Potter Tutelage

The grounds outside of the Potter home are green as the small lake on the grounds is filled with reeds and ducks with ducklings and other migrant birds, who have decided to nest there. The Potter home is a large red brick cottage-style home amid an enchanting-looking forest. A female doe with a fawn can be seen darting through the forest and trotting over to the lake to drink water.

Puffs of smoke waft from the kitchen chimney as the Potter house elf works in the kitchen. The Potter house elf, Nimmy, had salt-peppered hair, large, bubble-like blue eyes, small bat-like ears, and a long-pointed nose. She looked like the much older, female version of Dobby. And as it should be, since she was his much older sister though there was a very rather large age gap between the two of them.

Their parents had been permitted to mate twice by their owners and Dobby and herself had been the product of said consummation. The two of them had been handed over as toddlers to their respective families to the elderly house elf in charge of each said household to train them. She had been lucky to have been purchased by the Potters, but her younger brother, Dobby had been purchased by the Malfoy's. Malfoy Sr. was rather cruel and often he would punish Dobby leaving dark bruises and marks on the house elf's body.

Thankfully, over the past two years, everything had changed. Her younger brother Dobby not only looked happier but dressed differently too! Thanks to the kindness of his Master and Mistress Malfoy he had been sent to Hogwarts to be retrained. Admittedly, though Nimmy was pleased to see the happiness of her younger brother, sometimes she was dreadfully frightened by his outlandish ideas. Dobby spoke of being paid and having two days off every fortnight! It was enough to almost cause her to faint!

Nimmy hummed to herself as she worked, before charming the food to stay warm and transporting it into the dining room. Nimmy refrains from glancing at the Mistress's empty chair. Master Potter and his son had come so far after the mistress's death. She did not wish to remind the master of his loss.

Sitting in the dining room is an older wizard with wispy unruly hair and lukewarm hazel eyes, Fleamont Potter sits at the head of the table quietly reading a copy of the Daily Prophet. The front-page reads, "WHERE ARE THE DEATH EATERS NOW?! WHAT ARE THEIR PLANS? To find out more, turn to page 3." He is interrupted by the arrival of the family house elf.

"I have brought up a small breakfast as requested, Master Potter," Nimmy happily reported as she carefully set the floating food before her master." "Would Master Potter like sugar or cream with his tea?" As she served him a cup of black ear tea.

"I shall do it myself, Nimmy," Fleamont Potter declined as he poured two spoonsful of sugars into his cup of piping hot tea. He set his spoon on the saucer with a soft clink.

 "Nimmy will prepare a larger lunch for Master's godchildren," the diminutive house elf squeaked.

"Thank you, Nimmy, that will be all," Fleamont Potter graciously said, before reaching digging into a traditional English breakfast. He would need his strength to teach the two Prince grandchildren.

"Master Potter is most welcome!" Nimmy cheerfully squeaked, before popping away to check the guest rooms. She had already prepared the guest rooms and washed the linens. However, it couldn't hurt to check a second time to ensure everything was perfect!

Upstairs in his bedroom, James stands in front of a mirror. His unruly hair was long and somewhat tamed pulled back with a dark blue hair tie. He is slender but back to a healthy normal weight. He has a pair of thin, round spectacles that give him an air of maturity and intellect. He no longer looked like a boy, but a man. Yet it was not the man he once was, no, far from it.

The hazel eyes of James are drawn to the glint of light on the fourth finger of his left hand. The silver ring on his fourth finger is engraved with the Prince family crest, a wyvern coiled around a sharp dagger. The engraved wyvern is embellished with tiny sapphires.

The ring represented all that was different, it was the sign of his near unbreakable betrothal to Rowan Prince. At the mere mention of her name, James returns to the day of the attack on Hogsmeade. After the attack, he waited at Rowan's side fearing the worst.

With great relief, James had seen Rowan awaken and had walked with her through the halls of Hogwarts upon being discharged. Yet everything changed when Rowan accused him of not being who he said he was.

"The James Potter, I know cannot apperate nor duel like a seasoned Auror," Rowan raised her gaze to meet that of James. "Nor is he on a first-name basis with Madam Pomfrey to call her Poppy."

Pointing her wand straight at James, Rowan asked again. "I will not ask again, who are you!"

At the moment, James had told the truth only for Rowan to cast a cascade of spells. He had been relieved despite knowing nothing would be found. Yet his heart had nearly come to a halt when he heard the name of his son, "Harry Potter."

Sorrow and immeasurable disbelief could be felt then and even now. "How-? How do you know that name?" James had asked with a quiver in his voice. Yet he received no response even until now.

The reflection of James in the mirror presses his lips in a determined line as his fists clench determinedly together. The time of running was at an end. He will have his answers today. Rowan couldn't escape this time; she was a guest at the Potter home for the weekend.

With steadfast determination, James turned away from the mirror and descended to the dining room. His father glanced up to stare at him as James subconsciously avoided glancing at the empty seat of his mother. It was a sore topic that they both avoided discussing.

Sitting down James reaches for a slice of toast and butters it. "Is there anything of interest in the Daily Prophet?" He asked, before taking a crunch bite of his toast.

"Rubbish like always," Fleamont drily answered, before folding the paper in half and tossing it to the side of the table.

Eying his son, Fleamont says, "Professor McGonagall on behalf of Professor Babbling sent a letter regarding the open position of Gryffindor Quidditch Captain with the permanent resignation of Sirius Black as Captain."

"I am not interested," James stiffly answered. For it was the truth, he had all true interest in Quidditch. He had seen war and had lost all interest in playing. He did enjoy flying still, but it was on his own.

"I thought as much, son," Fleamont sheepishly admitted, "that I immediately turned down her offer on your behalf."

James arches his brow at his father but does not make a comment on his father's actions. He would have done the same if given the choice. He takes another bite of his toast before reaching for orange juice to wash down the toasted bread.

"Gryffindor will without a doubt be in trouble this year," Fleamont muttered under his breath. Especially since two of the most senior Quidditch players Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew would be gone from the team.

The two of them fall into a lapse of silence with the only sound heard in the dining room is that of cutlery. Finished eating, James pushes his chair back. "I will be going, Dad. I have summer homework to work on."

"James," Fleamont slowly said, "I am right proud of you, son. You know that right?"

"I know, Dad."

Fleamont guiltily glanced down at his plate of half-eaten food. "I understand that your betrothal to Rowan Prince was not of your choice," he half-apologetically said. "However, it is necessary," he glanced up to meet the hazel eyes of his son.

"I know," James sighed glancing away. "I'll be down for dinner. I wouldn't want to impose since this will be your first lesson with Rowan and Severus."

"Alright, James," Fleamont murmured watching his son walking out of the dining room. He reflectively turned to glance at the empty chair of his wife. He closed his eyes keeping the sorrow and pain at bay.

He did not know if his son would ever forgive him. Yet Fleamont in a heartbeat would gladly do so again if meant James would be protected. He had already lost Euphemia; he simply couldn't survive losing James. Not again.