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A/N: Sorry, another new story idea! My take on a next generation fic, a purely light-hearted and fun drama. Thanks for giving it a shot!

It happened again. Six times I’ve walked Platform 9 3⁄4 bound for the Hogwarts Express, and it happens every time.

“Excuse me, Mr. Harry Potter, sir?” some shy yet precocious seven-year-old would ask, tugging on my dad’s sleeve. “May I please have an autograph? Sir?”

And he always obliged, a cool smile on his face. I guess I had to respect my dad for putting up with all this unwanted attention. I wasn’t the angsty kid of a famous bloke or anything. I liked my dad well enough, even if he wouldn’t lend me his Invisibility Cloak.

“James Sirius Potter,” said Dad in that stern tone of his the most recent time I begged for the Cloak. “I always intended to give my first-born child my most prized possession, until a valuable piece of parchment of mine went missing the day before you first left for Hogwarts.”

“Huh, so you still haven’t found the Marauder’s Map?” I asked in feigned shock. “Gosh, that’s unfortunate.”

Dad frowned. “I’ve moved the Cloak to Gringotts, and I don’t recommend that you go looking for it, James. Believe me, it is not easy to break into that bank.”

So I left for sixth year with the Map, but without the Cloak. This would complicate me and my mates’ mischief making.

I’m doing a rather poor job narrating, yeah? Let’s get to the action, then. Scene: Hogwarts Express, 1st September 2021. Approximately 11:02 AM. The young and handsome James Sirius Potter is trawling the corridors of the train, searching for his Quidditch mates.

We travelled in a pack, the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And as I was their newly appointed cap’n, I got to boss everyone around. Or, at least that’s what Lorelai Lin-Wood, cap’n of the team when I was a first year, always did. She was terrifying, but quite fit.

I peeked in a compartment and spotted my very best mate, J.D. Nott, sitting with my cousin Rose.

I burst in and exclaimed, “Ahoyhoy! J.S., requesting high five clearance from J.D.!”

J.D. and I often refer to each other by our initials. His real name is John, which is totally stodgy and way too close to mine. Other people will call me James, though, but no one calls J.D. John.

But J.D., my bestest mate and better half, glared at me and did not grant the high five clearance. “What?” he seethed, his dark eyes expressing contempt.

“Hey James,” smiled Rose warmly. She’s my Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione’s oldest kid, and she’s smart and cool and stuff. A Gryffindor, of course. It’s like the law that anyone with Weasley blood is in Gryffindor. My mum’s a Weasley, by the way.

I was about to greet my little cousin, when I realized that J.D.’s hand was touching Rose’s arm. Hmm, this was strange. It was like J.D. had been chatting up Rose before I barged in. Silly thought, Jamesie.

“I should be going,” said Rose reluctantly. “You two will want to ride up with the other Gryffies,” referencing the street name for our Quidditch team. She stood up and strode out, her bushy hair swaying, and I took her seat.

“Hullo mate!” I smiled broadly at J.D.

“What the frick is your problem?” he growled.

“Oi, what are you—oh no, you were chatting up Rose just now!”

“Perceptive much?”

“J.D., she’s my baby cousin!”

“She’s attractive.”

“She’s your little sister’s age!”

“Which means she’s fifteen, and I’m sixteen, so it’s hardly controversial. Plus, Rose’s got a nice bum.”

I squealed. “What the frick!”

“Honestly, when you do the squealing thing, you sound just like a girl—”

Just then, the compartment opened and my cousin Fred walked in. He was in our year and played Beater. His dad is my Uncle George, and Freddie is named after Uncle George’s twin who died during the war or something. Like, half the people in my family are named after dead people. Even me. I’m named after my dead granddad and my Dad’s dead godfather.

“Freddie!” I screeched. “J.D. wants to shag our cousin! Hex him!”

“Whaaa?” exclaimed Fred. “Two questions: which cousin, and why can’t you hex him yourself?”

“Rose, and I can’t do the deed because J.D. and I have been blood brothers since second year, and it’s against the blood brother code to hex the other!” I whined.

Fred mulled it over, then looked at J.D., who was smirking. “As long as it’s not Lily, because she’s fricking thirteen, and you don’t knock her up, I’m fine with you and Rose.”

“Not helping, Fred!” I said.

“You’re making excellent progress assembling the Potter-Weasley Army, J.S.,” laughed J.D. “So what if I fancy your cousin?”

Before I could think of what would have inevitably been a fabulous retort, more Gryffies entered our little compartment. My fellow Chaser and our resident Jew, Micah Horowitz (you can’t succeed in Quidditch without Jews) and our Seeker, Tegan Llewellyn, moseyed in.

“Ooh, Weasley family drama, I hear?” chimed Micah. “Nothing half as exciting as what happens to you lot happens to the Horowitzes.”

“Marry into the clan, Micah,” suggested Tegan cheerfully. “Then when you pry, it’ll actually be your business.”

A series of groans echoed through the compartment. Tegan, the great-niece of the legendary “Dangerous” Dai Llewellyn, was the quick wit of our team.

“I’ve had my eye on Madeleine for a while,” mused Micah dreamily.

“She’s my Uncle Bill and Tante Fleur’s daughter, plus she’s a seventh year and she’ll never go for you!” I said, exasperated.

“I’ve got a theory that within two generation’s time, every witch and wizard’s gonna be distantly related to a Weasley,” said Fred. “There’s so damn many of us and we multiply like rabbits.”

