Poetry
“I can’t WHAT?!” were the first words to come out of Jennifer Wood’s mouth as soon as she had regained consciousness.
When James had left his team mates to go get help, he had run through the fog blindly trying to find his way back to the change rooms. After what felt like hours, he finally stumbled into the change rooms and then out them as fast as he came in. He dashed across the Hogwarts grounds and raced into the main entrance. Once there, he saw (most conveniently) Professor McGonagall walking down a nearby hallway and yelled with all his strength to get her attention.
“Potter!” said Professor McGonagall as she came over to a James who was gasping for air. “I’ve been looking for you. Professor Dumbl- “
“Jennifer Wood has been injured in a Quidditch practice! We need to get her to the Hospital Wing, now!” mustered James as he panted to catch his breath.
His cheeks were a dark scarlet colour from the cold and running.
Immediately, Professor McGonagall went into action by contacting Madam Pomfrey and then making her way through the fog with a spell in order to get to Jennifer. She checked if Jennifer was alright, and Madam Pomfrey came rushing out with a floating stretcher a few minutes later to carry Jennifer to the Hospital Wing.
It turned out that Jennifer had been knocked unconscious (presumably by a Bludger) and by falling off her broom had broken her leg in the process. The Bludger inevitably caused a severe concussion to her head and produced a slightly cracked skull.
The team stayed with Jennifer until the late hours of the night when she had just woken up abruptly.
“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me!” yelled Jennifer as her eyes widened at Madam Pomfrey. “I can’t play?! WHY THE BLOODY HELL NOT?!”
Keira and Skye sighed wearily.
“You are unfit to play, Miss Wood,” answered Madam Pomfrey matter-of-factly. “The game is the day after tomorrow. With that concussion, delicate skull, and broken leg, you are in no shape to play.”
“You can cure bones in one night though!” whined Jennifer, and the team groaned.
“I can, but the bones are still sensitive after, and I don’t have anything that can get rid of that concussion. I’m sorry, but you are not going anywhere, and that is final.” With that, Madam Pomfrey turned on her heel and walked into her office, slamming her door along the way.
Jennifer plopped her back irritably onto her pillows again as the team looked at her.
“Now what are we going to do? How are we going to win this game?” asked Keira dejectedly, clearly expressing what the whole team was thinking. She opened her mouth one more time to say “I told you so”, but decided against it.
The rest of the team noticed this and quietly sighed with relief.
Jennifer gazed off in front of her as she put her hand in front of her mouth in a thinking stance. The team peered at Jennifer silently in nervous anticipation.
“I’ve got it!” she shouted suddenly, and the whole team jumped almost two feet into the air. “I’m bloody brilliant, guys! Here’s the plan…”
James yawned as he left the Hospital Wing. Jennifer had run through the “plan” so many times it was tiring. She told them all the techniques that the team needed to use, and all the switches with players she needed to make. Jennifer decided that the best spare to play a Chaser would be a girl in third year named Fiona Locke.
He rumpled the back of his hair as he turned the corner of an empty corridor on his way back to the Gryffindor common room.
Seeker. It was ironic. He was going to play Seeker in replacement of Jennifer.
I wonder what Evans would say. thought James instantly, and just as quickly, he tried to wipe her from his mind.
“James Potter, listen to me,” Jennifer had said when the rest of team had left. “You are playing Seeker in my position, and you are also going to be replacement captain. You had better enforce these plans, do you understand me?!”
“Really Jen, it’s OK. I think we’ve got it- “
“No! Listen to me, Potter! I am giving you a chance to be captain here, and you had better do well with that honor.”
“Jen, really, I don’t need to be capt- “
“Don’t give me crap, Potter! Take my badge, and also- ” She looked around suspiciously and cautiously (even though there was nobody else present in the room) before continuing her sentence, “-I have this special superstition that works every time.”
James stifled a bewildered expression. She was really getting creepy.
“You know the prefects’ bathroom?”
James nodded unsurely.
“Every night before a game, I take a bath in there with bubbles, and I mean a lot of bubbles.”
Don’t laugh, don’t laugh! For Merlin’s sake, don’t laugh, James Potter! shouted James’s conscience.
“So what does that have to do with- “ started James, but he was instantly cut off by Jennifer.
“You prat, Potter!” she snapped. “You have to take a bath in my place!”
“I- What?!”
“You heard me!”
“Are you sure it works every time? I mean what about that last game against Hufflepuff?” questioned James skeptically while praying that he could persuade Jennifer otherwise.
“I didn’t take one.”
“What about that time against Slytherin last year?”
“No bubbles.”
James rolled his eyes.
“Thanks, Potter. The password is ‘gillywater’.”
James slipped into the common room silently and saw the common room fire still burning brightly. Taking a seat in a large arm chair, he stretched and glanced into the flames. As he did so, his thoughts wandered away from him.
