The Marauder's Map

Harry had been worrying that everyone in Diagon Alley would recognise James, and ask awkward questions. But it appeared his worries were unfounded. Almost none of the people they passed noticed them at all, and for those that did, the 'twin brother from America' story, clichéd though it was, appeared to satisfy them.

Upon coming out of one of the fireplaces in the Leaky Cauldron, they had quickly made their way to the rear exit, managing to avoid any contact with anyone (Tom, the barman, was thankfully not looking their way), and tapping the brick three times - James had to remind Harry which one it was - made their way through the alley. James was looking all around him, taking care not to catch anyone's eye, and giving Harry a running commentary on what had changed since when he was last here.

"Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour... That used to a bad restaurant owned by some nut called Rudolphus. And they've expanded Quality Quidditch Supplies - there used to be a quill shop where the doorway is now. Scrivenshafts or something. Ollivanders is exactly the same, of course... Ah, Gringotts."

They had reached the large, white marble building that constituted the only wizards' bank. James held his hand out to Harry. "Have you got the key?"

"Yeah, hold on a sec... There you go."

James walked up to one of the desks, and addressed the goblin behind it. "We'd like to withdraw some money out of my vault. My name's James Potter."

The goblin consulted a long piece of parchment, then looked back up at him. "There is no vault belonging to anyone of that name," he replied, his voice expressionless.

James looked a little surprised, but Harry interrupted. "It's probably in the name of Harry Potter."

Consulting the registrar again, the goblin looked up. "You have the key?"

James replied in the affirmative, and dropped the small, golden key on the counter. The goblin held it up to the light, gave a short nod, and called to one of the goblins waiting at the back of the hall, who led them down, through a door to one of the waiting carts. They all climbed in, and James turned to Harry. "I forgot - they'd have transferred the account to your name, after, well..."

Harry interrupted. "Yeah."

They didn't speak more until they reached the vault, and after the goblin had unlocked the door, stepped inside. They looked at each other. James voiced what Harry was thinking.

"Under wizard law, is it technically yours or mine?"

Harry started to grin. "Well, I suppose you left it to me in your will, so it's now mine."

James returned the grin. "Ah, but now I'm alive I can nullify the will. So it's mine."

They both started laughing. To anyone else, this would have been awkward. But not to them.

"Should we divide it in half? We'll probably have to eventually, when we get older."

"We can cross that bridge when we come to it. Let's just keep a joint account for now. You OK with that?"

"Course. Come on then, I want to see what advances in broomstick technology there have been in the last twenty years."

They both swept a small pile of galleons, sickles and knuts into small leather bags that the goblin held out, left the vault, and climbed back into the cart. Harry turned to the goblin.

"Do you think you could get us another key to this vault, please? Under the name of James Potter."

"It will be attended to," he (or she, or it, Harry wondered) replied, and upon reaching the top, climbed out and went through one of the marble doors behind the counters. Not more than twenty seconds later, another goblin in gold and red uniform walk up to them, and gave them one key each. "Your keys, sir," he added, quite unnecessarily, and walked away again. James and Harry looked at each other, shrugged, and walked out into the fresh, morning breeze.

"Quidditch first, or your wand?" Harry asked.

"Neither," came the reply. "I'm starving."

Harry grinned. "I'm not surprised, seeing as you haven't eaten in twenty years. Come on then, let's go to Fortescue's. They do pastries there."

After an apple pie and a custard tart, respectively, they wandered over to Ollivanders, glancing at a display of magical clocks in a shop window as they passed. "It's eleven o'clock - the staff meeting usually starts at two, after lunch, so we've got three hours, which should be enough," muttered James in Harry's ear. As they approached the famous wand shop, however, they paused. Harry looked at James.

"Do you think he'll recognise you?"

James nodded. "He never forgets anyone, apparently. Nothing for it, though - I need to have a wand."

Harry nodded, and they pushed open the door together. A tinkling bell sounded somewhere in the back of the shop.

An old man with wide, pale eyes suddenly appeared out of the gloom before them. He regarded them solemnly for a moment.

"Err... Hi," Harry started. "This is my twin - from America."

