Symphony for Quartet

Chapter 10: Of muffins, crazy ideas and butterflies

James raised a finger to his lips and stared pointedly at Regulus, who was finally catching up with them, the bag that hung from his shoulder bouncing off his legs as he climbed the stairs as fast as he could. But the younger boy looked far from trying to eavesdrop; he was emitting small hiccoughing noises at close intervals, as do children who are trying to cry in order to catch the grown-ups' attention.

"Don't start blubbering on purpose," snapped Sirius, clearly used to these demonstrations. "We're on the second floor, nobody will hear you."

"Maybe we could show him his room?" suggested Remus, who was watching the little boy with kindly interest. Sirius had mentioned once or twice he had a little brother in the past months, but he had never been keen on elaborating. However, Regulus didn't look so bad. A bit sulky, maybe, but after all he was alone with four older boys in an unknown house...

"Yes, well, he doesn't have a room," said James, embarrassed. "He wasn't exactly expected. But I'll ask Pomy to --"

"Pomy's here, young Master," squeaked a small voice just behind Peter.

Peter jumped in shock and lost his balance; and he would have rolled all the way down to the bottom of the stairs if Sirius and James hadn't grabbed his arms to steady him. Remus was looking wildly around to locate the source of the squeaky voice, and he found Pomy the house-elf perched on one step, stock-still as if struck by lightening, her hands clasped over her mouth.

"Oh, Pomy has frightened Master James' friend!" she squealed, horrified. "I is so sorry, so sorry! Pomy just wanted to tell Master James that Madam has had another bed put in Mr. Sirius Black's bedroom for his brother! Pomy will eat mushrooms for her dinner tonight for frightening Master James' friend!"

"That's all right, Pomy," said James, waving away the elf's apologies. "I don't think Peter's angry at you. And, know what," he suddenly added, "maybe you can make up for it by bringing us some cool pumpkin juice..."

The horrified expression on the elf's wrinkled face disappeared as a mischievous smile stretched her lips.

"Pomy is quite sure Madam has already told Master James not to bring food in his bedroom," she said in a sanctimonious voice. "Pomy shouldn't make pumpkin juice for Master James, oh no, Pomy really shouldn't."

"That's right," said James, grinning down at the house-elf. "So what should I expect?"

Pomy scratched her chin for a moment, apparently thinking hard.

"Pomy would advise Master James," she said slowly at last, "not to sit on his carpet for a little while, sir."

"Okay then," said James brightly. "Hurry up. And you don't need to eat those mushrooms, I'm sure Peter has already forgiven you, haven't you, Peter?"

Pomy looked at Peter hopefully for a few seconds, her big blue eyes bulging until they looked about to pop out of their sockets; Peter finally got the hint and hastily nodded to reassure her. The house-elf gave him her most charming toothless smile before disappearing with a crack that startled everybody, except James and the Black boys.

"What was that carpet thing?" asked Sirius, bewildered.

"You'll see," said James evasively as he turned around and climbed the rest of the stairs. The four boys followed.

"And why did she want to eat mushrooms?" panted Remus, who was very intrigued by the small creature.

"That's her way to punish herself when she does something bad," answered James over his shoulder. "She hates mushrooms, she can't digest them."

"That's softer than our house-elf's self-inflicted punishments," commented Sirius. "Last time, he slammed a cupboard door on his fingers."

James winced at the thought, having already had that kind of painful experiences -- though in his case it had been entirely accidental. Peter and Remus exchanged puzzled looks.

"They all do that? Self-inflicted punishments?" Remus asked hesitantly.

"Well, yeah, I think so," said Sirius, raising his eyebrows in surprise at his friend's question. "Part of their nature. They value their master's well-being far above their own, don't they? So if they do something wrong, it's normal they should punish themselves."

"That's... that's..." spluttered Remus. He was shocked by the mere idea -- and even more by Sirius and James' casualness at talking about those things, as if they were natural.

"That's what?" asked James, genuinely surprised.

Sirius almost stamped his foot in frustration.

"Look, it's not that I wouldn't dream of having a long discussion about house-elves, but James was saying he had something important to tell us!"

"What?" asked Regulus at once.

The four boys started slightly and wheeled around to face the little boy, whom they had almost forgotten after the incident on the stairs.

"None of your business," said Sirius rather harshly.

Regulus scowled and folded his arms over his chest, glaring up at his older brother.

"I'm allowed to stay with you," he whined. "You can't order me to go away."

"Hey, Regulus," said James suddenly. "What's your favourite food?"

