Ghost of a Memory

The next weekend, James decided that it would be appropriate for him to visit his new godson. He knew there would be documents to fill in, though none of the specifics, and besides, he wanted to meet this Potter look-alike.

That morning just before eleven, he changed from his usual school robes into an emerald-green silk dress shirt and smart black slacks. He topped this with an open black robe. Carefully, he stood in front of the mirror and reapplied the concealing make up on his scar. Turning slightly to check that it wouldn't show up with the light on it, James studied himself. He looked every inch a respectable young Slytherin gentleman, but there was still something missing. His hair, tied back in the fast and practical way that was about the only thing he could do with it, was fine for a teacher, but didn't have the same sense of elegance as the rest of his outfit. He freed it and brushed it out. Much better.

Moving quickly through to the open fireplace in his living room, he threw in a pinch of Floo powder.

"Albus Dumbledore's office!" he called, stepping in. He felt a tug, like he was being sucked down a huge vacuum cleaner, swirling through ancient passageways, then he was spat out unceremoniously, sprawled on the headmaster's carpet. He picked himself up, looking regretfully at his now-sooty clothes. Why did he persist in having such problems with something he'd seen six-year-olds manage impeccably? A quick 'Scourgify,' and he turned to Albus' desk. The old man was smiling at him, looking as though he was trying very hard to conceal his amusement.

"Why couldn't I have taken the stairs?" James muttered.

"James, my boy, what can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if I could use your Floo connection. Our fireplaces aren't on the Network, are they?"

"Not entirely, you can use them for conversations, but they have been blocked from allowing you to travel through them. Might I ask your destination?"

"I thought I'd visit my godson."

"Godson?"

"Harry Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy's son? Who's the lucky mother?"

"Blaise, Zabini, I believe."

"Give them my congratulations, please. The Floo powder's on the mantelpiece." James dug around on the cluttered shelf until he found the pot.

"Malfoy Manor!" he called, and vanished.

He fell out into the entrance hall of the huge Malfoy home. After brushing himself down and straightening his hair again, he pulled the summoning bell for a house-elf. One appeared with a pop in front of him. James noted with approval that although it was wearing the customary pillowcase, it looked new and freshly laundered. A far sight from Dobby's miserable rags.

"How may Hobby be helping you, sir?" the house-elf said, bowing deeply.

"Mr Evans to see the Malfoy family."

"One moment, sir, Hobby will just locate the master. Ah yes, if you would follow Hobby, sir, Mr Malfoy is in the family drawing room."

James followed on, attempting to present the image of a confident young pureblood. It would have been so much easier if he, like Draco and most other young boys, had been doing this since he could walk. His friend had once confessed to having had lessons in how to speak to different people, the five types of smiles (patronising, sucking up, genuine pleasure, the arrogant you-are-not-worth-my-notice sneer and the you-are-privileged-to-be-in-my-presence half smile) and many other things, all before he went to Hogwarts.

At last, they came to a small door. The house-elf pushed it open and stepped into a small, cosy room, much the same as a normal living room. Draco was sitting on the floor playing with a little baby while a lady, presumably Blaise Malfoy, was sitting, reading by the fire.

"Mr Evans to see you, master." Draco looked up.

"Thank you, Hobby, that will be all for now." Hobby bowed himself out. When he had gone, Draco scooped his son up into his arms and stood up, coming over to the door.

"James!" he said, smiling openly. "It's about time you came over."

"I sometimes think Severus is right," James replied wryly, "it does often seem like a lost cause attempting to teach anything to the little wretches. The Slytherins are the worst, definitely. But now, might I be introduced to your lovely wife?"

James smiled winningly at Blaise, who had put aside her book and come to stand beside her husband.

"Of course. Blaise, this is James Evans. James, Blaise Malfoy."

"A pleasure to meet you, James," Blaise said warmly. "I've always known of you, of course. I believe you were almost legendary at the University."

"I fear much is an exaggeration, though I do my best. I just regret that Draco never introduced you to me sooner."

"Stop flirting, James," Draco said irritably. "We both know you don't mean it."

"No harm in being polite, is there? Still, I would appreciate it if we could drop the formalities, Mrs Malfoy. I'm afraid that I wasn't brought up to them as you were."

"Certainly, but you must call me Blaise. This is little Harry, as I'm sure you've guessed."

"He looks a lot like you, but I think his bone structure is probably Draco's."

"Have you ever held a baby before?"

"No, actually."

She looked at him with the wary eye of a new mother who has seen a number of inexperienced males handling her darling.

"I'd sit down, then, just until you get used to it."

James nervously took a seat on a sofa and Harry was deftly inserted into his arms. He looked down at the slightly pointed face, the silky black hair and the twinkling blue eyes. He really was very sweet. Although he'd never really had any contact with babies before, he thought that Harry was a beautiful child. As he held Harry up against his chest, the bright eyes fixed on his face and a little arm came up. Unmistakably, he brushed the scar on James' forehead, although James was sure it was properly concealed. Harry gurgled, then shut his eyes and fell asleep. Blaise smiled fondly at him, scooped him up and put him in a little cot over in the corner of the room.

"There are forms for me to fill in, aren't there?" James asked quietly.

"As a godfather? Yes, Draco has them. You basically agree to look after Harry's emotional, mental, physical and magical growth and well-being. We're obliged to consult with you before making any large decisions about his life, like which school he should go to."

"I think I could manage that. Is it a magical contract?"

