Questions and Answers

James lay stiffly in bed, listening to the quiet rustles of Harry, Ginny, and Al readying themselves for the day. He faced the wall, feigning sleep, quilt pulled up to his ears when the door creaked softly as it opened a little. 'Let him sleep,' he heard Harry murmur. 'You can talk to him when you get back from Exmoor.' The door closed with a soft click and James flopped on his back with a sigh. It was a reprieve, albeit a short one. He didn't fancy facing his mother after the somewhat humiliating conversation with his father last night. It was bad enough for Ginny to surmise what had happened in his bed, but far worse to admit it out loud to Harry. He burrowed into his pillow, with a soft groan, letting the minutes tick by until he heard Al and Ginny leave through his open bedroom window. James sat up, rubbing his hands over his face, dreading the coming conversation. He peeped out of his bedroom and crept down the stairs to the kitchen. Harry leaned against the counter, sipping a mug of tea. 'Morning,' Harry said neutrally.

'Morning,' James replied, wishing his pajama bottoms had pockets. He couldn't figure out what to do with his hands. Fortunately, Harry held out a mug of tea to him. James grasped it gratefully, eager for something to do.

'How did you sleep?'

'All right, I suppose.'

'Hmmm.' Harry motioned to the table. 'Hungry?'

'Not really.' James huddled in one of the windowsills, examining the surface of the milky tea.

Harry felt his brows shoot up in surprise. 'You're not hungry?' he blurted. James normally woke up and declared himself ravenous enough to eat [large animal] in one sitting.

James shook his head. 'Not right now, thanks, Dad.'

'Worried about what your mum will say?'

James' shoulders slumped. 'A little.'

Harry took his chair at the table and said nothing for several minutes. 'Your mother's not an unreasonable woman,' he began, chuckling lightly when James shot him a dubious look. 'I can't speak for her, but it's going to take a long time to earn my trust back, young man,' he said mildly. 'A sincere apology would be a good place to start.'

'And a promise to never be alone with Maya in the house again?' James snorted sarcastically.

'It wouldn't hurt,' Harry muttered.

James set his mug on the table with a loud thump. 'How did you manage this when you were my age?' he demanded.

'I was too busy trying to not to die to worry about snogging girls, much less shagging one,' Harry said ruefully. 'And when I lived with Dudley's parents, I was never left alone in their house if they could avoid it. And I really never dated anyone until after the war was over, either, so... No opportunity, really.'

'You're no help. Do you realize that?' James huffed.

'Listen, I know you're of age, and so is Maya. But you still live here and from now on, no guests upstairs while your mum or I am not here.'

'Dad!'

'When you move out on your own, you can make the rules in your place.' Harry placidly sipped his tea. 'My house. My rules.'

'Fine,' James grumbled.

Sensing a change in subject was needed, Harry inquired, 'Are you going into the shop today?'

'Not until eleven. And I'll stay until closing.'

'Just make sure you get Lily to the comprehensive school before you leave.'

'Have I ever let you down?' James asked. Just when Harry opened his mouth, he quickly added, 'Don't answer that.'

A loud pop sounded in the kitchen, and James and Harry turned their heads toward the door. Ginny strode in, looking slightly harried. James' eyes widened in silent supplication at his father. 'You'll be fine,' Harry mouthed. He patted James' knee, then set his mug in the sink, and kissed Ginny's cheek. 'I'll be home by two. Three at the latest. And I'll pick up Al from Exmoor,' he told her. 'James'll be in the shop until six. Lily's still asleep.' He brushed a lock of hair from Ginny's eyes. 'Do try to keep it that way,' he suggested quietly, so James didn't hear. After giving James an encouraging smile, Harry left the house and Apparated to London.

James shifted uneasily on his perch, while Ginny washed dishes left from Al's hasty breakfast. Over the rush of running water and the clink of dishes in the sink, he cleared his throat and said in to the void between them. 'I'm sorry...'