Regulus eyed James rather suspiciously, probably remembering how he and Sirius had locked him in a cupboard the previous year, right after wrecking his room.

"Muffins," he said slowly at last, while his hands clutched tightly the strap of his bag diagonally crossing his chest, in a rather defensive stance.

"Look, here's the deal," said James decidedly. "I'm going to show you your room and you're going to stay there for the rest of the afternoon, and I'll ask Pomy to bring you muffins. Just remember not to leave crumbs on the carpet. Okay?"

Regulus shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again; he was visibly tempted by James' offer but didn't dare to trust him. What was more, Sirius strongly suspected that his mother had instructed Regulus to dog his footsteps, so as to make sure Sirius was behaving properly; and Regulus never disobeyed his mother. He would have to be convinced with other arguments.

"Oh, he won't want to be left alone in a room, he would be afraid and start crying like a baby," Sirius shot at his brother derisively.

Regulus' face went as red as a peony.

"I'm not a baby!" he screeched, stamping his foot. "I won't cry!"

"Perfect then, your room is the second door on the left," said James brightly.

Regulus sent another suspicious glance in their direction before slowly walking to the indicated door and disappearing in the room beyond.

Sirius let out a sigh of relief.

"Good riddance," he said, rather viciously.

He turned around and was startled to find Remus glaring at him.

"You were really mean to him," accused Remus. His tone was dry but there was a look of uncertainty about him, as if he wasn't sure he should talk at all. He was far from having Sirius' confidence, and making reproaches to his friends was a bit of a new experience for him -- except a memorable outburst the previous year, when they had earned a month worth of detentions for fighting a bunch of Slytherins.

Predictably, he regretted almost at once ever opening his mouth, for Sirius turned red with anger and snapped with an astounding violence for a boy his age:

"What would you know about it? Have you ever had to put up with him every day? Have you ever tried to live with my family?"

Remus instinctively took a step or two backwards, and he was relieved when James stepped between him and Sirius and spoke loudly to drown Sirius' voice.

"Look, let's not start arguing right now -- I said I had something important to tell you, and it is mainly about you, Remus. And it's far more important than Sirius' little brother! So if you two would just stop looking daggers at each other, we could go to my room right now."

Sirius furiously bit his lip, obviously still stung by Remus' reproach, but he didn't make any comment and followed James along the corridor, stalking past Remus without glancing at him.

Remus and Peter went silently after the pair of them.

They reached James' room within a few minutes; James pushed the door open and let them in an enormous square bedroom, which made a startling contrast with the solemn white-walled and wooden-floored corridors they had just been in. The walls of James' bedroom were covered in a paper of a warm yellow colour, and a thick carpet lay on the floor, so inviting that Sirius immediately let himself fall onto it in a sitting position. Posters of Quidditch teams were fixed to the walls, most of the time clashing rather spectacularly with the yellow wallpaper. The red curtains hanging around the open windows were lazily shivering in the cool breeze. The sheets of the unmade bed were red, too.

"C'mon, everyone!" James' ringing voice made Remus and Peter snap out of the dazzled state they were in due to that sudden burst of colours. "Sirius, get off the carpet -- there, let's all sit on my bed."

Sirius weakly protested, but at James' insistence he finally got to his feet with a grunt and joined the other three, sitting on James' bed. They had only just settled when a tray appeared out of nowhere on the carpet, loaded with a jug of cool pumpkin juice and five glasses.

"Thanks, Pomy!" called James, though the elf was nowhere to be seen. "You can take back the fifth glass, Regulus isn't with us. Send his glass to his bedroom along with a few muffins, please."

As an answer, a glass disappeared with a small pop; then the jug rose in the air and bent on its own initiative over each of the four glasses, pouring the bright orange drink for the four boys. The four glasses then flew to their respective owners, who caught them.

"That's why she told you not to sit on the carpet!" exclaimed Sirius, his foul mood apparently gone. James nodded in answer with a small smile on his face.

"Yeah, I corrupted her years ago," he laughed, raising his glass.

They all mimicked him and drank a long sip of the cool juice, as solemn as four captains reunited to seal an alliance.

"So," said James once they had lowered their glasses. "I've been thinking about Remus'... erm..."

"Furry little problem," Remus completed with a smile. "That's what you called it in your letter."

"Sounds good," commented Sirius in a low voice that sounded very much like a conspirator's. "We can use that name in public so that nobody understands what we're talking about."

Peter emitted a sort of excited squeak.