Mr. Ollivander said nothing.

Harry tried again. "Er... He was sent over there because of Vol... You-Know-Who."

Mr. Ollivander still said nothing, but at last he nodded, and started pulling boxes off the shelves.

"Try this one. Walnut and unicorn hair, eleven inches. Inflexible." James took it and waved it, but it was snatched from his hands almost immediately.

"Mahogany and unicorn hair, twelve and a half inches, supple." James tried again, but the wand was unresponding.

"Cherry and unicorn hair, ten and a half inches, rigid."

"Mahogany and unicorn hair, nine and a half inches, rather bendy."

"I don't suppose - Rosewood and phoenix feather, twelve inches, quite yielding."

This wand obtained a reaction, but it was not a good one: a jet of red light came out of it, and a crack appeared in one of the shelves. It was seized out of James' hand immediately, and Mr. Ollivander fixed the crack with a wave of his own wand.

"No... better to stick with what we know. Oak and unicorn hair, eleven and a half inches, flexible." Again, there was no reaction.

"Mahogany and unicorn hair, twelve and a quarter inches, quite springy."

Harry noticed that Mr. Ollivander kept returning to the same combination of Mahogany and unicorn hair. He glanced at James, but there was no time to ask him; yet another wand was being pressed into his hand.

"Mahogany and unicorn hair, twelve inches, pliable.

This time, a jet of gold stars erupted from the wand as soon as soon as he took it, and more came out upon waving it around. Mr. Ollivander gave a smile. "Congratulations! I should have known - should have known... It's a little longer than your old one, but I daresay you will get used to that. Seven Galleons, if you please?"

Harry shot an alarmed look at James, who paid quickly and scurried out of the shop.

"He knew who you were."

"I know."

"What's he going to think?

James could only shrug, as they turned into Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. He started examining his Hogwarts letter, which had a list of required clothes, as Madam Malkin, a plump, smiling witch, bustled up to them. "Hogwarts?" She asked them.

"Just me," replied James.

"Leaving it a little late, aren't you? Oh well, come along then," she said, smiling, pointing her wand a tape measure on the floor, which promptly started measuring various parts of James' body. Harry wandered off to the winter cloak section; it was starting to get chilly, and he had outgrown his old one.

Their robes purchased, Harry started towards Quality Quidditch Supplies, but James stopped him. "I want to save that till last," he said with a grin, as they went into Flourish and Blotts, and James consulted the book list. They wandered around the shop, with James commenting on each of the books as they picked them up.

"The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 5) - that probably hasn't changed since the school was founded. A History of Magic - Binns is still teaching, then..."

"Was he alive in your time?" Harry asked.

"No, no - he's been teaching as a ghost for about five hundred years, I think. Magical Theory's the same, as is Advanced Transfiguration... One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi - Professor Sprout still teaching then? She came in our first year... Magical Drafts and Potions? That's different - it was The Complete Book of Potions for me. Who's the new potions master?"

"Professor Snape," Harry replied. "You'd better watch out for him, he's really biased against Gryffindors..." He trailed off, as he realised that James wasn't listening. He was staring at him.

"Snape? Severus Snape? He's potions master??"

But Harry had suddenly remembered something Dumbledore had said in the first year.

"Quirrell said he hates me because he hated my father. Is that true?"

"Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr.

Malfoy."

"Dumbledore said you were at school with him, and you hated each other."

"Hated? That's an understatement. That slimy, greasy-haired bastard..." His voice was rising, and people were started to look at them. Harry shot him a warning look.

He composed himself, and went on. "Sorry. But... He was absolutely unbearable at school. Immersed himself in the dark arts, hated muggle-borns... I never lost an opportunity to hex him, teach him a lesson."

Harry started grinning. "I wish I could have seen that. No wonder he hates me."

James, however, was looking thoughtful. "I'm surprised he's a teacher. I'd have thought he's become a Death Eater as soon as he could."

"He did," Harry replied. "Then he decided to change sides. I assume he told Voldemort he was going to pretend to redeem himself and become a teacher so he could spy on Dumbledore, but actually did change sides and became Dumbledore's way to spy on the Death Eaters."

