Family Ties
1971
There was some strange sad beauty in how nature was beginning to fade with the onset of autumn. The wind that pierces to the bones caught the red, orange and golden leaves and whirled them in the messy, oddly charming dance. It evoked thoughts about the "Danse Macabre" that was once glorified in his music by Saint-Saëns. Yet the summer still seemed to breathe in the back; the bright morning sun was hiding, ducking in and out of slowly passing cirrus clouds. The blue sky was brightening near the horizon, becoming faded, whitish. Somewhere out there you could still see a blurry haze of fog, now almost gone.
Even for half an hour before the noon, London was still seething like a stirred-up ant heap. The noise of cars stopped in traffic was punctuated with loud horns and mingled with the very hum that invariably accompanies passers-by rushing everywhere. There were still many of them although the morning rush hour had already passed; their breath glinted with silver vapor in the air that was cold after the last night that was so inappropriate for the warm sunlight shining in the windows of houses, on the sides of cars, on the wristwatches and spectacle frames. It looked like someone mixed two completely opposite seasons together but that was autumn, the time of changes and contrasts.
At the King's Cross Station, huge building of glass and stone, there seemed to be even more people than at the streets. The crowds of people scurried back and forth, hurrying to catch their train. The station caretakers, for all their small number, somehow managed to control the flow of people even in the midst of such chaos, trying to avoid stampedes and queues. There was a great deal of noise - someone constantly talked to someone, certain screams were heard from time to time, the rumble of carts and luggage, announcements on the loudspeaker about incoming and departing trains. In order to hear at least something among of such hubbub someone would have to almost scream, which, of course, only worsened the overall audibility.
In a word, there was nothing particularly surprising in the fact that practically no one paid attention to a small family of three, which slowly walked along the platforms, somehow overcoming the crowds of hurrying passers-by. At first sight, there was nothing unusual about these people; a child, a boy of about eleven, was pushing a cart in front of him, on which lay an iron-studded suitcase, followed by a man and a woman, obviously his parents. However, an attentive person would notice that family members didn't raise their voices when talking to each other, as if surrounding noise didn't bothered them at all. Moreover, for some reason no one was paying attention to either the married couple or their son, as if they weren't at the train station.
The boy's father was already an elder man with wrinkles cut into his skin, an old look in dark blue eyes and gray, breaking through his black, unruly hair and lush mustache, which made him looked like a retired military man. Despite his age, he seemed to be a man who is used to be respected, and having his opinions taken into account, and even in his sedate movements and in the way he held his cane, one felt tangible strength. His external appearance exuded wealth: the dark-gray three-piece suit with a black shirt and a silver tie, expensive-looking shoes, rectangular glasses in bronze frame on the nose, gleaming in the sun whenever the man turned his head a little, cautiously looking around.
The boy's mother who was walking on the arm of her husband, was a woman of an entirely different category; she seemed to be the same age as her spouse and gave the impression of an aged "femme fatale". There was a slightly haughty expression reigned on her face, which was the embodiment of aristocratic nobility despite the wrinkles. Her wavy hair of a copper color that already were beginning to turn gray was tied back into a tuft on the nape. A long lilac almost to the floor dress with white blazer on top, shoes in the latest fashion and the glossy leather bag testified to stern almost conservative views no less than hard strict look of warm but incredibly tenacious brown eyes. She occasionally stole side glances at her son if she felt that he was once again beginning to behave inappropriately in public.
The above-mentioned son was struggling to keep the calm face like his parents were, but unfeigned enthusiasm, excitement and anticipation from time to time have broken through it. He was clearly afraid of getting lost in the crowd and losing sight of his parents, but the impatience boiling in him prompted the boy to occasionally get too far ahead, then stop and wait until adults to catch up with him. He had inherited his hair from his father, and his eyes from his mother, and literally everything about his appearance, from brand new shoes and black trousers to a white shirt with a checkered jumper worn over it, screamed that he was taken care of, that they love him, that he’s carried in their arms. On his nose, like his father, he had glasses that were a little too big for him, because of which the boy had to constantly adjust them.
Finally, unnoticed by anyone and without attracting unnecessary attention, little James Potter – and this boy was exactly him – along with his parents approached the famous barrier between platforms 9 and 10, through which them had to go through in order to get from the Muggle part station in Magical; there was platform 9 ¾ right behind it, from which the Hogwarts Express took a new generation of young witches and wizards to the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry every first of September. The boy however got nervous when looked at the stone wall in front of him because it seemed to be very durable, but his mother approached him, put her arm around his shoulder and leaned to him saying:
"Come on, Jamie. Remember – not be afraid and not turning back. Do you want to go together?"
