dropped it after OWLs if I didn’t need it–” and there he stops awkwardly, because maybe he didn’t need it after all.

“You got an E on the OWL,” says Albus glumly. “I’m rubbish at it, only an A.”

“An A is a pass,” says Longbottom. “And you got an E in Herbology!”

James escapes the house after a while, not feeling like listening to Rose describe again how she was sure she made a mistake on one question in Arithmancy but she must not have, not with an O result.

The air is warm and the sun is setting. Mum or one of the other grown-ups has left a mostly-full bottle of red wine on the terrace, probably forgetting it there in the OWL fuss. James glances around to be sure nobody has noticed him slipping away, then picks up the bottle by the neck and has a couple of swigs. It’s warm and he makes a face but drinks anyway.

An A in Defence. It still doesn’t feel possible.

***

The scramble to get ready for the Sunday morning portkey is as much of a shitshow as the outbound one was the week before, except the fuss doesn’t stop when they land in Mum’s flat again. Albus and Lily are frantically packing for the rest of the summer and as much as they can for the new term. James is picking through his belongings, trying to decide what should come with him to Dad’s house and what can stay here at Mum’s.

And then there’s the auror training application, lying atop James’s school trunk. He stares at it for a minute, then balls it up and shoves it down into the depths of the trunk.

It’s mid-afternoon before they’re ready to go to Dad’s. James takes Albus and both their trunks side-along while Mum takes Lily and her trunk. Longbottom stays behind in the flat, busy fussing over his plants.

Dad meets them in the alley near Grimmauld Place and helps Lily with her trunk while Mum carries Frodo’s cage.

“Happy birthday,” Mum says, giving Dad a kiss on the cheek. “You don’t look as tanned as I thought you would,” she adds.

Dad’s cheeks go red. “Well,” he says, “Draco has an excellent sun protection potion, you can imagine how he needs it.”

“Of course,” says Mum, smirking.

“Mum,” says James, “gross.”

“And what about you,” she says, unrepentant. “Is there a great reunion in the offing for tonight?”

James sighs at the intrusive question. “If you mean Ewan, yes, he’s coming along for Dad’s birthday dinner.”

“Is he?” Mum says. “I do hope we’ll have the honour someday, too,” rolling her eyes now.

“Don’t be a sore loser, Ginny,” says Dad, but he’s grinning.

***

James helps Lily get her trunk up to her room with a locomotor spell and then disappears into the bathroom for a long, hot shower. His goal is to avoid being alone with Dad for any length of time before dinner, as he doesn’t want to have the NEWT discussion on Dad’s birthday.

James manages to find some fresh clothes in his trunk, and it’s one spell to remove all the wrinkles in the shirt and another to bring in the seams just a bit because James knows what Ewan likes.

“How do I look,” James asks the mirror in his bedroom.

“You’d be better if you combed your hair,” says the mirror.

“Oh, what do you know,” says James, “you’re from the age when everyone used pomade and wax.”

“You asked,” the mirror answers testily.

James checks his watch and swears; Ewan might be here any minute. He checks his hair one last time and then grabs his gift for Dad before he runs downstairs into the kitchen, where – of course – Dad and Draco are hanging out with wine glasses in hand.

“I like that shirt,” says Dad, which feels like a mark against it. “You look nice.”

James pulls down on his shirt tails nervously and jams his hands in his jeans pockets. “Are you nearly done here?” he asks pointedly.

Dad puts down his wine glass and grins. “Didn’t you want us here to greet your guest?” he asks. “We could ask him a million questions and make it impossible for you to get a word in edgewise.”

“Dad,” says James, agonised.

“You’d think it would be enough that we all have trousers on,” muses Draco, grinning into his own glass.

“Really?” says James.

“We’re going,” says Dad, pushing up off the counter. “But we’ll be leaving for the restaurant in ten minutes so don’t get too caught up in anything.”

“Fine,” says James, and looks at the mantel clock. “Well?”

Dad rolls his eyes but he and Draco do leave, heading up to the drawing room on the next level.

James doesn’t want to look too much like he’s waiting, but there’s nothing else to do since the kitchen hasn’t been used all week and there are no dishes in the sink for a change. James paces nervously until he hears the whoosh of the Floo – Ewan.

“Hey,” James says, grinning. He wants to be cool about it, but he can’t help himself. Ewan looks too good, tall and slim and glowing, happy to see James too. James crosses the kitchen without meaning to, and then he’s got Ewan in his arms, kissing him.

“Hey to you too,” says Ewan, pulling back eventually. “You look nice, I thought you said the restaurant wasn’t too fancy?”

“It’s not,” says James, “you look perfect, don’t worry.” And of course, Ewan does – a collared checked shirt and grey trousers. His hair is getting longer, black waves curling around the backs of his ears.

“I missed you,” James says, which he didn’t let himself say once in all his letters.

“I missed you, too,” says Ewan, who also didn’t write the words down.

They don’t talk for a little while after that, James pressing Ewan up against the wall and keeping him there. He’s missed everything about Ewan, he can admit as much now: his scent, his slightly chapped lips, his long-fingered hands, and the way he strokes James’s neck while they kiss.

“Ahem,” says Lily, stopping on the landing on her way down into the kitchen from the back stairs. “Some of us would like to have an appetite at dinner, thanks.”

James breaks away, breathless, too pleased to even be annoyed with Lily. “You’ve met my little sister,” he says.

“Hi Lily,” says Ewan, laughing as he does when he’s embarrassed.

The clock strikes seven and, on cue, Albus and Scorpius come down next, followed by Dad and Draco.

The restaurant is in one of the smaller alleys that branch off Diagon Alley, facing a tiny courtyard with a fountain with carved wooden fish swimming around in it. The summer night is warm after Ewan’s reported week of gloom.

The maitre d’ doesn’t ask for their names, just greets Dad and Draco by name and sweeps them all along to a large table in a far corner of the restaurant. They’re seated for scarcely a moment when a server apparates next to the table and Draco takes over ordering wine.

“Shall we have a bottle of the 2009 Chateau Potensac in honour of your visit to Bordeaux, James,” he asks, looking at James and Ewan. “You’ll share with us if we do?”

“Sounds good,” says James, trying to sound like he has any idea what Draco’s talking about, mostly just pleased to be included as an adult.

“And sparkling gillywater for the others, I think,” Draco says, looking round to make sure there aren’t any objections.

Ewan cracks open his menu as the server disapparates away, then gasps quietly at the sight of the prices.

“Don’t worry,” James says in a half-whisper, “Draco will be paying for all of us, he’s rich as Midas.”

“Seventeen galleons for chicken,” Ewan says, shaking his head. “Is it wrapped in gold?”

“Might be,” says James, “you never know.”

When their wine arrives, Draco does a fancy thing where he tastes it and nods to the server, and then when everyone has their glasses full, Draco lifts his and says, “To Harry, many happy returns.”

They all toast Dad, whose nose goes pink with pleasure, and his cheeks too when Draco leans in and kisses his temple fondly.

James has been to the restaurant before, but it’s an entirely different experience with Draco taking the lead. James is still trying to figure out what rillettes might be and whether he’d like them when Draco says, “Should we all just get the prix fixe?” and their menus transform into a single card of expensive paper with six courses outlined in curly script.

“I just want spaghetti,” Lily whispers to Dad.

“We’ll get you spaghetti,” Dad says, “don’t worry. What about you, Albus?”

“No, I’ll have – the – what’s a shank again?”

James has to do the fancy menu if Albus is going to, and so he just nods when the server comes to them and asks if sir will be having the prix fixe as well.

“How do you know which one to use,” Ewan asks when the salad comes and James picks a fork.

“Copy Scorpius,” James mutters, “or Draco. Dad is.” Because Dad is quite clearly glancing at Draco before picking up his fork and tucking in.

Even though the trappings are terrifyingly formal, the food itself is amazing. The salad has tiny radish rosettes and edible butterflies made from enchanted flowers that flap around your plate until you pour dressing on them.

The soup course is a ball of something that looks like ice, but then when you tap it with a spoon, it bursts open with a satisfying crackle and melts into a piping hot consomme.

The main is a braised lamb shank which seems very pedestrian if delicious, except that it separates itself into perfect tender bites every time you touch it with your fork.

And for pudding, it’s a miniature gateau with real gold leaf - actual leaves made of gold - that have Ewan waggling his eyebrows meaningfully.

“Maybe you don’t eat them,” James says, seeing Scorpius carefully laying his aside – but then Draco pops one into his mouth and chews, so then James has to try it too. The gold turns out to be transfigured chocolate.

Finally, when James is so stuffed with wine (the glasses refill themselves) and food that he can barely move, there’s a final course of unicorn cheese.

“Is it made out of unicorns,” asks Lily, long since finished her spaghetti, “or is it made from unicorns.”

“It’s unicorn milk cheese,” says Scorpius, “and it’s delicious.”

James isn’t quite as sure – the cheese is tiny and thinly sliced, but it’s got a pearly sheen to it that seems faintly wrong. He tries a nibble; it tastes amazing.

“Do we do gifts now,” James asks once their plates clear away.

“Oh no,” says Lily, dismayed, “I forgot to get Dad anything.”

“It’s okay, Lily,” says Dad, laughing. “Your presence is gift enough, darling.”

“You can go in on mine,” says Albus grandly, handing Dad a wrapped parcel.

Dad opens it – it’s a tie that Albus found in Bordeaux in a funny little wizard clothing shop, with embroidered stags that caper around the silk when you stroke the tie. “Wow,” says Dad, “thanks.”

James shoves his present Dad’s way next. It’s a book from the Chateau Jumilhac gift shop, Medieval Wizard Cuisine.

Dad exclaims over the cover photograph and flips through the cookbook.

“Now me,” says Scorpius, passing Dad a small parcel that’s far more neatly wrapped than either of James or Albus’s. A pair of cufflinks, though Dad never wears French cuffs, shaped like little golden snitches.

“And me,” says Draco, bringing out another small parcel, a little bigger than Scorpius’s.

“No,” says Dad, “you said the week in Greece was your gift. And this dinner.”

“Well,” says Draco. “I lied.”

Dad opens the gift carefully, his expression wary. James can tell he’s worried that Draco’s spent too much money on him, Dad gets very huffy about anything he views as an extravagance.

“Oh,” says Dad, when he opens the box inside.

“What is it?” Lily asks, almost hopping up onto her seat to see.

“It’s Missing Ingredient Potion,” says Draco, obviously pleased with himself. “You add three drops to anything you’re cooking and tell it what it’s meant to be, and it becomes that.”

“Wow,” says Albus, eyes wide. “That’s so cool.”

Dad looks even more pleased than Draco, now. “It’s really cool,” he says. “I hope it wasn’t too much to brew it.”

“Not at all,” says Draco.

James cuts a look at Ewan and shakes his head minutely. He’s seen the ingredients list, revising for his NEWT. He remembers thinking it might be cheaper to go out and buy your own grocery store.

James never spots the bill coming or going, but then Draco is standing up and they’re all headed back out the door.

The moon is up now, a waxing crescent; James and Ewan hang back a little further still, letting Lily and Albus and Scorpius shoot ahead of them, Dad and Draco a good distance away in front. Dad is laughing a lot and keeps steadying himself on Draco’s shoulder as they walk over the cobblestones.

“Do you want to come back to the house for a bit?” James asks. “We can go up to my room, I think Dad’s a little drunk, he likely won’t notice.”

“Sure,” says Ewan.

“You okay?” James asks, catching the edge of something not perfectly happy in Ewan’s tone.

“I’m fine,” says Ewan. “How much do you think that all cost?”

“Who knows,” says James. “Don’t worry about it, Draco’s loaded.”

***

Dad turns out to be sober enough to request that James’s bedroom door stay open, but James and Ewan get innovative with James’s invisibility cloak and nobody seems to be any the wiser. Lily has joined Albus and Scorpius for a game of spitting gobstones in the drawing room, and Dad and Draco have taken up residence in the front room on the main floor for now.

The cloak now hangs over James’s chair, and they are more or less respectable at the moment if anyone were to peer in – fully dressed, though lying close together on James’s narrow bed.

“I guess you got your NEWT results, too,” says Ewan.

“I did,” says James, stomach dropping like a stone. He hoped Ewan would wait longer before bringing it up. “How did you do?”

“Pretty much as I’d hoped,” says Ewan, playing with James’s fingers. “I sent them off to everyone, now I just have to wait and see who wants me.”

“They’ll all want you,” James says.

“And you sent in your application for auror training?” Ewan asks.

James doesn’t know if there’s any point in drawing it out, but he can’t quite bring the words to his lips either. “I’m working on it,” he says, which isn’t quite a lie. It just might take longer than he expected. A year longer. “I’m not,” James says immediately afterwards. “Actually.”

“Why not,” says Ewan, dropping James’s hand and propping himself up on his elbows to look at him. “Change your mind about following in your dad’s footsteps?”

James heaves a sigh. There’s no helping it. “I got an A in Defence,” he says.

“Oh,” says Ewan, obviously not getting it.

“You need at least an E on your NEWT to start auror training,” says James. “So there goes the only real plan I had.”

“Oh,” says Ewan, this time with understanding. “I thought Defence was your thing.”

“It is,” says James, stung. “It was. I got an O at the OWL level.”

