NOVEL NEXT Chapter 9: Chapter Nine: James
Summer, June 1971
The soft rays of sunlight filtered through the large window, illuminating every corner of the spacious room. On the bed lay a boy with messy black hair, wishing with all his might that he could sleep a little longer. But his peace was interrupted by the excited shrieks of a woman downstairs.
He wondered if his mother had finally won one of those ridiculous Witch Weekly competitions she liked to enter.
The room in the south wing, which he had celebrated receiving as his eleventh birthday gift, suddenly didn't seem like such a brilliant idea. It was too close to the front door, meaning that any letter, package, or morning victory from his mother would wake him up too early. Of course, the room had its advantages: it was the perfect escape route if he ever needed to sneak out of the house.
James sighed and burrowed under the blankets, trying to hide from the morning light and steal a few more minutes of sleep. He regretted staying up so late reading one of his father's books about magical inventions.
The door to his room swung open suddenly. A tall man, who looked very much like James but much older, peeked through the doorway before sitting at the edge of the bed.
"James? Are you awake?" his father whispered cautiously, as though afraid to disturb him.
James poked his head out from under the blankets, squinting.
"Sort of. Good morning to you too, Dad," he murmured, still half-asleep.
"Good morning, champ!" his father replied with a wide grin, springing to his feet. "Come on, up you get. You need to see what your mother has done."
James eyed him suspiciously, running a hand through his wild hair.
"Is it really that important?"
"I'd say so. You'll have to see for yourself," his father said.
"She hasn't finally won that recipe contest, has she?" James asked, but his father shook his head. A mischievous glint in his eyes suggested he knew something more.
"Nope, can't tell you anything. I promised your mother." He winked before slipping out of the room, gently closing the door behind him.
James let out a long sigh, but his curiosity had already won the battle. He had no choice but to get up. He slipped out of bed and made his way slowly to the small dining area by the kitchen, where his father was already seated with a cup of tea in hand, reading The Daily Prophet.
"Morning, Mum," James greeted as he sat down in one of the chairs.
"Morning, love!" Euphemia called cheerfully from the kitchen.
The little dining area was where the Potters usually had their meals. The main dining room was reserved for special occasions or when his grandfather came to stay. The house they lived in now had been bought shortly after James was born. Their previous home, though perfect for two, had proven too small for a child's upbringing. The arrival of the Potters' only son, the joy of the family, had given them the perfect excuse to buy a bigger home.
"Anything interesting?" James asked, reaching for a roll.
Fleamont let out a sigh.
"Nothing good, as usual," his father said, frowning behind the paper. "Three Muggles dead... looks like the work of one of You-Know-Who's followers. Two wizards have gone missing as well."
James leaned forward, intrigued.
"What does Minister Jenkins say?" he asked, glancing at the front page, where a stern-looking witch was captured in a flash of cameras.
"She's finally connecting the dots! It's about time she did something useful," his father said with mild irritation. "She claims she'll open an investigation into those responsible for the sabotage at the Squib march a few years back—apparently, they might have information on You-Know-Who or even be part of his group. And, to top it off, there are reports of Inferi sightings near London."
James's eyes widened with curiosity.
"Inferi?"
"They're corpses controlled by a dark wizard," his father replied with disgust. "The worst kind of dark magic!"
Seeing James try to read the newspaper, Fleamont handed it over without hesitation.
"Here you go. I've had enough for today."
"Thanks, Dad," James said with a mischievous grin, taking the paper and beginning to read.
"Inferi in London? Ministry says 'nonsense,' but rumours grow"
By Rita Skeeter, Junior Editor of The Daily Prophet
LONDON, 15 June 1971 — What would you do if, on a quiet night in central London, you came face to face with a horde of Inferi? That's exactly what Gwendolyn Bishop, a Knockturn Alley witch, claims happened to her.
"I was strolling by the river, gathering some nocturnal plants, when I saw them rising from the water. Pale, rotting, empty-eyed, with water dripping from their bones," Bishop told The Daily Prophet in an exclusive interview. "I nearly fell over from fright. One Inferius is bad enough… but that many? Something very dark is brewing!"
Unsurprisingly, Minister Eugenia Jenkins was quick to quell the panic—at least, she tried. At a press conference yesterday, she categorically denied any Inferi activity in London.