'Sorry for what you did, or sorry you were caught?' Ginny shot back.

'I'm not sorry for what I did with Maya,' James replied hotly. 'Why should I be?'

Ginny shut the water off and snatched up a towel, drying her hands with it before flinging it to the counter. 'Because you shouldn't do that just to satisfy a hormonal urge!'

'That isn't what happened,' James hissed defensively. 'Bloody hell, Mum, I'm not a child!'

Ginny exhaled strongly through her nose. 'Do you know why we have rules?' she said evenly.

James shrugged. 'I dunno.'

'We have rules so you learn how to behave. What you do reflects on you and the rest of us,' Ginny explained. 'And you... You're the oldest. You're an example to - well, perhaps it might be too late for Al, but what do you think this tells Lily?'

'That she ought to shag her boyfriend in the tool shed?' James suggested brightly. Ginny shot him a pointed look, and before she could open her mouth, he held up his hands. 'Just trying to lighten the mood.'

'Try something else,' Ginny snarled. 'You've managed to teach her that rules we have in this family are irrelevant.'

'It won't happen again,' James said softly. 'You have my word. Dad's already told me she has to stay downstairs unless either of you are here.'

Ginny made a soft choking sound. She would be one of the first to rightly point out location was hardly the issue. 'It had better not,' she warned.

James unfolded himself and took his mug to the sink, washed it, and carelessly wiped it dry. He had opened the cupboard door to put it away when his face lit up. 'You know, Mum,' he said casually, turning and leaning against the counter. 'There's a flaw in your argument.'

'Oh?' Ginny's eyes narrowed slightly.

James nodded. 'Yes. We've never had a rule about guests upstairs. So how could I break a rule that didn't exist?'

Ginny's mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. 'Are you quite certain you want to work with your uncles? You might fit in with your aunt Hermione with that train of thought.'

James' mouth twisted briefly in either a grimace or a smile - Ginny couldn't quite figure out which. 'What did I do that was so wrong?' he asked plaintively. 'I mean, I get good marks at school. I'm the Gryffindor team captain next term. Maya and I are both adults under wizarding laws. We don't sneak off to empty classrooms at school. And we're certainly not wrapped round one another like Devil's Snare when we're in public or with other people. Don't get me started on the stories I've heard from Uncle George about Uncle Ron and that Lavender Brown bint... If we had actually...' James flushed deeply and made a vague gesture with his hand. 'You know...' He coughed and cleared his throat. 'I would have done everything Dad's ever told me so she doesn't get pregnant. It's not as if you walked in on us mid-shag, nor were we in your bed, because that's just gross on the same level as Hagrid's cooking.' He traced the grain of the wooden floor with his toe. 'And Albus... He bloody sneaks around, forges your signatures, and he still gets to play for England! He behaves like a right smug -' James pressed his lips together, cutting off what he was going to say. 'The way he talks to you and Dad lately... You didn't raise us to be disrespectful, Mum.'

Ginny inhaled slowly. 'You want to be treated like an adult?' she asked.

'Yeah.'

Ginny's head nodded once. 'Very well.' She carelessly waved her wand at a chair and it slid out from under the table. 'Have a seat.'

James' fingers drummed lightly on the counter, considering Ginny's offer. He pushed away from the counter and dropped into the chair, reaching for a banana from the bowl in the middle of the table. 'All right.'

'Do you honestly believe Al is actually enjoying what he's doing right now?'

One of James' shoulders jerked in a shrug. 'He makes it sounds like it's the best thing since Hovering charms.'

'How many professional players attend games with a minder?' Ginny asked pointedly. The corner of James' mouth quirked upward a little. It was true. Isabella traveled with England to their games under the guise of scouting for Appleby, but she was, in fact, there to keep an eye on Albus. 'Furthermore,' she added, spreading her hands wide. 'Do you see anyone in this family that's actively making a fuss over him or that he's playing with England? There isn't one of us that approves of the choices Albus made. And we've made that quite plain. But as a parent, there comes a time where you have to learn when to stand back and let your child rise or fall by the consequences of what they've done.' Ginny briefly bit her lip. 'There was nothing your father or I could have said to Al to dissuade him from trying for a place with the team, even if we had known they were courting him. Experience is a ruthless teacher, and sometimes, that's the only way for some people to learn.'