“What happened, then?” Ewan asks, and James can tell he doesn’t mean it to sound critical, but it feels that way, cutting too close to the bone.

James sits up and pulls his knees to his chest, annoyed. “I don’t know, I thought I did just fine. I guess the examiner felt differently.”

“Well, did you do all the set tasks right?” Ewan says. “In the practical?”

“Pretty much,” says James. “I thought he was pushing a little harder because,” and then James stops short because he feels like an arse saying it aloud.

“Because what,” says Ewan, curious.

“Because,” James says, “because of my last name.”

Ewan’s mouth makes a silent “oh” shape at this, and his whole demeanour changes immediately. “I see,” he says.

“Not like that,” says James. “There’s a duelling portion and he might have got past me a couple of times. And I did hit him with a really good bat bogey hex but then he went and said something about it not being on the set list of defences. How was I supposed to know that?”

“What about the written?” Ewan says. “Did that go better?”

James thinks back, and feels his cheeks getting hot when he remembers that he was stumped by a question about the seven differences between an Asian and an African werewolf. And there was a whole section on curse-breaking where James wrote in circles without saying much of anything. “I mean,” he says, “it wasn’t awful. I guess it could have gone better.”

“It sounds like you weren’t exactly prepared,” says Ewan, and his tone is faintly censorious now.

“DADA is my best subject,” says James hotly.

“I hope A wasn’t your best mark, then,” says Ewan, his tone dry.

“What would you know about it anyway,” James says, angry now. “You didn’t even sit that NEWT, did you.” He knows Ewan didn’t. There was only the one NEWT-level class in Defence, after all. “You don’t know what it’s like when your dad’s – my dad. Everyone thinks you’re meant to be some great dark wizard slayer just because – and they mark you harder because of it if you don’t live up to that. It’s not fair.”

Ewan sits up now, too. “Right,” he says, “I wouldn’t know anything about what it’s like, being you. Must be just terrible.”

“I didn’t say that,” James says heatedly, pushing off the bed. “When did I say that?”

“You don’t need to say it,” says Ewan. “Sat here in your big house, with your famous dad, your quidditch box seats, your expensive dinners, spending money like it’s nothing.”

“Why are you so obsessed with how much everything costs?” James snaps back, stung. “So what if we have nice things? Is that a crime?”

“Of course it isn’t, but you’re so casual about it, you don’t seem to see everything you have. Four parents who give a shit about you instead of just one. And complaining about a week in France to me like I’m not stuck here in smelly old London all summer. Saying the DADA examiner was unfair on you because you expected him to look the other way when you strutted in unprepared,” says Ewan nastily. “The moment anyone dares hold you to some kind of standard, they’re the ones being unfair, aren’t they?”

James stares, dumbstruck and wounded. “That’s not – I don’t think that.”

“Don’t you?” says Ewan. “You think I didn’t see how you carried on at school? One person after another, James Potter the quidditch hero, clever and funny and so handsome, nobody dared tell him what an arsehole he’s being, because then you might be down in his books and nobody would talk to you in case it was catching.”

James gapes for a moment, stunned. “Is that what you think of me?” he says, going quiet. “That I’m some spoiled arrogant sod? Really?”

“It’s what everyone else thinks of you,” Ewan says coldly. “I guess I hoped they were wrong, but maybe they weren’t.”

James clenches his jaw, not sure if he’s more furious or hurt, only sure that he can’t bear another second of this. “I think you should go,” he says.

Ewan shoves up off the mattress and stalks out without another word. He doesn’t even go to the Floo, just disapparates from the landing outside the door. He’s gone.

James can close his bloody bedroom door now, so he does, with a slam.

***

Dad comes tapping at the door a few minutes later, presumably having heard the door slamming from three floors below. “Is Ewan gone?” Dad asks quietly when James doesn’t answer.

“What do you think,” James snaps, his face hot and wet. “Leave me alone.”

“Okay,” says Dad, after a pause. “There are crisps in the pantry, and I made strawberry shortcake.”

“I’m not hungry,” says James. “Please leave me alone.”

“Okay,” says Dad again, and then his footsteps recede back down the stairs.

***

James stays in his room all night, finally falling into a fitful sleep at three and then not waking until nearly noon. For a moment, when he wakes up, he doesn’t remember. But then Ewan’s words crash down over him again like a heavy lead curtain, and James curls up under the covers in misery.

Eventually his stomach gets the better of him, and James cracks open his door to see if the coast is clear. In front of the doorway there’s a small tray with a pile of chocolate frogs and a little potions phial, along with a folded note.

There’s more food in the kitchen if you want it, we’re out at Diagon Alley today to get school things for Albus and Lily so you’re safe to come out. Draco thought you might like a Calming Draught – his potions are really great, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Love, Dad.

James brings the tray into his room and sullenly eats his way through the chocolate frogs, binning the cards because even Lily is mostly past the age of collecting them now.

He studies the little phial; it does have the pearly look of a typical Calming Draught, but the hue is slightly bluer than usual. James finally opens the phial and has a sniff: instead of the usual foul herbal smell, it has a sweet honey scent.

He tips it down in one; Dad was right. Within a minute, James is flat out on his back on his bed feeling like he’s on a cloud, and for the first time since Ewan left, it’s tolerable to be in his body and inside his mind.

Once the initial flush of relief has passed, James gets up and goes down to the kitchen to heat up some leftover spaghetti. The house is empty, as Dad promised. James is glad of solitude but also feels strangely bereft, like he’s the last person left in the world. Still, he doesn’t want to answer any questions, so he takes the crisps and a plate of strawberry shortcake back up with him, reckoning he can make it through until tomorrow if he needs to.

***

The Calming Draught wears off around midnight, agony rolling over James from his belly upwards. He balls himself up against his headboard, knees tight to his chest, as though he could compress himself out of existing for a little while.

But it’s no use; James is thoroughly awake and can’t stop thinking.

Ewan is wrong.

James isn’t some rich entitled brat. He already explained about the house, how it was Sirius Black’s house first. And the quidditch box seats were only because of Mum’s job. The pocket money is from Draco; Mum and Dad both grew up poor, and they’ve never been keen on James having money he didn’t earn from doing chores.

It’s not James’s fault that he’s got two parents and that each of them has a partner – though they’re not parents to James, that part is wrong.

As for the week in France, Mum had probably scrimped and saved to chip in for the holiday house. Maybe it was a bit stupid of James to moan about it, and he feels a hot flush of shame as he remembers his complaining.

But Ewan’s wrong about Dad, about James using him and his fame to get ahead. James gets angry all over again, thinking about that.

Ewan never had every adult in the world saying James Potter when they met him, like they couldn’t believe it, like James was the second coming. All the kids at school – in years above him, too – would either tease him or try to get in close with him. It felt like it took ages for anyone to realise James was a separate person, he wasn’t just Harry Potter’s son, some appendage or echo.

No, James has never once traded on his dad’s name for any kind of favour.

Not for marks, anyway.

And not for sport, either.

James earned his spot as Gryffindor quidditch captain. He worked his way up, didn’t even have a place on the team until third year (and nobody ever stopped reminding him that his dad was on from his first year) and he was a good chaser, a good captain.

And as for the other stuff… James huffs out a sigh of disgust. He guesses he can see how it might look, from an outside perspective. But he’s sure that everyone he – everyone understood, it was only for fun. Well, except for Evelyn, he supposes, but it’s not like he led her on, did he? He ended it as soon as he realised she had the wrong idea.

And then, there’s Seb.

Seb.

James feels another rush of shame remembering what Seb said at the Leaky Cauldron last month – that James did use him, a little, but that Seb forgave him – because, well. He didn’t really say why, he joked that it was because James was pretty, didn’t he.

James suddenly remembers how everyone else warned him not to mess Ewan about, telling him over and over like – like they expected as much from James.

James heaves a great sigh and gives one point to Ewan. It’s possible that James has been a horrible arse when it comes to snogging and sex and expecting everyone not to mind when he runs off after the next person who catches his eye. And it’s possible that James might have used his last name to get away with behaving that way.

But he hasn’t been like that, not with Ewan. James hasn’t given a thought to anyone but Ewan this whole time, he turned down Seb, he’s been… different. So it’s not fair for Ewan to say it.

And he’s still wrong about almost all the rest of it, James thinks fiercely.

***

By two in the morning, it’s clear that James isn’t going to be sleeping anytime soon. He creeps down the stairs – the trick is to stay to the inside of the step where the wood isn’t as creaky – and makes it to the kitchen without rousing anyone.

Except Albus is there.

“Hi,” says Albus, startled.

“Why are you awake,” James says, suddenly aware that he’s in the same clothes he was wearing two days ago, and his nose and eyes are puffy and red.

“I don’t know,” says Albus shiftily. “I couldn’t sleep. What about you?” He studies James. “Are you — okay?”

“I’m rotten,” says James, too tired and sad to pretend otherwise. “Ewan ditched me, I guess.”

“He’s a tosser,” says Albus warmly. “Everyone knows you’re great.”

James sighs and opens the pantry.

“There’s some fresh biscuits in there that Dad made,” Albus offers. “I can make some tea.”

James finds the plate of biscuits and a packet of custard creams too. “I can make the tea, it’s faster for me,” he offers, and gets the kettle boiling with a wave of his wand.

“Less than a year and I can do that too,” says Albus longingly, but he gets down a couple of mugs, a teapot, and some tea bags.

Within a couple of minutes, they’re sitting opposite each other with their hot mugs, laying waste to the biscuits.

“I didn’t tell you, I got an A in Defence Against the Dark Arts,” says James, tired of pretending otherwise. “I won’t be an auror, not anytime soon at least.”

“An A in Defence Against the Dark Arts,” says Albus, unable to hide his shock. “What did Dad say?”

“I haven’t told him,” says James miserably.

“What happened, do you think?” Albus asks, and it’s so different coming from him than coming from Ewan. Albus is all shock and sympathy, not a hint of scepticism or doubt. James feels a sudden warm surge of affection for his little brother.

“I don’t know, I didn’t revise enough,” James admits. “I was too busy hanging around the corridor by the Hufflepuff common room entrance trying to spot — anyway. I fucked it up.”

Albus heaves a sigh, taking another biscuit. “You still passed seven NEWTs,” he says. “You can have your pick of careers, I reckon.”

“I don’t want any of them,” says James. “Being an auror was the only thing that ever sounded even a little interesting to me. I was never good enough to play quidditch professionally, after all.”

“Isn’t it mad, anyway,” says Albus. “How they want us to decide when we’re fifteen or sixteen what we’ll do for the rest of our lives. We can be trusted with that, but not to do magic on our own yet.”

“It’s rubbish,” agrees James. “What are you going to do, anyway?”

Albus shrugs. “I’m shit at everything.”

“No, you’re not,” James says. “You got an O, didn’t you? And a couple of Es.”

“I always wonder,” says Albus. “Do they go easy on us when they see the name Potter at the top of the exam paper?”

“I hope not,” says James, taken aback. “Otherwise I did even worse than I thought.”

Albus snorts and takes a custard cream.

“You’ve got your appetite back,” James observes. “I’m glad, I think Mum was about three days from force feeding you, before France.”

Albus looks away, shrugging. “Scorpius said they’re leaving for Japan in a few days,” he says, changing the subject. “How gloomy is Dad going to be, do you think?”

“He can join me in the abstinence club,” says James sadly.

“What about me?” Albus says, for once going along with James’s joke instead of yelling about him being disgusting.

“You’re the founder and president,” says James, and finds himself smiling for the first time in two days.

“Of course,” says Albus, “that would be the thing I’m best at.”

“So you and Scorpius,” says James, because he’s often wondered.

Albus rolls his eyes. “I’m straight, so is he. He’s still hung up on Rose anyway.”

“Who are you hung up on,” James asks.

Albus blushes for a second time. “None of your business.”

***

James cautiously rejoins the household the next day, which is mostly quiet with Dad at work anyway. Albus has Scorpius over and the pair of them are holed up in Albus’s room. Lily is in the living room when James comes down, though.

“Oh, good,” she says, “you showered. The smell was coming down the staircase.”

“It was not,” says James, flopping onto the sofa. “You were probably smelling your own feet.”

Lily pulls a face but goes back to her magazine without retorting further. James feels fairly safe, then, to drowse on the couch. He feels a little better for having talked to Albus, but there’s still a cold knot of dread in his belly when he contemplates talking to Dad.

When it’s getting close to the time when they expect Dad home, James decides to go for a ride on his broom, and finds himself flying and flying way past the outskirts of London. He lands in Ottery St Catchpole and knocks on Seb and John’s door, not really even knowing why he’s there except he doesn’t want to be in the house any longer.

John’s the one who answers; he and James are friendly enough, but not really friends.

“Oh,” he says, seeing James. “Seb’s at work, sorry.”

“Seb has a job?” James says, taken aback.

“Well, yeah,” says John. “He has to chip in on the rent, doesn’t he. He’s working at Flourish and Blotts, for his uncle.”

“I didn’t know,” says James, feeling stupid. “Well, when is he back?”

John glances at his watch. “About an hour. Do you want to wait for him here?”

“Yeah, okay,” James says, shouldering his way into the cottage. The place is a bit messy, clothes and dirty dishes strewn about, but James finds a clear spot on the sofa and makes himself at home. “What have you been up to, then?”

