Chapter Text
James Evans checked his appearance in the mirror one last time. He’d grown a few inches over the school year and filled out enough that the leather overcoat Sharp gifted him no longer hung off his frame so loosely. James suspected, after their shared relationship was discovered, that the enchanted item did not belong to his late Auror partner as previously thought. He hadn’t quite worked up enough nerve to ask and confirm it though.
His uncle later told him that James was welcome to ask questions about his parents — expected to even — but he felt weird about it. In some ways it felt like a betrayal to his family, stupid it may sound. He also hadn’t quite come to terms with the idea of asking about a pair of strangers he would never get the chance to know. It wasn’t like he could actually meet them. Besides, you couldn’t miss something you didn’t remember. Which — ugh — sounded super ungrateful considering how they died. But he didn’t want to create false expectations just out of some form of obligation. James scowled at his reflection. It was a continuous loop he mostly shoved to the back of his mind for the last several months.
“James?” his mentor’s voice called from downstairs.
“Coming!” he shouted back, making sure nothing looked out of place before darting out of his bedroom. He met Professor Fig at the bottom of the stairs.
“Ready?” the older wizard asked.
“I am,” he grinned, excitement bubbling up inside him. Thanks to Headmaster Black cancelling quidditch at the beginning of his first year at Hogwarts, he’d never actually seen a game. His mentor decided to rectify that by taking James to an international quidditch tournament between Puddlemere United and the Ballycastle Bats. Apparently the tickets were courtesy of the Minister for Magic himself. Hopefully he wasn’t expected to hold a conversation with the man. He just wanted to see what professional flying looked like. He had the rules of the game explained to him a few times now (Imelda’s attempt did not count — they were more of a rant than anything) so he was fairly confident he would be able to follow along.
They arrived at the stadium using the Floo network. There was also a designated apparition point James noted before hurrying after his guardian. The grand scale of the large structure they navigated reminded him of Hogwarts. The place was lit up by a multitude of colours and activity, his gaze snapped from one thing to another. There was so much to see! Most people were dressed in the colours of their respective team and a number of flags whipped around despite the lack of wind. His nose twitched and James looked to the left, spotting a booth that appeared to be selling refreshments.
“Where are we going?” the fifteen year old asked.
“Minister Spavin has box seats for guests,” said Fig.
“We’re sitting with the Minister?” The professor turned his head at the half-strangled tone.
“Not quite,” the man chuckled. “Although I do expect he’ll want to meet you.” James sighed but didn’t comment. He expected that much. The two of them climbed several flights of stairs and his mentor stopped in front of a door with a sign that read ‘Ministry Personnel Only’. They must have been expected though because the pair of Aurors standing guard outside waved them through with little hassle.
The room inside was much larger than expected — magically expanded perhaps? Wizards seemed to be awfully fond of that. Near the back of the room was a table with an assortment of foods — some familiar, many were not — in an impressive display, not unlike the end of school term feast. Another table seemed to serve as a drink station, but he only recognised the glasses of pumpkin juice and butterbeer. Some of the drinks looked like they were on fire? He eyed those ones warily. Both pieces of furniture were covered in delicate looking white table cloths. Wow. Fancy. He scanned the rest of the space, taking in the number of witches and wizards already present. It looked like he was the youngest person here.
“Eleazar!” an unfamiliar voice nearly startled James. “Glad to see you made it.” A rather old looking wizard wearing golden robes joined them, lips stretched into a wide grin. “And you must be James! Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Er - likewise,” he managed, glancing at his mentor for help.
“Thank you, Minister Spavin,” the professor helpfully provided. Oh. So this was the Minister for Magic? The teenager refocused on the other wizard, who was already talking again.
“ — your protégé here,” the man was saying, gaze landing on James. “I wish you the best of luck with your OWLs, although I’m sure you don’t need it with the guidance of a fine wizard like Eleazar here.” James blinked at the unexpected praise, although he had a feeling it wasn’t truly directed at him.
“Thank you, sir,” he settled on which seemed to satisfy the Minister.
“Now, I’m sure you’d rather spend time with a peer instead of surrounded by us far older folk,” the older man chuckled as he seemed to attract the attention of someone on the opposite side of the room with a raised head. “Lucky for you, I thought ahead.” James followed the Minister’s gaze to see his friend Ominis approach with a tall blond man leading the way. He didn’t recognise the new wizard, but he could make a guess on the stranger’s identity given the strong resemblance between the pair.
