Chapter 1: Intro

It is wonderful to be James Black. Believe me. How many fourteen years old boys can say they spent their birthday in one of Marseilles' best nightclubs with their friends? Or spent the same night in the arms of a naked goddess? Anyway, we'll get to that later.

Now, you may wonder, what kind of parent would let their underage child spend a night in a nightclub drinking? The answer is simple: Sirius Black. Though, to be honest, Sirius isn't my real father. My name isn't even James Black. My real name is one big secret.

I was born Harry James Potter. I was to grow up as a Potter. But life rarely goes according to the plan. 'Man makes plans, and God laughs,' and all that nonsense.

According to my father/godfather/creepy uncle/dog, when I was a little over one-year-old, an insane murderer named Voldemort - I know, what a funny name! - hunted me down, killed my parents, tried to kill me and blew himself up.

For the record; yes, I'm that awesome.

Sirius became my guardian. But that wasn't the end of the story. No, of course not. This is my life. It's inconceivable to imagine anything in my life could be that simple. This Voldemort bad dude had a bunch of followers who were also bad dudes. Aurors caught over sixty of those bad dudes of secondary importance. The thing is, Voldemort had two hundred followers at the height of his power and that is without counting werewolves, dementors and many other creatures. Over seventy of those followers had reportedly died before his fall. That means at least sixty of them are still walking around.

Thus, it was deemed too dangerous to be me by the higher beings called adults. Albus and the rest came up with a plan. Harry Potter didn't go to his godfather like he should have. No, he went to the other side of the pond, to the U.S of A with his muggle relatives.

To be honest, I don't know if my aunt's family actually left Britain and I find myself disinclined to care.

It was only a coincidence when Sirius confessed to fathering a bastard boy with a muggle girl he picked up at a bar. Thus was born my new identity, James William Black, only known by four people; Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black.

It wasn't a hard convince people of my new identity, mainly because Sirius was, and still is, a serious womaniser. I mean, the guy cannot keep it in his pants. Though I am told he has matured. Believe what you will.

Now, it's at this point I must make things clear. Sirius is the head of House Black. House Black is rich. Not wealthy by any means but when combined with the nothing-to-scoff at Potter vault, Sirius and I make a family with no financial worries.

To keep away from the Death Eaters -seriously, who the fuck named these people? Is having a bad, made-up name is a necessity when joining the dark side? - Sirius, Remus, and I moved to France; into a lovely, small villa just outside of Marseille. The last surviving sons of the Black and Lupin families opened a small shop, analysing and de-cursing objects, in Colline de Mélodies Douces- a magical town in Marseille- and life went on.

I was five when I first started showing an inkling of my potential. I could levitate and move light objects. Being the son of a Marauder, I acted like the mature kid I am. Like stealing ice-cream from the fridge, dropping a bucket of water on a sleeping godfather, lifting up women's skirts so Sirius would buy me ice cream.

Okay, I wasn't a do-gooder, but I was awesome, dammit!

I was six when I found a baby fox, or he found me. He was six inches long without his tail and twelve inches with his tail. I, in my infinite wisdom, adopted this stray. It took some effort to convince Sirius, Mr responsible adult. It was all blood and tears.

Okay, there was no blood, but it involved a lot of puppy eyes and waterworks. I named him Puck from a character in a play, called 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'. I know, not exactly suitable for a child my age but Sirius had to take me when uncle Moony couldn't babysit me for one of Sirius' dates. I'm sure I earned him points with the lady he was with, whatever her name was.

It was grandpa Albus who first realised Puck wasn't your regular fox. He's a rare magical creature: a raiju. Raijus are known to be playful little creatures associated with thunder and mischief. He's usually a genial little fellow but can get a little restless during stormy weather or when I am upset.

When I was seven, Sirius began to teach me magic; wand magic. Though, for obvious reasons, I didn't have a wand yet so Sirius would lend me his only during our lessons.

