The Flashing of a Lifetime

My Life as a Ten Year old....

James watched as his tenth year flew by in a series of flashes and peeks. A lot of things took place at home; he had forgotten how little he had seen of the outside world before he started going to Hogwarts. Still, the things he saw were just as important to him as they would have been had they taken place somewhere else.

James had certainly forgotten the sting and tension he and his cousin Kathleen, who was a little more than a year younger than him, had had when they were younger, though by the memories he was forced to watch (many of them featured Kathleen herself getting the better end of the fight) he wondered why he didn't remember them.

However, there were serious memories as well, where James as a ten year old was forced to play an older version of himself at that time and comfort his cousin.

There was a specific memory he watched when Kathleen's family was undergoing changes.

Something had happened with her father; something that wasn't so much distinguished as it was scandalous, and she had some to stay with them while her parents sorted themselves out.

She had her own room; James' house was, after all, very large, but it was also across the hallway from James'.

He hadn't, of course, been sleeping that night; from the time before he went to Hogwarts, he was rarely found in his bed. Often, he would amuse himself on the floor with toys or Quidditch Pitch model sets and could more often be found sleeping in a pile of Madam Gertrude's Glowing Glue and Quidditch model pieces than in his own four poster.

Actually, James had been sitting on his bed at that time, pouring over his Chocolate Frog collection, deciding which he should trade with his pen-friend Samuel from France next time his owl, Marius, came to call.

The time I am speaking of, finally, was when Kathleen gently pushed the door to his room open and poked her head in.

"James?" she said, her voice low.

"Go away Kathleen," James had replied in a cold voice. He had only recently been sent to his room without supper for causing her potatoes to explode in her face (the result of a well-placed dungbomb) and was still sore from the embarrassment, as ten year olds are want to do.

Kathleen of course did not go away. She padded quietly into his room and climbed onto his bed, sitting barefoot, clad in a shimmering gray dressing gown.

Ever since she had been born, Kathleen had been a very pretty girl.

"She's a Potter." Leo would always shrug, whenever the topic came about during family gatherings, "it's to be expected. I mean, look at James. He'll look just like me when he's older."

Such a line would ultimately result in a lot of heckling and teasing on Leopold's part, though it would not deter him from his point: all Potters were good looking.

And while Leopold was exceptionally attractive, his sister, Tru (short for Trumaline), had undoubtedly inherited all the prime Potter features. Their mother's blue eyes, the trademark Potter hair colour, though fittingly, her mother's own style (waved and seldom untidy), and the long, thin Potter nose.

James noted how much Kathleen looked like her mother from his dark corner, where he often resided to watch his memories (it gave him better perspective; he was able to watch everything in the room), as she picked at a stitch on James' bedspread.

She was obviously reluctant to say anything, as she kept her eyes downcast and her movements slow.

"What do you want? I'm already in my room- I can't get punished any worse," James grumbled, flicking through his deck of cards, picking out the doubles.

"That's not true," Kathleen mumbled back, "your feet aren't made of stone yet and your vocal cords are still their normal size. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you."

"About what?" James asked irritably. He separated his cards into two piles: the ones he would keep and the tradable doubles.

"Well if you don't care I won't tell you what's wrong!" Kathleen scowled, kicking a bare foot at one of his neat piles, causing them to topple over.

"Hey! Kathleen, don't be a jerk!" James yelled angrily, trying to sort the cards again.

In the next instant Kathleen burst into tears, covering her face with her hands and sobbing noisily into her palms.

James watched as his younger self looked up in shock and confusion, then silently urged him to do something about it; his former self was sitting frozen in his place.

Quietly, James croaked, "C'mon, Kathleen, don't cry. I didn't mean it. You're not a jerk... all the time. And besides," he added, over her wails, "you only kicked over my trading pile! That pile didn't really matter anyway. Don't feel bad!"

Kathleen took her hands from her face and furiously shoved her cousin off the side of his bed.

"I don't care about that, you conceited S.O.B.!" she shrieked, grabbing a handful of cards and hurling them across the room.