James blinked. 'Isn't that a bit harsh?' He took a bite of his banana. 'It rather sounds like the way Scorp's dad treated him, doesn't it?'

'It's not the same thing at all,' Ginny said, feeling a lurch in the pit of her stomach. James' comment hit a little too close to the mark. 'Draco Malfoy actively disapproved of his child. Your father and I don't approve of Al's choices. Two entirely different things.' Ginny's eyes closed and she shook her head. 'We still love Albus - we always will - and he will always be our son. But that does not mean I have to like what he does.' Ginny glanced at her watch and stood, Summoning her bag. 'Make sure Lily eats a decent breakfast before she goes to the comprehensive school.'

'And don't let her cook it,' James replied automatically. The last time Lily had tried to make porridge, she had ruined the pot so thoroughly, not even magic could remove the burnt layer of glop fused to the bottom.

'There's food left from the party,' Ginny suggested. 'And James?'

'Yeah, Mum?'

'I love you, Jemmy.' She rose on her toes to press a kiss to James' stubbly cheek, grateful he still allowed her small displays of motherly affection.

'Love you, too, Mum,' James murmured, enfolding her in a hug.

XxXxXxX

Ron set a small wireless on the table in the flat above the shop and tapped it a few times with his wand, searching for the semi-final game. George sprawled in a chair, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Harry leaned against the counter, fingers tapping nervously against the surface. Ron glanced up, noting the tense lines around his mouth. 'Why so nervous? It's not like Al's actually going to play.'

Harry snorted. 'It's Bulgaria. Viktor-Bloody-Krum's their coach. It's only his first year coaching them, and they've bloody made the semi-final round. Taken out two Seekers, a Chaser, and a Keeper for good measure on their way to this round. And every damn move they make is perfectly legal. I don't think they're going to back off because it's England.'

George guffawed and cuffed Ron's shoulder. 'I think he's still holding a grudge because Hermione picked my git of a brother over him.'

'What can I say? My wife has excellent taste,' Ron said smugly, running a hand through his hair, ruffling it so it looked windswept, like he'd just finished a game of Quidditch.

'Questionable taste,' George retorted.

'Could you just find the game?' Harry snapped peevishly.

'Keep your hair on,' Ron muttered. 'Game just started ten minutes ago. What could happen?' He tapped the wireless and the announcer's voice blared into the flat.

'I cannot believe this! England's Seeker is out of the game! The Seeker is out of the game! We have official word from Theo Spencer, the Head Mediwizard for the World Cup, that Melanie Styles is unable to continue the game due to a severe concussion! Ordinarily, England might have to continue without their Seeker, but Bulgaria's coach has indicated he will allow England to replace Styles with the Reserve in an unprecedented move in World Cup history! This means that England's young, unproven Reserve Seeker, Albus Potter, will play in her stead. And there he goes for a two-minute warm-up period.

'For those of you just tuning in, Melanie Styles became trapped between Bulgaria's Beaters, Bogdan Ivanov and Andrei Todorov. There was no intentional Blurting or Blatching involved, for those of you keeping track of the unusual number of fouls committed by this year's Bulgarian team. Vladimir Petrov, the Bulgarian Seeker, utilized his coach's signature move - the Wronski Feint - and lured the English Seeker into a vertical dive. Ivanov and Todorov kept Styles firmly trapped between them, rendering her unable to pull out of the dive in enough time to avoid a crash into the ground. Apparently, Styles broom was damaged in the crash. The handle cracked in half down the middle, from end to end, but Styles valiantly continued to play. A few minutes later, it became obvious the steering charms of the broom were damaged beyond repair and her broom uncontrollably tilted forward and she crashed into the stands, then fell from more than one hundred feet up in the air. The game was halted long enough for the mediwizards to examine Styles, and she's been pronounced unfit to play. Jerry Supitayaporn, the Head Referee, has just blown the whistle, signaling the end of Albus Potter's warm-up period.

