Ghost of a Memory

On the evening of the sixteenth, James dressed in his green velvet robes. Green for Merlin house, a white hood lining as a member of the Combative Department, gold trim for his qualifications as an honours graduate and master of his subject and the silver trim of a duelling champion. It certainly looked impressive. It was meant to.

When he went up for dinner that evening, it was still quite early. There was only a scattering of students at the four long house tables. James sat down by Archie Alderton and a group of other sixth- and seventh-years at the Slytherin table.

"Mind if I sit here?"

"Of course not, sir. We were just talking about the question you asked us to think about during duelling club."

"Which one?"

"What is the best opening method in a duel? What do you think, sir?"

"I'll hear your opinions first, if you don't mind. Bear in mind that there isn't necessarily a correct answer, a lot depends on the situation and your opponent."

"Well, I think that you should start with a fairly basic spell like the Disarming Charm. Everyone says that Professor Snape won a duel with it once, but then, he is very powerful. If you get opponents with it, you don't waste any unnecessary energy, but if you don't, they'll underestimate you."

"Only if you don't know them, of course."

"It would be far more sensible to start with a powerful strike, though," one of the others started enthusiastically. "You're likely to catch them before they're as ready as they would be later on in a duel, and the beginning's when you have the most energy behind it."

"And of course," Archie said scornfully, "by the time you're halfway through the duel, you'll be exhausted."

"Perhaps," James said, thinking about it. "It's certainly a good point, but for it to be effective, you'd have to be certain you would actually take them out on the first strike, wouldn't you? That technique's a bit better in a combat situation, though; it takes less time and energy if it works."

"What are you debating about?" Severus said from behind him. James looked around, startled, as the man, also wearing the green robes of a Merlin house graduate, stepped easily over the bench and sat down next to him.

"The best opening moves in a duel."

"Personally, I find the best method is to avoid being in a duelling situation in the first place; although, it certainly has its place. If there's an alternative, such as a group attack on a target or using explosive potions, it's best to take it."

"Yes, but what's your move if you are in a duel, sir?" someone asked.

"If I did have a standard opening move, which I don't, do you think I'd tell people about it? I doubt Professor Evans has told you his."

James laughed and continued to discuss the place and time for each technique.

"I find in a real combat situation, I like to obliterate my opponent as quickly as possible. Severus, do you have any burn potion on you?"

"Yes, why?"

James concentrated and brought up a laser-like beam of bright white light streaming out from a tiny point on his palm.

"What's that?" Archie asked, fascinated.

"Pure magic, magic so raw that it's near uncontrollable," James said quietly, and the ray vanished. "Can I have the potion now, please?"

"For what?"

"I've got a blister!"

"You want me to give you burn potion for a blister?"

"A very nasty, very painful blister that won't go away unless I put some burn salve on it."

Severus rolled his eyes and handed James a small phial of potion.

"First few times I tried that, I hadn't got the hang of keeping it down to a small area and I burned half the skin off my body. It still hurts like anything to use it, but no Shield Charm works against it and it takes huge power to summon it in the first place. I never use this unless my life is threatened, it's too dangerous."

Just then, the main doors opened and an old man swept in. He was very tall, very old. His silvery-white beard and hair were long and his blue eyes twinkled behind half-moon glasses. He, too, wore a green robe, but his was plain green with no trim, no coloured lining. He was Aberforth Dumbledore, housemaster of Merlin and James' mentor. At first glance, he appeared to be without Claudius.

James was out of his seat like a shot and bounding towards him. Aberforth ruffled his hair affectionately, James scowling at him for doing this in front of his students. A quick handshake, and then Abe turned back towards the door.

"Claudius!" he shouted. "Hurry up! And don't you dare muck up any of Albus' floors! His house-elves have quite enough work to do without you adding to it."

Everyone stared at the door. Was Claudius some great but eccentric wizard? A mischievous grandchild? A giant? Goblin? House-elf? Dragon? Basilisk? Griffin? Hippogriff?

A few moments later, a very grumpy, coal black, common goat marched sullenly into the Hall.

"Hullo, Claudius," James said, smiling. Aberforth's pet goat was notorious, not only for the 'inappropriate charms' cast on it, but also, within the university, for its terrible temper. It was rumoured to be worse than Voldemort on a bad day or, at least, it would be if it were human.

Claudius graced him with a contemplating look, seeming to lighten to a slightly paler shade of grey.

"James," Albus said as they neared the staff table, "would you show Aberforth down to his rooms? Uh, Abe, where do you want Claudius?"

"Could Rubeus possibly . . .?"

"Of course. I'll come by your rooms later, catch up. I'll even bring you some sherbet lemons."

"Uhm, thank you, Albus. Shall we go, Jamie-boy?"

James sighed, shook his head, and led the way out. Would the man ever remember that he was a fully trained, fully qualified adult, and a teacher too?

After they left the Hall, James led Aberforth down the now-familiar passages to the isolated corridor where his rooms were located. Claudius, meanwhile, was led off, as grumpily as usual, by Hagrid, who was thrilled to have a new . . . creature to look after. As soon as they were inside, Aberforth looked at James.