It wasn't until I was nine that Albus agreed I was responsible enough to get a personal wand. It must have taken a lot of effort and money on Sirius' part to get me a permit but it was the best birthday gift a boy could ask for. What type of wand did you get, you may ask. Thirteen inches of beech wood with a whisker from a raiju named Puck. The wandmaker confessed to his lack of knowledge on what properties a wand core made of Raiju whiskers may have. He wasn't keen on the idea but, as always, my stubbornness prevailed. He said beech wood wands excel in artistry and prefer a match with the wise.

I told you I was awesome.

Okay, I know the wand does not make the wizard but I was a child with a stubborn streak a mile wide and a cool familiar. There was no way they were going to convince me to accept any core but of my familiar's whiskers. And frankly, I don't think it was a mistake.

With my new wand at hand, my magical education started in earnest. It wasn't long before we realised, while I was good at charms, I was a prodigy in transfiguration. Even grandpa Albus said I was much better than he was at my age. In hindsight, he may have been messing with me, seeing as he got his first wand at the old age of eleven.

One can never be sure with him. He's a crafty… fella.

By the time I was eleven and ready to go to Hogwarts, I was already capable in second-year charms and third-year transfiguration. Believe me, aunt Minerva and Professor Flitwick were ecstatic about my performance. I was a prodigy, they said. I should skip the first two years on their subject, they said.

I was happy to refuse. Who in their right mind would refuse the chance to spend more time in Hogwarts just to face the real world earlier? Besides, I could very well learn ahead with individual study without having to take classes with students two years my senior.

My first year was action-packed. Like my second year. And my third. In all honesty, my life since starting Hogwarts has been action-packed, period.

During my first year, I killed a mountain troll and a professor. Let's not forget my little jaunt to the Forbidden Forest where a centaur named Firenze saved me from certain death; or the time my three friends and I smuggled a baby dragon out of the castle.

Man, are we cool, or what?

My second year started out great. I was getting better and better at magic under the tutelage of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the vanquisher of Grindelwald, master of transfiguration and alchemy, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, discoverer of the thirteen uses of dragon blood, the shape of Voldemort's boggart, pet of Fawkes the Phoenix and lover of candies.

Okay, 'lover' of candies sounded dirtier than it did in my head but, well, Albus has a serious case of sweet-tooth.

Funny anecdote; when I asked grandpa Albus which of his titles he liked the best, he answered by popping a candy into his mouth. Make of that what you will.

Anyway, I was under the mentorship of one of the greatest wizards of the modern times; and it was paying off. Unfortunately, my life is never that simple or easy. Turns out, there are house-sized magical spiders in the forbidden forest. It's a good thing that damn forest is forbidden. God forbid, a gentle half-giant may send children there for detention, or a gentle half-giant may send children there for a fact-finding mission.

There is a pattern there somewhere.

That's not even the end of the crazy. I found a secret chamber under the school, and in that chamber was a basilisk the size of the fucking Hogwarts Express.

No, I'm not exaggerating. I never, ever exaggerate. Whatever.

I, being your friendly neighbourhood wizard-hero, went into the chamber with my dear friends Ron, who is afraid of spiders, and Neville, who is afraid of his own shadow, to save my dear friend Ron's little sister. Long story short, I slew the basilisk, killed a half-man-half-ghost thingy with a serious case of Slytherin-Dramatics and saved the girl.

Did you know Basilisk venom is one of the most potent killing agents in the world? Trust me, I know firsthand. Merlin bless you, Fawkes!

My third year was subdued compared to my first two years. I almost died once, chasing a rat through the forbidden forest with Sirius, dodging a werewolf and half a dozen trolls. Still, compared to the years before, it was an uncomplicated year.

My year of Quiet Revision, if you will.

My life after starting Hogwarts wasn't all that bad though. I made good friends. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Katie. Not only humans either. I made friends with two centaurs and a goblin chief.

I learned that I, truly, am the next Dumbledore in transfiguration- or as like to call it; the first Harry Potter- and talented in charms and defence against the dark arts. Unfortunately, I suck at potions and herbology and am barely adequate in other wandless subjects.

Meh. Did you know green is an awful colour on greasy-haired potions professors? Or that, using the professor as target practice for your paper aeroplanes during the history of magic classes can prevent unwanted sleeping? Thank you, Myrtle, for the idea.

