Questions and Answers

The young man paced impatiently in the alley behind the Three Broomsticks, waiting for his signal. He wore a cloak with the hood pulled up far over his head, shadowing his face. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the back wall of the Hogs Head. He heaved a sigh. The old man was late. As usual.

He was furious.

High-pitched chirping intruded on his thoughts and he glanced up in time to see a flock of tiny, brightly yellow canaries streak past him. He pushed himself off the wall and strolled into the Three Broomsticks. He glanced around the dim interior and found the old man sitting in the shadowed corner, facing the door. He walked to a table next to him, and pulled out a magazine. 'What were you thinking?' he asked softly, inaudible under the bustle of the late-evening crowd. 'Going after Potter was not part of the plan!' he hissed.

'Plans change,' the old man growled, sipping his drink placidly.

'He could have died.' The young man thought of the tight bond between Harry Potter and Teddy Lupin. If Potter had died, Lupin'd never rest until he caught us...

'But he didn't,' the old man pointed out. 'He's on his way to a full recovery.'

'Doesn't matter,' the younger one insisted. 'That went too far.'

'Are you getting scared or something?'

The young man recoiled. 'No.'

'They're vermin, lad. Encroaching on our world.'

The young man snorted. 'What's the idea? Force all the Muggle-borns to leave everything behind?'

'Could do,' the old man admitted. 'Same with half-bloods. Too many of them know about us.' He leaned back casually in his chair. 'I thought you were on board with this.'

Stung, the younger man recoiled slightly. 'I am,' he said shortly. 'I just find attacking one of our own distasteful.'

The old man bared his teeth in an inhumane, feral grin. 'How do you feel about attacking his relations?'

The younger man said nothing, but inwardly, he winced. Going after someone's relatives reminded him a bit too much of methods used by Death Eaters.

'It's perfect, lad,' the old man continued. 'Nobody'll be looking for something like the way he did it.' With that, he stood up and limped out of the Three Broomsticks, leaving the younger man gaping after him. He reached over and wrapped a hand around the older man's abandoned glass of Firewhisky and tossed it down his throat with a gasp.

Things were rapidly slipping out of control.

XxXxXxX

Harry sat on the examination table in the Healer Leighton's office. He shivered slightly in the chill, wondering for the umpteenth time why Leighton kept it so cold in his office. A soft knock sounded on the door, and Jonathon's head peered around a slight opening. 'Mr. Potter?' The rest of Jonathon followed his head. 'Leighton asked me to do your follow-up.'

Harry grinned. 'Okay.' He unbuttoned his shirt one-handed and allowed Jonathon to gently tug it off his shoulder. Jonathon carefully peeled the bandage back and set it aside. 'How's it look?'

Jonathon drew his wand over Harry's shoulder. 'The muscle damage is nearly healed,' he murmured. 'You'll be able to stop wearing the sling soon. The nerve damage is healing. It'll take a bit longer, but you can resume normal activities in another couple of weeks.' He put a layer of the pale blue ointment over the healing gash, and covered it with a clean bandage. 'The rest of the soft tissue damage is healing nicely. Skin ought to heal over by the end of the month.' Jonathon added. He hesitated. 'You're going to lave a pretty bad scar, though.'

Harry shook his fringe from his eyes, revealing the faded scar on his forehead. 'I don't think it'll be a problem,' he said dryly.

Jonathon flushed and his shoulders hunched slightly. 'Right,' he coughed. 'Why do I always seem to say the wrong thing around you?' He used a Sticking charm to secure the bandage to Harry's shoulder and pulled his shirt into place.

Harry shrugged with his good shoulder. 'Dunno.' He started to do up the buttons of his shirt. 'You're saying all the things you'd say to a normal person.'

'But you're not normal,' Jonathon sighed dejectedly.

Harry slid off the table and patted Jonathon on the back. 'But I am normal. Well, with a few more scars than the average wizard.' Harry slid the last button through its buttonhole. 'Don't worry about it. I'd prefer everybody treat me like that.' Harry started to open the door, but before he twisted the doorknob, he paused. 'I do have one question, though,' he began.

'All right.' Jonathon straightened and managed to arrange his features into something more professional. 'Go ahead.'