John sits down on the other end of the couch and shrugs. “Same thing, I guess, just working.”

“You have a job too?” James asks, truly floored now. John has never seemed like the industrious type, honestly.

“Course I do,” says John grouchily. “We’re not living at home anymore, Potter.”

“I just assumed,” says James, then stops himself before he sounds like more of an ass. “Well, what are you doing, then?”

“Conductor on the Knight Bus,” says John, yawning now. “You woke me up, actually.”

“Sorry,” says James. “You can go back to bed if you want, I’m okay here.”

“I’ll go have a shower,” John says, standing up. “See you.”

James watches John go, then fidgets on the sofa for a bit before he gets up and starts collecting plates to take them to the sink. After that, he might as well do the washing up, so he waves his wand to get the sink scrubbing, then goes around gathering clothes and sorting them into clean and dirty. The kitchen needs a wipe, so James finds a new sponge and sets that to work.

“Oh, look,” says Seb, coming in the garden door, “a visit from the cleaning fairy!”

James grins sheepishly, caught out. “John left me alone and I couldn’t stand it,” he admits. “You do know how to clean, don’t you, you’re wizards, you hardly have to hike up your skirts and chap your hands.”

Seb is wearing sharp-looking robes that James now recognizes as being part of the assistant uniform at Flourish and Blotts. “Maybe you should move in with us and take care of all these menial tasks,” Seb says. “We could put you in a little outfit.”

“I didn’t realise you were a career woman now,” says James, leaning against the kitchen bench. It’s the very spot, he suddenly remembers, where he first came up to Ewan and asked if he wanted to see the garden.

“She’s focused on her work,” Seb says, patting his hair. “Well, it pays the rent, doesn’t it. And if I put in enough time, my uncle might promote me to something better in the family business. We can’t all be off to join the aurors, can we?”

“I’m not,” says James, wanting to get it over with.

“Changed your mind?” says Seb, eyes wide with surprise.

“Didn’t qualify,” says James, “I made a hash of the DADA exam, turns out. Only pulled an A.”

Seb’s cheery expression suddenly vanishes. “Oh, Jamesy,” he says. “Darling.”

“It’s okay,” says James, suddenly finding he can’t bear any more pity. “Now I have an excuse to do fuck all this year while I decide if I want to sit the exam again, don’t I? I really could move in with you and wash your underpants.”

“Wouldn’t Ewan have something to say about that?” says Seb, accepting James’s change of subject.

“Doubt it,” says James, “we split up.”

Seb doesn’t come over all sympathetic with this revelation, though; instead, his expression goes a little shuttered and he just starts shrugging out of his work robes, eyes averted. “That explains it,” he says, throwing the robes over the back of a chair.

“Explains what?” James asks, not understanding.

“Why you showed up here after giving me the silent treatment for most of the last three weeks,” says Seb. He grabs the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it up over his head. “Come on, let’s go into my room before John comes out and starts shouting about not wanting to live in a brothel.”

James is frozen, realising now what Seb thinks. “That’s not – that’s not why I’m here,” he says, stupidly.

“Isn’t it?” says Seb, already thumbing open the button of his jeans. “We’re not all as brilliant as you, James, but I do have basic pattern recognition, alas.”

And for a minute, a hungry empty minute, James is sorely tempted. It would be so easy to follow Seb into his bedroom, strip down together, and wipe away all memory of Ewan in the familiarity of Seb. Seb looks good. James knows how good it would be, because Seb knows James so incredibly well.

And as soon as he thinks that, James knows that this is what he expected, coming here. It’s what he was after, even if he wouldn’t admit as much to himself before this moment.

But he can’t stop hearing Ewan’s voice, the one that said no one would dare tell him when he was being an arsehole, how he went through people one after another. And there’s the memory of Seb at the Leaky Cauldron, too, saying I could never stay angry with you and at least you finally know how it feels.

James picks Seb’s t-shirt off the floor and hands it back to him, and the look on Seb’s face makes James feel somehow even worse. “I’m sorry,” is all James can muster. “I think I’ve been a shitty friend.”

Seb balls the shirt up in his hands and gives James an unsure smile. “You haven’t,” he says, “you’ve always been pretty clear that we’re not – I’m the one who didn’t follow the rules, really.” And he ducks in quick like a dart and kisses James’s mouth. “One for the road,” he says.

James didn’t know it was possible to feel worse than he did earlier, but he seems to have uncovered a new low.

***

He flies home and discovers that he’s missed dinner; his stomach feels too queasy to eat anyway, he thinks.

James finds Dad in the drawing room upstairs, comfortable in one of the squashy armchairs, reading the paper.

“It lives,” says Dad, spotting James in the doorway.

James shrugs and sits down on the armchair opposite. “I figured I might as well get it over with.”

“You’re not in trouble,” Dad says, confused. “I just hadn’t seen much of you since my birthday. Are you – you’re okay?”

James shrugs again, then blows out a steadying breath, bracing himself. “I have to tell you something.”

Dad sits up a bit, going from soft sympathy to worry in an instant. “What?”

“I only got an A in Defence Against the Dark Arts,” says James. “Not good enough by your standards for training aurors, right?”

Dad looks properly shocked. “An A?” he says, and from his voice, it’s not much different than if James got a T. “What happened?” he asks, and it’s different again from Ewan’s contempt and Albus’s empathy. Dad sounds baffled, like James told him he’s decided to stop being a wizard.

“I didn’t think it went that badly,” James says, honestly. “But I guess it did, I must have fucked it up. I, I used a bat bogey hex and it’s not in the approved list of hexes for duelling, and the examiner got a few over on me, too. He hit me with a petrificus totalis and I went down like a first year.”

“Was it Warren examining?” Dad asks, face coming over stormy. “That horrible old pedant, he’s always banging on about discouraging students from improvisation, as if an approved list matters when you’re up against real dangers – he’s maddening!”

“It wasn’t just that,” James says. “I wasn’t prepared, Dad. I made a mess of the written paper in a few spots, I know I did. I didn’t remember anything about curse breaking, I forgot to revise that because we covered it back in sixth year. And I forgot almost everything I ever knew about werewolves.”

Dad shakes his head. “You were an O student in your OWL,” he says. “I can’t believe you slipped that badly, they must have marked you too hard, I’ll speak to Esther Smythe in Magical Education, she –”

“Dad,” says James, pained. “Stop.”

Dad draws himself up like a horse checked by a rein, blinking.

“I botched it. Me,” James says. “Not Warren. Me.”

Dad fights it for another moment, about to argue, but then he just deflates like a balloon and sinks back into the chair. It’s awful.

“I’m an idiot,” says James. “It’s on me.”

Dad shakes his head. “You’re sure?” he says. “You’re sure he wasn’t just being hard on you? I – adults can be just as petty and mean-spirited as anyone, believe me.”

James nods. “I’m sure,” he says. “And even if I wasn’t – Dad, I can’t have you going around fighting battles for me. I’m grown up now.”

Dad levels a piercing look at James, green eyes studying him mercilessly. “So,” he says, “you’ll take it again next year. I’ll tutor you, and you’ll ace it.”

James hesitates. “I’m not sure,” he says. “Maybe.”

“I know I never sat the NEWT,” says Dad, a little huffy, “but I’m fairly sure I’m qualified to prepare you for it.”

“That’s not what I mean,” says James. “I’m not sure that I want to sit the exam again. I – I don’t think I even want to be an auror.”

To Dad’s credit, the hurt that flashes in his eyes is gone again in an instant, covered up with a more neutral expression. “And what will you do instead?” he asks.

“Not sure,” says James, and suddenly there’s a huge lump in his throat. He dashes his knuckles over his eyes. It’s incredibly hard to get the words out past that damned lump. He can’t make himself say what he’s thinking: I’m worried that if I keep on in your footsteps, I’ll only be disappointing everyone that I’m not you.

Dad sits forward and squeezes James’s knee. “There’s no hurry,” he says, surprisingly. “You’re only eighteen.”

“Seb’s got a job with Flourish and Blotts,” says James, “and John’s working as conductor of the Knight Bus. And when you were my age…I’m already so far behind.”

“If you want a job, you can get one,” says Dad. “But I think it might be okay to take a little time to think things over, too. Merlin knows I wish I had the same luxury.”

“I can’t believe you’re the one saying that,” says James, sniffing hard, pulling himself together a bit. “I thought for sure you’d be yelling about me pissing my life away.”

“Give me a month or two,” Dad says. “I’ll get there.”

***

Scorpius and Draco leave for Japan the day after next, and as Albus and James predicted, Dad grows morose and boring almost immediately. Albus is also very glum, missing Scorpius, and James is still down about his NEWTs and about Ewan, so the mood around Grimmauld Place is dark in general. Only Lily seems able to enjoy herself in any way, and James is stuck with side-along apparating her to various gatherings with school friends because Dad has reverted to type and seems to be living in the office now that he’s officially become the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

James can’t even take comfort in his own friends as he feels like he needs to stay clear of Seb for a while, and Seb is at the centre of their social circle. Instead, James spends hours poring over the career brochures Longbottom sent his way, the ones James used to dump in the bin when he left mandatory career counselling sessions with Longbottom at school. He was never very enthused about being an auror, it’s true, but it always felt like so much of a foregone conclusion that James didn’t put much energy into other options.

Now he’s reading every word and wondering what it would be like to work at the Ministry in another capacity, or for Gringotts like Uncle Bill, or for the Prophet like Mum. Nothing seems very interesting, though with his NEWTs being pretty good overall, James is surprised to learn that there’s little he’s not technically qualified for. He begins filling out applications for starting positions, though without much excitement over any of it.

Finally, it’s the day that Scorpius and Malfoy are set to return from Japan. Dad leaves work early to tidy the house and cook an enormous meal for everyone, and Albus seems almost as overcome with anticipation at being reunited with Scorpius.

“Haven’t you been talking on those bloody mirrors every morning,” James asks as Albus checks the mantel clock in the lounge yet again.

“Just because you haven’t got any friends anymore,” says Albus snidely, leaning in.

“Phew, at least my breath doesn’t smell like that,” James answers, waving Albus away. “Clean your teeth every now and then, urgh.”

The portkey is set to bring the Malfoys back in the early afternoon, which will feel like late night to them, but Dad says Draco has potions to help them stay awake and get back on English time. The appointed time comes and goes – and Dad nearly lets the bread burn because he can’t stop glancing at the Floo – and then finally the hearth flares green.

“It smells amazing in here,” says Scorpius, coming through first. “All right, Albus? Hi, Harry, hi James, Lily.”

“Come on,” says Albus, and he and Scorpius run up the back staircase immediately, even as Draco’s just arriving.

“Hi,” says Draco, “sorry we took a little longer to get over after the portkey to the Manor, there was a mix-up with one of the bags.”

Dad’s got his hands jammed in his pockets, visibly holding himself back for James and Lily’s sake. “Hi,” he says, nearly bouncing on his toes. “It’s okay. I’m making beef wellington.”

“Of course you are,” says Draco fondly, and then he’s glancing towards James and Lily too. “Had a good week here?” he asks, politely.

“It was awful,” says Lily, “Dad basically abandoned us trying to drown himself in work, and James and Albus have been so boring.”

“Sorry to hear it,” says Draco, looking back to Dad with a little smirk. Dad, in turn, is blushing faintly.

“James, Lily, why don’t you set the table,” says Dad, glancing over at them.

“It’s hours until dinner,” says Lily. “Can’t it wait?”

“Come on,” says James, grabbing her by the elbow. “That’s not the point, obviously.”

In the dining room, Lily moodily opens the silverware chest and they watch the forks and knives and spoons go soaring to their places. “He didn’t bother making anything special for us when we came,” she says.

“Of course, he only took us out for a posh dinner,” James says. “Don’t be like that, Lily. It’s nice if Dad’s happy, isn’t it?”

“You just like him because he gave you all that money,” she answers. “Anyway, I don’t fancy being forced to leave my own kitchen so my dad can snog the dragon. I don’t know why we have to put up with it.”

“If I were you,” James says, “and I had a birthday this month, I might make more of an effort with Draco.”

“I don’t want his stupid bribe,” says Lily hotly. “We can’t all be bought.”

“Tell that to your pygmy puff, I bought it with his money, you know. Besides, you were talking about why he hadn’t given you any money just a few weeks ago.” James waves in the dishes from the kitchen now. “Get the napkins out of the sideboard, will you?”

She folds her arms over her chest and turns her head away, frowning.

James rolls his eyes and gets the napkins himself. It’s not that James likes the notion that Dad’s getting kissed within an inch of his life in the next room over. But Dad was nice about the NEWTs, and it’s clear he’s wild about Draco, and it just doesn’t seem worth the effort to nurse a grudge like Lily seems keen to do.

When James comes back into the kitchen, he first clears his throat loudly and then proceeds with rather a heavier step than necessary, but Dad and Draco are halfway across the kitchen from each other, even if they both have red mouths and pink cheeks. “Table’s set,” James says, and heads for the stairs. “I’m going up to my room.”

***

James is most of the way down to dinner, later on, when he hears raised voices in the drawing room. He slows his step, wondering if Lily is having it out with Dad finally, but then he realises it’s two lower voices.