"Yes, but completely confidential," Draco reassured him. Although he didn't know the reason, he knew that James was touchy about some things, especially when he needed to write down his full name. "As soon as you sign it, it vanishes to a special place in the Ministry Archives and it won't be taken out again unless it's needed."

"Fine. Where do I sign?"

Draco produced a roll of parchment and a quill from his desk and indicated the space at the bottom. He quickly stepped away. James signed his full name - Harry James Evans Potter - in the space. Then he used his wand to make a small cut on his wrist and allowed a drop of blood to fall onto the page just under his name. The parchment rolled itself up and vanished with a quiet pop.

Business dealt with, James spent the rest of the morning chatting with his friends about whatever came to mind. The upcoming Quidditch match was mentioned, memories of their days at University, news of other acquaintances and, of course, as much about Harry as possible. Neither of the doting parents was about to pass up the chance to talk about him to a willing audience.

Just before lunch, the house-elf came into the room again.

"Mr Snape has arrived, sir. Shall Hobby be showing him in?"

"Of course," Blaise replied. James tried very hard to shrink into the sofa, but Draco pulled him over to look through some Defence books.

Severus himself came through a minute later.

"Draco, Blaise, you're looking well. What are you doing here, Evans?"

"Visiting my friends and my godson."

"You agreed, then."

"Naturally. Who'd pass up the opportunity to be a godfather?"

"He won't remain this sweet for much longer."

"I know, but my godfather put up with me, I'm sure I can do the same with Harry."

"Only one?"

"That I know of. My parents died when I was young, so if I had another, I wasn't told of him. Of course, during the war there were many casualties."

"True. How is Henry, then?"

"Can't you call him Harry, Uncle Sev?" Draco asked. "Just because you couldn't stand Potter... Merlin, you never even knew him."

"Would you like me to call you Dray? No? I thought as much."

Draco rolled his eyes. This was obviously an old argument.

"Still, Harry's absolutely fine. He had a bad night on Tuesday, but Blaise thinks that was just a one-off."

"That's good, he obviously takes after his mother. We all knew you were a most antisocial baby. No wonder Narcissa had the house-elves take care of you much of the time. If she even tried to speak to someone else while you were in the room, you'd start screaming."

"I wasn't that bad!"

Severus didn't reply, just raised an eyebrow.

"Are you staying for lunch?" Blaise asked.

"I've got a conference with the Aurors' Potions master starting at two . . ."

"We're eating very soon. You'll have plenty of time to get to your meeting."

"Thank you for the invitation, then. I would be glad to stay."

* * * * * *

On October 15th, two days before the opening of the Harry Potter festivities, the professors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry met in the staff room for a last meeting about the upcoming event. Most of them looked bored. The formula for the three days was the same every year, only the speakers varying, and all of them, except for James, had run through it many times already.

"Although the holiday opens on the 17th," Albus began, "our first guests start arriving tomorrow. The majority will be housed in the South Tower; the house-elves have a complete list of the residents of each room. There are a few exceptions. My brother, who has decided to honour us with his presence this year since he no longer has a student, will be residing in the dungeons in the two-bedroom suite on the same corridor as Severus' and James' rooms. He will share it with the University media representative. I don't know if Claudius will accompany him this year, but I'm sure we can provide any facilities he requires."

James snickered slightly at the exasperated look on the headmaster's face as he continued.

"Of course, should anyone happen to find out my brother's secret, you will tell me, won't you? Since our guests start arriving tomorrow evening, beginning then, those of us who have them will have to wear graduation robes. James, you do have yours with you, don't you?"

"Yes, Albus."

" Good, good. Now, onto our seating arrangements."

"Severus is younger than I am," Professor Sinistra interrupted quickly.

"I am well aware of that. As usual, the youngest two professors will have to be seated with the students for the four days to make room for the Minister of Magic and our guest speakers at the head table and to help maintain a semblance of control in front of our esteemed visitors. This year, that will mean Severus, as usual, and James. Do either of you object?"

"Would it make any difference if we did?" Severus asked rhetorically. "No, I have no problem with that arrangement. I am sure the conversation offered will be fascinating."

"James?"

"Fine by me."

"Thank you. On the seventeenth, for Muggle parents and those who haven't had the opportunity to see Hogwarts before, the guided tours will operate from ten o'clock until lunchtime. The prefects are, as always, in charge of those. In the afternoon, the memorial service will begin at two o'clock on the Quidditch pitch, that being the only location large enough to seat our normal audience. That evening, the house-elves will prepare a banquet for us. Are there any questions about that?"

"Albus, how many times have we done this?" Minerva asked.

He shifted uncomfortably.

"On the second day, the workshops and speakers will be presenting throughout the day. Again, that requires very little organisation from us. On the third day, we have the speeches about Harry from some of his friends starting at ten o'clock. The afternoon contains the highlight of the three days: the Quidditch match. The balls will be released at three o'clock. Rolanda, how is your team getting on?"

The Quidditch coach smirked. "As well as they always do. We have some excellent players this year."

"James, still confident?"

"Of course. My team is unbeatable."

"Who is your team?" the opposing coach demanded.

"That's for me to know and you to find out five minutes before the game begins, less if I have my way."

"Children, please. Remember this is only a friendly match; we don't want any feuds starting, now, do we? Are there any other issues that need to be raised? No? Excellent, I believe we are finished here, then. Minerva, would you join me for tea in my office, I've got in a new supply of lemon sherbets?"