'When will I be able to...?' Harry leaned closer to Jonathon and whispered in his ear.

Jonathon jerked away. 'How old are you? Oh, wait... Never mind. It's in your chart. You've just turned thirty-nine.' He gave Harry a slightly appraising glance. 'You can still do that? At your age?'

'Don't sound so shocked,' Harry admonished mildly. 'I'm not dead.'

'No, I suppose not,' Jonathon muttered. 'Um. Three weeks or so, I guess.'

'Brilliant,' Harry said with a grin, choking back a laugh when Jonathon visibly refrained from shuddering.

'Just don't forget to make an appointment to come back for a follow-up in two weeks, all right?' Jonathon asked, in a desperate attempt to change the subject. 'And you can cut back the potion meant for nerve damage from four times a day to three.'

'Right.' Harry opened the door and sauntered to the waiting area, where Ginny waited, her foot tapping on the black-and-white tiles impatiently. After making arrangements for his next appointment, he turned to Ginny. 'Ready to go?'

'What took so long?'

'What do you mean?'

Ginny adjusted the strap of her bag. 'All Leighton was supposed to do was check the shoulder.'

'Oh. That.' Harry shrugged. 'He was busy elsewhere, so he let Jonathon look things over.'

Ginny stopped cold. 'What did you do?' she demanded. Harry had enjoyed taking the mickey out of the hapless trainee while he was in the hospital.

'What makes you think I did anything?' Harry asked, in wide-eyed innocence. 'I just asked him when you and I could...' He bent so his lips brushed over Ginny's ear and whispered a few words. He grinned down at Ginny. 'Said three weeks.'

'Only three weeks?' Ginny asked skeptically. 'He doesn't know you very well, then, does he?'

'Apparently not,' Harry chuckled. 'Where did you leave the heathens?'

'At the shop. Ron said Hermione was going to meet us there at eleven.' Ginny glanced at her watch. 'And it's nearly eleven now.'

'Did you bring the list?' Harry asked, as they walked toward an Apparition point.

'Of course I did,' Ginny huffed. 'First thing is Lily's wand.'

'I wonder if she'll take as long as I did,' Harry mused.

'Then uniforms for all three of them. Al needs new trousers badly. When he came home, you could see a good inch of his socks under the hem. James keeps burning holes in his jumpers in Potions. Godric only knows where their ties have disappeared to.' Ginny slid her arm through Harry's and she turned. They Disapparated and reappeared at the entrance to Diagon Alley.

'I don't suppose we could split up?' Harry asked, as they walked toward the shop.

'Divide and conquer, eh?' Ginny said with a smirk.

'Something like that. After Lily and Hugo get their wands and we get uniforms arranged for all of them, Ron and I can take the boys and go get their books, and you and Hermione can take the girls and get the rest of it. Might get it done sooner.'

'And the sooner we can get something to eat,' Ginny added. 'I'm starving.'

'And you used to deny you were related to Ron,' Harry said sadly.

Lily burst through the door, dragging Hugo behind her. 'Is it time?' she asked excitedly. 'Can we go now?'

'Yes, we're going. As soon as your Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione can get out through that mess of people,' Ginny told Lily patiently.

'Where are we going first?' Hugo asked diffidently. His attitude didn't fool Harry. Hugo was as anxious to start school as Lily.

'Wands, probably,' Harry said, settling the sling into a more comfortable position. 'That's the hard part.'

'Why is it the hard part?' Hugo asked curiously.

'Because you have to find one that fits you,' Ron said, as he pushed through the throng of people that lined up outside the door, Hermione's hand clutched in his.

'Took me ages to find mine,' Harry commented. 'Ollivander went through loads before he found the one that might work best for me.'

'Can we go now?' Lily huffed impatiently.

'As soon as we can extract Rose, Al, and James from that mass of people,' Ron muttered. He cupped his hands around his mouth. 'Oi! Rosie!'

'We're coming!' Rose panted, as she and Al wriggled through two people who were most reluctant to give up their places in line. 'Keep your hair on, Dad.'

'Where are we going first?' Al idly asked.

'Ollivander's,' Lily piped up.

'As soon as James gets out here,' Ginny added.