“I’m sixteen,” Scorpius is saying. “In a couple of months, I’ll be seventeen. You’ve got to start trusting me sometime!”

“Of course I do,” says Draco, “but I’m not starting tonight.”

“What do you think we’d even do?” Scorpius says, annoyed. “I just want to sleep in my own bed and not on the floor of Albus’s room. We’ve got loads of space at the Manor, why are we all cramming in here?”

“Because I said so,” returns Draco. “Now that’s enough of that, Scorpius, I don’t appreciate the tone you’re taking. You’re overtired, clearly.”

“No, I’m not,” says Scorpius, sounding rather at the end of his rope in spite of himself. “Dad. Just because you want to – you call me hormonal, honestly.”

“Enough,” says Draco, more sharply than James has ever heard him speak before; even to James’s ears, it’s a bit terrifying. “If you don’t stop arguing, you’ll go right to bed this minute because you’re not fit for company in this mood.”

“I’m not a kid,” Scorpius returns, aggrieved. “I’m not being sent to bed without supper.”

“In about a minute, you are,” says Draco. “You’re being very childish.”

Scorpius makes a noise of frustration but then the door of the drawing room bursts open and James hastily pretends he’s been going down the staircase obliviously and has heard nothing. Scorpius has red cheeks and flashing grey eyes, and he shoulders past James rather roughly as he passes him on the stairs.

When James gets down to the kitchen, Scorpius is already having a whispered conference with Albus in a corner, and then Albus looks dismayed too. Scorpius says something and ticks his head towards the fireplace, and then Albus nods, before nudging Scorpius to notify him that James is watching them.

“What are you two up to?” James asks, coming over.

“You’re not a prefect anymore,” says Scorpius, scowling, leaning in towards James. “None of your business, is it.” He heads for the dining room, and Albus follows with a faintly guilty air.

James watches them go, frowning in thought. It’s weird, he thinks, that Scorpius should have the same foul breath as Albus. There’s definitely something strange afoot.

***

Dad and Draco seem oblivious to the sulking Scorpius does through dinner, though to be fair it’s not much different than Lily’s slouching and eye-rolling. Albus behaves a little better, but he’s still unusually withdrawn and doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to Draco’s stories of their travels in Japan.

“That reminds me,” says Draco, “we did bring some little things for everyone.” He waves his wand and a moment later some items come sailing into the dining room, presumably from his suitcase up in Dad’s room.

Lily gets a little plush hoo-hoo bird, which she pretends to be too grown-up to like. James gets a book about the Japanese quidditch team. Albus gets a t-shirt with the Mahoutokoro school crest on it; unlike Hogwarts, the school is apparently open to visitors in the summer term and has an actual gift shop. Dad gets a clever little wand holster that attaches magically to the outside thigh of his trousers.

“It won’t let anyone else unholster your wand but you,” says Draco proudly. “And it’s expelliarmus-proof.”

“That’s dead useful,” says Dad. “The aurors might like to try them out, I’ll have to show Proudfoot.”

James averts his eyes, feeling awkward at the mention of the aurors.

Scorpius leaves before pudding, saying he’s not hungry, and Albus follows suit even though Dad made pavlova and it’s his favourite. Lily suddenly thinks she’s also full, and then it’s just James and Dad and Draco sitting together at the table.

Draco casts Dad a look. “Well,” he says, “I’m pretty sure most of that is down to Scorpius being in a rotten mood. He might not have reacted well to the wakefulness tincture.”

“Doesn’t explain Lily being horrid,” says Dad. “James, do you know why she’s acting like that?”

James doesn’t really know how to answer that without making everyone upset, so he just shrugs and digs into his pavlova.

***

James pauses on the landing going past Albus’s room, but he doesn’t hear anything terribly unusual from inside, just Albus and Scorpius playing a game of exploding snap. He knocks on the door anyway.

“Go away,” says Albus.

“No,” James says, opening the door.

Albus and Scorpius are seated cross-legged on the floor; everything looks normal, except there’s an empty brown glass bottle next to Scorpius’s knee.

“What’s that?” James asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Wakefulness tincture,” says Scorpius. “My dad gave it to me so I could stay awake until a normal bedtime.”

“You didn’t take more,” James says, concerned. “Right? You only take a few drops about eight hours before you want to sleep.”

“Of course,” says Scorpius.

“So why didn’t you take it at the Manor before you came here,” James presses.

“I did,” says Scorpius. “I just had it in my pocket and forgot.”

James isn’t convinced; he sees a fine tremor in Scorpius’s hand as he’s watching closely. “If you double the dosage,” he says, “it can ruin your sleep for days.”

Scorpius rolls his eyes. “Look, I know you got an E on your Potions NEWT or whatever, but I promise, I know how to use a wakefulness tincture.”

“An O,” Albus says quietly. “James got an O.”

James looks at Albus and sees a faint worry line between his brows as he regards Scorpius.

“Fine,” says James, “forgive me for caring, have a good night I guess.”

He goes up to his bedroom, but he doesn’t get ready for bed.

***

After Dad and Draco have gone up, James slips down the staircase in his Cloak, casting a silencing charm on his feet and then avoiding the creaks in the steps. The kitchen is dark and empty, but James sits down in a corner and waits.

Almost half an hour passes, but then at last, Albus and Scorpius appear.

Albus grabs a handful of Floo powder and tosses it in the fire, then steps into the green flames. James can’t make out the direction he gives, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s clear when Scorpius steps in next and repeats it: “Malfoy Manor.”

James gives them another five minutes of lead time before he gets up and walks, still cloaked, over to the fireplace. He knows the Floo will deliver him to the Great Hall of the Manor, and while he doesn’t think Albus and Scorpius would linger there, he wants to lower the chances of being spotted immediately.

The Hall is abandoned when James steps out onto the hearth on the other side.

The pair could be anywhere, and the Manor is immense – James has only been in a handful of rooms during his few visits here – but once he’s crossed the Hall and reached the corridor, he can hear voices, and moonlight spilling out of an open door some distance down. They’re not troubling to hide, and why should they; they wouldn’t expect to be followed.

James goes to the door and peers inside. Here’s a room he hasn’t encountered before, but it’s immediately obvious from the smell alone that this is Draco’s laboratory. It’s neat as a pin – interesting contrast with the man whose socks are on Dad’s bedroom floor constantly – and rather enticing. James always liked Potions class but hated the dungeons, their gloom and their stench. Here, there are gas lights all along each wall, but they’re all extinguished.

Albus and Scorpius are standing at the far end of the room from where James is standing in the doorway, both illuminated by the silvery light of the full moon.

Albus is holding a phial in his hand and spitting into it, bizarrely. Even at this distance and in moonlight, James can make out something dark and rather large coming out of Albus’s mouth.

“Urgh,” says Albus, “finally. I think it was rotting in there.”

“It smells it,” says Scorpius, peering at the phial. “I’m going to drink a whole bottle of breath freshening potion when I have a moment.” He’s got a phial in his own hand, with something similarly dark and slimy in it.

Both boys hold their phials up in the light and frown. “How do we know when it’s time to add the hair?” Albus asks.

And suddenly, James knows with a sick lurch of his stomach exactly what they’ve been up to – right under James’s nose, for weeks – for a month, full moon to full moon, of course. The foul breath, Albus’s queasy stomach and lowered appetite, the morning James found them retching into buckets in their bedroom in Mum’s flat. All the secretive conversations James has interrupted.

James feels like a dolot for not realising sooner, but thankfully it’s not too late. He flings the Cloak off. “You gits,” he snaps, striding over. “You could have killed yourselves, what were you thinking?”

Albus nearly drops his phial – crystal, yes, James can see that now – in surprise as James appears.

Scorpius starts too, but immediately scowls and draws himself up to his full height, which is just a few hairs taller than James’s own. “You’re trespassing,” he says to James, tone imperious.

“I’m saving your stupid life,” says James, reaching for the phial, but Scorpius raises it up and out of James’s reach. “Hand them over now and I won’t tell Dad,” James says, turning to Albus.

“No,” says Albus, a defiant look coming over his features. “It’s none of your business, James.”

“It’s my business if you turn yourself into a horrible half-animal chimaera of some sort,” James returns. “Who do you think will be on the hook for your upkeep for the rest of your unnatural existence? Dad won’t live forever, will he. Hand it over, now.”

James blames his distraction for the fact that he doesn’t expect the jet of blue light carrying a hex that narrowly misses him, fired his way by Scorpius.

“You little rat,” James shouts, rounding on Scorpius, but no sooner has he got his own wand out than he hears Albus stammer, “Expelliarmus,” and this time it hits dead-on, and James’s wand goes flying.

“What’s your plan now,” James says, turning back to see Albus with two wands in his hand. “Are you going to tie me up?”

“No,” says Albus, somewhere between nervous and determined. “James, it took a whole month with those leaves in our mouths, we both felt sick the whole time. You can’t stop us now or it will all have been for nothing. At least let us brew the potion.”

“It’s dead tricky,” says James. “You shouldn’t have started it without a professor supervising you. Albus, do you realise how wrong it could go?”

“You’ve got your Potions NEWT,” says Scorpius nastily. “An O, right? Why don’t you supervise if you’re so keen to make sure it’s done right?”

“I’ve never brewed the animagus potion, of course,” says James, aggrieved. “I’m sorry you both wasted your time, but you need to start this over and do it properly.”

Scorpius points his wand at James. “We’re doing it either way – with or without your help. Your choice, mate.”

James stares at Scorpius, dismayed. “You know McGonagall would probably take both of you on,” he says. “You’re good students, aren’t you?”

“That’s not the point,” says Scorpius.

James frowns. “What is the point, then?”

“Help us or watch us under petrificus,” Scorpius says again, not deigning to answer. “Decide.”

James doubts Albus would really let Scorpius hex him, but he doesn’t fancy finding out. “Fine,” James says, “help you. But after you’re done brewing the potion, you need to tell Dad and Draco.”

“No deal,” says Scorpius.

“How do you plan to stop me,” James says.

“Are you kidding me,” Albus says. “After all the shit you got up to at school, James? I never said one word to Mum or Dad. You won’t let us get away with this one thing?”

“None of the shit I did was life-threatening, was it,” James fires back.

“And neither will this be,” says Scorpius. “We’ve done all the research, James, we know we’ve done everything right so far.”

“And granddad did it, didn’t he?” Albus says. “He was only fourteen, and he managed it.”

James looks at Scorpius. “You kept the mandrake leaf in your mouth from the last full moon to this one?” he asks.

“Yes,” says Scorpius.

“No permanent sticking charm,” says James, checking with Albus now. “Never took it out once, not to eat or drink or clean your teeth?”

“Never,” says Albus. “It was awful.”

“You’re sure,” James says. “Not even for a moment, not even a corner of it out of your mouth?”

“Never,” says Scorpius, lowering his wand slowly. “We did it right, I promise. Now it’s just the brewing of the potion, isn’t it?”

James looks between Albus and Scorpius, torn between being frustrated and impressed. It’s no small feat, completing the mandrake leaf step of becoming an animagus. He can’t imagine taking it on, himself, just for the convenience of becoming a fucking badger or something.

But if Scorpius and Albus are so keen – if they really did everything right, and if they let James help them with the potion brewing – James sighs.

“Fine,” he says, “but I want to know it goes exactly right, so don’t do a single step without me watching you. Put those bloody phials into a rack in the moonlight, your hands will stop the mandrake leaf from coming to room temperature. Separate racks! You can’t mix up the phials, you twits.”

Scorpius finds a couple of racks and sets them out, and they each set their phials down in them.

“Give me my wand back,” James says now to Albus, holding out his hand.

Albus looks at Scorpius, unsure.

“You can’t brew the most important potion of your life with two wands on you,” James says. “You took your transfiguration OWL, you know about magical fields, hand it over.”

Albus gives James his wand back when Scorpius gives a tiny nod of approval.

“Right,” says James. “It’s the hair next, isn’t it? You’ve got to do it yourself, each of you. And get one whole strand, root and all. It won’t work if it doesn’t have the root.”

Albus reaches up and plucks a few dark hairs from his head, holding them up in the moonlight to check. James leans in and has a look. “That one,” he says, pointing but not touching. “Go on, into the phial.” He looks over at Scorpius. “You next.”

“I know,” says Scorpius crossly, pulling a single strand out of his head. He moves to put it straight into his phial but James checks him with a hand on his wrist.

“Make sure,” says James. “It’s got to be right.”

Scorpius scowls but he does hold the hair up to confirm the root came with it. “Satisfied?” he snaps.

“I’d be more satisfied if you weren’t doing this at all,” says James, “but yes, that’s fine. Put it in, then. I hope you have the dew?”

Scorpius goes over to a store cupboard and pulls out a black glass bottle with opaque sides. “Fourteen day dew,” he says, “Dad doesn’t even bother stocking the seven day kind, he says it’s unreliable.”

“Good,” says James, “but check the label to be sure.”

Scorpius sighs and holds out the bottle for James to read. 14-Day Dew the label reads, and in smaller letters underneath guaranteed untouched by human hands or sunlight.

James nods. “Do you have the instructions nearby?” he asks. “Let’s just double check if the dew needs to be dropped in or if it can be measured out separately. It would be nice if it could be done in another phial, guards against mistakes.”