James, glasses askew and hair horribly untidy, hurriedly climbed back on his bed.

"Well then, don't worry about getting me sent to my room. I have plenty of toys..."

Kathleen raised a fist threateningly and younger James stopped talking.

"Can you at least pretend for five minutes to give a damn about anyone but yourself? Can't you just pretend that you're interested in what's going on in my life, and what I'm feeling?"

She sniffed angrily.

James nodded with a slight twitch and whimpered, "S-sure, Kath. Fire away."

Kathleen whipped a tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose loudly.

"I'm sad, because my Daddy might be going away," she said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

"He and Mum are always fighting, and I heard them the- the night before- before I left to come here, yelling a lot, and- and Mum said that she wanted him to leave and never come back!"

At this last word Kathleen began to keen loudly and threw herself into James' stupefied arms.

At loss for words, James patted her back uncomfortably, wishing on every shooting star whizzing across his bedroom ceiling that his mother would burst through the door at any moment.

She didn't though, and James finally accepted that it was up to him.

"Um, Kathleen, please don't cry. You'll still see your dad, won't you?" James asked timidly, half expecting his cousin to slug him.

Kathleen pulled away, her face a mess of tears.

"It's not the same, James!" She replied, almost angrily.

"I know," James said quickly, lifting his hands to protect his face, "but it's better than nothing, right?"

Kathleen gave him a funny look, but then gave a small shrug.

"I guess."

"Right. And besides, my dad said that this way's better; at least they're not fighting anymore!"

Kathleen shrugged again.

"You don't get it. You're dad isn't leaving."

James hesitated, not wanting to say what he had to say unless it was totally necessary; it just wasn't his character.

Then, as Kathleen, sniffling and wiping her eyes stood to leave, James grabbed her by the hand.

"Kath, it doesn't matter where he goes. Family isn't where you live; it's how much you love each other. And I know that it won't matter where your dad leaves to. He won't stop loving you."

Kathleen looked thoughtful and very somber for a moment, then met James' eyes.

"God, James, every time I think I've got you figured out and labeled as a bratty, loser big cousin, you do or say something to remind me that you're such a pansy!"

James raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Huh?"

Kathleen smiled shrewdly and wrenched her hand from James'.

"Do me a favor and spare me the sentimentalities. I'm too smart for that."

With that, James younger cousin turned on her heel and left, shutting the door behind her.

Both James' stared at the closed door for a few moments, then shook their heads.

Younger James returned to his Chocolate Frog cards.

~*~*~

The last memory James witnessed before his younger self's journey to Hogwarts was what he liked to call a symbol of what the years to come beheld.

His father had forever been promising to take him to the Ministry of Magic building, to show him around and give him a feel of what being a working wizard was like; James supposed it was to inspire him to work hard on his studies during his time at Hogwarts, and that it had been more so Marian's idea than Leopold's.

So, on blistering hot morning in July of James' tenth year, he and his father stepped into the fireplace and flooed to one of the Ministry's many network stops.

James stumbled out first, and looked around, his eyes wide with amazement.

The Ministry was awesome in the eyes of a ten year old. It was awesome in the eyes of anyone who was seeing it for the first time, really.

The floor and walls were composed of polished mahogany, the ceiling a marvelous peacock blue, featuring lustrous golden symbols floating dreamily along and forming what appeared to be notices on the surface.

Halfway down the hallway stood a fountain, containing a group of oversized statues standing posed in the middle of the clear water.

A wizard, a witch, a goblin, centaur and a house elf all together, the wizard and witch both held wands, where glittering jets of water spouted from the tips. The same applied for the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat and the ears of the house elf.

At the far end of the hall stood a pair of glamorous golden gates, wide open. This was where the majority of the wizards Apparating or Flooing into the building were headed.

Leopold led James towards these gates, greeting people mildly as they breezed past, everybody busy, everybody having somewhere to go.

Older James surveyed this, taking in all the sights and sounds; it had been so long since he had set foot in the halls of the Ministry.