'And they're off!'

Ron lowered the volume of the wireless, so the sounds of the game no longer dominated the small flat. 'Blimey,' he said woodenly.

'Maybe they won't win,' offered George. He sat up, brows knit in shock. 'Who said that?' he asked, looking over his shoulder.

'Maybe they will win,' Harry said hollowly. 'This is exactly what I didn't want to happen.'

'You don't think Krum had his team deliberately took out Styles, do you?' Ron gestured to the wireless. 'Just to make Al play?'

'Be a feather in his cap to beat Harry, so to speak,' George commented. 'Since you kicked his arse in the Triwizard.'

Harry threw a look of weary annoyance toward George. 'That's not how it happened.'

'Think about it,' George persisted. 'In his head he was supposed to walk away with it, no? World-class Quidditch star and all. Tried to pick up Gin a few times when she played with Holyhead, and she chose you. People still wonder what could have been if you had actually played professionally. No matter what you do, it always outshines him just a little bit. Al wins this game, and there you go again. Your son could very well win a World Cup a year younger than Krum managed.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' Harry sighed. 'Krum hasn't been holding a grudge for nearly thirty years. And if he has, he's an even bigger fool than I thought.' He spared a glance for the wireless. 'I've never wanted England to lose so badly before today,' he admitted hollowly, feeling his insides twist with trepidation.

XxXxXxX

James set a platter of hors d'oeuvres on the long table on one side of the public room of the Hytners' pub, tilting his head in the direction of the large, old-fashioned wireless set in the middle of the room. Several people crowded around it, plates of food and glasses clutched, forgotten, in their hands. As he turned to go back into the kitchen, a collective groan rolled through the room. James cursed under his breath and blindly pushed through the swinging door, blundering into the kitchen. He pointed accusingly to the small wireless on a shelf over the sink. 'I don't believe it!' he hissed. 'Wanker,' he muttered.

Hugh Hytner gazed questioningly at James over the rim of his mug. 'I beg your pardon?'

Maya directed a stack of clean plates to a dresser and threw an exasperated glance at her father. 'Remember, Dad? James' younger brother is the Reserve Seeker for England,' she reminded him softly.

'Oh. Right.' Hugh gestured toward the swinging door. 'How is it out there?'

'You'd think someone told a group of five year-olds Father Christmas didn't exist,' James huffed.

'What?' Maya exclaimed. She turned to her father, dismay etched on her face. 'Is he right? There's no Father Christmas?' Hugh grinned, then quickly smothered it at the smoldering expression James wore. He gave Maya a slight shake of his head, indicating James with his eyes. 'Just trying to lighten it up in here,' she said, with a toss of her curls.

'I meant the food and drink,' Hugh clarified.

'It's fine,' James replied, dropping into a chair at the table. 'No one's paying any mind to it because of the latest crisis with England.'

'Which was a bit unexpected,' Maya mused. 'Going after Chasers or Beaters is practically conventional at this level, but they usually leave Seekers be...' She stared into space for a moment. 'It's almost too convenient, though,' she said softly.

'What do you mean?' James asked.

'Well, if it were me,' Maya began, 'but it's too absurd.'

'Maya, if you're going to come up with theories, kindly explain them, and not leave your audience wondering,' Hugh sighed.

Maya picked up the large teapot in the middle of the table and poured a cup for herself and James, handing the full mug to him. 'Well, think about it,' she said in a pique at their obtuseness. 'Bulgaria's coached by Viktor Krum, yes?'

'Yeah,' James said slowly wondering where Maya was going with this line of reasoning.