"I bet he's really spying on Dumbledore for Voldemort."

"I don't think anyone except him knows what side he's really on. But Dumbledore trusts him, and Dumbledore's the most powerful wizard I know."

"Voldemort trusts him as well. And he's the second most powerful."

Harry glanced at the clock at the back of the store. "We can discuss it later, the staff meeting starts in an hour."

James reluctantly nodded his head, and looked down at his booklist again. "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and The Monster Book of Monsters. We had the first one, but not the second with Professor Kettleburn. Who's the new Care of Magical Creatures teacher?"

Harry grinned. "Hagrid".

"Hagrid? But wasn't he expelled?"

"Yeah, but that was because everyone thought he opened the Chamber of Secrets, and he was cleared in my second year - remember, I told you about it."

"Oh yeah. Are his lessons good?"

"Well, he's either showing us something really impressive, like hippogriffs, or if anyone's got hurt recently, he'll get us to do stuff like flobberworms, because he's scared that he'll be sacked. Or his own weird self-bred stuff - he had these things called blast-ended skrewts last year... Now I come to think of it, though, he wasn't at the staff table at the welcome feast. He didn't take the first-years over the lake either. I wonder where he's gone?"

James shrugged, and looked down at his booklist again. "The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. That's pretty standard, I suppose... The constellations of the northern hemisphere... Unfogging the Future? What? I don't do Divination, I do Muggle Studies!"

Harry frowned, looking at the booklist. "Maybe Dumbledore forgot."

James shook his head. "I think it's because he wants me in the same classes as you. Dunno why, though."

Harry shrugged, and they paid and left the bookshop, James shrinking the books down to the size of postage stamps and putting them in his pocket as they made their way over to the Apothecary for some potion ingredients. All that was left was a cauldron, a set of glass philes, a telescope, and some brass scales; these being duly purchased, Harry glanced at the display of clocks they had passed earlier that day. It was a quarter to two.

"We'd better get to somewhere where we can watch the meeting in private," Harry muttered to James.

"How about getting a private room in the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Good idea."

They made their way back to the pub, and Harry asked Tom for the room. James followed them under the invisibility cloak (they didn't want to take more risks than necessary), as Tom led him to room 11, "Just for a few hours, as I've got someone coming in the evening".

Once Tom had gone, Harry opened the door to let James in, and got the mirror out. James performed an engorgement charm on it to see it until it was the size of one of the walls, and Harry attached it with a sticking charm. They sat on the edge of the bed to watch. It was five to two, but no-one had come in yet.

"They usually all leave the dining hall together on Sundays, and come straight here. They should be here in ten minutes," James said. He paused. "Potions lessons are going to be hell this year, with Snape teaching."

Harry had to agree. If Snape was so nasty to him because he was James' son, how nasty would be he to James himself?

"Maybe Dumbledore won't tell him," he suggested, hopefully.

"That won't work. He'll recognise me."

Harry was thinking back to what Dumbledore had said in the first year.

"Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr.

Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive."

"What?"

"He saved his life."

These triggered off another memory in him, this time in his third year.

I would hate for you to run away with a false idea of your father, Potter. Have you been imagining some act of glorious heroism? Then let me correct you - your saintly father and his friends played a highly amusing joke on me that would have resulted in my death if your father hadn't got cold feet at the last moment. There was nothing brave about what he did. He was saving his own skin as much as mine. Had their joke succeeded, he would have been expelled from Hogwarts."

"What did you actually do?"

James looked puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"In my first year, Dumbledore told me you saved his life. Then in my third year, Snape said you played a joke on him that would have got him killed, but changed your mind at the last minute. What actually happened?"

James looked puzzled. "I don't remember anything like that. I hexed him a few times, but nothing that would kill him. And certainly nothing where I changed my mind about it at the last minute." He shrugged. "Maybe it happened in sixth or seventh year."

Harry didn't say anything. He was sure he knew from somewhere what had happened. It involved Sirius - and Snape thought that Lupin was in on the joke, and that was why he hated him - but he couldn't remember the rest of it, or where he'd heard it.

But he didn't have time to think about it, as the first of the teachers was walking in to the staff room.