Albus points James towards an open book on the next bench. “I never thought of that,” he says, looking at Scorpius. “I would have dropped it in.”

“No OWL potions are picky enough for that to matter,” says James. “You wouldn’t know, would you.” He leans over the book and lights his wand to make out the cramped text. “Here,” he says, “it says to measure the teaspoon of dew first, glad we checked. Scorpius, I presume your dad uses only silver teaspoons for most spells? Wizarding standard measures?”

Scorpius goes over to a drawer and comes back with two stamped silver teaspoons. He’s lost a little of his defiance, perhaps realising that James might be of some use after all. “These ones?” he asks, showing James.

“Yes,” says James, looking at them. “Oh, he’s got the sure-measure charm added on, that’s good for accuracy. It won’t let you overfill, and if you underfill, the spoon will refuse to empty.”

“Cool,” says Albus, “that would be dead useful in Potions class.”

“Banned from use in schools,” says James. “Timothy Scourfield got caught using them in his OWL when I was in third year and he was expelled.”

“That’s stupid,” says Scorpius.

“He was pretty stupid too,” James says. “Okay, measure it out. Albus, you go first, I’ll watch.”

Albus carefully unscrews the top of the dew bottle and lifts the lid with its attached dropper. His hand is trembling a bit but the teaspoon will take care of any drips. It takes about fifteen drops to fill the spoon. Albus tries to add another but the spoon coughs it back onto the bench, perfectly full already. James hates to think of how many galleons Albus has just wasted, but there’s no point in worrying about it now.

“Now you,” says James, nodding to Scorpius.

Scorpius fills his spoon a little more hastily.

“More,” says James. “Look at the meniscus, it’s not at the top.”

“I –” says Scorpius, but then he sees what James is pointing at. “Oh,” he says, and adds the final drop.

James makes them go one at a time adding the dew, and then the final step. Scorpius brings out a jar of Death’s-head moth chrysalises, and James makes them pick through about two dozen before he agrees to two that seem perfectly intact and the right size.

“Once you bung those in, stopper the phials and drop a black velvet cloth over each phial,” says James. “Where – oh, there,” and James waves over two drop cloths about the size of a handkerchief from where they’re neatly stacked on a shelf. “Have you thought of where you’ll keep the phials?”

Scorpius looks at Albus, who looks back. “We thought,” says Scorpius, “maybe just under the bed?”

“That’s great until a house elf goes on a cleaning spree,” says James, rolling his eyes. “Your dad probably has some Darkness Caskets, yeah? We can borrow two of those, they lock to your touch and they can be kept anywhere until you’re ready to use the potion.”

Albus darts a look at James. “So – you’ll let us use the potion, then?” he says.

James hesitates. “Well,” he says, “the brewing seems to have gone okay.”

Albus grins. “Thanks to you,” he says, “I would definitely have made a mess of the dew measure.”

“I don’t know how Granddad pulled it off, honestly I don’t,” James says. “If you’ve done all this research, you know how badly it can go.”

“Yes,” says Scorpius. “But once we have the potion done, that’s the hardest part over, isn’t it? Then it’s just saying the incantation and waiting for the next lightning storm.”

“You need to be perfect about the incantation at dawn and dusk,” James warns. “No sleeping through it, not even once. And it might be weeks before the next storm.”

“We’ll be perfect about it,” Albus promises. “And there’s a lightning storm forecast for next week.”

“I’m coming with you,” James says.

Scorpius opens his mouth to protest, but James cuts him off.

“No, that part’s not negotiable,” he insists. “It’s bad enough, you two doing this without any adults helping. I’m not letting you drink this potion alone in the middle of some field without anyone there to see what happens. I’m coming.”

“Fine,” says Scorpius. “Let’s put the chrysalis in, shall we?”

“One at a time,” says James. “Albus first.”

Albus uses tweezers – Draco’s, imbued with a no-fumble charm, of course – and drops the chrysalis into the phial perfectly. The potion flashes silver and a tiny puff of red steam drifts out of the phial’s mouth before Albus stops it up and drops the velvet cloth over it.

“You next,” says James.

Scorpius’s chrysalis goes in just as smoothly, though Scorpius’s hand is shaking again. His potion flashes silver too, but the steam that comes up is white.

“Is that wrong,” Albus asks anxiously. “Wait, was mine wrong?”

“No,” says James, “it’s like polyjuice, isn’t it. Your hair and your saliva make the potion unique to each brewer. Quick, stopper in and drop the cloth over it.”

They get the crystal phials into the Darkness Caskets, and the boys lock each casket with their touch.

“Now,” says James, “exactly how much fucking wakefulness tincture did you take, Scorpius? You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“Too much,” Scorpius confesses in a rush, too busy grinning over the completed potion to look regretful. “I knew we were coming home on the full moon and I wanted to make sure I was awake for moonrise.”

“Idiot,” says James. He goes over to a store cupboard and opens it, sees row upon row of neatly labelled potions brewed by Draco. “Here,” he says, pulling one out. “A Calming Draught should even you out enough to let you stop jittering, though you might not sleep for another few days.”

“Not a Sleeping Potion?” Albus asks.

“Definitely not a Sleeping Potion,” says James. “You can’t mix that with a wakefulness tincture, you’ll be sleepy as hell but unable to get a wink.” He hands the Calming Draught to Scorpius.

Scorpius takes the draught and drinks it in one, and his trembling ceases almost immediately. “Thanks,” he says, then clears his throat and looks at James directly. “Thanks,” he says again, with more sincerity.

James nods, then asks again: “Why is it so important to do, anyway?”

Scorpius breaks eye contact immediately. “Where should we keep the caskets, do you think?” he asks Albus, turning away.

James sighs and starts tidying away the dew and chrysalis jar, putting the velvet drapes back where they came from. He’s fairly sure he should have gone with his first instinct and smashed the phials, but there was at least something very satisfying about having helped to brew two such difficult potions. He glances around the laboratory again: the white tile walls and the gleaming copper fixtures.

It seems like a pleasant place to work, James thinks.

“Okay,” James says, turning away. “Let’s hear you practise the incantation. You can’t fumble it, not once, and it’s bloody long and hard to say.”

***

James apparates to Albus’s room at sunrise to watch them both recite the incantation with their wand tips to their hearts, and to their credit, they both pull it off admirably: Albus sleepy and rumpled, and Scorpius still awake but with dirty circles under his eyes.

“You’re really doing it,” James says, raking a hand through his hair, dazed and exhausted. “I won’t be in charge of it, now – it’s down to you.”

They have a little scare when Draco works out that Scorpius hasn’t been sleeping, and doses him with a whopper of a sedative potion on the third day. James has to dig out his potions textbook to figure out if there’s a way to safely wake Scorpius for sunrise the next day.

James and Albus sneak through the Floo crowded together under the Cloak before dawn, into Malfoy Manor and up to Scorpius’s room, prepared to dribble a little Startling Serum into his mouth, but it turns out that a quick aguamenti administered to his face does the trick; Scorpius and Albus say the incantation together just as the sun peeks over the horizon, Scorpius still swiping water out of his eyes, scowling.

“There’s supposed to be a thunderstorm on Thursday night,” Albus says as he and James come out the other side back at Grimmauld Place. “We thought we’d go to that field outside Ottery St Catchpole?”

“Sure,” says James, “I’ll tell Seb and John we might need them to pretend we’re coming over for a visit on short notice. It could hit anytime, couldn’t it?”

“Maybe we should just go over Thursday afternoon to be safe,” Albus suggests.

“Sure,” says James, dropping his voice to a whisper as they start up the stairs. It’s – okay, it’s weird, being conspiratorial with Albus. James spares a moment to wonder if this is what it might have been like if Albus was sorted into Gryffindor all those years ago.

Of course, going over to Seb and John’s means talking to Seb again. James sends him an owl, after a lot of crumpled up attempts at a casual message, landing on:

Seb – hope it’s okay, but it would be great if I could come by with Albus and Malfoy on Thursday afternoon. I’ll explain later, but we need a bit of a cover story. – James

Seb’s reply comes within the hour:

Jamesy – you can come anytime, the house is a disaster, we miss our cleaning fairy. You didn’t need to hide away, darling. Bring some of your dad’s biscuits please. – (not) yours, Seb

James grins at the note, relieved to see that there aren’t too many hard feelings. The ache of missing Seb has been second only to the sting of having split up with Ewan; it feels good to think at least he and Seb might move past everything.

Thursday is bright and hot and relentlessly sunny, which feels promising. Dad accepts their story of going over to Seb and John’s house without too many questions, apparently too tickled that James has made plans with Albus and Scorpius to risk ruining it with suspicion.

Scorpius comes over by Floo and then James takes both him and Albus side-along to Ottery St Catchpole. They walk through the village with the sun beating down on them, and they’re all dripping with sweat by the time they get to the cottage.

Seb throws open the door to greet them, waving his wand and blasting a cooling charm in their faces. “Come in, it’s stuffy and awful in here but at least it’s not as hot as outside,” he says.

The house really is a disaster. James waves his wand and starts a parade of dirty dishes to the kitchen, rolling his eyes at Seb. He follows the dishes to the sink, which is already piled high with more dirty plates and glasses, and next to which Ewan is leaning.

“Oh,” says James, and seven plates nearly collide into each other with his start of surprise. “Hi.”

“Hi,” says Ewan, looking just about as startled as James feels, which is some reassurance; this was machinated by Seb on both sides, apparently.

Ewan’s wearing a plain red t-shirt, jeans, trainers. James thinks, stupidly, that he’s never seen Ewan dressed so casually before. But of course, Ewan was probably always dressing for James on some level, just as James was dressing for him.

“Seb,” says James. “I didn’t know he invited you, too.”

“Yeah,” says Ewan. “I could tell.” His face is a strange mixture of frustration and embarrassment, but he hasn’t bolted, so James thinks maybe he’s a little less angry than last time they spoke.

James himself feels tossed between waves of hot anger and equally warm longing for Ewan. He hasn’t let himself miss Ewan, he realises, not really. One moment he’s glancing at Ewan’s hands and remembering them on James’s shoulders, his waist, and the next he’s remembering the disdainful turn of Ewan’s mouth as he said I hoped they were wrong.

James sets the dishes washing, tearing his gaze away from Ewan, his stomach hurting more with each second of silence that passes. He doesn’t know if he wants to shout at him some more or try to make it up with him; he wants both at once, somehow. Ewan was terribly unfair and cruel; James was self-absorbed and arrogant, too.

And then there’s just the fact of Ewan, the shape of him and the scent of him, that’s sending James into a spiral of longing he didn’t expect.

James suddenly remembers Seb reminding him to be cool, that first night, and James saying I just think he’s beautiful. He’s always been an idiot when it comes to Ewan.

“Listen,” James says, and at the same moment, Ewan says, “I should go.”

They stop and look at each other for a few seconds.

“Don’t go,” says James. “I was a git, it was me that fucked up my NEWT and I should never have suggested otherwise. I know it.”

Ewan looks down and fiddles with his long fingers. “I guess I was jealous of you,” he says. “You seem to have everything, you know?”

“I really don’t,” James says, then hastens to add, “but I know I have more than I realise, most of the time. And I’ve definitely been — careless. Before.”

Ewan looks up at him, a penetrating flick of dark brown eyes, dizzying and sweet. “Seb told me,” he says. “You said you were sorry, he says.”

“I am,” James says. “I never meant to mess him about.”

“I guess he forgives you,” Ewan says. “I mean, he’s setting us up, isn’t he. Again.”

“I guess he is,” James says, but he can’t meet Ewan’s eyes, too nervous about what he’ll find there: hope or finality. “I never planned to mess you about either,” he says, straightening up, intending to leave the room as soon as he can now that they’ve managed to be civil for a while. “I was — serious. More serious than I’ve been, I think.”

Ewan pushes off the kitchen cupboard and stands upright, folding his arms over his chest. “Seb told me that, too.”

“Well,” says James, “I hope we can be mates, anyway.”

“Mates,” says Ewan, but it’s not clear from his tone if he’s agreeing with James or just repeating the word like an echo.

James steels himself and looks up at Ewan again, needing to know after all, needing to be sure it’s over. But Ewan’s staring at him steadily, and there’s nothing final about his look at all. His eyes are entreating, uncertain — anything but neutral. James’s heart is suddenly in his throat, his pulse pounding. “Do you,” says James, not even sure how he’s going to finish the question. “Ewan, do you—”

But then, the low rumble of thunder, and it’s so quiet and distant that for a moment, James doesn’t even register it. Ewan glances over his shoulder at the garden window and says, “It looks like rain suddenly, doesn’t it?”

“Oh shit,” says James, “it does.”

Albus and Scorpius appear a moment later, breathless and wide-eyed. “Come on,” Albus says. “If you’re coming, now’s the moment.”

“Shit,” says James again, glancing back at Ewan. “I’m sorry, we have to — we’ll be back soon. You two have got the — yes?”

“Yes,” says Albus, patting his jeans pocket meaningfully. “Come on, James. Let’s go! Now!”

“I’ve got to go,” James says, looking at Ewan, stricken. “I’m sorry. We’ll be back, I think? Don’t – don’t leave.”