-Flowers for Your Grave-

Part 2: Five Funny Little Stories From James Black

Story I: A Nightmare and a Conversation

July 15, 1987

'It's him... Harry... go..."

'James... Please... No...'

'Silly... Move...'

'Take me... No... Please...'

'Avada...'

A scream and a green light.

I wake up from the nightmare with a start. It's the same one again. I can't help it, I cry. I'm scared every time I have this nightmare. There is a feeling of terror to the whole thing I cannot hope to comprehend.

I see little except red hair and a green light. I hear words but not whole sentences and, because of that, there is no way for me to understand. I'm sure Sirius knows more than he's telling me, but whenever I ask he acts all shifty and distracts me with ice cream.

Sirius. I should go to him. I never have nightmares when I go to him. He's always safe.

I hope he's home. He had a date tonight, so he left me with Uncle Remus. I'm not sure what 'a date' is other than today's date is July fifteenth, nineteen eighty-seven. Somehow, I don't think Sirius was talking about that kind of date if the amount of cologne he put on is any sign. He always has a date after he meets women. Maybe they have something to do with it? Yuck!

I wait for my eyes to adjust to the light and get my glasses. I hate having to use glasses to see but Sirius tells me my father had the same problem. I get out of my bed and move to the corridor. Sirius' room is right next to mine, so it takes no time for me to get in there. It's empty.

He must be in the sitting room. I can hear muffled voices coming from the room as I walk down the stairs.

"She kissed me and..."

"Why ... early then?"

I walk near the open glass door to listen in better.

"It can't go anywhere, Remus. You know that. I have James to take care of."

"James won't mind if you date someone you like, Sirius. Hell, I think it'd be good for him to have a female influence in his life."

It's obvious they wouldn't want me to hear this conversation but I am curious so I sit down by the door and continue listening.

"What do I tell her then? Do I tell her who James really is or do I lie to her and tell her he's my son? This whole thing is confusing for the boy as it is. I don't want him to worry about lying about who he is to someone he would see often. Not yet, at least. The daycare is hard on him already."

"You are right. It's just... You deserve to be happy, brother."

"I am happy. That boy is my son. Sometimes, I think he's more like me then he is like James." During the short silence, I hear one of them pour something into a glass. "We went to his favourite playground by sea the other day. After he got tired, we sat on a bench and discussed his wandless abilities. He wanted to show off, I suspect; he wandlessly created a soft wind to lift this gorgeous blonde's skirt." Sirius tells with a chortle.

I smile at that. That was a fun day. I ate a ton of ice cream. Sirius buys me ice cream whenever I do that.

I can hear Remus laughing softly. "It's a good thing you weren't that talented when we were children. You would've gotten expelled from Hogwarts within our first year."

Sirius chuckles. "I laughed so hard; he continued to do that until we got home. He was so proud of himself that it was difficult to make him promise not to do it again."

"You aren't growing mature on me, are you, Sirius?" The mocking tone of Remus' voice is all too obvious.

"I am mature."

Remus mirrors my snort at that.

"Am too."

-JB-

Story II: A Gift, Worthy of a Saviour

May 30, 1992

"Who goes there?" rings a loud, warning voice in the quiet of the forbidden forest, causing my heart to miss a beat. I manage not to piss in my pants though. That has to count for something, right?

I take a second to calm my breathing before answering. "I am looking for Firenze," I say as an answer. If my voice is too high, no one would know. Well, other than the owner of the other voice. "He saved my life. I would like to thank him."

"This is the second time you wandered to where you should not, young Potter." I turn to see Firenze calmly walking towards me, ignoring my little freak out about how easy it was for him to know who I am from the moment we met. "You know these woods are not safe for one as young as yourself."

I give him a small bow. "Hello, Firenze. It's good to see you again," I greeted him.

"Why are you here, youngling?"

"I made a gift as a thank you." I take out the wooden bow and a quiver filled with arrows from my bag. "I would be dead if you hadn't intervened."

I hold out the bow horizontally in my hands for him to take it. I vaguely notice over a dozen other centaurs surround and if I am a little scared, I am too determined not to show it. They wouldn't harm me. I am no threat to them and they have an honour code not to harm children; at least that's what Hagrid tells me.