The Potters passed the front desk, Leopold nodding to the security guard who swept his hat off his head and nodded back vigorously, smiling. Younger James grinned at the sight of others after them who were stopped for a wand-check.

Father and son, followed closely by the older version of son, made their ways through the gates into a smaller corridor where several elevators lined the walls. Large groups of people streamed in and out of them periodically, and Leopold took James firmly by the hand as so not to lose his son in the crowds.

"Good morning Mr. Potter," a small, very sugary voice sang from behind them. The three turned in unison, though only Leopold smiled in greeting. The two James' were trying to figure out who the short, stumpy woman in her twenties was.

Older James, who knew and had just forgotten due to lack of interest in the person herself, remembered her suddenly as Dolores Umbridge, and raised his eyebrows slightly at the recognition.

"Ah, Dolores, a good morning to you as well. I trust your weekend was pleasant?"

As he observed her outfit of the day James noted to himself that Umbridge's taste in wardrobe hadn't in fact been the result of a pathetic attempt to appear more feminine as Sirius had often insisted. Today she wore a blouse of pink pastel beneath lavender coloured robes, complete with frilly white ankle socks and her trademark black bow.

"Quite enjoyable, sir. I had the pleasure of visiting my sister in Bulgaria, thanks to a forgiving schedule."

"How nice. I don't believe you've met my son, James?"

"Indeed I haven't yet had the pleasure," Umbridge said softly, gazing at the younger boy with her bulging eyes.

While growing up, James had a number of things he'd felt or done in his early childhood that he would be ashamed of or regret. However, there were also certain exceptions, and the shudder of utter repulsion his ten-year old self had forced himself to repress upon meeting Dolores Umbridge was, even today, completely forgivable.

Still, as unpleasant as this woman was (she had immediately made James think of a large, pale toad), the boy swallowed and stuck out his hand.

Umbridge shook it, and Older James could practically see the shiver running down his former self's spine at the touch of her clammy, flabby hand.

"My, what a well behaved young man," Umbridge gushed, releasing James from her grip and stepping forward as the lift they'd been waiting for came to a halt in front of them.

The iron wrought doors jangled open and a large crowd of people hurried in. Young James soon found himself squashed uncomfortably between his father and Umbridge's bulk.

The two began to talk over him, office discussion that younger James did not understand, though older James craned his neck to hear.

"Of course, I've told them again and again, people like Harold Juniper are simply not suited for a task that requires such precision. But still they were surprised when he turned up with the job half done-"

Young James tried to move slightly to the left as a memo Owl perched overhead deposited droppings to the floor.

A cool female voice was suddenly heard again, and announced the arrival of Level Five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats.

Six people stepped off here, including Leopold and James, followed closely by Umbridge, who was still telling her story about Harold Juniper.

"-And I, of course, knew that something like that would happen, but what can you expect, with a half-breed father and a Muggle-born mother? Nothing but trouble, that's for sure."

"I like Harold Juniper," Leopold commented quietly, leading James by the hand down a large, brightly lit corridor. "He often stops by the office to take lunch orders, and he seems to do that all right."

Dolores sniffed haughtily. "Well, of course taking lunch orders is one thing, but delivering important Ministry packages to Muggle Government is quite another."

"We all make mistakes, Dolores," Leo countered gently.

Umbridge didn't reply; she didn't seem capable. Her large, slack mouth was open, as if she were unable to comprehend that someone was disagreeing with her. It didn't take long, however, for her to recover. Her face lit up again and she gave a very false, twittery laugh.

"Oh, but surely you don't think that this was not the result of irregular incompetency due to poor upbringing?" She asked, hurrying to keep up with Leo.

"Certainly not. Many people tend to lose their heads when being asked to deal with Muggle Liaison. Many muggles can be a tad pigheaded when it comes to understanding Wizaring Law Enforcement."

They came to a stop at a fine mahogany door near the end of the hall and went through it. Inside was a small wooden desk, piled with paperwork and very plain besides. Pictures of kittens in pink and blue bows decorated the walls, and plates with the same kind of kittens sat on shelves wher there weren't any pictures. James looked around, feeling slightly sick with disgust. Umbridge didn't seem to want to stop her debate.

