‘James Potter?’ I heard a voice call out from behind, most likely a woman’s.
I sighed. Yes, I was called that all right. James Sirius Potter. James Potter II. But most commonly known as Harry Potter’s son.
Oh, yes. The same Harry Potter who saved the wizarding world from doom. My father, Harry Potter. Old enough to be a grandfather (well, almost one, seeing that Lily is expecting) and still, the fame hasn’t died out. He steps out of the house and is waved at by unknowns, his photographs still get clicked, strangers ask for his autographs. Same things happening since, one could say, fifty years, seeing that he was famous as an infant, too.
Fine, he defeated the bad guys, he gets the attention, but why me? I’m just a man who was born thanks to Harry Potter’s sperm. I get his genes, so I get all that excessive fawning, too? I can’t say that I’ve hated it since forever. It was nice at first. People were respecting me, getting things done my way, all that attention. But later, it became annoying. People started acting all fake to make me admire them, and I had no privacy whatsoever. Famous for something my father did, I, as a person was of no importance at all. Flattering much?
I always had wanted to play Quidditch as a professional. Modesty and boastfulness aside, I am a great player. I have inherited the skills from both of my parents after all. I was the Gryffindor Chaser at Hogwarts. I had had thoughts of joining some Quidditch team, but then I had realised that all that worshipping would get even worse. There would be press interviews, photo shoots and what not. I’d be Harry Potter’s son and a Quidditch star.
So, I started thinking what one job would there be which would be a challenge, use all my skills, and most important of all, wouldn’t receive too much press attention. I pondered for days until Charlie came to visit us, and then the answer came. A dragon tamer, of course!
It would be challenging. Merlin knew how much. No normal wizard would be able to do that. You needed to have that special power with the wand as well as lots of knowledge of spells. And amazingly, I’ve always found the Care of Magical Creatures class pretty easy. The best part: the press wouldn’t hound me. Fine, so they would be able to take a picture or two from far, but no one would dare to cross the dragons just to ask me questions.
So I had a talk with Charlie and my dad. Dad had some qualms but when he saw that I really wanted to do it, he agreed. My mother, surprisingly, didn’t argue at all. Mum’s cool that way. But I still expected some reasoning and explanation. Maybe it didn’t seem big for her because one of her brothers was working with dragons. It was decided that I would go with Charlie to the local dragon reserve and find out which other reserves would need my services. Several dragon reserves had vacancies and we went to each by Floo Network and then came back home after a very exhausting day.
Another talk took place the next day. And weighing the pros and cons, it was decided that I would go to the Chinese reserve. The most deciding factor for me was that no one would dream of me being there, so that meant no bloody Daily Prophet reporters.
Charlie had accompanied me again to the reserve. We had discussed things with the head tamer. He had given me a few tests in which I barely passed. It seemed that this work would be more difficult than expected. I was given the job because I had the potential to become much better, but I’d still be on probation for the first few months. That’s what Qi Fang, the head tamer, had said.
Then my living quarters were shown to me. They were right there! In the forest, at some distance from the dragons. Yes, private all right. Perfect!
I went home whilst Charlie went back to Romania. I started packing my stuff and moved in my new home a week later.
Mum and Dad were a bit sad to have me at such a distance, but they put a happy front. There was a dinner the day before I was to leave. The whole family was there and I was bombarded with goodbye hugs and presents and good luck wishes.
I had shifted to my new home the next day. A few well chosen spells and everything was clean. Some more spells with fluid hand movements and all my stuff was in place. It was a spacey place. Two bed rooms, a tiny kitchen, a lounge and a bathroom. Well, not huge, but more than enough for a bachelor like me.
I had become used to the place well. The weather was bearable, sometimes good even. I had also found friends in other tamers. I had passed the probation period. My wages had been upped. Mum and Dad visited me one month. I would visit them the next. I still sometimes came across screaming girls or reporters or photographers when I went to London, but it was better than before and I was content. Until now that is.
Over here, very few journalists knew who I really was. And even few town people. How in the world the person behind me had known who I was, I didn’t know.
‘James Potter?’ the voice called out again. Yes, definitely a woman. I decided to ignore her. If I wouldn’t reply, she would think that she had made a mistake and leave me alone. So I kept on walking.
The woman, it seemed, was difficult to ignore. She continued to follow me. I increased my walking speed.
‘JAMES SIRIUS POTTER!’ she bellowed. I stopped in mid step. I should talk to her or everyone would know who I was. Two people were already staring at me. Better have a hard time with one and keep the rest at bay.
I turned out slowly, a fake smile on my lips, excuse already half out. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear...’
‘Sure you didn’t,’ the woman retorted.
Huh? What kind of reporters talked to famous people like that? And what kind of a fan... woman shouted at her hero? Who was she?
I asked the question out loud. ‘Who are you?’
The woman smirked. ‘Why don’t you try to guess?’
Guess? I knew her then? Or was it some kind of a game? I stopped the annoyance from showing on my face. Dad had told me that press was bad, but that negative press was even worse.
‘I really don’t know,’ I replied truthfully.
‘Try...’ she insisted.
I swallowed another heated reply. I looked at her closely. She was tall, reaching my shoulder. She was fair and had brown locks. But what about the hair? Didn’t women dye them every other week in hopes that they would find a colour which would suit them? I couldn’t see her eyes, she had shades on. If only she would remove them...
She removed them! It seemed as if she had read my mind. I stared into her eyes... blue eyes. Fair skin, brown hair, blue eyes... I looked at her face again. She smiled. And something hit. That smile! The eyes! The hair!
‘You!’ I exclaimed out loud.