Ewan is too startled to answer, and Albus is all but shoving James out of the kitchen in his urgency. Outside, it thunders again, louder this time, and the sky is suddenly darkening.

***

They race to the field outside the village and arrive just as the rain starts properly, the temperature dropping all at once from too hot to a little cool. Scorpius looks elated and excited; Albus is pale and nervous.

“One at a time, again,” James suggests. “Scorpius, you first.”

Scorpius pulls out his wand and then the little casket. Wand tip to his heart, he recites the incantation one last time: “Amato animo animato animagus,” then he pops open the casket, unstoppers the phial, and downs the potion in one go.

A huge clap of thunder follows with appropriately dramatic timing, but Scorpius stands unchanged.

“Maybe it takes a minute,” Albus says, uncertain.

“You should go next,” says James, glancing at the sky. “I don’t think you can wait or you’ll miss the window.”

Albus’s hands are shaking but he repeats the incantation too, nearly tripping over the words until he slows himself down. He opens his own casket and takes out the phial. “Oh, I can’t pull out the stopper,” he says, “I’m shivering.”

“Here,” says James, reaching out to help. “Down the hatch.”

Albus tips the potion back, but James is distracted by Scorpius suddenly making a low eerie sound behind him. James whips around to see if Scorpius has transformed, but he’s still thoroughly human – except there’s an odd blankness to his expression, and as James stares at him, he realises that Scorpius is hunching his shoulders oddly and sticking out his chin.

“Are you okay, mate?” James asks, his stomach flipping. “Say something.”

Scorpius tips his head sideways and opens his mouth, but only a weird croaking screech emerges.

“Very funny,” says James. “Scorpius, cut it out. Albus, he’s joking, isn’t he?” But when James turns back to check on Albus, Albus has vanished.

The skies really open up now, and it’s impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction. James drops to his knees and combs his fingers through the grass, frantically thinking that Albus might have transformed into a beetle or an ant, he might be lost in the long grass and scared. “Albus,” James says, panicking now. “Albus, change back. Oh, fuck.”

And then Scorpius launches himself at James without warning, fingers digging into James’s back, rolling them both down onto the grass – where they might be crushing Albus, fuck – but James can’t do anything but fight Scorpius off, because Scorpius seems to be trying to bite James, his eyes alien and fierce and terrifying.

“Scorpius, stop!” James bellows, pushing and kicking at him. “Get off me, ow, you’re hurting me!”

Scorpius doesn’t stop, just growls and redoubles his efforts. He and James are pretty much of a size, but on an ordinary day, James would have the advantage – Scorpius isn’t as athletic as James, nor as practised at roughhousing – but at the moment, Scorpius is relentless and unsettlingly strong. It takes all James’s strength to pin him, and he nearly fails to do it at all. It’s only by managing to get one hand on his wand that James manages it, firing off a quick incarcerus spell that finally binds Scorpius under him with great shining ropes.

James scrambles back on hands and knees, heart pounding. Scorpius is gnashing his teeth and snapping them, now, like he’s gone completely mad, but the ropes are holding for now. “Scorpius,” James says shakily, “calm down.”

He looks around; still no sign of Albus, not anywhere. James can’t let himself contemplate the idea that they crushed Albus underneath them, but it feels like a horribly distinct possibility anyway. James shoves the thought aside and focuses on Scorpius. It’s clear something’s gone wrong with the animagus spell, though James felt so sure of the potion.

Maybe Scorpius fumbled the incantation once in the last week? Or missed one? Maybe he let the mandrake leaf slip out of his mouth in his sleep and didn’t realise?

It’s impossible to say; James is abruptly brimming with regret that he didn’t tell Dad or Draco, that he was arrogant enough to think he could somehow supervise the pair of them in this amazingly complex spell that he’s never even seen performed. He’s an idiot, and it’s all his fault.

“Come on,” James says to Scorpius, hoping against hope that he can somehow save this, yet. “I think you’ve only transformed on the inside, maybe. Scorpius, you’ve got to go all the way over to dragon.”

Scorpius growls low and arches his back up against the ground. He’s sopping wet but isn’t even blinking the rain from his eyes, his hair falling sodden over his pale cheeks.

“Albus!” James bellows frantically. He can’t stay here, he needs to seek help, but he can’t abandon his brother either. “Finite incantatem,” James tries, but it won’t work without a target, and Albus could be anywhere. He could be hurt, he could be – James shakes his head and tries the spell on Scorpius, but it has no visible effect.

“Fuck,” James says, his panic starting to manifest as tears of frustration and fear. “What do I do, what do I do?”

There’s nothing for it but to leave Albus – in whatever state he exists – and to try to help Scorpius. James stands up and casts a mobilicorpus to levitate Scorpius up off the wet ground. But of course, he can’t float Scorpius through the village, they’ll have to apparate. James wishes he brought his Cloak. He’s not sure if apparating Scorpius in this state is dangerous, but he’s not sure what choice he has.

He wraps a hand around Scorpius’s bound forearm and takes them away.

***

They apparate in the middle of Seb and John’s lounge, James not having any better idea of where to take Scorpius. Their arrival is like a bomb of excitement and fear going off all at once, Seb yelling at James about what he’s playing at, Ewan coming in from the kitchen with eyes wide, and John bursting out of his bedroom to shout about everyone waking him up.

“They were trying to become animagi,” James says, between almost hysterical gulps of air. “Him and Albus. Albus – disappeared. Couldn’t find him. Scorpius – something went wrong. I should have stopped them, I should have stopped them.” And Seb tries to put his arms around James to calm him, but James violently shrugs him off, shaking his head. “We need to do something,” he shouts. “We need to help him, something’s gone wrong. And Albus – we need to find him.”

“Where were you,” Seb asks, trying to get James to focus. “Where did you lose Albus, I’ll go look, John will come too.”

“In the field where we played quidditch,” James hiccups. “Please – you have to find him.”

“We will,” says Seb. “Come on, John.” He and John throw on their cloaks and run for the door.

“Something’s wrong with Scorpius, too,” James says. Ewan’s coming in close, wand out, to study Scorpius. “I think the transformation only worked inside him, not outside,” says James.

“Instead of the mind of a wizard and the body of a dragon, it’s reversed,” says Ewan, who is exactly as clever as everyone says he is. He looks at Scorpius, who’s still breathing hard and growling low. “James, he needs to go to St Mungo’s.”

“No,” says James, “he’ll be in such trouble.”

“I think we’re well past worrying about that,” says Ewan. “This isn’t something we know how to fix, he needs a Healer.”

“Your mum,” says James. “Can your mum help?”

Ewan shakes his head. “He’s, what, sixteen? She’d never help without his dad’s permission anyway. There’s nothing else for it, James. We have to take him.”

James kneels down next to Scorpius. “Maybe my dad could speak to him,” he says, “he’s a Parselmouth. He can talk to Scorpius’s dad when he transforms.”

“Maybe,” says Ewan. “But I don’t think it would help, honestly. He needs a spell damage specialist, James.”

James looks at Ewan, ashamed of the way he’s now sobbing openly, but he can’t help it, he can’t. “I can’t do anything right,” he says.

“Everyone makes mistakes,” says Ewan, reaching out and laying a hand on James’s shoulder. “And this wasn’t your mistake, it was Scorpius’s, wasn’t it.”

“I could have stopped him,” says James. “I could have told on them, I caught them making the potion.”

Ewan squeezes James’s shoulder. “Time enough for beating yourself up over everything later. We need to get him to the hospital, James.”

James nods, tears and rain dripping off his nose. “I need to tell his dad,” he says. “He’s going to hate me.”

“Do you want to send an owl,” Ewan suggests. “Or would he get a message by Floo quicker?”

“No,” says James, standing up shakily. He pulls his wand out and says, “Expecto patronum,” and his little weasel patronus erupts from the wand tip. “Go tell Draco Malfoy: Scorpius is hurt, meet us at St Mungo’s. And then,” James takes a bracing breath, “and then go to Harry Potter and tell him the same.”

The weasel vanishes in a puff of mist.

“You can cast a corporeal patronus,” says Ewan in awed tones.

“I told you DADA used to be my best subject,” James says, his mouth twisting in spite of himself. “Let’s go.”

***

It’s only a few seconds after they arrive in the foyer of St Mungo’s before they’re surrounded by medi-wizards and nurses. James tells them everything he can, as quickly as he can, and then Ewan’s mum appears.

“We’ll take care of him,” she says, reassuring and calm. “Did you tell his parents?”

“His dad, he’s only got a dad,” James says, but then Draco is suddenly next to them, paler than James has ever seen him, and he’s shoving James aside to get to Scorpius, demanding to know what happened, is Scorpius going to be okay, who’s responsible for this.

James steps back as Ewan’s mum starts to explain, but he doesn’t make it far before Dad is there too, slinging an arm over James’s shoulders and squeezing him.

“What happened,” Dad says, voice tense but kind. “Where’s Albus, he was with you, wasn’t he?”

James feels like he might die before he manages to admit that he left Albus, that he lost him. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.

“They tried to become animagi,” says Ewan quietly, “Scorpius and Albus. It went wrong for Scorpius, and Albus seems to have vanished.”

“Vanished,” says Dad, dropping his arm from around James’s shoulders. “James, he vanished?”

“I don’t know,” James says, feeling the tears welling up in his eyes again, the panic rising afresh, “I don’t know what happened, he was just – gone. Seb and John are looking for him, but we had to get Scorpius here, and – Dad, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“You knew,” says Dad, all the kindness suddenly absent from his voice. “You knew they were trying.”

James nods miserably, and Dad sighs such a deep sigh of disappointment, it’s nothing at all compared to the NEWT conversation. James would give anything to be telling his dad he got an A in Defence again, anything but this.

“I thought they did everything right,” James says, shaking his head, miserable and gutted. “I helped them with the potion, we were so careful.”

“We need to tell your mum,” says Harry, pulling out his wand to cast his patronus, but then there’s a bang, and Seb, John, and Albus are suddenly in the foyer too, sopping wet but one hundred percent human.

“Found him,” says Seb. “He’s okay.”

Albus flies at Scorpius, frantic, but Dad stops him, squeezing him into a fierce hug and kissing his head over and over. “You’re okay, you’re really okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” says Albus. “What happened to Scorpius? Is he hurt?” He pulls away from Dad but doesn’t get far before James seizes him and embraces him as hard as he can, too. James was so afraid… but it seems like Albus is really okay.

“Where did you go, you little git,” James asks as Albus shoves him away in turn. “You disappeared.”

“I flew off, didn’t I?” Albus says. “Where are they taking him?” He’s craning his neck to watch Scorpius, who’s being levitated off to the lift in a gurney, still snapping and restrained by James’s ropes. “Why is he acting like that?”

“So you did become a beetle or a fly,” James says, “I thought we might have stepped on you.”

“What?” says Albus, snapping his gaze away from Draco and Scorpius and the throng of Healers around him. “A beetle? I wasn’t a beetle.”

“What were you, then?” James asks.

Albus is staring after Scorpius again, unhearing.

“Albus,” Dad says, “what did you transform into?”

Albus looks back at them; the lift doors are closing and Scorpius is out of his sight finally. “Oh,” he says, “I turned into a phoenix.”

***

They need to go up to the Spell Damage ward, but first Dad and James thank Seb and John for their help in finding Albus.

“It wasn’t hard,” says John. “He was just standing in the field looking confused and asking where you went.”

“Still,” says Dad. “Thank you.”

“I just flew off,” says Albus, “when I changed. I didn’t think about it twice, it was like – instinct. You wouldn’t believe how high and fast I could go, it was brilliant. I thought Scorpius would join me any minute, and we could fly around in the rain together, phoenix and dragon, you know? But then he didn’t come and he didn’t come, and then when I came back down to the field, you were gone and so was he. I changed back, and that’s when John and Seb showed up.”

“I didn’t even know animagi could become phoenixes,” says James, awestruck.

“It’s extremely rare,” Dad says. “Most animagi appear as rather ordinary non-magical animals – which is rather more convenient for hiding in plain sight. And that’s what most of those who want to transform are after: to go around unnoticed.”

Albus shrugs. “I don’t think I had a choice,” he says. “My wand has a phoenix core, maybe that’s part of it.”

“Maybe,” says Dad. “Come on, let’s find out how Scorpius is doing.”

James hesitates, letting Dad and Albus go ahead without him. He looks at Seb, John, and Ewan helplessly. “Thanks,” he says again.

“What are mates for,” says Seb, and he gestures to John that they should give Ewan and James a little space.

“You must think I’m even more of an idiot now,” says James when they’re alone. He can feel that his eyes are puffy, his nose swollen with the tears he shed. He must look horrible.

“Not really,” says Ewan. “I mean, a bit – but it was dead sexy seeing you cast a corporeal patronus, so it sort of balanced itself out, didn’t it.”

James huffs out a laugh of surprise. “If I’d known that was all I had to do to get you back, I’d have done it two weeks ago,” he says.

“Get me back?” Ewan repeats, mouth curling.

James flushes, realising what he said. “I’m joking,” he says.

“Come on,” says Ewan. “You’re an idiot but not that much of an idiot.” And his smile is warm and real this time.

James’s chest hurts, a weird mixture of relief and fear and joy all held together in a jumble. “I need to go up,” he says, hooking a thumb back over his shoulder. “I might have killed my step-brother.”