"Quite agreeable, Mr. Potter, but surely-"

"My sincerest apologies, Dolores, but I am already running a bit behind in terms of what I intended to accomplish today, and I'm afraid our conversation will have to end here. I have a ten-year old on-hand at the moment, and I'm sure you have a mountain of paperwork from Friday to do, thanks to your, ahem, forgiving schedule? I do remember asking you to file my reports on the firelegs and sparkerleans last week."
With that, James and Leopold disappeared into the office, leaving the secretary gaping outside.

"Come on James, into my office." Leo opened another door and ushered his son inside. Older James followed.

The office was brightly lit and tastefully furnished, with a plush blue sofa and a dark wooden desk. A potted fern making a strange sighing noise came from the corner, where it sat on a matching dark wood table.

Tired from all the walking, Younger James sat on the sofa, exclaiming "wow, this is even more comfortable than the one at home!"

Leo chuckled and took a seat behind his desk. "Just don't tell your mother that."

Leopold shuffled some papers on his desk and James bounced lightly on the sofa for awhile, and Older James observed this with little enthusiasm, mulling over what had only just happened.

Finally, James spoke up. "Dad, is that Dolores Umbridge?"

"Yes."

"The one mom talks about at home?"

"Yes, son."

"The one who hates muggles?"

"She doesn't hate them, she just doesn't approve of their presence in the Wizarding society."

"What does that mean?

Leo looked up. "It means she doesn't want them in our world."

"Saying it my way's easier," James said.

"Easier, but impolite."

Silence.

"Who's Harold Juniper?"

"A man who works as a Jumper."

"What's a Jumper?"

Leo raised an eyebrow, looking impatient.

"Hey, you brought me here to learn, and I'm asking questions!" James exclaimed defensively.

"A Jumper is an employee with no concrete job. He jumps from errand to errand, such as lunch boy, or mail carrier, until he is recognized by a larger member of the Ministry staff and offered a stable position."

"Oh. When will that be?"

"Well, as long as Dolores Umbridge has anything to say about it, not too soon."

"Why?"

"Because Juniper's father is a werewolf, and his mother is a muggle."

"Oh, and she hates muggles."

"Or, she simply doesn't have the same sort of perspective when it comes to equal rights between pureblooded wizards and muggles."

"Yep... She sure does hate muggles."

Older James chuckled inwardly, wondering if this was the day where he'd discovered his unique sense of humor that tended to drive his father crazy.

Leo shook his head and unloaded a pile of paperwork from his inbox just as the silhouette of a large owl appeared outside the door's window.

"James, get that, would you?"

"Why d'you have owls here anyway?" Younger James asked as he made his way to the door. "Isn't it incredibly unsanitary?"

"Just bring me the letter," Leopold ordered wearily, not looking up from his papers.

James obeyed and untied the letter from the owl's leg. He dropped it on the desk and returned to his chair, kneeling with his face to the wall to examine an interesting-looking picture.

Older James, however, remained with his eyes fixed on his father's face.

"Oh," was all Leo said, but younger James didn't show any sign of noticing other than a disinterested "what?"

"It seems I'm needed on Level Two." (A/N: for those of you who are die-hard fans, try guessing what level that is without looking in the book! (That means you Tyler!))

"Where's that?" James turned around and slid off the chair, coming to the other side of Leo's desk, trying to see what was written on the memo.

"Never mind," Leo replied, balling up the letter and prodding it with his wand. The lump of parchment burst into flames. "There's a good chance I'll be gone for awhile, so I'll be leaving you with my secretary."

Leo said this while rising from his desk, unlocking a filing cabinet with a flick of his wand. He began rummaging in the top drawer, his head half-submerged.

"Aw, why can't I come?" James grumbled, climbing onto his father's cushy black chair and kicking off the desk, spinning in circles.