“May I introduce,” Spavin offered with a sweeping gesture once the two were close enough, “Morpheus Gaunt? And I believe you’ve already met his son, Ominis?” The newly introduced wizard stared down at him with an expectant expression, along with a hint of something that could be interest. Were old pureblood families like the nobles he heard about in stories? The closest he ever got to meeting such an authority figure — and the comparison was quite a stretch — would be the mayor of his home village. Going off that and everything he’d been told about the Gaunt family, he could assume that proper manners held even greater weight here.
“Sir,” James hazarded, offering a small but firm nod. The look of interest solidified and he felt like he was being studied by a predator. Not ideal, he thought. He wanted nothing to do with the Gaunt family. Except Ominis, of course. Blue green eyes drifted to his tense friend. The other teenager’s expression was a mask of neutral politeness, but he could sense the well-hidden anxiety. Was he not here by choice? Ominis never struck him as much of a quidditch fan.
“Why don’t you boys go and find some seats before the game begins?” Minister Spavin cut in before the silence could stretch. “Get a chance to know each other better?” The man even made a gentle shooing motion as if to encourage them. James was eager to leave the vicinity of the senior Gaunt — he really didn’t like the look in the pureblood’s eyes — but glanced at Fig, a little apprehensive at the idea of abandoning his mentor. When the professor offered an almost imperceptive nod, he trusted the man to handle himself just fine. It wasn't like anyone would try anything with the Minister for Magic present, right?
“Stay out of trouble,” said Morpheus Gaunt, tone perfectly neutral. James barely managed not to narrow his eyes at the double meaning.
“Yes, father,” Ominis answered quietly and the two teenagers made their escape. They headed toward the front of the box where they would have a completely unobstructed view and be far from any eavesdroppers. James didn’t speak right away, and his companion was equally silent. A glance down alerted him to the white-knuckled grip on the railing.
“I take it he doesn’t know we’re friends?” he guessed. His question earned a small frown.
“No.” The answer was quiet, barely an exhale.
“Does he know I’m friends with Sebastian?”
“Yes.” James hummed, a picture forming in his mind.
“So you tolerate me by association,” he teased lightly, filling in the gaps. The other teen’s head jerked in his direction, eyebrows furrowed.
“You’re not…upset?” He never heard Ominis’ voice so hesitant before and he hated it.
“What — at you? Of course not.” James casually glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Morpheus Gaunt still talking to Minister Spavin — or rather — the other way around. Professor Fig managed to slip away, it seemed, and was conversing with someone else. He refocused on his anxious friend and gently bumped shoulders. “I can guess why you let him believe we’re only acquaintances.” Ominis’ expression remained pinched so he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Honestly, I don’t give a shit what your father thinks of me. You’re my friend no matter what.” The blond finally let out a relieved sigh and began to relax. “Enough about him, who are you cheering for?”
“I don’t know,” Ominis shrugged. “Who’s playing again?” James huffed a laugh.
“You came to a quidditch game without knowing the teams?”
“No, I came to make a public appearance to appease my family.” He chewed his lip at the disgruntled answer. Clearly no love lost between them.
“Puddlemere United and Ballycastle Bats,” he said instead. The position of him informing someone about anything to do with the sport was downright weird. “I hear Puddlemere is the favourite, and I know Imelda would be wearing their colours if she was here.”
“…but?” Ominis tilted his questioningly.
“I think I’ll be contrary and cheer for Ballycastle,” James remarked. “They’re a much newer team, and I’ve always been fond of underdogs.”
“You? Contrary?” his friend asked, tone dry. “I’m shocked.”
“No one to blame but yourself then,” he snarked back with a wide grin. “You know the company I keep.”
“Yes,” said the blond, “rather unsophisticated.”
“You shouldn’t talk down on yourself like that,” he chided lightly.
“I was referring to Sebastian,” Ominis directed an unimpressed look his way. James laughed. The corner of his friend’s mouth curled into a faint smile. Music started up somewhere — he couldn’t tell where it was coming from exactly, but it seemed to fill the stadium — and the audience began to roar. “You know,” the blond added, voice pitched low, “I heard Professor Black would be reinstating quidditch this year.”
