Twice Upon A Time

James Potter had been born and raised in the steamy tropical jungles of Southeast Asia, and had no idea what the word 'cold' really meant. That in itself was ironic, as the nine-year-old's attitude to everything could only be described as cold. James never smiled, never laughed, never knew how to have fun. All the other children living in the village with him avoided him, partly because they knew there was something different about him, but mostly because he was nasty to everyone.

They were right, actually; James Potter was different. He was a wizard, born to wizard parents who were pure British but had been posted to Southeast Asia by the Ministry of Magic. James' father, Charles Potter, was a ruggedly handsome magical officer who spent most of his time at the office, and his wife Margaret was a willowy blonde who spent all her time at parties and functions. James seldom saw them, usually when they were climbing into man-powered rickshaws for yet another dinner or party.

From what he had seen through the tall decorative windows, James thought his father was rather handsome. Nobody ever said that James looked like him, though. Nobody ever said anything to him, anyway.

All that didn't really explain why he was sitting on a train, watching the rain pelt down, rumbling through the bleak English countryside.

James had got out of bed one morning, waving the various insects aside, to find a breathless servant waiting by his door. "What's going on?" he had asked roughly, or as roughly as a little boy could. "Where's my nanny?"

The servant had blinked furiously and choked out, "She's dead." James had stared a little before waving the servant off, not unlike the way he had waved the mosquitoes off.

Later, James was informed that his nanny and several other servants in the house had died of a new disease known as malaria, and that many others had caught it. James blinked back a few unwanted tears, remembering how the same servant had informed him of his parents' deaths.

"They are dead of malaria, too," the servant had said with much less emotion than when he had reported James' nanny's death.

James sighed. It wasn't as if he really missed his parents; he hardly knew them. But they were the ones who had brought him into the world, so it was quite a shame that they were gone. And now he was on his way to live with some aunt he'd never heard of in his life. Her name was... what was it again? Antoinette Jonstone.

"James Potter, aren't you?" the woman had asked. The woman, who introduced herself as Mrs Mince, had given him a sharp up-and-down and shaken her head. "Your father really didn't leave you anything, did he?"

"Sorry, madam, I don't know what you mean," James had replied, not sounding sorry at all. He had learnt from a very young age how to sound as cold and aloof as any grown man, and it was paying off, in a strange sort of way.

"Never mind," Mrs Mince mumbled, and turned to mince [James couldn't help marvelling at the irony] up the train. James followed, albeit rather reluctantly, and cast a last glance out at the station. Dark clouds had already started to gather, and a peal of thunder sounded ominously.

"James Potter."

"Uh?" James blinked sleepily up at Mrs Mince, whose face swam in and out of his range of vision. "What?"

"It's our stop. You must have fallen asleep." For a while, she sounded almost... motherly. Well, caring, at least. Then that illusion vanished, and the brisk, ill-tempered woman was back. "Get your trunk and let's go."

James did as told, making sure that the little jewel-eyed snake was kept way out of sight. He had picked it up the moment he reached England, and it hadn't protested. It was currently riding in his shirt pocket.

--

"This is your room. You may not go anywhere outside this corridor or the gardens. Many doors are locked, therefore meaning you may not..." Mrs Mince continued the never-ending list of rules, and James couldn't help but fidget a little. Finally, Mrs Mince finished speaking and left him in the enormous, lushly decorated room.

"Where are we?"

James started. He had totally forgotten about the little snake he had smuggled out from the trees behind his old house. He now took it out of his pocket and held it up.

"Hi, my name is James Potter, what's yours?"

"You may call me Nexus."

James nodded. "Hello. We're in England."

Their little exchange continued for a while before a boy of James' age opened the door and peered in. "Oh, hello, Mr Potter. I'm Sirius Black."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm... well. I work here, and I'm currently assigned to clean your room." Sirius Black moved swiftly into the room and began to dust the various ornaments and trinkets lying artistically around the room. "Don't mind me. I'm just goin' ter - bloody hell, is that a snake?"