"Anyway, I thought about it," James resumed, claiming back the attention of the other three. "And I reflected that it's all very good to wait for Remus when he's having his... bad nights, but that's not good enough. We should try to stay with him, to distract him or something --"

"No way," said Remus immediately. He had put his glass down, oblivious of the fact the glass was dangerously swaying on the ruffled sheets and was threatening to spill its content. His face had paled.

"I already told you about it," he went on in a strained voice. "I thought you had understood..."

He tried very hard to hide the disappointment in his voice.

"I'm not myself when I'm transformed, I would attack you and b-bite you..."

"I know," said James impatiently. "I tried to find a way we could keep you company without you wanting to bite us."

"That's impossible," protested Remus, tensing even more at James' words. "Those nights, I'm... addicted... to human flesh. I can smell it from very far away and I always go and hunt it. No human being can keep me company."

"That's what I'm aiming at!" exclaimed James. Then, turning to Sirius: "You don't remember a line or two on that subject, in the book we read last year in the library? The day we found out about Remus?"

Sirius furrowed his brow in concentration.

"Hmm... Well, it did say that a... 'furry little guy' would try to seek and bite any human being in close proximity..."

"...and it also said that it wasn't a danger to animals!" James completed triumphantly.

There was a silence as every one in the room looked uncertainly at James' face, which was shining with joy and excitation.

"Erm... James?" said Peter nervously. "We... we're not animals..."

James leant forward.

"Yes, but we can become animals," he whispered.

And, as they still stared at him in bewilderment, he set his glass aside and dived to reach under his pillow. From there he draw a heavy book, very venerable-looking and completely out of place on the unmade and vivid-coloured bed. The leather binding was worn away at the corners and edges and the golden letters adorning the cover were wearing off as well, making the title barely understandable.

"The... principles... of... human... transfiguration," Remus deciphered.

He looked up at James, who was still smiling with triumph.

"Human Transfiguration?" he repeated uncertainly. "You mean, changing into animals and keeping me company under that form?"

"That's brilliant!" said Sirius as he leant forward and snatched the book out of Remus' hands.

He started to leaf through the book, carelessly turning the old yellowing pages -- a groan of protest came from the book, which had certainly known more respectful hands -- until he found a chapter at the end of the book. James had put a bookmark there, and Sirius also found a sheet of parchment folded between the pages and covered with James' narrow writing. He pushed the parchment aside so that he could read the chapter title.

"Becoming an Animagus," he read aloud.

James nodded.

"That would be the best way," he said knowingly. "From what I understood, an Animagus is a person who can turn into an animal at will. Think about it -- we could transform at will and spend the whole night in the Shrieking Shack with Remus. If it turns out we can control Remus in some way, we could even get out of the Shack and explore! The grounds would be ours!"

Peter's eyes were as round as two Quaffles.

"How do you become an Anima-thingy?" he asked in a voice that was hushed by awe.

James' smile faded slightly.

"I took notes," he answered hesitantly while pointing at the folded parchment. Sirius picked it up and unfolded it; he started reading, his slight frown of concentration deepening as he reached the end.

"Looks like a lot of work," he said slowly. "I think I recognise one or two incantations, but as for the others..."

"The wand waving is explained in the book," James interrupted, but now he sounded nervous rather than triumphant. "The process looks rather long, though... That's the trouble. And the spells are quite complicated, but there's nothing undoable, strictly speaking."

Peter shook his head.

"We're in second year," he said in a small voice. "And I'm not good at all at Transfiguration. It's --"

"I'm sure we can do it," said James decidedly. "Sirius and I can, and with our help you will manage too, Peter. Transfiguration is not that difficult, anyway, you just need to be able to..."

He did a vague hand gesture in his attempt to explain what exactly they needed to do to be good at Transfiguration.

"...see things change... see how they can change, physically speaking... You know?" he went on hopefully.

Peter sadly shook his head again; Sirius' expression was of puzzlement. Remus gave a small smile.

"I don't think that's possible," he said gently. "But thanks for offering, James, it means a lot."

James' face went a little pink and his eyes flashed in anger.

"Oh, do stop being defeatist!" he barked brusquely. "We can do this. Sirius and I are the best students in the year. I know it will take time, I'm not an idiot, but six months, or even a year worth of hard working is... is nothing compared with the good time we could have afterwards! C'mon, Remus, if you expect me to sit there and watch you transforming alone every full moon, you don't know me at all!"

He glared furiously at Sirius, who gravely nodded.