“What? Why?” The headmaster had been rather adamant about the decision throughout the entire school year. James endured hours of griping from various students about the ban — though none were nearly as loud as Imelda. Those were hours of his life he would never get back.
“Apparently someone wrote to the Department of Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry,” his friend continued, amusement clear on his face. “I don’t know what they said, but whatever it was got the whole place riled up.”
“That sounds familiar,” James tilted his head in thought.
“They regulate all sport-related events in the wizarding world,” the other teen offered. “They also organise the Quidditch World Cup every four years.”
“No, that’s not it,” he shook his head. Was that included in one of Imelda’s rants? No, that didn’t sound right…he heard about it from one of his professors. Blue green eyes widened in realisation. “Oh.” It was Madam Kogawa. While James was masquerading as the headmaster. His breathing hitched minutely, but Ominis had incredibly sharp hearing.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” he immediately denied. The blond’s attention was completely focused on him now. He remembered belatedly that he ran into Ominis that day too. Of all of the chance encounters, his housemate came the closest to seeing through his polyjuiced disguise (which was ironic).
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.” James swallowed and made sure no one was paying attention to them.
“I didn’t think she’d actually go through with it,” he hissed lowly. Nobody could track it back to him. Everything was fine.
“What did you do?” Ominis repeated slowly.
“It’s not my fault!” he whispered forcefully. Not even his mentor knew.
“On the contrary,” his friend could pack an impressive amount of sarcasm in his words when he chose to, “it kind of sounds like it is.”
At that moment, the announcer began talking and introduced the teams that flew into the stadium seconds later. The crowd went wild and James let out a relieved breath at the save.
“Later,” he muttered. Ominis’ narrowed gaze promised that they would indeed return to this particular conversation at a later time.
*****
Within a few weeks, James fell into somewhat of a routine. He had a lot of homework to get through over the summer before the start of term. He would have complained about it if he wasn’t painfully aware that any fragment of information could save his life one day. Each of his professors created a condensed lesson plan to help fill in any gaps his cramming last term didn’t covered. Ideally, he would be mostly caught up with the rest of his peers before school started in September. He did have one significant advantage though. Living with a professor versed in Magical Theory had its perks. Not to mention the Potions professor that was a Floo call away when he wasn’t dropping by weekly.
James preferred to work on his homework outside if he could, soaking up the warm sunlight as he worked. He was currently sprawled on the grass in the middle of writing an essay for Transfiguration when his mentor joined him, though not quite as undignified.
“Working on your Magical Theory essay?” Fig asked. The teenager pointed with one of his charmed fountain pens at the piece of parchment just out of reach that he finished half an hour ago. The professor helped himself and began to skim the essay. James idly kicked his legs as a songbird sang from one of the nearby trees. He paged through his open Transfiguration textbook as he chewed his lip. He was supposed to write about the four branches of the subject but he was stuck on Conjuration.
“Overachiever,” his guardian muttered fondly. James craned his neck to look at the professor who was still reviewing the parchment in hand. Sensing his gaze, Fig looked up and sent him an amused look. “Most students don’t list five separate sources when asked to support their arguments.” The teen frowned.
“You said multiple perspectives are crucial in a field like Magical Theory,” James protested. “That we wouldn’t be where we are today without the combined efforts of differing — ” The professor raised a hand to stop the stream of words.
“ — Fair enough,” his mentor chuckled. “Though it’s usually not required for basic fundamentals like levitation charms.” He waved the parchment still clutched in his other hand. James huffed. The downside — if you could call it that — of living with a Magical Theory professor was that the lower level topics were rather boring after listening to NEWT level tangents for half a year. It didn’t taken him long to realise just how easy it was to derail the man with questions on the subject, not when it tended to happen several times a week. Every once in a while, he would challenge himself to see just how long a streak he could prompt. His current record was seventy two minutes.
“I can’t help it if I’m more thorough than a third year,” he grumbled.
“I don’t think we need to worry about you falling behind in Magical Theory anytime soon,” his mentor smiled.
“Great, can we switch to Transfiguration instead?” he waved at the half-finished essay lying in front of him. “It’s making my head hurt.” The professor let out a soft snort.
“What do you have so far?” James made a face.