Firenze takes the bow from me, inspecting the delicate carvings on it with fascination and tests the string. "This is an intricate work."

"I made it myself. It's sturdy, made of yew. I'm told yew wood is one of the best for archery." I give him the quiver. "The quiver and arrows are enchanted. It holds twenty-five arrows with silver arrowheads. When you use an arrow, it will return to the quiver in a minute, give or take."

He takes the quiver and inspects the arrows with an expert eye. He notches an arrow, turns in one swift move and fires. A bat falls out of the sky and my eyes widen in surprise and fear. The whole thing takes less than three seconds. Is it normal I get the urge to introduce Snape to Firenze? Hah! That would be funny.

Oh, and a word of advice: never mess with centaurs.

He turns back and looks at me appraisingly. "An excellent work, young Potter."

"Well, you did a good job of saving me." I give a nervous laugh. "Professor Dumbledore helped me with the charm work. The arrows are also charmed to prevent pain so you can hunt an animal without causing unnecessary pain."

The moment I finish, the arrow which killed the bat a minute ago returns to the quiver, causing the centaurs that surround me to murmur their approval, albeit reluctantly.

"Thank you for a wonderful gift."

"It was the least I could do."

"Jupiter shines brightly on you, Harry Potter," he says, cryptic as hell.

A fun fact: centaurs always say things in the most confusing way possible. They probably take pleasure in watching humans walk away confused and freaked out.

"Farewell."

I nod and turn back to walk to the castle. Firenze's voice keeps ringing in my ears. Why would Jupiter shine brightly on me? What have I ever done to it?

I sometimes hate that I don't listen in most of my wandless classes.

-JB-

Story III: A Deal with the Wicked

June 21, 1993

"Mr Black, I see you talked your way into my office. What do you want?" asks Terrak, the highest ranking goblin in Britain and their current war chief. Displeasure is ringing in his voice though it is difficult to tell with goblins. They are not what you would call 'friendly creatures'.

"Chief Terrak, I have an offer for you I am sure you will be very interested," I answer, not letting my nervousness show. I have defeated a basilisk. I can do this. "I want to return the sword of Gryffindor to you." I stop talking at his predatory look.

"Sword of Gryffindor, you said?" He eyes me like I'm a piece of meat. I empathise with all the women who complain about unwanted male attention. I know there is nothing sexual about the way the goblin eyes me but still... "The one we have been searching for centuries? How did you come by it if I may ask?"

I grin. I have to say it. It can't be helped. "I pulled it out of a hat." At his unbelieving look, I continue, "Really. Here I was, in front of a huge ass basilisk and there it was, the Sword of Gryffindor, inside a hat."

I can see the gears turning, processing the information and trying to decide whether to believe me. He believes me, seeing as no one would dare to waste his time with a story like this.

"I'm guessing you want something in return?" he accuses me.

"Damn right, I do," I answer, now feeling more confident. "I may be young but I'm not stupid. I know how valuable the sword truly is. Priceless one might even say. I cannot just hand it over without getting something in return. I wouldn't even if I could." My tone is bolder than I am feeling right about now.

"And what is it you want in return?"

"To use all banking services you offer for free, and other services you offer at a discount," I tell him with squared shoulders. It is hard to ignore the greedy glint in his eyes but I manage. "And I want a claim to a future commission of a goblin-made weapon of the highest quality."

"And, pray tell me, why would we give you anything for an item that rightfully belongs to goblin nation?" He - or she, I'm not sure - demands, trying his luck at intimidating the sword out of me.

Fucking goblins, man. They are greedy little fuckers that would rob you blind if they think they can get away with it. Oh, no. Not me. "It doesn't belong to you. It belonged to Godric Gryffindor. He left it under powerful enchantments to ensure it went to someone who would use it to defend Hogwarts. That person turned out to be me."

"And you would sell an item such as this?" Terrak asks in an offended tone.

"The sword is exquisite. It's not a display item but an instrument of war. It begs to be used. I don't want the school to keep it where it will be put on display as if it's just an artwork and where it could be stolen." I cock my head to the side and lean back. "Besides, it was coated with Basilisk venom. Even a small cut with it would kill someone and a school full of children is no place for such a dangerous artefact."