James was very taken aback. No servant had dared to speak to him like that back in Asia. They hadn't been very servile, of course, not scraping or bowing or anything, but at least they made sure their language was clean in front of their masters.

"How dare you speak to me like that?"

Sirius Black shrugged. "Why not? May I?"

Nexus slid to Sirius Black's outstretched hand. James glared at the snake and mumbled something about unfaithful pets. The reptile snapped something very rude back. Sirius Black was staring at James. "My God. You just hissed at it."

"What? No, I didn't, I spoke English to him. His name is Nexus."

"You hissed, Mr Potter, I heard it. As sure as I'm standin' here. Besides, that's not real English you're speakin', your accent's all wrong."

James ignored Sirius Black. After all, he was just a servant. Servants were to serve. Not chatter on incessantly, like what Black was doing.

"...and Mum calls him her lil' dragon."

"Who?" James heard himself ask, despite his silent vow to be as master-ish and silent as possible.

"My brother Draco, of course. Weren't you listenin'?" Black took one look at James' sullen expression and grinned. "No, you weren't. Well, you should meet Draco one day. He's real nice. And smart, and funny. Maybe he'll take that stupid look off your face."

James glared at Black. "You are a servant, Sirius Black," he informed the other boy shortly. "And therefore you serve. Now be quiet."

Sirius Black's cheerful smile disappeared. His eyes darkened from pale blue like a clear sky to a stormy grey, as if rain-heavy clouds had suddenly moved across the sky to bring a thunderstorm.

"How dare you?" he hissed, softly and dangerously. "How dare you say that? I am not a servant, Mr Potter. I work for my food, and I do a good job. Don't you, with yer money and fancy clothes and hoity-toity accent, come bargin' into Malfoy Manor and start demandin' that I bow to your every bloody whim and fancy. You're just like Master Malfoy. Spoilt. Rich. Ungrateful." Black spat out the last three words as if they were something nasty at the back of his throat.

James stared, unsure of what to say. Or what to feel, even. His traitorous mouth, however, had a mind of its own today. "I'm sorry."

Sirius Black, who was back to dusting the shelves, made an impatient noise through his nose. "You say you are."

"No, really, I am." James didn't know what had possessed him. "I... I don't know how to act. It's so different here. And so dark and cold and... grey."

Black turned around. "You're just not used to it. Tell you what, I'll get Draco round one day. He'll cheer you up proper, I promise you that."

James nodded weakly. The excitement of the day was getting to him, and exhaustion was seeping slowly into his mind, clouding it. He yawned. Sirius Black flashed him a shadow of his previous grin and stepped quietly out of the room. James was asleep in minutes.

--

The next day, James awoke to a singing Sirius Black.

"Oh... turn it off..." he moaned, clapping his hands to his ears.

"Good mornin' to you too, Potter."

Whatever happened to Mr Potter? James wondered. He didn't have time to ask, because Black hauled him out of bed, hair and all, and sat him down at the table by the window. On it was a sumptuous spread of toast, butter, bacon, eggs, tea and even juice.

"Wow. How am I supposed to eat all of it?"

Black stared at him. "This little bit and you can't finish it? No wonder you're so scrawny." He went back to humming and wiping the enormous windows.

"That's a lot of food," James murmured, buttering some toast and biting into it. "What time is it?"

"Eight."

James managed to finish half the toast and the tea, but couldn't find the appetite to swallow the bacon, eggs and juice. "Well. I'm done," he said awkwardly.

Sirius Black looked at him. "That's called 'hardly started', Potter. Surely you can do better than that."

"No, I can't. I'm full. Now excuse me while I change."

Black picked up the tray. "There's many a child who'd gladly give an arm and a leg for all this for all three of their meals," he informed James softly before leaving the latter to change in peace, his mind in a whirl.

James spent the rest of the day avoiding Sirius Black in the gardens. Nexus enjoyed the change of environment, though. There were lots of insects to be eaten in the gardens. However, James remembered something that he'd forgotten to ask the day before.