"So, how are you getting on?"

"Oh, fine."

"And . . .?"

"And what?" James asked innocently.

"How are you getting along with everyone?"

"Quite well. Minerva's been very helpful, especially in the first few weeks when I was still finding my feet."

"You know quite well that's not what I meant! What's your love life like?"

"Abe!" James exclaimed, completely embarrassed, though not at all surprised: it was the sort of question he had come to expect from either of the Dumbledore brothers. "I'm in a school, what do you expect?"

"Nonexistent, then? Such a shame. I'll have to talk to Albus, find someone you might get on with. I'm sure he'll know all of the eligible young men around, the nosy youngster."

"Thanks, Abe," James said, making an effort to be polite despite the obvious attempts to wind him up. "I'm fine. Really. And I don't have much time for a social life, anyway. It's a hard job, very challenging. I keep very long hours. And of course, I've got to look out for my Slytherins in the evening. Some of them get homesick, you know."

"Calm down, Jamie. I wouldn't do that really, you know that. At least, I wouldn't bother discussing it with Albus. He never did have any sense. You'd better go back up again now, hadn't you? You've still got to finish your dinner. Make sure you eat your beans. I remember the Hogwarts elves being very good at them."

James pulled a face, laughed and went back upstairs again. Just as he was passing through the small antechamber that the teachers usually used to get in and out of the Hall without passing through the main doors, he was stopped by Minerva and led off into a corner where Severus was waiting. She was tense, almost fidgeting, and Severus, though as silent as ever, stood with eyes sparkling with restrained excitement.

"What is it?"

"The goat," Minerva said urgently. "What did Professor Dumbledore do to it?"

"Abe, you mean? I'm not sure I can tell you, I mean, he didn't seem that keen on his brother knowing, now did he?"

"We aren't his brother," Severus pointed out smoothly. "And I give you my solemn word I will not speak a word of this conversation to Albus."

"Fine," James said, grinning. "It's not like it's anything important. All he did was charm Claudius so that he changes colour depending on his mood. Problem is, Claudius is so depressed, he's never anything but black, anyway."

"That's all?" Minerva asked incredulously.

"Yes. What did you think it was?" he asked impishly.

Severus quickly put a hand over her mouth. Minerva was blushing. Merlin, even Severus was slightly flushed.

"I think Minerva would prefer not to embarrass herself further," he said quickly.

James laughed.

"Don't worry, I know what you thought - it's what everyone does. It's the wording, isn't it? Inappropriate charms on a goat. Honestly, couldn't they come up with a more exact definition? Believe me, though, living with a goat isn't fun. It smells, even with cleaning charms, and Abe takes Claudius everywhere, literally. The idea is that if he ever does do something interesting, Abe's there to take notes. Guess who always had to muck Claude out, though?"

"A suitable task for an apprentice, one would have thought," Severus said.

"Quite, so it's unfortunate there wasn't one. I was a student, part of the university as opposed to being apprenticed to a single master."

"You know your rules," Minerva said, starting to recover her composure.

"One of my first tasks, a memory exercise, was to memorise the entire University rule book, including all the footnotes and definitions. Has anyone arrived while I was down there?"

"Not yet, though the Apparition wards have just signalled that the University media representative has arrived in Hogsmeade. Albus asked us to fetch you in case it was anyone you knew."

"I doubt it. Other than the Quidditch team, most of my friends were in my own year or a higher one. I found that the younger ones weren't quite as mature, probably because they can't remember the war much."

"It's certainly something no one will forget. We'd best go back in now. Did you finish your meal?"

"Just about. I doubt I'll have a chance to now, so I'll go to the kitchen later if I'm hungry."

* * * * * * * * *

James slept in the next morning, taking advantage of the lack of lessons. There was nothing he needed to be present at until the afternoon, so in the late morning, after a leisurely breakfast in the kitchens, he went outside to think. His favourite place was a spot overlooking the lake, his back to an ancient tree growing next to it and hidden from general view by the reeds and willow trees that surrounded his small clearing. It was a sunny but chilly day, crisp air making it pleasant, although he noted that very few unaccompanied students were around.

After a while, he had drifted off into a kind of trance, mind lost in his imagination. He snapped awake as he heard rustling footsteps behind him.

"I'm sorry," the arrival said after a few seconds, sounding apologetic. "I didn't realise someone was here."

James turned to see a tall man, close on six foot six, looking at him curiously. His hair was neatly trimmed and orange, and he was wearing blue dress robes.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'm not doing anything important, Mr Weasley."

"How?"

"You look like your brothers," James explained, only Ron wouldn't have worked that one out. "I'm James Evans."

"Ron Weasley."

They shook hands.

"So, you teach here, then? I think Charlie mentioned you."

"Yes, Defence Against the Dark Arts. It's . . . different. Not what I expected at all, but then, nothing would be, really. I'm coaching the veteran Quidditch team this year."

"Now I remember."

"So, why are you out here?" James asked. He was curious and thought that Ron would probably tell him, even if he was a complete stranger, for a sympathetic ear.

"Hermione - my wife - gave me my instructions. It's my turn to do the speech this year about Harry."