"You sound like you want to get rid of it awfully." He is confused, and why shouldn't he? That sword is worth more than the entire Malfoy fortune, and here I am, a child, trying to barter with it.

"It's not about wanting to keep it or not. I have no use for a sword. I don't think I ever will. I am trading an instrument of war for an item I will actually need and the goodwill of the goblin nation."

We sit in silence for at least twenty minutes, bartering silently with our unmoving eyes. I am near losing my patience when Terrak finally grins, though it is softer than it is hungry, and speaks. "You have yourself a deal, Mr Black."

"I shall contact you when I have a contract ready then."

As soon as I leave the oppressive office, I lean on a wall and exhale. Fucking goblins, man.

-JB-

Story IV: A Lesson from a Mentor

November 13, 1993

"Come in, Harry, sit," grandpa Albus calls out just before I knock on the door to his office. "Would you like an acid pop?"

"Must we play this little game every time, professor?" I take the sugary delight to his surprise.

"Would you believe if I said you are one of the rare people to accept one of my treats?" It puzzles him as if it was one of life's greatest mysteries. Knowing the man, to him, it probably is.

"Well, it's an unsaid rule not to accept candy from creepy old men, Albus," I smile cheekily. "No offence intended, of course."

"Of course," he agrees as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Now, to an average school kid, sitting in this office would be a nightmare, but I grew up around 'grandpa Albus'. For me, this is just another Saturday. "To the lesson, then. We have reached a stage where you could take your OWLs and pass them with flying colours in most subjects. I think we should focus on expanding your magical knowledge either in areas you still lack, like Potions, or we should find ourselves a new subject to learn. Do you have a preference? Alchemy perhaps?"

The hope in his voice is a god damn blow to my conscience. Still, I give no quarter. "Professor, can you teach me how to invent my own spells?" I ask as a way of answering.

His shoulders drop just a little but he doesn't lose his enthusiasm. He knows I loath potions and anything remotely related with a passion, and while alchemy is closely related to transfiguration, it has its roots in potions. Still, he can't help hope to pass on his extensive knowledge in the rare area of magic. Maybe I should suggest he take on Hermione as a student. She'd love to learn alchemy. Hm. A thought for another time.

"As you wish, Harry."

With that, we start an intense three hours of discussion that involves a hell of a lot of note-taking. He gives me two books on the subject and suggests more from the school library.

For the next five months, I study every book I can get my hands on the subject. When I am not reading about it, I am working on arithmetic calculations and Latin phrasing. My animagus training is the only exception to this. I even neglect and turn in some assignments late. I get an earful from Junior Professor Granger and professional slacker Weasley while Neville snickers at me. Oh, how I love those three. One is upset that I am neglecting my classes. The other is upset because I am too occupied with my studies. Neville doesn't care at all. What a quartet we make.

-JB-

April 16, 1994

In the end, it is worth it. Because when I go to the headmaster's office for our weekly meeting in the middle of April, I am not there for another lesson. I am there to show him four new spells I created. My own spells!

I hear voices inside but I am too excited to even stop to think he may be busy. "...zard tournament-"

I enter his office without knocking. It is rude of me, I know, but I am so damn happy that decorum is the last thing on my mind. "I did it, professor!" I yell before I can take in the occupants of the room

The Minister of Magic is there. So is his undersecretary. And the head of DMLE. And Lucius Malfoy. And a man and a girl in Auror robes. And professors McGonagall and Snape. "I… I'm sorry, professor. I should have knocked," I apologise, now feeling a little nervous, but still vibrating with excitement.

Chief Warlock smiles at me kindly while the two professors, Malfoy, and the lady in pink all glare at me and the rest don't even attempt to hide their amusement. "It's okay, James. We were wrapping up here, anyway. Why don't you show us what you managed?" he half orders, half suggests, his eyes twinkling away madly. It is clear he wants me to show off.