'I'm right here,' James said behind Ginny, making her jump.

'Don't do that!' she exclaimed, slapping his shoulder. 'Nearly frightened ten years off me.'

'Ow, Mum,' James groused, as he rubbed the stinging spot on his shoulder. 'That hurt.'

'I'm seriously going to need a drink, or the largest sundae I can find,' Harry muttered softly to Ron, 'when we're through with today.'

'I'll join you,' Ron rejoined.

'It'll have to be the sundae,' Ginny retorted. 'No alcohol with your potions,' she said pointedly.

'Damn,' Harry sighed.

They followed Lily and Hugo, who nearly ran down the street, at a more sedate pace. Ollivander himself had retired just after Lily was born. He had trained one of his numerous nephews in the meticulous art of wand-making before then, rather than subject the wizards and witches of Britain to inferior wand-making. The shop was still dim and dusty, and Ollivander's nephew had inherited his uncle's wide, silvery eyes. The fact he was a younger version of his uncle sent Harry back nearly thirty years. 'Ah, young Miss Potter and Mr. Weasley!' he said in greeting, when Lily and Hugo burst through the door. 'It's your turns, eh?'

'Finally!' Lily breathed, glancing around at the shelves stacked with boxes. Hugo, characteristically, remained silent, his wide, dark eyes drinking in everything around him, in a way that was wholly his own. He met Ollivander's eyes and his mouth tipped up in a shy smile.

'Just let me get the two of you measured, then...' Ollivander flicked his own wand at a couple of measuring tapes on the counter, and they floated up and began to unfurl as they headed toward the two children. 'Wand arm out, if you please.' Obediently, Lily held out her right and Hugo his left as the measuring tapes began to measure their arms. While they were being measured, Ollivander began to poke through the accumulated inventory. 'Hmmm. The two of you might be as difficult as your siblings to fit...' he mused. 'Most unusual combinations in this family.'

Ollivander pulled a box off the shelf. He lifted the lid off the top and presented the wand to Hugo. 'I think this one might suit you. Give it wave then.'

Hugo's fingers closed around the wand's handle and he took the wand out, and swished it through the air, feeling slightly foolish. Nothing happened.

'Guess not.' Ollivander quickly handed Hugo a different wand. 'Try this one.'

Hugo's fingertips tingled as he touched the wand, his eyes going wider as he glanced at his parents. 'Oh.' He lifted the wand from its bed of cotton wool and flicked it toward a vase of drooping flowers. Time reversed itself and the flowers regenerated until they looked as fresh as the day they'd been cut.

'Hmmmm.' Ollivander studied Hugo. 'Interesting. Not many witches or wizards can use olive wood.'

'Why?' Hugo asked.

'Because the wizard or witch who uses a wand of olive wood learns to master his emotions, young man,' Ollivander told Hugo, bending close to him, speaking in a near-whisper. 'You will feel them, but they won't control you.'

Hugo's brow swept up and his eyes flicked from the wand in his hand to Ollivander's shimmering eyes. 'That's useful,' he said mildly, setting the wand back into its box.

Ollivander's attention turned to Lily, who was giggling uncontrollably, as the measuring tape measured the space between her eyes, the length of her nose, the circumference of her wrist. 'All right, that's enough of that now,' he told the measuring tape. It flew back to the counter, coiling itself neatly. Ollivander gazed at Lily. 'I wonder...' he murmured. 'It's the only one of its kind we have ...' He climbed a tall, rickety-looking ladder and unearthed a box. Ollivander slid back down the sides of the ladder, and removed the top of the box. 'Try this one,' he said encouragingly.

Lily took the wand from the box and swept it in a wide arc in front of her. Brightly colored sparks flew from the tip and hung suspended in mid-air before fading slowly. 'Wicked,' she breathed.

'I thought as much,' Ollivander said in satisfaction.

Ginny reached over Lily's shoulder and ran a fingertip down the length of the wand. 'What makes this one so special?'

'It's made from rowan,' Ollivander stated. 'A most tempestuous wood.'

'Rowan?' blurted Rose. 'Seriously? Rowan?'

'Yes,' Ollivander replied placidly.

'Isn't rowan supposed to protect against witchcraft?' James asked doubtfully.