"What's happening on Level Two is no place for ten-year-olds," Leo asserted. "If I'm not back before noon I'll have someone Floo you home. Just try and behave while I'm gone, OK? I don't want my secretary dragging me back up here because you're smearing marmalade on her shoe soles... or setting things on fire," he added, with a stern glare.

Both James' grinned at the memory.

"It's not funny James, you nearly gave Arabella Figg a panic attack. You know she doesn't like things that burn."

Younger James bit the inside of his cheeks to keep from smiling, but Leo merely shook his head before opening the office door.

"Just promise me you'll try to be good?"

James placed his right hand over his heart and his left hand behind his back, crossing the index and middle fingers.

"On my honor," he swore, watching his dad leave the room. "I will do my worst," he finished, grinning wickedly.

Older James suppressed a shudder. Where had he learned to be so cliché?

Leo poked his head in a moment later. "Dolores has agreed to watch you until lunchtime. You'll be staying out here with her though because frankly, between you and me, I don't fancy her having the run of my office."

Younger James' face fell. "Dolores Umbridge? Aw, Dad, not that old prude!"

Leo pulled a boggled face as he reached for his son's hand. "Where do you learn words like that?" He asked, shaking his head.

"That delinquent Kathleen. I swear Dad, she brings out the worst in me. I think we should kick her out. Or at least make her sleep outside."

"Nice try."

Leo pushed Younger James (Older James taking up the rear) out into the receptionist's office where Dolores Umbridge was seated primly behind her desk, which was considerably smaller than Leopold's and seemed to be laden with more than its share of paperwork.

Umbridge sipped delicately on a cup of tea, and surveyed Young James with her large, round eyes.

Younger James stared back, slightly amused, but soon found it difficult to retain it.

"Alright," Leopold sighed, grabbing his briefcase and adjusting his robes reluctantly. "I'd best be going or they'll be wondering where I am. Until lunch then, Dolores?"

Umbridge said nothing, but merely nodded over her cup of tea, her bulging eyes still fixed on James, who shifted slightly under her gaze.

"Be good," Leo said imploringly, giving James a quick hug. "Thank you again, Dolores," he strode away, through the door and into the corridor without another word.

James looked after him, a nervous sinking sort of feeling in his stomach.

"Hem, hem," Both James' were distracted by a distinct cough, coming from behind the short, squat woman with the tea cup.

James looked at her, waiting for a follow-up, as it is customary when one clears his throat in an evident manner to have something ready to say when those being addressed are attentive. However, there wasn't one. At least, not right away.

Umbridge stared at James for a few more moments before clearing her throat again (hem, hem) and putting down her teacup.

"Well, Mr. Potter," she began, smiling sweetly, "I see we'll be spending the morning together."

Younger James gave her a strange look. "Uh... Yeah..."

Umbridge didn't say anymore. Instead, she pulled out a short, very wispy pink quill and began to write, her eyes rolling back and forth as they moved across the parchment.

James stood for a moment, watching, then backed away to the opposing wall, seating himself in the waiting chair right beside his father's office door.

He fixed his own eyes on the clock and began to count the minutes before noon. Ten fifteen.... Ten sixteen... Ten sixteen and a half...

After waiting until a blistering ten thirty, James stood up.

"Can we uh, go somewhere or do something?"

Umbridge looked up and smiled sickeningly. "Didn't you bring a book or a box of paper dolls?"

James shook his head (paper dolls?). "No, I was under the impression I'd be seeing and doing things today."

Umbridge put her quill down with a sigh. "Unfortunately, I am on a tight schedule, and currently have a lot of paperwork to do, so I cannot be entertaining you, so to speak. You see," Umbridge leaned back, folding her hands and resting them on the first layer of pudge, "those of us who are not internally connected with the operators of the ministry must work for our share of the credit. We are forced to climb the ladder whilst our predecessors lounge near the top rung, willing us to lose our footing and fall, lest they become overthrown by those who are willing to work for their success."

James stared at Umbridge, his mouth slightly open.

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about?"

Umbridge gave a shrill chuckle.