"Harry Potter?"

"Yes. We were friends in school. We've organised it amongst us so that it's always one of his friends who speaks about him - who knows what a Ministry official would say? - and this year it's my turn. What's worse, no one's willing to help me write it."

"I didn't know him, of course," James said. "But what do you think he would have thought of all this, the holiday in honour of him, the speeches and everything?"

Ron thought for a moment.

"He'd have hated it, really. All the media around and the attention. He just wanted to be a normal kid at school. A three day festival, well, he'd probably have left the country!"

"There you go, you've got something to talk about."

"Huh?"

"People aren't interested in what he did, you can read that in any history book if you didn't already know. They want to know what he was like. If he didn't like the attention, tell us."

"Were you a Ravenclaw in school?"

"I didn't come to Hogwarts," James lied easily. "But I was in Merlin House at University, two years behind Draco."

"You know Malfoy, then?"

"How many Dracos do you know?"

Ron laughed. James grinned, yes, he was older, taller, more confident and much better looking, but he was still the same.

"You know, you reminded me of him for a minute, when I first came down. We used to come here a lot when we were in school."

"So I looked like Harry Potter?" James asked, amused.

"Well, it was just at first, from the back. You've got black hair, and you were sitting the same way. Now I see you properly, it's not such a strong resemblance. You look older, and your eyes are different."

"Everyone tells me I look like Salazar Slytherin," he said absently, knowing what the reaction would be.

"Nah, everyone knows Slytherin was a Dark Wizard. He looked more like You-Know-Who. Anyway, I remember Charlie and the twins saying you're coaching the veterans' Quidditch team. Do you play a lot?"

"Sure, Seeker mostly, or Beater. I'm not bad, really. You?"

"Keeper. It was the only position not taken when I played Quidditch with my family, and I guess I just got to like it."

"What do you think about the Chudley Cannons' chances this season?"

That afternoon, James took his seat in the teachers' area of the Quidditch stands. All around him were witches and wizards from all houses, all countries and all walks of life: some were schoolchildren; some were ancient old men, scarcely walking, but making this pilgrimage of sorts to honour their dead family and friends.

Severus looked irritated as he sat down.

"Damn travesty," he muttered.

"What?"

"Do you know how many people aren't on their list? Mostly the victims who came from the old, pureblood families normally classed as Dark. Narcissa Malfoy for one. And she was killed by her husband when she showed light tendencies."

"The joys of our Ministry," James said. "Shh now, I haven't seen this before."

Albus Dumbledore was standing in the centre of the Quidditch pitch, dressed in his best formal robes, flanked by Arthur Weasley - the Minister for Magic - and Magnus Stebbins - an Unspeakable. Casting a quick Sonorus Charm, he looked around at the stands. He spoke for a while on the war and the efforts of people to end it, then was passed a large roll of parchment.

"Now I ask you for silence as I read the names of those who lost their lives during the first rising of Voldemort."

James closed his eyes, thinking about the memories each familiar name brought up. He was surprised to hear the names Harold and Margaret Potter and Simon and Rosemary Evans read out one after the other. They were probably his grandparents, together when they died. At last, Dumbledore neared the end of an impossibly long list. James was sober, he hadn't realised before quite the scale of the deaths.

"Fabian Prewett, Gideon Prewett, James Potter, Lily Potter," he finished, looking up at them once more. "And it was the sacrifice of Lily Potter, the mother of Harry Potter, which defeated Voldemort and allowed us thirteen years of relative peace. After that time, Voldemort rose again and his second rising began. His first casualty was Cedric Diggory, then came . . ."

James stopped listening. He knew of all of these deaths and relived many of them in his nightmares. He didn't need this reminder. Cedric, Sirius, Seamus - they all haunted his mind.

"Dean Thomas, Emmeline Vance, Alastor Moody and, finally, Harry Potter, the boy who killed Voldemort, destroyed him and died, we presume, from using up his life energy in the last blast of magic that saved us all. Now, let us have a minute's silence while we think of those we lost."

The huge crowd, wizard and Muggle parents alike, was quiet. Not a baby stirred. When the headmaster spoke again, he had their complete attention, not that he'd ever been lacking it.

"Before we end and go to prepare ourselves for the banquet to come, Arthur Weasley, a former Order of the Phoenix member and our current Minister for Magic, has asked to say something."

"Thank you, Albus," Mr Weasley said, his voice, though quieter, still carrying. "I fought through both wars and have never regretted it. Should I have been called on to do so, I would gladly have given my life. However, I was not. It does not do to dwell overmuch on those who have passed away, but we should always be aware of the sacrifice they made. They wanted us to have a peaceful life, free from fear, and that it what we must strive to do. In their memory, we must do our utmost to prevent the rising of a new Dark Lord, so that their deaths were not in vain. Thank you."

Thoughtfully, James went back down to his dungeon rooms to think, reading to try and escape from the gruesome memories the afternoon had recalled. Thinking back, he, like Severus, noted the large gaps in the list. He would have thought Albus would have done better, but maybe the list had been compiled by Fudge's Ministry. There was no way of knowing and, as he had once been told, it did no good to dwell on dreams.