Ollivander smiled widely. 'In Muggle folklore, yes. But it's quite good for defensive magics.'

Harry jerked in surprise. 'Defensive magics?' he stammered, glancing down at Lily, who was seemingly unaware of the undercurrent of tension that coursed through the shop.

Ollivander nodded. 'And the core is from the tail of a centaur.'

'Which one?' Hermione asked.

'Ah, one called Ronan. A large chestnut fellow, I believe.'

'Ronan let you use a hair from his tail to make a wand?' Hermione asked in disbelief.

'Why, yes, he came to me.'

Harry eyed Lily, who was slowly becoming aware of everyone's attention on her. 'That doesn't mean she'll go into Divination, does it?' he asked, slight distaste in his voice.

Ollivander laughed, surprising them. 'Oh, not at all. The steadiness of the centaur's temperament balances the volatility of the rowan's.'

'That's a relief,' Ron muttered, nudging Harry in the ribs.

'You can say that again,' Harry retorted. He dug in his pocket for the money bag. 'How much?' he asked Ollivander.

XxXxXxX

James stood in line with Al, Hugo, Ron, and Harry, staggering slightly under the weight of his books for his fourth year. The longer he was in school, the thicker his textbooks became. The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4 was twice the size of last year's version. Professor Williams had added a book on methodology for potion-making as a supplement to the normal Potions book. His Arithmancy book was blessedly the same as last year's, but Professor Trentham had added another one to supplement their Transfiguration textbook. He heard Hugo sigh and glanced down at his younger cousin. His books were stacked in his arms so high; he had to peep around the edge of them to see. Ron held a similarly stacked pile of books. Those must be Lily's, James mused, his gaze turning to Al standing slightly behind him. He carried his books, as well as Rose's. They had the same books, except Rose had added Ancient Runes to her schedule and that book was depressingly thick; while Al had decided to take Arithmancy, he was also adding a class that initially seemed like a soft option, but upon seeing Al's textbook list for that class, James was slightly grateful he hadn't taken it. It was Quidditch Strategy and Advanced Flying Techniques. His books included a more detailed history of the game than Quidditch Through the Ages, a book on the best ways to fly for each position, and one on strategy and theory. Usually only students who were keen on playing professionally after school took that class. James knew Al was mad for Quidditch, but he hadn't realized how much.

'Hi, James.'

James jerked in surprise and dropped his books on his toes. 'Mmmmmph,' he squeaked, trying not to let the string of profanity on his lips find voice.

'Here, let me...' Maya knelt and gathered James' fallen books in her arms.

'Hi, Maya.' James blushed rosily and accepted the pile of books Maya laid in his outstretched arms.

She smiled at him. 'How's your summer been?'

James nearly dropped his books again. He glanced over his shoulder at his father and uncle, who were chatting about the joke shop, seemingly oblivious to the scene in front of them. 'All right, I guess.' He didn't want to talk about Harry's accident in public. It brought up memories of the Pensieve and those still made him queasy. He suddenly smiled shyly. 'Dad taught me how to shave without slitting my throat,' he confessed.

Maya giggled. 'That's a useful skill, that.' Her head tilted to the side as she examined James' face. 'Looks nice without all that moss growing over your lip.' Her eye caught something over James' shoulder. 'Better go. My mum's got my things rung up. See you on the train?'

James nodded, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. 'Yeah.'

'Bye, James.'

'Bye, Maya...' James said faintly.

Beside him, Al snorted. 'That was smooth, James.'

James settled for huffing in disgust at his younger brother. His hands were too full to do anything.

XxXxXxX

James knelt on the floor in his bedroom, searching through his wardrobe. He'd already pulled everything out of the narrow bureau. Miscellaneous socks, boxer shorts, and pajama tops and bottoms lay strewn across the floor in mute testament to his searches. He yanked open a drawer in his wardrobe and pulled the t-shirts out, running his hand over the inside of the drawer, his hand seeking blindly into the corners. He was so engrossed in his search; he didn't hear Ginny come upstairs. She leaned against the doorframe, watching James sift through the wardrobe in increasing frustration. 'Looking for something?' she asked.