"Who's that Master Malfoy you were talking about?"

Black glanced sharply at James. "That's nothin' to concern yourself with, Potter. Finish your dinner. I've got to go."

"Go where?" James asked through a mouthful of potato.

"None of your..."

"SIRIUS BLACK!"

The shout echoed through the house, making Black wince and James go wide-eyed. "Who's that?"

Sirius Black didn't answer. He simply dropped the shirt he was holding and dashed out the room. James swallowed the potato and followed.

Black went up two flights of stairs and turned three corners before knocking on and sliding hastily into a large, ornately carved door. James crept up and peeked through the keyhole. He'd become quite good at this, having spied on the various adults in the house back in Asia.

Sirius Black was standing before someone with his or her back to the door. Black's usual proud upright posture was gone, and his head was bowed. He seemed as if he was cowering before the person, who had white-blonde hair like liquid starlight that was tied loosely in a tail at his or her neck. It was hard to tell the age or gender of the person.

"How many times," articulated the blonde slowly; it sounded like a boy's voice, "have I told you never to leave my boots next to my bed? To leave them by the desk?"

"Lots of times, Master Malfoy," Black mumbled.

James stared. So that was Master Malfoy. No wonder Black had compared his behaviour the previous night to this boy's. James had acted like a total snob - which was obviously what this boy was.

Malfoy nodded. "Exactly. Lots of times. That's lots too many. I tell you once, you should know what to do the next time." He slid his fingers under Black's chin and lifted the latter's face to his. "Remember it." The boy let his fingers fall and waved in the direction of the door. "Now go away."

Black stepped meekly out of the room. James gasped and flattened himself against the door. Thankfully, Black turned the other direction and stomped off, muttering obscenities under his breath. James watched him turn the corner before looking into the room again.

Malfoy had turned so that he was facing the door, and James gasped a second time. Malfoy looked about fifteen. His face seemed to be carved straight out of white marble, with high, angular cheekbones and a pale, pointed face. His eyes were like twin diamonds, flashing silver in the firelight. And they were glaring straight at James.

"Get in here. I know you're there."

James did as he was told. Who was this boy, anyway? His name was the same as the manor's... he was probably the master of the place. But he was not much older than James himself!

"Who are you?"

"James Potter."

Malfoy circled the trembling James slowly. "I see. What are you doing here? Are you another servant? The cook's boy, perhaps?"

James found the courage to look up at the other boy. "My aunt's name is Antoinette Jonstone. I was sent to live with her here. Do you know who she is?"

"My name is Lucius Malfoy," Malfoy smiled suddenly, holding out his right hand. It was as pale as the rest of him, with very long fingers. James shook it rather nervously. "Nice to meet you. Your aunt is my mother."

Malfoy gestured at the two chairs in front of the fireplace. One was slightly worn, as if Malfoy frequently sat there to read, feet propped up on the small table between the chairs. The other chair, however, looked brand new.

James sat down on the newer-looking chair. Malfoy sat opposite him and crossed his legs, totally at ease. "So... how old are you?" he asked.

"I turn ten in two weeks and three days," James said proudly. He loved his date of birth. "What about you?"

"On Christmas, huh? I had my tenth birthday in the summer. We still have half a year till the 31^st of August, when the Hogwarts letters arrive. I hope I'm in Slytherin; my whole family's been in it for the past nine generations. Ravenclaw shouldn't be that bad either. That servant-boy Black wants to be in Gryffindor. Isn't that typical?"

James had no idea what Malfoy was talking about, but he had to say something to that second-last sentence.

"Sirius Black isn't a servant."

Malfoy's eyes hardened even more. "Excuse me?"

"He isn't a servant. He works for his food." James didn't know why he was defending the tall, dark-haired boy, but he was, and his cousin didn't look happy about it.

"If you say so," Malfoy said, seemingly dismissing the subject. His eyes told a different story. "So, what house do you want to be in?"

James felt his face heat. "Er - sorry, but what's Hogwarts?"