"Gentlemen, I'd like to raise my glass to the dumbest, craziest and scariest idea I have ever heard of!" he announced with a little bow of his head towards James, who scowled in answer. "And I'd like to add I'm all for it," he completed with a wicked grin. James shook his head -- as if to say, "I don't believe him" -- and laughed aloud with glee.

"But --"

"Remus, honestly, stop trying to talk us out of it. You're not even that concerned, come to think of it; if I understand well the whole thing, you won't be the one to work on it. Peter?"

Peter nodded thoughtfully.

"Well, as long as you two help me, I guess I can do it," he said simply.

James' grin was so broad that the rim of his round glasses was digging into his cheeks.

"That's settled then," he cheerfully concluded; and he leant forward again and extended his hand. Sirius placed his own hand over James' without a second's hesitation, and Peter followed suit.

Remus sighed, but he put his hand on top of his friends' nonetheless. Then -- on its own volition, it seemed -- his face broke into a smile as wide as James', and his heart lifted considerably. Even if he tried not to have illusions, he couldn't help hoping they would succeed.

They were still frozen in that position, all four of them caught in the solemnity of the instant, when the ringing of a distant bell broke the silence.

At once, James withdrew his hand and leapt to his feet, shouting: "Dinner's ready!" And before anyone else had the time to realise what was going on, he had wrenched the door open and dashed out in the corridor.

The other three followed, laughing and pushing each other out of the way as they raced after James.

***

The boys spent two weeks -- two sunlit, warm, wonderful weeks -- at the Potter House. They were outside all day, swimming, climbing up trees and flying, taking turns on James' broomstick. None of them had forgotten the decision they had made the first day in James' bedroom, but the sunbathed garden was so inviting that the heavy leather-bound book James had stolen from his father's library only seemed more forbidding still. Besides, they weren't allowed to do magic out of school, so what was the point in deciphering complicated explanations if they couldn't even practice? They would have all the time in the world at Hogwarts...

The end of the second week came, and with it came the time to say goodbye. James tried his hardest to convince his friends to stay a little longer; he had never had such a good time since the end of the past term at Hogwarts, and he dreaded to find himself alone in the immense house again.

"You know that's not possible," said Remus gently, as they all sat on James' carpet. "My next 'bad night' is ten days away. Soon I'll grow reckless and... well, weird, and your parents will suspect something."

"Same for me," said Peter. "I can't stay, I need to see my mum. It's bad enough to leave her alone with Marina all school year, without leaving her as well during the holidays. I had a wonderful time though," he hastily added.

James turned to Sirius, silently imploring; but his best friend's expression was as miserable as his.

"You know I would give anything to stay here," he said dejectedly. "But if Regulus and I don't show up tonight, Mum will come to fetch us herself, and believe me, you don't want to see her again."

Sirius heaved a sigh that seemed to empty him of all his usual energy and he slumped forward, letting his head fall in his hands. James looked away from them and his gaze wandered around his room. It was as messy as always, but he noticed small changes here and there, witnesses of his friends' stay: those dirty marks on the wall that were Peter's fingerprints, those burns on his desk where Sirius had played with the candle, and those books, in which he would find so many pages whose corner had been folded when Remus had had to interrupt his reading. As his eyes lingered on the bed, whose sheets were strewn with cards that they had been too lazy to re-order and put away, a gleam in the shadows under the bed caught his attention.

He extended his arm and grabbed the heavy book, abandoned in the dust; the golden letters gleamed more forcefully than before as he wiped the grime soiling the old leather. He felt three pairs of eyes following his every move as he delicately opened the venerable book at the chapter on Animagi.

"I'll work on this for the rest of the summer," he brusquely decided. "I'll try to plan our work, and see how much time we'll need. All of you," he added, raising his head to look round at his friends, "try to find out as much as you can about Animagi. We need as much information as possible when we start working on becoming ones. Okay?"

They all nodded; Peter looked a bit embarrassed and he opened his mouth to say something but Sirius cut him short, sharply raising a hand to silence them all. In the ensuing quiet, they all heard light footsteps in the corridor, approaching James' door. A few seconds later the door opened slightly with a creak and Regulus' dark head appeared in the narrow opening.

"Sirius, we're supposed to come down now," he said. "Mum just called by the Floo Network."