'I looked up your mum's career with Holyhead,' Maya told James.

'Yeah, so?'

'Holyhead played for the European Cup a few times while your mum was active. Won it her fourth year. Playing against -'

'Krum?' James guessed.

'Exactly.'

'That doesn't quite manage to fill in why Krum took out Melanie Styles so Albus Potter would be forced to play,' Hugh interjected.

'Wait,' Maya assured her father. 'There's more!'

'Of course there is,' Hugh muttered.

Maya leaned forward a bit. 'Professor Moreno requires the N.E.W.T. level History of Magic students to choose a year-long research project for seventh year. We're supposed to choose an event in modern wizarding history - say the past fifty years, give or take a year - and trace its evolution and then do the initial research over the summer holiday. Over by the entrance to the Hufflepuff dormitory there's some sort of plaque about some student called Cedric Diggory.'

'So you looked him up?' James drawled sardonically.

'He was killed during the very last Triwizard tournament ever held. It was at Hogwarts in nineteen ninety-four. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons also participated. The bare-bones version is that a Death Eater infiltrated Hogwarts under the guise of a former Auror, and charmed the Goblet of Fire to think there were four schools.' Maya paused long enough to draw breath, and James interrupted her.

'That was how Dad's name was put in,' he added quietly.

'Yes. And Krum was the champion from Durmstrang. Depending on who you read, he seemed to feel, in the beginning, that he was going to walk away with the Cup and the thousand Galleon prize. A few of his classmates have written books about it. Some read more like blokes with an axe to grind, but what can you do?' Maya shrugged expansively. 'At any rate, when your dad won, Krum took it all in stride. Initially. Then he started playing Quidditch professionally. He had so much handed to him because he was regarded as Merlin's gift to Quidditch, that disappointment didn't sit will with Krum.'

'Disappointment?' James inquired with an arch of his brow.

'Girls. Your mum in particular. I read some back issues of the Prophet that claim he had attempted to put the charm offensive on your mum when she first joined the Harpies, and she not only turned him down, she did a Bat-Bogey hex on him just to convince him that no really did mean no. When your parents got married, the gossip column had a few uncomplimentary things from Krum about your parents. Mostly your dad.'

'So?' James sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, with the air of someone who had been expecting entertainment, but was bored by the show.

'Humiliation. He forces Al to play, banking on his inexperience and Bulgaria wins,' Maya stated. 'Rather dodgy if you ask me, and I'm a Slytherin!' Maya took a long sip of her tea. 'Plus, Izzy's been helping me with some of my research. And she's told me that deal your dad and aunt Hermione put together to prevent Al from starting for England is the worst-kept secret in Quidditch circles. Especially once word got round that Justin Frye recruited Al without your parents' permission or knowledge. He's made it difficult for other teams to even look at someone who's not of age yet. And I'll bet my last Knut Krum knows about that deal...'

Hugh shook his head slowly. 'And now Krum's gotten the upper hand and outfoxed them both.'

Maya gave a self-satisfied nod and smile. 'Exactly.'

'You're sure you want to go into Gringotts after school?' James asked. 'Aunt Hermione and the MLE would love to have someone of your thought process in their ranks.'

Maya's reply was cut off by a shout of disbelief.

XxXxXxX

Al's eyes tracked across the bright blue sky, following the dark blue blur of Melanie's robes, squinting against the glare of the sun. He occupied a spot on a long bench that held all the Reserves. Their chances of playing were quite small - miniscule, in fact - but Walter Grant insisted on bringing them just in case one of the starting players might fall ill or become injured or incapacitated during a practice session. He also had them put their game kit on, mostly to put on a show of solidarity. Everyone knew that while it wasn't a rule that a player couldn't be replaced, it was an entrenched custom to the point where everyone believed it to be an official policy.

'Why hasn't the referee called a foul yet?' groused Malcolm from his seat next to Al.