He hated to admit it, but he was tired. Not physically, for he felt neither weathered nor fatigued, but mentally: he was exhausted beyond anything he had ever experienced before. It seemed as though there was something tugging at his soul, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was or even if there was anything there at all.
You’re missing a part of yourself, James.
He shook his head uneasily. He was moping like some sad actor in a Muggle soap opera. He couldn’t even forget one, single girl that briefly touched his life, if one could even call that touch “brief”. It wasn’t like he had dated her, or “gone out” with her. His “brief” touch was so brief, it was as if he had never interacted with her at all.
James shifted in his seat uncomfortably to notice something poking him awkwardly in the side. Glancing down, he dug his hand into his pant pocket to pull out a crumpled piece of cream coloured parchment. He abruptly remembered that Professor McGonagall had unnoticeably slipped him a piece of parchment sometime during the whole fiasco with caring for Jennifer in the Hospital Wing.
Unraveling the note carefully, James peered down at it to notice to his great interest that it was in the headmaster’s (Professor Dumbledore) hand writing. The ink curved neatly and fluently into a few short sentences that ended with an entrancing signature that one couldn’t help but admire.
Dear Mr. Potter,
I would like to inform you that I request your company tomorrow night at eight o’clock. There are some items of interest I would be intrigued to discuss. I hope this is of no inconvenience for you, and if it is, please notify me to reschedule. The password is lemon licorice. Thank you for your most gracious time.
Professor Dumbledore
James exhaled after running his eyes swiftly through the paper three more times.
Professor Dumbledore had to talk to him? Why? The headmaster rarely had time to discuss with students, let alone him. He had spoken to Professor Dumbledore before, but had never been invited so formally to a private meeting. Did it have anything to do with his parents? Were they OK?
A jolt of anxiety instantly hit him, and he shot his eyes back down onto the parchment. Luckily, to James’s relief, he noticed that the tone of the letter didn’t seem to fit into discussing a “tragedy” that had happened. It was as if Dumbledore was interested in something, and the letter seemed to hold an almost humorous feel to it.
James lifted an eye brow tiredly and browsed through the letter a few more times before deciding that sleep and time was what he needed right now.
The next day, James wondered about the letter from Dumbledore. He told and showed the letter to the other Marauders during breakfast in the Great Hall. The group was just as curious as James was, but they did not carry any answers.
“Maybe he’s going to teach you how to do some crazy advanced magic!” squeaked Peter excitedly, almost jumping out of his seat from excitement.
“Oh, calm down before you crap your knickers,” Sirius told Peter sharply.
Peter flushed a bright shade of scarlet.
“Well, I guess the only way we’ll find out what the letter means will be by waiting until eight o’clock tonight,” concluded Remus, and the rest of them agreed.
James would just have to be patient.
Unfortunately for him, the time would crawl away slowly. James found himself glancing at the clock in every class he became restless in. His absent-mindedness even began to affect his abilities as he ended up adding too much ivy root into a bubbling cauldron he was working on with Sirius in Potions.
“Whoa, mate! What the hell do you think you’re doing there?!” yelped Sirius as their cauldron turned a dark lavender colour and overflowed onto the table.
The whole class turned to glance at the two back away from the cauldron as the liquid continued to flow out onto the table and then the floor. Professor Slughorn seemed to just become aware that there was a commotion happening in the middle of his classroom.
James instantly whipped out his wand and yelled a spell to turn the over-boiling pot into a large ivy plant.
“Quite ingenious there, Mr. Potter,” came Professor Slughorn’s voice. “I know that Professor McGonagall would be extremely pleased, but unfortunately, this isn’t Transfiguration class.”
The class giggled.
“Well, Professor, I think our creation would work the best to your advantage,” stated James with his mouth curving into a grin.
“Why is that?” questioned Professor Slughorn almost annoyingly.
“We all know how Mrs. Slughorn, your mother, loves ivy plants, and you’ve told us that she has informed you so many times the exact date of her birthday,” said Sirius with a grin plastered on his face as well.
“I believe her birthday was yesterday,” finished James, and Professor Slughorn turned a bright crimson before dashing ungracefully into his office to contact his mother to wish her a happy “belated” birthday.
The class erupted into laughter.
Sirius and James turned to each other as they admired their large, somewhat ugly, ivy plant in triumph.
Finally, eight o’clock rolled around, and James left the dormitory somewhat nervously, though it didn’t show. He ran down a seventh floor hallway with his book bag (carrying a towel, Jennifer’s Quidditch badge, and his invisibility cloak for the bath he would take in the prefects’ bathroom after) slung around his shoulder. His scarlet and gold tie bustled up and down as he swung around a corner. At last, he halted in front of a large, stone, gargoyle statue.