“I thought he wasn’t your step-brother? And you didn’t kill him,” Ewan says. “They’ll sort him out, don’t worry. But yes, you should go.”

“Okay,” says James. “Bye.”

“Bye,” says Ewan, ducking in for a quick chaste kiss, the kind that’s appropriate in the foyer of a hospital. “Send your patronus to let me know how he’s doing, will you?”

“It’s not a party trick,” James says, “it’s really impressive advanced magic.”

“That weasel is just really cute,” says Ewan.

“Shut up,” says James, and comes back in for another, less-appropriate kiss. “Thank you for your help, though,” he says when they break apart. “I’m sorry I was a selfish idiot.”

“I’m sorry I was a jealous git,” says Ewan quietly. “Go.”

“Going,” says James, pulling himself away and heading for the lift.

***

Scorpius has been sedated and he looks quite peaceful and normal, lying on the gurney. They’ve replaced James’s magical binding ropes with soft-looking sheepskin cuffs on his wrists and straps over his legs.

Ewan’s mum – Brenda Wilson, Spell Damage Specialist – thinks the animagus spell went wrong because Scorpius probably shares Draco’s familial animagism.

“The spell isn’t meant for those who have an inherited ability to transform,” she says. “I’m surprised that didn’t come up in all your research,” she adds, looking at Albus.

Albus blushes and shrugs miserably. “We didn’t think to look it up,” he admits.

“Nevertheless,” says Brenda, “it’s possible to reverse the attempted transformation. There’s a rather specialised and difficult potion that–”

“I’ll brew it,” says Draco immediately.

“I’m sure our potion-brewers here are more than qualified,” she says, a little defensively.

“I said, I’ll brew it,” says Draco, his tone brooking no argument. He’s been nearly silent this whole time, his hands gripping the metal side rail of Scorpius’s gurney, knuckles white. “If you’ll have your brewers send me the details by owl, I’ll begin immediately.”

“Draco,” says Dad, gently.

“Harry,” says Draco back sharply, “please mind your own business just this once.”

There’s a flash of hurt and anger on Dad’s face, but he subsides.

“We’d like to examine you, Albus,” says Brenda. “Just to rule out any concerns about whether you pulled off the spell properly. It doesn’t mean that Scorpius couldn’t have made his own separate mistake, but it’s less likely if your spell was as successful as it seems.”

“Yes, okay,” says Albus quietly, eyeing Draco. “Should I –”

“Please transform, if you can,” Brenda prompts.

Albus takes out his wand and touches it to his heart, muttering the incantation quietly, and then suddenly there’s a phoenix among them.

“Shouldn’t he be able to do it without the wand,” James says quietly to Dad.

“Eventually,” says Dad. “I’m told it takes some practice.” He glances at Draco as he says this.

Brenda is busy running her wand over Albus the phoenix, murmuring spells that are limning Albus in a gold light. James watches her closely, impressed by the sureness of her hands, and how gently she’s moving around Albus as she works.

“That seems all in order,” she says, stepping back at last. “Well done, Albus. A formidable feat for a sixteen year old, but I suppose you come by it honestly. You can change back now, if you like.”

Albus changes back in an instant, obviously trying not to look proud of himself with Scorpius lying right there, with Draco glowering over him.

“Yes,” says Dad, “it worked out, but it was an incredibly stupid thing to try. Not to mention illegal.”

“I know,” says Albus, his expression crumpling again. “I know, it was so stupid.”

“What was the point of it, anyway?” Dad asks. “Your granddad was trying to help a friend. It was still reckless of him when he did it, but at least he had a noble goal.”

Albus glances quickly at Scorpius, then looks away again. “I guess,” he says, “I guess we thought it would be cool.”

Dad clearly doesn’t like this answer, but he seems to decide not to voice his frustration with Draco right next to him. “And you knew,” he says instead, looking back at James.

“I caught them brewing the potion,” James says. “I know, I should have stopped them then.”

“He helped us,” says Albus in protest. “I think we would have done worse without him.”

“Worse?” says Draco, looking up fiercely.

“Draco,” says Dad. “They didn’t know how it would affect Scorpius.”

“Showing off, taking stupid risks,” says Draco bitterly, looking back down at Scorpius, “doesn’t that sound like a Potter.”

Dad’s posture goes stiff all at once. “We’ll leave you for a bit,” he says, voice gone quiet. “You’re not yourself.”

“Yes, fine,” says Draco, reaching out a hand to stroke the hair off Scorpius’s forehead.

Dad nods and waves for Albus and James to follow him from the room.

***

Dad is quiet as they head down to the cafeteria, but he reaches out and tousles Albus’s hair fondly as the lift doors open again.

“Don’t,” says Albus, setting his hair right. “Dad.”

“You pulled it off,” Dad says. “It was very rash, but it’s also very impressive.”

“James helped,” says Albus. “Honestly, without him –”

“Oh, just be proud of yourself for a change,” James says, fed up. “How many sixteen year olds have ever done it, Albus?”

Albus shrugs, fighting a smile.

“McGonagall was seventeen,” says Dad. “Come on, let’s get some tea.”

“Is Draco going to forgive me, do you think?” Albus worries once they’re all seated at a table together. “He seemed so angry.”

“He’ll have to once Scorpius comes to and tells him it was all his bloody idea,” James answers.

Dad looks to James, then back at Albus. “Was it?”

Albus won’t answer, but the twist of his mouth is eloquent.

“Of course it was Scorpius,” James says, sighing in frustration. “Albus wasn’t the one who wanted it, he just went along with it to try and keep Scorpius from doing something even stupider. Scorpius threatened to hex me when I said I’d stop them.”

Dad frowns. “And why was he so keen on trying to transform?” he asks. “Was he that jealous of Draco being able to change?”

“There’s that,” says James, “and then there’s his massive unrequited love for Rose, isn’t there.”

Albus shoots James a betrayed look. “James,” he says, “don’t tell secrets that aren’t any of your business.”

“I’m not,” says James, “everyone knows it. He wanted to impress her, didn’t he?”

Albus suddenly gets very interested in his mug of tea.

“Well,” says Dad, “I guess it could be worse, he could have spent hours making badges that made her the laughingstock of most of the school.”

“What are you on about?” James asks, blinking.

“Nothing,” says Dad. “The flirting habits of Malfoys, I suppose.” He glances at his watch. “I think I’ll go back up, but it might be best if you two went home. Lily’s going to be wondering where everyone is, it’s nearly dinner time. And I should send your mum a note by Floo, she should know what’s happened even if you’re fine, Albus.”

“You know she’ll make us go back to her flat,” James says despairingly.

“I know,” says Dad. “That might be for the best, too. At least for tonight.” He looks between James and Albus. “Sorry, I know you hate sharing a room.”

James looks at Albus, and Albus looks back at him anxiously.

“Nah,” James says, “it’s fine. We don’t mind that much, do we, Alb.”

***

Mum is in a huge tizzy by the time they all arrive at her flat, and she spends about ten minutes yelling at James and Albus before they even make it past the front hall. Lily is clearly torn between delight at not being the target of Mum’s anger for once, and confusion over the whole thing.

“And what was your great plan if your brother turned into some sort of monster?” she yells, rounding on James again. “Honestly, I thought you would have more sense at your age.”

James doesn’t bother trying to answer, Mum is too angry to listen anyway. He just shares a sympathetic look with Albus and sighs, waiting for her to finish.

Finally, she seems to shout herself out, and then – much more terrifyingly – she clutches Albus to her and bursts into angry tears. Mum never cries, not ever, and James isn’t even sure where to look for a moment, embarrassed for her and worried at the same time.

“You could have been killed,” she says, pulling back far enough to grip Albus by the shoulders and shake him gently. “What would I have done, Albus? Without you?”

Albus looks rather stunned at this. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m not dead, though.”

“Oh Merlin,” she says, kissing his cheek furiously, “what a stupid idea to have children, you’re all idiots and you’ll be the death of me. This is Harry’s fault, I wanted to have dogs instead.”

Neville, who’s been hovering as unobtrusively as he can manage at the margins of the flat, suddenly reappears and wraps his arms around her while she quietly dissolves into tears.

James looks at Albus, silently communicating that this might be their chance to escape.

“No,” says Mum, sniffling into Neville’s shirt, “not before I tell you both how you’re grounded for the rest of the summer.”

James bites back an observation about how she can’t exactly ground him, he’s eighteen; instead, he just nods and heads for the room he shares with Albus.

***

Mum lets them go back to Grimmauld Place a little grudgingly the next day. Dad comes to pick them up like they’re still little kids, and he looks grey and exhausted standing in the doorway.

“How is he,” says Mum, using a gentle voice James has rarely heard.

“He’s fine, they’re keeping him knocked out,” says Dad. “It’s just waiting on the potion, isn’t it.”

“You know I meant Draco,” says Mum.

Dad winces faintly. “I know,” he says, and sighs. “He’s closed himself up in his laboratory and won’t say a word.”

“He’s scared,” says Mum. “After Astoria, and his dad too.”

“Yeah,” says Dad, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I just wish he’d,” but then he trails off and looks over at Albus, James, and Lily, all listening in avidly. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he says lamely.

Mum leans in and kisses Dad on the cheek, stroking his other cheek with her hand. “I’m sure it will be, Harry,” she says. “We all botched it, didn’t we, all of us?”

“We did,” Dad agrees, though James isn’t quite sure what they’re talking about, now. “Okay, I’ll let you know if there’s any news.”

“I’m not really grounded, am I?” James asks once they’re back at Dad’s house. “I mean, can you really ground me, anyway?”

Dad levels a look at him. “I’d like to try it, honestly,” he says, “but I think I have a better idea.”

Dad’s great idea is to have James and Albus go up to the attic to clean and organise it. It’s an entire mess, dusty and dirty and cobwebby, but being the attic of a wizard dwelling, it’s also full of unpleasant surprises like doxies and screaming portraits.

There’s no word from St Mungo’s other than that Scorpius is staying comfortably unconscious. Albus and James go to visit him every day, but there’s not much to say or do. Scorpius just lies still and pale; once in a long while, he rouses enough to snap his teeth at some phantom annoyance.

“I should have thought about whether the spell would work on him,” Albus says quietly on their second visit. He glances at James. “He’s been trying to figure out how to transform since his dad did it, since February. He finally gave up and said it probably skipped a generation with him, he’d have to do it the hard way.”

“Didn’t occur to him that his dad was past forty when he first changed,” James sighs. “That a little patience might be in order.”

“I tried to tell him,” Albus says quietly. He reaches out and strokes a hand over Scorpius’s bound forearm. “Scorpius, you tosser.”

Dad, for his part, doggedly goes to the Manor every day. He won’t talk much about whether he’s making any progress with Draco, but he’s invariably gloomy when he returns, so it doesn’t seem promising.

“Is the dragon going to ditch him because Albus and Scorpius were reckless idiots?” Lily asks once when Dad is at Malfoy Manor and Albus is upstairs in his room.

“Don’t gloat,” cautions James, “you know it’ll break Dad’s heart if he does.”

Lily is quiet. “I know,” she says. “I hope he doesn’t. It’s not Dad’s fault, is it.”

“No,” says James, “but sometimes you fight with the people you love because you’re angry with yourself, I think.”

“Is that what you and Ewan did?” Lily asks.

“None of your business,” James says automatically, but softens the words by reaching out and poking her gently in the arm. “So you don’t hate Draco, after all?”

“I never hated him,” says Lily. “I just didn’t see the appeal. I still don’t, honestly, but Dad likes him so he must be all right.”

“Good,” says James.

***

Ewan comes round to help with the endless attic project, though his idea of helping seems to be sitting on Dad’s old school trunk and laughing at James and Albus trying to get rid of a chizpurfle nest they’ve uncovered.

“Help anytime you like,” James says, spraying more potion into the nest while Albus coughs.

“Don’t be cross, James,” Ewan says. “Besides, I shouldn’t be making your punishment easier, that would be wrong.”

“I’ll spray you in a minute,” James mutters, but when Albus goes downstairs to get more potion, James comes over and wraps his dirty dusty arms around Ewan, who only struggles for a moment before giving in to James with good grace and lots of kisses.

“If you don’t mind,” says Albus, red-faced, when he climbs back up into the attic. “Some of us are trying to get this finished before the summer’s out, aren’t we?”

“We don’t have to be back at school next week like you,” James points out, letting Ewan go anyway.

“I do have to be at work, though,” says Ewan with regret. He had his pick of positions, as James expected, but he’s taken on a starter position at the Department of Mysteries. He keeps telling James he’ll be fetching tea and filing papers, but James thinks it’s likely to be a lot more interesting than that.

“Do you hear that, James,” says Albus. “Ewan’s got something called a job. You see, a job is where you go do things to be useful, and then you get paid money for it.”

“Sounds awful,” says James, “I’d rather stay here with the chizpurfles.”

***

That night, Dad goes through the Floo to Malfoy Manor with his usual grim determination, but he’s back again within minutes. “Albus,” he says, “come quickly.”

“Is Scorpius okay?” Albus asks, anxiously sitting up at the kitchen table. “Is he worse?”

“No,” says Dad, “but we need your help.”

“My help?” says Albus, baffled.