I oblige and pull my wand out. "Avismyiop Dictonis," I whisper, lifting my wand in a straight line and adding a small triangle, and a blue quaker parrot flies out of my wand, flies to the headmaster, and lands on his shoulder. "There is a greasy bat standing behind your back," the parrot speaks in my voice before dissolving into the air. The said bat glares at me something fierce while Albus smiles. Minerva tries to hide her amusement, 'tries' being the operative word. The Auror girl, who has pink hair - seriously? Pink? - snickers, ignoring the amused jab by the black Auror.

"You know, Firenze is great at killing bats," I stage-whisper in a conspiratorial tone.

"Magnificent!" the minister comments. "What spell is that?"

"I've been teaching young James how to craft his own spells. It's his first, a communication spell, I believe." His smile turns smug.

"No, professor, I managed three others earlier. This one was the hardest to create because it's not just a temporary conjuration, I also had to get the rudy bird to talk," I correct.

"Three others?" It surprises even the great Albus Dumbledore if his wide eyes are any sign.

"Well, yes. But the other spells are messy. One conjures a bird, or two depending on how much power you put in, that disappears with a disorienting bright flash. The other conjures these three fat, angry birds that explode upon contact, leaving behind a messy goo that traps whoever is in the contact range. That one was a mistake. The last one conjures a ton of small birds that explode and leave behind a paint." I tilt my head and consider that wording for a moment. "For artistic purposes, of course. I'm not a sociopath."

"And how old are you, Mr…" Amelia Bones asks.

"Black. James Black. I'm fourteen, ma'am. Well, thirteen but whatever." I shrug.

"And you created four spells already?" blurts out the girl Auror.

"Young James is one of my lions and something of a prodigy," aunt Minerva comments proudly. "I'd bet my wand he could pass his transfiguration NEWT easily if he were to take them tomorrow."

"And he still blows up simplest of potions." The bat is not happy with me. I wonder why.

I ignore the jab, choosing instead to humbly accept the praise of Professor McGonagall with a bow. "That's because I'm awesome, Professor."

There is an awkward silence after that where no one knows what to say or do. "Anyway, I wanted you to bask in my glory. Good night," I say and leave behind smiling adults and two bitter men and one glaring woman.

-JB-

Story V: A Blessing for the Unfortunate

June 8, 1994

Knock! Knock!

"Come in," comes the gruff voice of caretaker Filch from inside his office. Well, when I say office, I mean in a most figurative sense. The room the poor man is using as an office is basically a slightly large broom closet.

I have always felt sorry for the man. There are over six hundred students in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Twenty professors. Over fifty house-elves. A talking hat and a burning bird. A horde of centaurs that live on the grounds. A small herd of thestrals, hippogriffs, and many more magical creatures. Hell, the castle itself is semi-sentient.

Yet, in the middle of all this magic and wonder, there is a man with no talent in magic. At first, I thought it was nice of uncle Albus to accept Filch's employment. It seemed like Filch was lucky to be here. Nowadays, I'm not so sure. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I enter caretaker's office tentatively. I am not afraid of the man, but he is known for his bitterness and ridiculous comments about how he should be allowed to torment us wicked folk. It's a little unnerving to listen to him complain about not being able to whip us into respectful individuals.

I carefully make my way to his table and sit on one of the rusty chairs, saying nothing.

"What do you want?"

"I want to give you a gift I think you will like very much," I answer, taking out a modified copy of the Marauders' map. I held it out for him to take.

He does, albeit reluctantly, like he expects the parchment to blow up in his face. He opens the parchment and his eyes widen comically when comprehension hits him. "This… this…"

"It shows where everyone in the castle is," I explain. "It also shows which places need cleaning and such. I thought you could make good use of it."

He grudgingly takes his eyes off the map to look at me, like he is afraid if he takes his eyes off it, it would disappear. "Why? Why give me this?"

I think about it for a second. "Your work is under-appreciated. I felt it would be nice for someone to help you."

He physically gulps his emotions down with great difficulty. I guess not feeling anything but bitterness for decades makes it hard for him to feel anything else. "Thank you."

I smile at him. "All I ask in return is that you turn the other way if you bump into me after curfew."

"Will do, boss," he says enthusiastically.

I get up and move to the door. "Gotta go. I wouldn't want to get caught by Professor Snape."