“Lemon licorice,” stated James, and the gargoyle immediately sprang to the side to reveal a huge, spiraling, marble staircase.
Stepping onto a stair, it immediately escalated him upwards to a large, prominent, oak door. James took a deep breath and right before he knocked on the door, it opened to show Professor Dumbledore sitting at his desk.
“Ah, Mr. Potter. Come in,” greeted Dumbledore as James stepped into the grand circular room lined with sleeping portraits. “I am so glad you could make it tonight. I do believe it was a bit of a late notice.”
“Oh, no problem, sir,” replied James, who was suddenly filled with confidence as he approached the headmaster’s claw-footed, oak desk while glancing at the magnificence of the gently lit marble room.
“Take a seat,” said Dumbledore, and James did so. “Lemon drop?” he offered warmly.
James shook his head politely with a smile. “No thank-you, Professor.”
“Lemon licorice? I do say they are my utmost favourite at the moment.”
“Uhh- Sure. Yes please, sir,” replied James as he caught site of a box holding bright yellow coloured sticks behind Dumbledore.
“Ah, excellent choice.” The headmaster swiveled his chair to face the shelf behind him, grasped a yellow stick, and handed it to James.
James felt the rubbery texture of the piece of candy before taking a cautious bite. Professor Dumbledore adjusted his seat and interlocked his fingers on his surprisingly empty desk.
“The lemon, I must say, is much more tasteful than the strawberry,” informed Dumbledore matter-of-factly, and James almost choked on his licorice from stifling a laugh.
“Though I must admit, blueberry is quite ingenious. The black type was very intriguing as well though,” continued Dumbledore.
“You should try the grape flavour sometime,” added James jokingly, and for a split second, he was slightly worried he had perhaps offended the headmaster.
To his relief, however, Dumbledore’s lips curved into a smile.
After swallowing forcefully, James said, “I don’t mean to be rude, sir, but I am in a bit of a rush, and I was wondering why- “
“Why I asked you to come? Oh, dear boy, I thought you’d never ask.” Dumbledore glanced over to a shelf across the room where a thick, leather bound book floated gently onto his desk.
Dumbledore opened the book and flipped through the pages with lightening speed. It surprised James that a person at such an age could “flip” that fast.
“Ah, here it is,” Dumbledore leaned in closer to the large encyclopedia while adjusting his half-moon spectacles. “James potter, you said you’d like to be an Auror in the future, is that correct?”
“That is correct, sir,” replied James curiously.
“And you said you wanted to be one because- “ Dumbledore glanced down and squinted at the paper. “-‘that is the only smart job’?”
James tried to force himself to stay calm, but he couldn’t stop an inevitable blush creep across his face. When he wrote that a year ago, he was just being a bloody, joking jerk. He didn’t expect anybody to actually read it.
Sensing James’s thoughts, Dumbledore continued, “Do not be worried about your answer you wrote, Mr. Potter. In fact, I found it quite entertaining and familiar seeing as I believe I wrote something somewhat similar to that in my fifth year. I recall, however, wording it differently. Perhaps I wrote, ‘I am differently intelligent’? I don’t quite remember the exact words.”
James smiled gratefully.
“May I inform you though, Mr. Potter, that becoming an Auror is not an easy task. Auror training can be extremely difficult and has sometimes taken its toll on the most cleverest and brightest of wizards and witches.”
“Do you not want me to be an Auror, then?” questioned James, slightly reproachful, though he didn’t want to be.
“You misunderstand me, dear boy. I am saying that when one has no interest in certain ‘job opportunities’ presented to him or her, it might be wise to rethink the options for that individual. There is no doubt that you could graduate with flying colours- given your talents and skills- and go into the Auror faculty, but I am unsure that that is what you really have a certain passion for.”
James felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. He didn’t know how Dumbledore could have known.
“I just don’t want you wasting your years away in something that might not be what you want to do with your life, James. Do you understand?”
James nodded and replied, “Yes, Professor.”
“Ah, excellent,” grinned Dumbledore. “You possess great talent, and I know that it will take you very far. I’m glad you’re choosing to rethink. I can’t help but feel slightly uneasy when somebody wants to go into something so difficult as Auror training only to- “ Dumbledore peered down at the large text again, “- ‘do really cool, secret stuff’. Is that it?”
James flushed scarlet once again. “Yes, sir, that is correct.”
Dumbledore glanced up at a clock hanging on the wall and said, “Well, you best be off, James. You don’t want to take a hot soak too late at night.”
“Thank you, Professor,” said James, and he walked out of the door in deep thought.
As soon as he stepped out of the door though, James realized that Dumbledore had said something very peculiar. Turning, he started, “But Professor, how did you know I was going to…”
Unfortunately for James, the headmaster’s door was already closed shut tightly behind him.