James started and bumped his head on one of the wardrobe doors. Inhaling sharply, he pressed his lips together, and frantically rubbed the back of his head, breathing forcefully through his nose. 'Ennnnnnnnnnn. Bloody hell that hurt...' he moaned. He glared at his mother. 'Make some noise next time, would you?'

'I did,' Ginny said pointedly. 'What are you looking for?' She waved her wand over the piles of clothes. The neatly folded themselves and flew into stacks on James' bed. 'There. You have to put them away, though.' She perched on the edge of James' desk. 'Now then, what were you looking for?'

'It's nothing,' James mumbled, flushing.

'This is an awful lot of looking for nothing,' Ginny commented.

James glanced at the open door, then pushed himself to his feet and closed it. 'My dog,' he sighed. 'The little stuffed one I had when I was younger. It was black,' he added helpfully.

'I could swear you packed it up in a carton and put it in the attic the summer after your first year of school.'

'I did?' James asked incredulously.

'I think so. It was "childish", or so you claimed, to have it out.'

James opened the door, and darted into the corridor. He poked his head back into his bedroom. 'Thanks, Mum.'

'You're welcome, Jemmy. Oh, and I think you wrote your name on the carton.'

James dashed up the stairs to the attic, and opened the door that led to the part of the attic that had once been Teddy's room, but over the past few years, the detritus of the family had begun to creep back over into it. There was a small carton by the window, shoved under the sill, bearing James' name, written in his sprawling hand. He flipped the lid of the carton back, and his stuffed black dog sat forlornly in a corner of the carton, on top of several old issues of The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle.

His hand reached down into the box, and tenderly closed around the ragged dog, thumb running over the nubby plush, where he'd worn it off by rubbing the ear between his thumb and first two fingers. He closed the carton and slipped down the stairs and into his bedroom. He set the dog on his bed, and turned to the task of putting his clothes away.

It wasn't so much that he was dying to unearth something of his childhood, when he was on the verge of becoming a man. Harry had approached him after they got home from Diagon Alley and said one word. Tomorrow. James knew without his father having to clarify that they were going to see the house where Harry had lived as a small child. The trip through Harry's memories had badly shaken James. He wasn't quite certain that the tour of the house would do it as well. Just the same, he wanted to be prepared this time, with something to dispel the images that flashed behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes.

The dog had help soothe him when he was younger. James didn't see why it wouldn't work now.

XxXxXxX

'So...' Harry said quietly as he and James walked across Godric's Hollow. 'That was Maya, eh? At Flourish and Blotts yesterday.'

'Erm, yeah.' James' shoulders hunched.

'She seemed nice,' Harry commented.

'Yeah.'

'Think you might take her to the Three Broomsticks or something on a Hogsmeade weekend?'

'Maybe.'

Harry dropped the conversation thread, with a small smile. James' ears were burning, a sign that Harry should find something else to talk about. 'So, about the house...'

'How come I've never known about it?' James asked.

'Because I hid it,' Harry replied promptly. 'After the war. I wanted to try and fade into the background a bit, move on with my life, and the house had been something of an attraction since I was baby. It made me a bit... uncomfortable.' They passed the cemetery. 'When your mum and I moved here, right after you were born, I just kept the wards on it. So you three didn't find out about it all before I was ready for you to.'

'What about the statue?' James asked, jerking a thumb toward it. 'You didn't make an effort to hide that.'

'And how often did you pay attention to it?' Harry retorted.

'Not much,' James admitted. 'It was just one of those things that was here.'

Harry stopped at a ramshackle fence. 'We're here...'

'Dad, I don't see anything.'

'Just wait.' Harry pulled his wand from the sling and tapped the gate with it. It slowly opened and Harry led James through the opening. As soon as James' trainers cleared the threshold, the gate swung closed behind him.

James' eyes widened until a rim of white showed around the dark blue irises. The house rose in front of him. It resembled his own home - weathered brick, ivy-covered walls, slate shingles on the roof. Except for one very large difference. This house had a sizeable portion of the upstairs blown away.

'Sure you want to do this?' Harry asked quietly.

'Yeah...' James nodded.