"The Department for the Regulation of Dark Creatures has inspected the Thames area and found no trace of Inferi or recent dark magic," Jenkins declared. "We urge the magical community to remain calm. These reports, while frightening, may simply be the result of overactive imaginations."
When asked for her thoughts on Jenkins's remarks, Bishop retorted, "I'm not imagining anything! I know what I saw. Those were Inferi, plain and simple! And they weren't shuffling around like the stories say—they moved as if someone was calling them. Call me a liar if you like, but when those things start knocking on doors, don't say I didn't warn you."
Who should we believe, dear reader? That is for you to decide.
However, Jenkins did not escape the more uncomfortable questions so easily. What about the recent murders of Muggles, suspiciously laced with magical traces? The Minister assured us that every death under strange circumstances is being thoroughly investigated. "For now, there is no evidence to suggest that they were killed by wizards," she said, as though three Muggle corpses — found dead at the same time and in the same place, in what the Muggles themselves call "sudden death" — were nothing more than a coincidence.
And what about the wizards who have mysteriously gone missing in recent months? Jenkins offered another answer vaguer than a non-verbal spell: "The Ministry is deploying all its resources to find them."
In an unexpected twist, Jenkins also announced an investigation into wizards recently acquitted or released after serving sentences for their involvement in the violent disruption of the Squib March a few years ago.
Do you remember that protest where Squibs were demanding rights? It ended in chaos, with a handful of poor souls in St Mungo's and others running for their lives.
The Minister did not specify how many individuals will be under surveillance but confirmed that teams of Aurors have already begun gathering information, hoping to uncover something more. Yes, dear reader, something connected to You-Know-Who.
I don't wish to sound alarmist, but… Inferi in the Thames, dead Muggles, missing wizards, and Jenkins running the Ministry into the ground. Does anyone else feel something beginning to smell a bit off?
But fear not, dear readers! Rita Skeeter is here to keep you informed. As of today, as the new Junior Editor at the Daily Prophet, I vow that no stone will be left unturned, no conspiracy left uncovered. The truth will be printed, whether the Ministry of Magic likes it or not.
Oh, and don't worry — if Minister Jenkins keeps trying to blow smoke, this humble writer has plenty of ink and even more questions.
Until next time, my dear readers. And remember: if something smells rotten, it probably is.
Rita Skeeter
Junior Editor
"Could it be false?" James muttered after reading a few pages.
"Oh no, not at all. Of course, they'd deny it—it would mean that dark wizards have killed many people to make those Inferi, and the Ministry failed to stop them. I'd wager most of the victims were Muggles, though some could be the witches and wizards who've been missing for months," Fleamont added sadly, stirring his tea.
James's face darkened, and he grimaced as if he'd bitten into something sour.
"That's disgusting. Why would anyone do that?"
"Because some wizards believe power is everything. They'll destroy anything that stands in their way. And being 'pure' gives them the right to destroy what they don't understand," Fleamont said gravely, bitterness and sorrow clouding his gaze.
James's grandfather always said that the last war had cost more than just lives. Perhaps that was why Fleamont hated the idea of another dark wizard rising. His mother had died trying to do the right thing, and all that was left of her were ashes. It was only natural that Fleamont feared losing someone he loved this time too.
"I don't understand how anyone can support them," James said. "Granddad says it's all nonsense."
"It is. If your grandfather were younger and his leg wasn't broken, he'd be at the Ministry demanding Jenkins resign," his father said confidently. After a long sigh, he added, "I just can't understand how respectable witches and wizards believe in all that blood purity rubbish You-Know-Who spouts. It's madness."
"Maybe it's a good thing she quits, after all, she doesn't seem to know what to do about it," James said, finishing his sandwich.
At that moment, Euphemia entered with a platter of strawberries, setting it down next to James.
"Oh, Fleamont, don't let James read those things! He's only a child," she said, gently pulling the newspaper away. James crossed his arms, scowling, and grabbed another roll, clearly offended.
"That's enough dark magic talk for today. I won't have it ruin our breakfast."
"Mum, I'm not a child any more! I'm eleven. I need to know what's happening out there," James protested.
Fleamont gave him a proud look, while Euphemia sighed and muttered something about "unconfirmed rumours."
"Alright, but only after you finish breakfast," she conceded at last.