"Oh my, young Mr.. Potter, I do not expect you to understand, not at your age. And besides," she added with a wry smile, "I have no doubt that your ideals of hard work and misfortune have become sugarcoated from years of misinformation."

James frowned at Umbridge. "What do you mean by sugarcoated?"

Umbridge smiled sweetly and gave a little shrug. "Oh, I suppose you could say I'm referring to the rather biased opinion hem, hem, certain people possess. It has no doubt been passed onto those living in their homes; it couldn't be helped."

Older James already understood what the old crone was getting at, and he could see that his younger self was quickly figuring it out.

"I wonder," James said aloud, taking a step forward and placing both hand on the surface of the desk, leaning forward and smiling into Umbridge's clammy, porridge-colored face, "what my dad would have to say about you talking about him like that?"

Umbridge laughed again, and James tried to ignore the shivering chills it sent down his spine. "Whoever said anything about your father? I merely implied-"

"You were talking about my dad," James cut her off, glaring hard.

Umbridge looked highly affronted. "Excuse me, young man, but I do not appreciate being accused of prevarication, especially by a nine year old."

James now gripped the desk in front of him. "I didn't accuse you of perfairykitten. I called you a liar." James backed away a bit, then added, "and I'm not nine, I'm almost eleven."

"Congratulations," Umbridge retorted sarcastically. "I can tell that the 'necessary home-education' your mother spoke of at the Ministry Christmas party has certainly paid off."

James opened his mouth and shut it again, then turned abruptly on his heel and left the office.

He heard Umbridge calling after him, and looked desperately up and down the hallway, anxious to escape before she tried to catch him.

He spotted the elevator at the end of the hallway and bolted, just as the door to the office opened. He didn't look back; he heard heavy thumping behind him and didn't need to know more.

Older James followed as well, though he had the luxury of being able to look back and see Umbridge traipsing heavily after his younger self.

Together they slid into the elevator, punched a few buttons and left Umbridge standing outside the doors, fuming.

James waved as the elevator descended, able to enjoy a good smirk.

Suddenly he realized he had no idea where he was going.

Older James did, however, and grinned, anticipating the memory. The next floor sounded off, "Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office and Pest Advisory Bureau."

The doors opened and James stepped out into a large room, complete with dome-shaped ceiling, which was currently carrying the echoes of a tall, largely built man who was yelling at a harried looking receptionist. Beside him stood a thin, pale young boy who looked incredibly embarrassed. Older James' heart gave a leap.

"I don't give a dragon's arse what your regulations are, I want to know why my son and I had to come up to the bloody Magical Creatures floor to speak with someone about his going to school!"

James was about to step off the elevator, but was blocked in the entrance by a very sweaty faced, puffing Umbridge who had no doubt ran down the flight of stairs to beat him there. Younger James made a defeated squeak in his throat as her pudgy hand grasped his, and Older James saw everything go black....

James next memory consisted of his eleventh birthday, where Kathleen put belching powder in his cake ("that's not fair! You stole my bit! "James, get off of her!" "NO! She stole my bit!")

And he received a new broom from his father, along with a large amount of robes from his mother, as well as a large tube of Sleakaezy's Hair Potion ("for when you go to Hogwarts; you'll want to look sharp and charming!"). Kathleen gave him a box of Chocolate Frogs, but had somehow managed to devoid the frogs of their cards.

In the next memory, which took place a few weeks later, a large brown owl landed by James' window, bearing a thick envelope with a red stamp.

"My letter! My letter!" James yelled, leaping out of bed and wrenching open the window. He took the letter from the owl, who ruffled its feathers importantly before giving a dignified hoot and flying away.

"Mom! Dad!" James yelled, bursting into his parent's large and luxurious bedroom and throwing himself onto their bed, "I got my letter!"

Leopold was up in a flash. "Well open it!" His mother said, sitting up too.

Older James watched as he tore open the envelope and began to read it out loud. He grew excited as the image grew dimmer and dimmer, the sound of his younger voice fainter and fainter... It was almost time for life to really begin.