'Because they haven't laid a hand on her or her broom,' replied Joseph Perkins, one of the Reserve Chasers. 'Nothing about flying too close to another flier in the rule books.'

'If she moved her hands to the middle of the broomstick and pulled up, she'd go straight up, and not fly up at an angle,' Al murmured. 'Might have a chance to get out of that nasty situation she's in.'

Joseph glanced at Al with a slight frown. 'Easy to say from the bench,' he said evenly.

'Just basic broom skills,' Al said with a hint of scorn. 'Ought to be second nature.'

Joseph settled back against the bench. 'Just you wait,' he advised. 'One day it'll be your turn.' He visibly winced as Ivanov unleashed a powerful hit and aimed a Bludger at Justin, which collided painfully with Justin's ribcage. 'That had to hurt.'

'It does,' Al murmured, rubbing the spot where the Bludger hit him two summers ago in that game with his uncles. He couldn't remember if it had been Charlie or George's hit, but it didn't matter. Charlie could hit it with enough brute strength to knock the cover off the ball, and George's sense of timing was such that even if he couldn't match his older brother's power, he could use the intended target's broom speed against them. 'Wronski Feint,' Al huffed in disgust. 'Does Petrov have to use it every damn game?'

'You do when Krum's your coach,' Malcolm sighed. He suddenly sat up, eyes widened, mouth falling open in horror. 'Oh, no...' he breathed. 'Melly can't pull out of the dive...' A loud crack rang over the shouts of the spectators as Melanie tumbled off her broom. The crowd went silent, as if the air had been sucked out of the stadium. She sat on the grass for a moment, collecting her bearings, taking no more than a cursory glance at her broomstick before mounting it and kicking off, taking to the skies once more. Melanie was usually a smooth flier, but her broom jerked erratically, slowing and speeding up at random. Malcolm stood and began to scan the stands.

'What are you looking for?' Al asked.

Malcolm slowly sank back down to the bench. 'Just checking that nobody's tampering with her broom...'

'It's probably broken,' offered Joseph. 'Cracked at the very least.'

'Really?' Al blurted. 'It'll behave like that?'

'It's like if you damaged your wand,' Joseph told him knowingly. 'Damaged wands don't perform as well as undamaged ones. Same with brooms. It affects the charms. They won't work properly. Good bet the Steering charm's been impaired.' Melanie's broom darted forward so quickly, her robes flew out straight behind her and she careened into the stands, face first. Nobody dared to breathe as she slid down the front of the stands then hurtled toward the pitch, clearly unconscious. The mediwizards and witches ran out to attend to her, but when it was obvious their attempts to revive her were unsuccessful, they conjured a stretched and eased her onto it. One of them, dressed in dark green robes, ran over to the English bench.

'She's out,' he said shortly.

Walter's head bowed. 'Right...' he said heavily.

Krum charged across the pitch, making a beeline for England's bench. 'The Reserve can play,' he stated.

Supitayaporn joined them, a well-worn rule book in his hands. 'I don't know...' he said fretfully. 'There isn't anything that says...'

'Vat is the harm?' Krum demanded. 'They need a Seeker. They haff one.' Krum gazed at Al intently. Al felt a finger of fear run down his spine. He had long admired Krum, but now Krum's gaze had a predatory air. 'Let the boy play.'

Supitayaporn stared at Al doubtfully for several long moments. 'If it's all right with England's coach,' he said finally.

'Merlin, yes!' exclaimed Walter.

Krum smiled coldly, and Al once again had the sensation he was being evaluated as prey. 'Very vell.' He spun and strode back to Bulgaria's bench with a flurry of red robes.

Walter drew in a deep breath and rubbed a spot over his left eye. 'Your father is going to have my head on a platter,' he muttered resentfully, eyeing Al. 'Go. Before I change my mind.'

A wide grin split Al's face. He sprinted to the rack holding his broom and yanked it off the hooks, flinging his leg over it and kicking off in one fluid motion, a roar of glee rolling from his throat.