Towards the end of the meal, as they chatted about the latest Quidditch news, Euphemia returned with a large cake and placed it in the centre of the table, beaming.
"And what's this?" James asked, eyeing his mother curiously.
Euphemia pulled an envelope from her apron pocket, her eyes sparkling with joy.
"It arrived this morning. Go on, love—read it," she said, her voice trembling with emotion and tears of happiness in her eyes.
James picked up the letter — it was the Hogwarts letter he had been waiting for so eagerly.
"Wow…" he said, drawing out the word to sound dramatic as he ran a finger along the edge of the envelope. "I thought this letter would arrive on my birthday, but when it didn't, I figured… maybe I was a Squib," he added with a mischievous grin, watching as his mother rolled her eyes and his father burst out laughing.
"What nonsense, James!" said Euphemia, half-laughing, half-exasperated. "With everything going on, it's no wonder they can't send out magical letters on time."
"You know, when I got my letter, it arrived months after my birthday. And back then, things weren't half as messy as they are now," his father added.
Unable to contain his excitement any longer, James pulled out the first page and unfolded it as if it were an ancient scroll.
"Right, right. Listen to this, Mr and Mrs Potter," he announced with a solemn air, clearing his throat:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump)
Mr James Henry Potter
West Heim, Street 327
England, Great Britain
Dear Mr Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1st September. We await your owl no later than 31st July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
"Well…" he said, scratching his head. "I thought it'd be longer. Is that it?"
"Read the next page, James," his mother gently urged, wiping her eyes. "I've dreamed of this moment for so long. For years, I was afraid there'd be no hope… and then you came along." Her voice wavered at the end, and Fleamont, smiling, pulled her into a tight hug.
Feeling awkward with all the emotion in the air, James shot a quick glance at his father, hoping for some relief. Fleamont gave him a knowing smile and raised his eyebrows.
"Go on, son, don't keep your mum waiting."
James shrugged with a mischievous grin.
UNIFORM
First-year students will need:
✓ Three sets of plain (black) work robes
✓ One plain black pointed hat for daily wear
✓ One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
✓ One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)
Please note that all students' clothing must be labelled with their name."
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand1 pewter cauldron, standard size 21 set of glass or crystal phials1 telescope1 brass scale
Course Books
All students must have a copy of the following books:
The Standard Book of Spells, First Year by Miranda GoshawkA History of Magic by Bathilda BagshotMagical Theory by Adalbert WafflingBeginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric SwitchOne Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida SporeMagical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius JiggerFantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newton ScamanderThe Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
Students may also bring an owl, a cat, a rat, or a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEAR STUDENTS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.
"No brooms of your own?" he repeated dramatically.
"Well, I suppose we'll be going to Diagon Alley very soon to buy all the things you need, dear," his mother said before giving him a kiss on the cheek and starting to serve the cake.
"Yes," James said, finishing his pumpkin juice. "I want to go to Ollivanders. I hope my wand is really good for charms."
"I'm sure you'll get a very good one. Ollivanders makes the best wands in all of Europe," his mother assured him while serving him the first piece of cake. James thanked her and enjoyed it, satisfied; it was his favourite cake, made with nuts and cherries.
"And what pet do you want, James?" his father asked.
"Well, I hadn't thought about it yet," James replied as he took a big spoonful of cake.
"A cat is always a good companion, love. I always wanted to have one," his mother said, sighing. "We'll buy whatever pet you want, even if it's a toad."
"No, Mum! No way! That's so old-fashioned!" James said. "An owl would be more useful."
"Then it's settled; an owl it will be. We'll go to London next week. I'll take the opportunity to make a list of ingredients I need for my experiments," his father said.
"But dear, you're already retired; why don't you take a little break?" his wife said.
"Darling, making potions and spells is like a break for me," he said while finishing his cake, to which James smiled. His wife just sighed, not mentioning anything else.
"Thanks, Mum," James said when he finished his cake. "Now that I know I'm not a squib, I'm going to practice the Jelly-Legs Jinx."
"Alright, dear," his mother said, picking up the dishes. "Wait… What did you say?"
But it was too late; James was already leaving the kitchen, carrying the Daily Prophet with him.
"He wasn't being serious, was he?" the woman asked her husband.
"Don't worry, love, I don't think so," the man said, calming his wife, who smiled more calmly and headed to the kitchen. "—Well, I think so," the husband added to himself.