In the beginning, like any eleven-year old child, James wanted to insist that he obviously didn't need his parents' company; he is so grown up now and of course he can do everything by himself! But after some thoughts, the boy decided (for now) gave up on this. Only today, when there was almost no time left before Hogwarts he realized that he wouldn't see his parents until Yule, so there was nothing shameful in the desire to spent some more time with them. He would eventually have six more years of walking through enchanted barrier to prove his independence to himself and others. So James just nodded impatiently tightly gripping the cart handle with his tiny fists. His mother gave him a little nudge and them, accompanied by father, moved forward speeding up until they passed through brickwork. Fortunately, there was strong Muggle-Repelling Charm around the barrier so the surrounding people didn't notice anything; they were, in any case, too busy to actually pay attention to three people who suddenly disappeared right among the crowd.
James, meanwhile, admiringly stared at the scarlet steam engine gleaming with the wrought iron in the sun. A sign overhead said: "Platform 9 ¾. Hogwarts Express. Eleven o’clock". The steam and smoke coming out of the engine's chimney swirled in white clouds, plunging the platform into fog, which, however, dissipated quite quickly under the cold gusts of wind. It was almost as noisy here as it was on the other side of the barrier; students, some of whom had already changed into their uniforms, loaded suitcases onto the train, greeting each other with joyful exclamations after a long separation, cats meowed in the hands of their owners, owls in cages beat their wings and hooted. Sometimes pops were heard here and there and colorful lights flashed sparks of magic crackers. Finding himself in the midst of this hubbub, James suddenly became bolder and, without waiting for his parents, moved forward, as if looking for someone, and soon the search was successful.
"Sirius!" he shouted across the platform with a big smile on his face, and rushed forward completely forgetting about the cart.
The boy he addressed looked like a real nobleman, despite the fact that he was wearing simply black trousers, a black waistcoat and white shirt with a black tie; his face, still childishly round, already showed the features of an emerging careless beauty, only emphasized by deep gray eyes. His hair was black, but unlike James' it was smooth and obedient, going down to his shoulders in long waves. Hearing his name, he turned around just in time, because the next second James grabbed him in a hug, ignoring the fact that a lot of people were looking at him; Sirius, however, responded in kind. Only a dissatisfied and very loud tongue clicking, heard nearby, made the boys break away from each other and introduce themselves properly.
"Merry meet, Uncle Orion and Aunt Wally," James greeted the Black heir and his wife, straightening his back and put on a polite face; he knew firsthand about Sirius' mother's meticulousness in manners and tried not to annoy her once again. "Hi, Reg," he nodded to a quiet boy a year younger than Sirius who, given the fact that they were wearing similar clothes, looked almost indistinguishable from his brother, except for his short hair and black eyes; he was holding on to his brother and looked very insecure, and when he heard that he was greeted he absently muttered greeting as if he wasn't sure he was the one being addressed.
"Merry meet, James" responded Sirius' parents. Uncle Orion sounded mostly indifferently, but in Aunt Wally's voice was overt coolness, and her glare pierced him like a knife. However, James knew her well enough to realize that woman had been irritated since the morning and his "inappropriate" behavior was just another red rag for her.
Aunt Wally's dissatisfaction, however, evaporated rather quickly when James's parents arrived, bringing with them the luggage he had abandoned. The woman smiled warmly at the boy's mother since she was related to her, and much less warmly at his father, who paid no attention to this and responded with polite smile. The adults started to talk, and James returned to the conversation with his best friend, taking advantage of the fact that no one else was paying attention to them.
"It's good to see ya, Siri," James grinned and lightly hit the other boy's shoulder.
"It's mutual, Jamie," Sirius snorted, "Got here okay? Honestly, I thought you'd come later."
"No, we had no problems," shrugged James, "the muggles are so noisy there that they probably wouldn't notice a dragon."
"There's only three of you," Sirius sighed, looking somewhat sleep-deprived, "And we couldn't decide whether to wait for the cousins or not. The hassle was enough for the whole morning." He glanced at Aunt Wally who was speaking to James's mother about something, looking not very pleased, "Mom was complaining all the way about the Ministry's refusal to install a public fireplace on the platform; you see, it's a 'tradition' to run through barrier."
"That actually explains why she is so annoyed", James muttered also looking at his Aunt, "I mean ever more annoyed than usual."
James had significantly more relatives on his mother's side than on his father's and he was obliged to know them all like any respectful pureblood heir, including those who belonged to other families, one way or another related to his own. Walburga Black, whom James used to call "Aunt Wally" from childhood, was a pale and thin woman with sharp features, curly black hair pulled back into a tight bun, and cold gray eyes that both of her sons inherited. She was James' cousin, despite the colossal age difference, and her husband Orion, a man with a slicked-back dark hair, moustaches in the French style, sunken cheeks and slightly bulging brown eyes, was both his cousin-in-law and second cousin. James, studying the family tree, tried not to think too much about it. They both were dressed in very old-fashioned muggle dress and three-piece suit, respectively, and in the same color palette of black, green and silver.