"Right, I'm coming in a second," Sirius answered, the gloomy look back on his features. Regulus nodded and withdrew, but stayed standing in the corridor to wait for his brother. It was clear he didn't dare to come down without Sirius, for fear the latter would pointedly refuse to leave James' bedroom. Nevertheless, James vaguely noted how much civiler the two brothers were to each other when they weren't in their own home. Actually, they had all let Regulus take part of some of their games and the little boy had quickly overcome his original wariness; he was now on very friendly terms with Remus and Peter, and he was polite with James. What Mrs. Black would say if she ever learnt her precious Regulus had been friend with two half-bloods, was something James had rather not imagine.

James, Sirius, Remus and Peter lingered in the bedroom for a little while, trying to postpone as much as possible the moment that they would have to split. Finally Sirius rose to his feet with another sigh that sounded like a moan; and the other three followed suit. They went out of the bedroom in a procession, uncharacteristically quiet. Regulus led the way down to the red and gold drawing room; The Black boys' bags were waiting for them in front of the fireplace in which a fire was already roaring, ready to send them back to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Sirius swallowed hard. Even Regulus seemed slightly depressed.

Mrs. Potter received with a smile Regulus' farewell, conscientiously recited in a rather dull voice, but accompanied with a shy grin that clearly said the boy had enjoyed his time at her house. Her smile, however, faded when it was Sirius' turn to say goodbye. He seemed to have entirely lost the boiling energy he had been demonstrating over the past two weeks, and his head hung piteously. As for James, he had seldom looked so miserable.

"Don't be sad," she said gently, losing the light tone that usually made her sound as if nothing was really important. How could a child's sorrow not be important? "You'll be able to come back for the Christmas and Easter holidays. Your mother and I will arrange that."

To tell the truth, she wasn't at all sure she could talk Lenora Black into letting her son spend so much time out of her reach, but still, the hopeful gleam that suddenly illuminated Sirius' grey eyes at her words was worth the try. She smiled at her own indulgence. She really was too weak with her boys.

At last Sirius and Regulus swooped down and swung their bags around their shoulders in identical fluid gestures. Then Sirius took Regulus' hand in his own, and with his free hand he grabbed a fistful of glistening powder in a golden bowl. The flames turned emerald green and roared more than ever as they were showered with Floo Powder; the Black boys stepped in the flames, which were so high they licked their cheeks, and when Sirius called in a mournful voice: "The Black House!", there was a whooshing sound and they disappeared.

Mrs. Lupin and Marina arrived almost at the same time; Marina departed immediately, taking Peter with her, and Mrs. Lupin lingered just the time to chat a bit with Mrs. Potter and thank her for taking care of Remus.

"Don't mention it, dear, it was a pleasure," said Mrs. Potter. "I would be delighted to have Remus again for the holidays, he's a very charming boy. And I'd like to invite you and your husband to dinner some evening in September; my husband Robert should be back from his trip in Eastern Europe by that time..."

While the grown-ups were talking in the drawing room, James dragged Remus in the hallway.

"You'll write, okay?" he whispered urgently. "I need to know if you've found something for our -- project."

"I'll do what I can," Remus promised; and that was it, for a second later the two mothers had emerged from the drawing room, still exchanging the compliments and promises that grown-ups seemed so fond of saying whenever they met. After saying goodbye to James and his mother, the Lupins went out of the house and the door closed behind them.

James sat alone on the bottom step of the wide staircase and stared at the imposing oak door for a long moment.

They were gone.

***

The summer dragged on with unbearable slowness; in August, the sunny days were replaced by grey clouds and a sultry hotness, and the eagerly awaited storm that would refresh the muggy atmosphere was never coming.

A week before the beginning of the term, Mrs. Potter sent Pomy the house-elf to Diagon Alley with a list of things James would need for his second year; James, alerted by Pomy's mysterious hints and knowing smiles, began to suspect she wasn't merely going to buy school supplies and decided to wait for the elf in the hallway. That way, he was sure to be the first one to see her when she returned.

Unfortunately his plans were impeded by his mother, who sent him to do his piano practice early "seeing that he didn't seem to have anything else to do than lurking at the ground floor." He grudgingly obeyed and soon, the hated sound of scales filled the Piano Room again.

James stifled a huge yawn as he finished his scales and began to study his piece one hand at a time. After about twenty minutes, a sharp tap came from the mirror and his mother's voice said:

"James! Enough for the right hand! Left hand now!"

James groaned. The part for the right hand was fun enough to work on, but he hated practicing with his left hand; there were chords everywhere, and some of them were difficult to catch -- for he had small hands. After two minutes of relatively assiduous studying, one chord went wrong and a note completely out of harmony rang through the room. One portrait was unwise enough to let out a squeak of protest.