'I haven't been in here in years,' Harry mused. 'Not since I was eighteen.' He opened the front door and stepped inside. He motioned for James to go up the stairs. 'It's the second room on the right,' he told James. 'I'll be right behind you,' he assured his son.

'Is it safe?' James asked gruffly. At Harry's nod, James cautiously began to climb the stairs, sneezing a few times, as his feet stirred up puffs of dust from the carpet runner. He turned into the room and stood just inside the doorway.

The late summer breeze wafted through the blasted-out portion of the roof over the remains of a shattered cot. James walked slowly toward the cot and let his fingers trail over the jagged end of the top railing. He turned at the sound of Harry's footfalls. Harry got a good look at James' face in the fading light and grimaced. 'That is why I didn't want to say anything...' Harry said. 'I didn't want you to look at me like that...'

James shook his head slowly. 'Dad...' He took a deep breath. 'That's not it. I just can't imagine the kind of person that would attempt to kill a baby.' His fingertips traced the intricate swirls carved into the sides of the cot. 'That's why you do it, isn't it?'

'Do what?'

'Being an Auror. You could have done anything. Blimey, you could have played for bloody England or even Montrose. But you didn't pick the easiest job, did you?' He glanced at Harry. 'Why did you become an Auror?'

'It was what I wanted to do. From the time I was your age.' Harry looked around the room, noticing for the first time the faded prints that still hung on the undamaged walls. They were scenes from The Tale of Peter Rabbit. 'It wasn't because I didn't know what else to do with myself. You're right. I could have played Quidditch. Easily. I could have gone into the shop with your uncles. I could have even taken the DADA position at school, if I'd expressed interest in it.' He ran his hand through his hair. 'Your mother would argue that I became an Auror because I don't like people.' He snorted with laughter. 'Well, I don't trust people outside the family very easily. So she believes it's an outlet for my tendencies to see things that aren't there.' His lips twitched as a long-forgotten memory of how his suspicious nature had gotten him into trouble in the early days. 'But really, I don't like being the center of attention. And if I'd played professionally, I would have been exactly where I didn't want to be. And once the trials for the Death Eaters were over, I could sink into the kind of relative anonymity that I always wanted. I could be a regular bloke, with a regular job.' Harry laughed quietly. 'Believe me, all that sitting around, tailing Dark wizards in my early days guaranteed that.' Harry heaved a sigh. 'That, and trying to prevent this sort of evil from ever existing again.'

'How's that working out for you?' James asked, a hint of his customary irony lacing his voice.

'All things considered, pretty well,' Harry remarked. 'For the most part, it's been pretty peaceful. The person that did this... That's not evil.'

'How can that not be evil?' James scoffed. 'Looks pretty evil to me.'

'Because if he were truly evil, son, whoever did this would have killed me outright, and not bothered with this extremely treatable injury. It was kind of nice, in a way.'

James goggled at his father as if he'd announced he was going back to school to finish his seventh year. 'How was that nice?'

A wistful smile drifted over Harry's face. 'When I was unconscious, I think I dreamed about my parents... And my godfather.'

'You don't normally?'

Harry shook his head. 'Not really. Not since...' Harry trailed off, thinking. 'I mean, I talk to them all the time. But this time, it was like they were real...' His brows knit as he tried to catch the threads of those dreams. It's like they were trying to tell me something...

'Dad?' James gently prodded Harry in the ribs. 'You okay?'

Harry blinked and looked at James. 'Huh?'

'You all right?'

'Oh. Right. Yeah, I am. Ready to go?'

'Uh, sure, I suppose...' James followed Harry down the stairs. 'Why did you come here when you were eighteen?'

Harry glanced over his shoulder. 'Hadn't been inside before. Well, not that I remembered.'

James stopped in the middle of the sitting room. 'Had it changed at all?'

'Nope.' Harry joined James in a sitting room he'd seen in Riddle's memories. 'It's one of the reasons I put all the wards around it. I didn't want it to become some sort of museum.' Harry shifted his feet uncomfortably. 'I didn't want to see my parents' belongings pilfered and sold as artifacts. Or the cot.' He opened the front door and strode into the overgrown garden without a backward look.

James followed more slowly, the desire to engage in hero-worship warring with his need to comply with his father's wishes and put Harry's past behind them.