“Yes, your help,” Dad repeats. “Come on!”

“Can I come, too?” James asks, because he hasn’t seen Dad looking this excited in days.

“If you want,” says Dad. “Let’s go.”

They go back through the Floo to the Manor, and Dad hastily leads them back the same way James came the last time he came: straight to Draco’s laboratory. The door is shut, but Dad raps quickly and opens it without waiting for a reply.

“I told you, I can wait for the shipment from–” But Draco stops when he turns and sees that Dad has Albus and James with him. “Harry.”

“He’s right here, and he wants to help,” says Dad imploringly. “Please, Draco, he’d like to be useful.”

“I would,” says Albus bravely, then cuts a look sidelong at Dad. “How am I going to be useful?”

“The potion Draco’s brewing,” Dad says, “the last step is phoenix tears. But his supply dried up, he just realised it.”

“And I have more on order, they’ll be here in the morning,” Draco says impatiently.

“I can do it,” says Albus immediately, “Draco, please – let me.”

Draco hesitates, his jaw tense. “We don’t know for certain that the tears from a phoenix animagus would have the same properties as a real phoenix’s tears,” he says to Harry, like he’s said it before.

“Your dragon scales have the same properties as those of a real dragon,” Harry says. “You tested it.”

“Yes,” says Draco, “but familial animagism is –”

“Draco,” says Harry. “Just try him, please. If the tears are good, you could have Scorpius home tonight.”

Albus looks so keen to help that he’s nearly straining out of his skin with eagerness. “Please, Draco,” he says, and his voice is wobbly with emotion, “I’d do anything for Scorpius, I really would.”

“Fine,” says Draco, and though the word sounds abrupt and almost rude, there’s a new softness in his eyes as he looks at Albus. “Let me get a phial.”

Albus changes at once and flaps out his wings, settling his ruffled feathers. His emotion as a human has carried over into his phoenix form. James can see the wetness of his eyes, as if tears might spill at any moment. Draco comes over with the phial and gently holds it to Albus’s face. “I only need a few,” he says quietly.

Albus only has to blink for the tears to roll down from his orange phoenix eyes, and Draco hastily catches them, shifting to the other side. The tears are pearly and gleaming. James used the ingredient once, in seventh year Potions. It looks right to him.

“Can you tell if they’re good?” James asks.

“Yes, there’s a way,” says Draco. “Thank you, Albus, that will do.” He takes the phial over to a bench and decants one little drop onto a glass saucer before stirring it with his wand tip. “They’re good,” he says simply, then looks up at the three of them watching him intently. “I’d like to finish the potion without any distractions,” he says.

“Of course,” says Dad, already shepherding James towards the door and beckoning for Albus to change back. “We’ll go wait at the hospital.”

Draco opens his mouth, and for a moment it looks like he’s about to tell Dad there’s no need for that. But instead, his eyes soften just a little more and he says, “I should be there in under half an hour. If you don’t mind telling the staff?”

Dad nods once and they leave the laboratory.

***

Draco appears on the ward within fifteen minutes, carrying a cup of potion that looks entirely ordinary and unremarkable. The head Healer inspects it quickly and then agrees to allow Draco to administer it to Scorpius.

Once the sedative potion is reversed, Scorpius is instantly rearing against his restraints and growling at everyone, snapping his teeth, but Dad comes closer and says something quite gentle in Parseltongue that immediately makes Scorpius relax a little. Draco glances across the bed at Dad, then responds with a quiet hissing sound. Parseltongue never sounds very nice to James’s ears, but it’s clear that Dad appreciates whatever Draco said, because he smiles ever so slightly.

Dad and Draco take it in turns to speak to Scorpius until he stops fighting long enough for Draco to try coaxing him to drink the potion. It’s slow work, but gradually they get more and more of it down. Scorpius’s grey eyes, which have had a hard glittering quality since he was roused, seem to take on a more human light with each new sip; by the time they’re down to the dregs, Scorpius isn’t growling at all anymore, and eagerly drinks the last of it without being urged to it.

Draco says something in Parseltongue, stroking Scorpius’s hair, but now Scorpius is looking up at Draco with a confused air. “English, then?” Draco says, switching over. “I was just saying it should work quickly.”

“What happened,” says Scorpius, blinking. He looks around at everyone in the room and then down at his restraints. “Please take these off,” he says, pulling at them. “I don’t like them.”

“Your animagus spell flopped, is what happened,” says Draco, waving his wand to remove Scorpius’s restraints. “And I’ve been waiting over a week to tell you off about it.”

Scorpius still looks dazed, but he gladly lifts his hands up as soon as they’re free, rolling his wrists like they’ve been paining him. “Over a week?” he says, and looks to Albus. “What went wrong?”

“You can’t turn a dragon into a dragon, can you,” says Draco, helping Scorpius to sit up. “Merlin knows what possessed you to even try it.”

“What do you mean,” says Scorpius, pushing the covers down. “It skipped a generation, didn’t it? I don’t have the gift, I tried and tried.”

“Apparently you do, it just hasn’t manifested yet,” says Brenda, coming in now to examine Scorpius. “I think we’d like a moment of privacy, please,” she adds, but before everyone steps out of the room, she takes a moment to put her hand on Draco’s shoulder. James hears her say, “Well done, he’ll be just fine now.”

They’re only out in the corridor for a moment before Draco is grabbing Dad and pulling him in for a fiercely tight hug. Dad seems startled for a second, then grins and hugs Draco back.

“He’ll be okay,” Draco says when he pulls away, and he seizes Dad by the face and kisses him on the mouth as if James and Albus aren’t even there. “I’m sorry I was horrible,” he says.

“You were scared,” says Dad. “But yes, you were horrible.”

“I should have seen what he was up to,” Draco says, shaking his head. “I should have noticed.”

“He handled the mandrake leaf a lot better than me,” Albus chimes in. “To be fair. I was sick for two weeks, he was better within a few days.”

Draco looks over at Albus and sighs. “I know it wasn’t your idea,” he says kindly. “I know it was him.”

Albus sticks his chin out a little defiantly. “It was both of us,” he says.

Draco snorts quietly. “Loyal to the last,” he says. “No wonder you’re a phoenix, Albus.”

“Well,” says Harry, “that and his connection to the other Albus, I think.”

“See,” says James, nudging Albus, “I told you that you’re his favourite.”

Albus blushes and rolls his eyes.

***

Scorpius is released within an hour, apparating back to the Manor side-along with Draco. Dad takes James and Albus home and, in his relief, cooks them an immense and delicious dinner which almost makes up for the lack of home-cooked meals since Scorpius has been in hospital.

“I forgot to tell you,” says Dad, “I got your registration papers from Doris Rathscombe in Improper Use of Magic, Albus. You’re legally permitted to transform now. And Improper Use of Magic have decided to let you off with a warning under the circumstances.”

“Oh,” says Albus, sounding rather uninterested.

James kicks him under the table. “Has it even occurred to you how this is going to play at school?”

Albus looks at James, frowning.

“You can turn into a phoenix,” says James. “A phoenix.”

“Oh,” says Albus again, trying to understand. “So, I could – take people flying?”

James rolls his eyes. “You’re hopeless, Albus.”

“I think James is trying to say that you should use your powers to snog girls,” Lily says. “Because that’s what he would have done.”

“To snog girls and boys,” James corrects her. “And yes, I absolutely would have done that, before. I wouldn’t now, because I’m taken, aren’t I.”

“Are you,” Dad says, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes,” says James decisively. “And also I’ve reformed my character.”

“Stranger things have happened, I suppose,” says Dad.

“Do you mean like you winding up with the person who, what was it, made you the laughingstock of the school?” James asks.

“Like that, yes,” says Dad, but now he can’t stop smiling.

***

Dad and Draco take Albus, Scorpius, and Lily to Diagon Alley for school shopping on Monday; Dad’s taking the day off work.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Dad asks as he grabs a handful of Floo powder. “Ewan can join us.”

“Ewan’s working,” says James. “It’s okay, go on without me.”

“Okay,” says Dad.

Once they’ve all gone through the Floo, James sits down and writes three letters, sending them off with Frodo. He then spends an hour very carefully filling out a new crisp application form. He won’t tell anyone else about it, James decides. It’s probably a stupid idea.

***

On September 1st, James decides to go along with Dad and Draco to drop the kids off at Platform 9 ¾. It’s heaving with families and kids, as always; James feels a little weird, standing apart from all the chaos for the first time instead of being part of it. There are the usual younger siblings howling at being too young to come along, and the parents pretending not to cry as they triple-check school trunks, and the new fifth years with their new shiny prefect badges and self-importance.

“Above it all, are you,” says Dad, smirking at James.

“It’s just weird,” says James. “I think I half-thought I’d be going back.”

“You still can, if you want to upgrade that NEWT,” Dad jokes.

“No thanks,” says James. “Oh, there’s Mum, I think she’s seeing Neville off.”

Mum and Neville come over, smiling. Neville’s got a trolley absolutely loaded with the plants he’s been tending all summer long in Mum’s flat. “They’re too delicate to fly with or apparate or Floo,” he says, “so I thought I’d take the train with the kids.”

“Makes sense,” says Dad, though it’s clear he thinks Neville’s barmy.

“Oh,” says Neville, noticing James, “have you heard back yet, then?”

James tries to flash a warning look back at Neville, but he’s frustratingly oblivious.

“Heard back about what,” says Dad, looking to James and then to Mum. “Heard back about what?”

“I didn’t tell them,” James says, meaningfully.

“Oh,” says Neville. “Sorry.” He grimaces, and then shrugs. “Well, if I’ve spoiled one secret, I might as well spoil another. A little bird told me that you got in. The owl should be coming any minute.”

James’s jaw drops. “What,” he says, blankly.

Neville grins. “It wasn’t even close,” he says, “you were almost one of the top candidates even with the A in Defence weighing you down, they said. Don’t think you needed a reference letter from your old Herbology professor, honestly, though I was happy to oblige. And an honour it was to be asked alongside the likes of Minerva McGonagall and Horace Slughorn.”

James’s stomach is doing giddy flips abruptly, and he looks wildly from Mum to Dad, not sure what to say or do. He wasn’t sure it was even what he wanted, honestly, except maybe he was just telling himself that, because suddenly James feels like he wants to explode with excitement and joy. “I got in,” he says to Neville, checking. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” says Neville, beaming. “Congratulations.”

“What’s going on,” Mum says, at the same moment Dad looks at James and asks, “You applied for something?”

“I applied for a place on the Healer training course at St Mungo’s,” says James. “I thought it might be a long shot, but I had all the NEWTs.”

“Since when do you want to be a Healer?” Dad asks, but then he follows it up with a grin and a hug. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” says James, “I think so. I like potions and herbology and charms, and Ewan’s mum’s told me all about the work, and it sounds brilliant. You know, helping people and solving problems and it’s just a load of studying, I might still wash out, but I think I’d like to try.”

“You won’t wash out,” says Mum. “Oh, James, I’m so proud.” And she hugs him, too. “See, Harry, I told you he wouldn’t really spend a whole year lying around on the sofa in his pants.”

“I never thought that,” says Dad, eyes wide.

“Liar,” says Draco to Dad, reaching out to shake James’s hand. “Congratulations, James. Well done.”

“When does the course start,” Dad asks excitedly. “Do you need supplies? You’ll need robes, won’t you? And potions ingredients, and probably some new scales.”

“Let’s wait for the owl to arrive, Dad,” James says. “Breathe.”

“The Healer trainees have a top-notch intramural quidditch league,” Dad says, ignoring him. “We played them when I was training to be an Auror and they destroyed us, it was great.”

“He won’t wait for the owl to arrive,” Draco says quietly to James. “We should probably let him go buy you a book or something, or we won’t have a minute’s peace for the rest of the day.”

“A Healer,” says Dad wonderingly. “In our family.”

“Thanks for the reference letter, Neville,” says James. “Have a good year at Hogwarts.”

The kids are already loading their trunks onto the train, so James hastens off after them, cornering Albus by a carriage door.

“What,” says Albus. “I’m not going to change into a phoenix on the platform, would you stop?”

“Shut up and take this,” James says, passing a flat medium package to Albus.

“What is it,” says Albus, narrowing his gaze. “Is this something from Weasleys or Zonkos?”

“No, idiot,” says James, “it’s time you had it, anyway.”

Albus squeezes the parcel and his eyes go wide as he recognises the slippery thin feel of the Cloak inside. “Are you sure?” he says.

“Yeah,” says James, “and the Map is in there too. Do try to get into a little trouble this year, would you? We Potters have a reputation to maintain.”

Albus grins. “I’ll try,” he says. “It’ll be weird without you.”

“Don’t be a baby,” says James, but then he impulsively reaches out to give Albus a lightning-quick hug. “See you at Christmas.”

“See you,” says Albus, a little stunned, but hugging James back anyway.

James backs up and watches him get on the train. Albus pauses to help Lily with her trunk, and then, taking an armful of Neville’s plants with him, he climbs up the steps again. They all disappear into the carriage and the train’s doors start closing up. The steam engine begins churning, and then slowly the train moves down the platform.

When they get home to Grimmauld Place, Dad’s arms loaded with scales and books and new robes bought on Diagon Alley, the owl is waiting for James.