"SHUT UP!" roared James in the portrait's direction. "I know I got it wrong, I'm not stupid!"

The portrait looked utterly offended.

"Really, my little gentleman, I think I know better than you do --" he began disdainfully; but James had had enough. He slammed his fist on the keyboard, causing the piano to emit a high-pitched discordant screech, and all the portraits jumped and started talking with various degrees of indignation.

"He's going to shatter my eardrums -- and eardrums in oil painting are so difficult to mend!"

"That's a disgrace to every single one of his musician ancestors --"

"He's manhandling a piano that was here before he was even born --"

"He just needs to be explained what he did wrong! Now, my little James, it should have been an F, not a G --"

James seized the piano lid and wrenched it down so violently that several keys sank when the lid brutally collided with them; another jarring, plaintive chord echoed in the room, amplified in the wide belly of the black piano, and the pile of scores laying on top of the piano swayed and fell to the floor.

James didn't stop to gather the scores that had scattered all across the polished floor. He headed right for the door, ignoring the protests and lamentations still coming from the portraits, and roughly pulled it open. The sight that greeted him made him freeze in his tracks.

His mother was just outside the door, probably alerted by the cacophony that had resulted from the keyboard-punching. She slightly raised her eyebrows at her son, who stood frozen in the doorway, before looking over his shoulder and gazing at the scores spread on the floor. She didn't say anything, and the glance she gave James was merely expressing mild surprise, but James turned scarlet with shame.

Guiltily hanging his head, he stepped back in the room and started gathering the scores as quickly as possible. He hastily arranged them back in a pile and placed them on the piano, which was still vibrating with the discordant chord. He was about to sit on the stool and resume his piano practice when his mother's hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"What happened?"

Her voice was concerned, rather than angry. James was now so ashamed he would have gladly jumped inside the piano and hidden there for the rest of his life. He knew how much his mother wanted him to be able to play the piano; and he was disappointing her every time he played badly.

"I'm not good at playing," he stammered. "It would be better if I stopped, I'm incapable of getting a single piece right..."

His mother knelt to be level with him and took him by the shoulders; and he was stunned and considerably relieved to see she was smiling.

"I wasn't gifted either," she said in her light, laughing tone. "But my mum -- your grandmother, whose portrait is here --"

James automatically glanced towards his grandmother's portrait. The old lady waved cheerily at him; she had been the one who had tried to explain him what he had done wrong earlier, while the other portraits were moaning over the outrage done to the piano.

"-- your grandmother made me practice, every day, over and over again. You'll see, when you're able to play, it'll make you very happy."

James shrugged in a non-committal way, very unconvinced he would ever be happy to touch a piano keyboard. His mother's grin widened and she straightened up, walked swiftly to the stool and sat on it. After adjusting the height, she lifted the lid and placed her hands on the keyboard.

She played a few bars of a light, soft and playful piece, which seemed the musical translation of her laughing voice. James looked, transfixed, at the smile that illuminated his mother's face as she played. When she stopped, he asked eagerly:

"What was that?"

She turned to him, still smiling.

"Schumann's Butterflies."

And James thought it was a perfect title for this piece. He also thought it was the first time he truly enjoyed listening to the sound of a piano.

His mother suddenly got to his feet, startling him out of his piano-related musings.

"Enough serious talk," she said. "Pomy is back from Diagon Alley, and I made her buy something that could be useful for your second year."

She hadn't reached the end of her sentence when Pomy burst in, carrying a long parcel and looking completely overexcited. She must have been waiting all this time behind the door for the right moment to make her entry.

"Here, Master James, here is it!" she squealed as she held the parcel at arms length for James to take it.

James, puzzled, delicately took the parcel and weighted it in his hands for a second of two. Suddenly realising what was probably wrapped in the brown paper, he abruptly tore the parcel open with a squeal to match Pomy's, and his eyes widened behind his glasses when they fell on the most beautiful broomstick he had ever seen.

"I thought that the broomstick we bought you four years ago wasn't fit for applying for the Gryffindor Quidditch team," her mother commented lightly. "So I thought a racing broom would be a good present for --"

She was cut short by James' burst of joy.

"The Silver Arrow 145! It's beautiful! It's brilliant! Thanks, thanks, thanks Mum!"

James leapt up to throw his arms around his mother's neck, and Margaret Potter laughed heartily as she embraced her son; she put him down very quickly -- he was too heavy for her to carry him, now, really -- but she let him take her hands and drag her in a sort of war dance all around the venerable Piano Room, and they were whooping and laughing and singing as if they were both twelve.