Lucius Malfoy laughed. "Hogwarts is the magical school that teaches wizards like us magic. We get our letters of acceptance on the year of our eleventh birthday, and there are four houses. There's Slytherin, for the ambitious ones; Ravenclaw, the smart ones; Hufflepuff, the loyal and hardworking ones; and Gryffindor, the house of bravery. Well, that's what Hogwarts: A History says. There's a copy of it in the library, and I've read it twice already. It's really good. I've also read some Divination books, to interpret some of the funny dreams I had, and a Transfiguration one. It has pictures of people changing into animals, that's called an Animagus transformation."

While he was saying all this, James couldn't help but notice the way Malfoy's face lit up as he spoke of Hogwarts and learning. It softened his sharp features and made him look so much friendlier; less forbidding and haughty.

"Want to go to the library?"

James blinked. "All right, I suppose."

Malfoy led James halfway across the house and into an enormous room with equally enormous windows that stretched from ceiling to floor. From it, James could see large portions of the manor grounds. The walls were invisible, having been covered with floor-to-ceiling shelves, stacked with books of all sizes and colours.

"Wow. That's a lot of books," marvelled James, who was spinning around, trying to take in the whole room at once.

Malfoy nodded and made a humming noise, rummaging in a shelf near the floor. Suddenly, he straightened and held up a thick, well-thumbed, leather-bound book. Gold letters on the spine and cover announced the title of the book as Hogwarts: A History.

"Here."

James was reaching over for the book when the doors swept open. A man with Malfoy's aristocratic features was standing in the doorway. He had on a long black cloak of an expensive-looking material, and his pale gold hair spilled over his shoulders. "Lucius," he said, a smile on his face. The smile did not reach his eyes. "I see you've met our new... guest."

"How do you do, sir," James said politely. The man nodded at him.

"I am Lord Artemis Malfoy," he told James, who shook his hand. It was freezing. Lord Malfoy's eyes were expressionless and rather colourless, and were nothing like Lucius', if one really looked. At first glance Lucius resembled his father greatly, with alabaster skin and white gold hair. However, Lucius had a sort of warmth to him, one that James had seen briefly earlier when Lucius had spoken of Hogwarts.

"Father." Lucius was still holding Hogwarts: A History. He realised it and hurriedly put the book down on the table next to him. "When did you return?"

"Yesterday. Madam Mince updated me on little James here. You will be given two Galleons a week to spend, and you may go down to the village to... play... if you want." Lord Malfoy pronounced the word 'play' as if it were something nasty under his foot. James noticed that he hadn't once looked at his son. Instead, his icy gaze was on James, who wished he could get a nice thick blanket to wrap around himself.

As suddenly as he had arrived, Lord Malfoy turned around and strode out of the room. Lucius made a small disgusted noise. "He's always like that. Appearing and disappearing as and when he fancies."

They spent a while poring over Hogwarts: A History, which was really quite fascinating, despite its obvious lack of pictures. Lucius really knew how to make the stories and articles in it seem fascinating, though. Soon, James decided that he was tired and wanted to go to bed. Once back in his room, he put Nexus on his bedside table and lay awake for a while, thinking.

Why had Lucius been so horrible to Sirius? His cousin had certainly been quite nice to James, explaining the book to him and all.

Why was Lucius so mean about his father?

Why had Sirius tried to keep Lucius a secret?

How much was two Galleons? And was it even money? But then again, Lord Malfoy had said that James would be given to spend, so it was probably money. Or at least something of value. Like the cowry shells in James' history book back in Asia.

Should he tell Lucius about Nexus? Would Lucius think he was a freak, for being able to talk to animals? Sirius hadn't, but the village children in Asia had. Lucius was unlike either.

And finally, when had James started calling Lucius and Sirius by their first names?

Pondering all this, James fell asleep and dreamt of two little boys on flying broomsticks, chasing after a flash of gold. One boy looked like Lucius. The other looked like James.

But James didn't have glasses and green eyes and a horrible scar on his head.