However, although he was annoyed by the endless attempts to remember who all these people were to him, many of whom he had never even talked to, he was glad to know something. For example, the fact that his childhood friend Sirius, with whom they practically grew up, and whom he considered his brother in everything but blood, was actually his relative – specifically, his cousin-nephew, like his younger brother Regulus. However, this was only a small part of the very extended Black family; there was also Walburga's younger brother, Cygnus, a man with a fox-like face and a short beard, and his wife Druella, a regal lady with light blond hair styled in a complex hairstyle. And this is not even to mention their three daughters who by the way at this very moment appeared on the platform with their parents through the Sirius' mutterings "Speak of the devil..."
James rarely spoke with Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Ella, against which, fortunately, they did not object too much. On the other hand, he knew quite well his cousin-nieces since two of them still went to Hogwarts; the youngest one, Cissy, was a pale, blue-eyed blonde with a constant expression of polite indifference on her face that made her look like a living marble statue. It looks like she was going to the fifth year. The middle niece Dromeda was the one who James liked the most – with brown hair and a heart-shaped face, she was friendly and easy to get along with. To James, who was drawn to anything fun, spending time with her was pure enjoyment so he was a little bit upset that this was Dromeda's last year at Hogwarts. Lastly, the oldest one, Bella, was reputedly the exemplary daughter of Black lineage; a thick mop of black wavy hair dropped to her shoulders, dark eyes looked at the world with arrogand coolness out from under her heavy eyelids, and something rampant, almost mad was showing up sometimes in the pale features of her face. She was never at a loss for words and did not hesitate to pull out her wand for any reason, so James, frankly, was a little afraid of her.
"I can't believe you two are leaving already," suddenly said Regulus. He had been silent till then and watched Black sisters said goodbye to each other while their parents joined conversation with Potters and other Blacks, "And Cissy is about to finish Hogwarts..."
"And then what, get married as soon as possible?" wondered James. He knew not by hearsay how respectful and noble was Black lineage, so it is no wonder that almost every pureblood family tried to be related to it.
"Dunno," shrugged Sirius, "The Malfoy heir courting her and she's constantly looking at him too. Dromeda, I heard, is a careerist and don't want to get married. And Bella, well... You know how she is. Forcing her into the marriage is more expensive. Did you hear mom told what Bella did to the guy who touched her where women shouldn't be touched?"
James nodded, grimacing. According to Aunt Wally, the daredevil was in the hospital for several weeks; Bella casted some really nasty curse right at his... Well, in short, the chances were high that poor fellow won't be able to have children.
"Yeah, that's it," Sirius grinned gloomily, "I heard that Lestrange heir hangs out with her now, and then only because he's the only one brave enough to make advances toward her."
"Ugh..." James grimaced, "Who'd want to spend time with girls anyway? They are so boring... Especially with the girls like Bella. Although the ones at Ministry's balls are not much better. They all look like dolls dressed to the nines and always walk in flocks until they make you to dance with them."
Sirius couldn't help laughing at that moment, despite a desperate attempts to remain calm. Sirius couldn't help laughing at that moment, despite a desperate attempts to remain calm, and even the quiet Reg smiled slightly with the corners of the lips. Shortly thereafter, the conversation moved onto abstract topics; James and Sirius staged a heated discussion about Quidditch, and Sirius' younger brother suddenly stunned them with an announcement about his wish to be a Seeker for his House's team. Meanwhile, more people began to arrive at the platform, and trio immediately came up with a game – try to guess which families people passing by were from. Most of them of course were from old wizarding families, and the boys personally knew them; some of them came to their Manor to a social call, but mostly it were Potters who were invited at the various social events. It could be boring sometimes, but James' parents were right – it was a great opportunity for the young heirs to meet each other and find a beneficial (or not) friendship.
The first one they met was Frank Longbottom, a boy a year older than them, with whom they communicated quite warmly, although they couldn't be called friends. They were able to have a word with him and even exchange the latest news before the his mother, an imposing lady in a dark-green dress, wearing a hat with a stuffed vulture and carrying a large red handbag, led him to the train. Soon, Lucius Malfoy joined them; a well-groomed and deliberately distinguished-looking sixth year with a shining Slytherin prefect badge on his chest. He was the James' father's godson and, respectively, James' godbrother but their relationship was limited to a small talk both because of age difference and Lucius' patronizing attitude that annoyed Potter. The Malfoy heir warmly greeted James' dad, briefly nodded to the kids and had a quick chat with them, then hurried to Cissy whose lips curved into a smile at the sight of him.
Meanwhile, they began to notice more and more recognizable faces – Prewetts, Shacklebolts, Turpins, Gamps... Naturally, Sirius guessed faster than James each time. After all, Blacks have always been part of the influential circles of a pureblood society, which could not be said about Potters who despite being a purebloods were content with solid and comfortable existence in the backwaters. However even despite this, the boys had some fun, even though they met many of these families only at Ministry's balls, especially those who have traditionally been the "light" ones. And it was not just a reclusive lifestyle, but also the fact that "light" families for a long time were somewhat suspicious of the "neutrals" to which Potters belonged. It could never be said which side they would choose in the next war; the "greys" were "greys" just because they cared for their own advantage not some political or ideological ideals.