All laughed, except Tegan. “Lovely visual of you multiplying, Freddie,” she cringed.

Oh silly Tegan. The only girl of our number (excepting the lovely Arlie Shacklebolt, who was a seventh year and whose dad was Minister for Magic, so she was usually off doing cool things with her cool friends, though she occasionally has time for us Gryffies), Tegan is Welsh and freckled and the fact that she is a girl was ignored by her Quidditch mates. Except every so often, I was startled when I realize that Tegan Llewellyn is a girl. With legs and boobs.

“J.D. fancies Rose!” I yelped in horror.

“Hmm. Well, she’s got a nice rear end,” said Micah.

“Not helping!” said Tegan as she smacked him upside the head.

“I was so sure that she fancied Malfoy, but she doesn’t,” said J.D. smugly.

“No, Malfoy’s got his eye on your sister,” said Fred tauntingly of Kate Nott, the Slytherin fifth-year Seeker.

“Frick!” shouted J.D. “That cockroach!”

“That’s what you get for fancying my little cousin!” I exclaimed.

“She’s fifteen!” retorted J.D.

“I’d watch out for your own sister, Cap’n,” said Tegan slyly.

“Why?” I demanded of her.

She grinned. “Rumour has it that she’s dating Dobby Longbottom.”

Smoke probably flew out my ears. “My thirteen-year-old sister is with the poor schmuck named after a dead house elf?”

“Snaps for the use of Yiddish in your raging seethe,” commentated Micah.

“Dobby’s adorable for a third year,” said Tegan nonchalantly. “He’s a good kid, James.”

So weak I was unable to prop myself against the backrest, I tumbled over and lay on the floor of the compartment, my head next to J.D.’s trainers. “Why must all every ruddy bloke in this school fancy my Weasley relations?”

Fred kicked my leg semi-affectionately. “You gotta accept that we Weasleys are quite good-looking and charming. Someday, you’ll turn into a butterfly like the rest of us and all the girls’ll be over you, James.”

I groaned and rolled over on my stomach, my face in the dirty carpet. What the frick.

As the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station, I quickly changed into my school robes (time was of the essence, so it was in the compartment—it was just my mates in there, and Tegan hardly counted as a girl) and ran off in search of as many Weasley-Potters as I could find.

“Octavian!” I bellowed as I caught up with my Uncle Percy’s seventh-year son. “We’ve got a family crisis! Half the school is trying to shag our cousins!”

Octavian, being a smarmy redheaded Head Boy with an unpleasant sneer, whipped round and chastised, “Find a carriage, James. I’ve got to direct the first years.”

Frick. Octo was no help. As per usual.

“Madeleine!” I ran after my other seventh year cousin. “We’ve got a situation! Code red!”

She was standing with a gaggle of her pretty, giggly friends, and looked at me pitifully. “Oh James,” she sighed. “Enough with the family emergencies. This is my last year at school, and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your crises contained within your little Griffie clique.”

It was to be expected that Madeleine would be little help. She was more Delacour than Weasley anyways, in my opinion.

Then it was time to round up the younger ones. “Lily ‘n Hugo!” I yelped, rushing over to them. “Argh, not you Longbottom!” I barked at Dobby, who walked off dejectedly.

“James, don’t be mean to him!” screeched Lily.

“No time, no time!” I said quickly. “We’ve got a huge problem. Hugo, my mate J.D. fancies Rose.”

“But you like J.D., yeah? He’s your best mate,” said Hugo.

“But she’s your own sister!” I explained. “Don’t you want to thwart this relationship?”

“Why?” he asked. “If they’re going to be happy—”

“Frick!” I yelled. “Why will no one agree with me?”

“You’re a psychotic nutter, James,” said Lily.

I saw more relatives out of the corner of my eye, and ran from Hugo and Lily to Albus and Rose, who were walking toward a carriage with the Malfoy boy and Kate Nott.

“Slytherins be gone!” I exclaimed, hissing at Malfoy and J.D.’s sister.

“Whatever,” Kate rolled her eyes. “Al and Rose, me and Scorpius will be in the carriage.”

Once those two climbed in, I began my barrage on my fifteen-year-old brother and fifteen-year-old cousin. “Rose, J.D. fancies you and he’s my best mate and that should be fine but it’s not because I know him and I know the sorts of things he’s into and believe me, Uncle Ron would not approve of you doing those things, and Al, you have to watch out for her because I can’t watch her 24/7 cos I’ve got Quidditch and Gryffie business, and you’re a bookworm with nothing better to do, and you owe me because I’ve begged almost every family member we’ve got at this school for backup and they’ve all laughed and called me a nutter—”

“James!” said Rose strongly, looking quite like Aunt Hermione. “I fancy J.D. and he fancies me back, and that’s the end of discussion! It’s not of your fricking business you ponce!” With that, she followed Kate and Malfoy into the horseless carriage.

“It seems Rosie has spoken, James,” said Albus, shrugging his shoulders. He followed his cousin into the carriage.

And so I stood, abandoned by my family in my noble quest and completely ignorant of where my Gryffie mates might be, in the mud on the outskirts of the wood leading from Hogsmeade to the ‘warts, my mind racing to develop a plan that would keep my devilishly handsome best mate and my ingénue of a cousin apart. Without sacrificing the threads of amicability I currently shared with them.


Um, if you’re wondering why they keep saying “frick”, it’s future vernacular for a word you can probably figure out. It’s just fun to say.

Chapter image by me!

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