James walked down to the third floor slowly. He was plunged in thought with his discussion with Dumbledore. The headmaster had known but how? James despised to admit it, but even at the age of sixteen, he was unsure about what he wanted to do with his life. He had no idea what he wanted to achieve or accomplish. James didn’t even think too far into the future, let alone his future. The farthest he had ever thought was when he planned a prank three weeks in advance last year.
As he contemplated with his thoughts, he swung around a corner only to bang into somebody head on. Quickly recovering himself, he bent down to pick up the books he had made the person drop to see a patch of dark violet hair already doing so.
“Audrey?” James asked, and she glanced up from gathering up her books. “Audrey!”
“James!” she said immediately and dropped her books she had just gathered to hug him. “How are you? I haven’t talked to you in ages.”
“I’m doing alright. Here, let me grab those for you.” James bent down and grasped all the books in one swoop. “Where are you heading?”
“Back to the common room, because curfew is in ten minutes. Shouldn’t you be getting back as well?” she asked suspiciously as the two started to walk toward the Ravenclaw common room.
“Of course I’m going back to the common room. Where else would I be going?” questioned James with a playful, hurt look in his eye.
Audrey raised an eyebrow as she grinned.
“I heard from Sirius that you were made captain for Gryffindor’s game tomorrow,” said Audrey as the two turned a corner.
James nodded with a smile.
“Don’t expect me to cheer for Gryffindor. We are still rivals, you know. I’ve already made a bet with Sirius that Ravenclaw would win,” continued Audrey as she eyed James.
“I hope you didn’t bet too much, because you’re going to lose it.”
Her face fell slightly at this comment, but James hadn’t noticed.
James chuckled and peered at Audrey’s books he was holding. “What are you reading?”
“Poetry. Muggle poetry to be exact.”
“Muggle poetry?”
“Yes, some Muggles were absolutely amazing poets. Take for example, William Shakespeare. He was a literary genius!”
“I’m sure he was,” stated James sarcastically.
“You don’t believe me?” interrogated Audrey as she halted to a stop, and so did James. “I’ll show you.” She grasped a thick, brown covered book from James and flipped open a page.
James watched her chocolate eyes survey each page carefully and quickly.
“Here we go. Listen to this sonnet, Mr. Sarcastic.” She cleared her throat. “’Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake…’”
Audrey continued to read the rest of the sonnet as James listened. Her words came into his ear, but they seemed to slip out just as fast as they had entered. When Audrey finally finished, she glanced up at him with an inquiring look as if to say, “Well? What do you think?”
“It was,” started James, the first to break the momentary silence, “interesting.”
“You didn’t understand it at all did you?” asked Audrey bluntly as she closed the book.
“Uhh…”
“You and Sirius are just awful!” she exclaimed as she lightly punched him in the arm. “I can never seem to get you two to see the whole meaning and symbolism behind poetry.”
The two continued walking and conversing about poetry until they finally reached the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room.
“Well, if he spoke normal English, I could maybe understand it better,” argued James jokingly as he handed Audrey her books.
She rolled her eyes tiredly.
“Well, you see, that’s the reason I don’t like poetry,” said James with a triumphant smirk. “I don’t understand it.”
“I have to disagree with you,” persisted Audrey. “I believe everybody has the potential to enjoy poetry, and I promise you that I will find a poem that you will enjoy, maybe even touch you, James Potter.”
James smiled. “Good luck with that.”
Audrey gave him a sideways grin before saying goodnight and clambering into the common room.
He waved goodnight to her, and after she left, he made his way to the prefects’ bathroom on the fifth floor. Once he was at the entrance, he spoke the password and his eyes were met with a white marble covered room. The candle-lit chandelier immediately flickered on at his presence and hot water started to fill the large tub automatically. James gasped slightly at the magnificence of the room as he undid his Gryffindor tie and unbuttoned his white shirt. He dropped his bag by a marble pillar and threw his clothes on top. With only his black swimming trunks on, he slipped into the tub and turned some of the golden taps to fill the tub with bubbles, just as Jennifer had instructed him to do.
When the tub finally filled to its maximum, it stopped. James sat down and leaned his back against a side of the pool as he glanced at the diving board located opposite of him. There were many bubbles fluttering around the room as the scent of the bubble bath soaked the air and wafted into James’s nostrils.
He closed his eyes as he exhaled the intoxicating cinnamon smell. Grasping his glasses, he clumsily placed them behind him on a dry ledge.
The bath seemed to swirl James’s mind around without any direction, and he felt sleepy. His head felt heavy, so he leaned it back on the edge of the ledge. As his thoughts clouded and consumed his brain, there was one thing he couldn’t help but keep thinking of above the rest of his restless thoughts. There was no reason for it or explanation, but by some force, certain words kept coming into his mind: Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate…
Sonnet credited to: Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day? by William Shakespeare