The Marauders: Year Three | #Wattys2016

The Mentor

The Mentor

James had doodled a great many golden snitches along the edge of his notes parchment in History of Magic, and he prodded them with his wand to get them flying about the page, too bored to pay attention to Slughorn anymore. Sirius looked over from his own parchment, grinning and quickly drew a whole pitch, three rings on each side of his page and a quaffle in the middle, before pushing it so the page lay between his and James's elbows on the desktop and the two of them took their wants and moved the illustrated quaffle about the imaginary pitch. Lily looked over her shoulder at them as their wands made clicking noises as they clashed against one another, fighting for control over the doodled ball. She shook her head.

Professor Binns had been going on for what seemed like centuries. Even Remus was starting to nod off in the late summer heat that filled the room as Binns droned on and on. He let out a great big yawn and leaned his head against the heel of his hand. Peter was the only one truly diligently taking notes on what Binns said, and it was mostly just because he knew if he didn't he'd be the one most likely to fail the class and he didn't fancy being the one left behind.

James had just sunk the drawn quaffle through Sirius's rings when the door to the classroom opened up and Professor McGonagall stepped into the room, her face gravely serious. The very sight of her sent a thrill of nervousness through each one of the Gryffindors in the room. They exchanged glances - McGonagall interrupting a class was not a good sign. "Excuse me, Professor Binns," she called, but the ghostly figure at the front continued on as though he hadn't heard her. "Professor!" she yelled. He seemed to snap to attention, looking up in surprise.

"You... er, have a question Miss.... Miss...." Binns let the sentence trail off, unable to recall her name.

"I'm here to collect James Potter," McGonagall said, "I shall be withdrawing him from glass a wee bit early today."

James felt the blood run cold in his veins and a lump rise up in his throat. My dad's dead, he thought, sick at the thought of it.

McGonagall turned about to face him. "Mr. Potter... a word."

The others all looked at him with nervous expressions - even Lily - and Sirius squeezed James's shoulder as he stood up, a concerned look on his face that told James that he wasn't crazy for being worried... and therefore made him even more so. He got up, feeling as though his trainers were made of iron. He stared down at them as he followed Professor McGonagall out the door and into the hallway.

The moment the classroom door shut, James demanded, 'Who killed him?"

McGonagall looked down at James in surprise, "What?" she asked.

"My father," James replied, "Who killed him? Who do I have to kill to avenge him?" He had his fists balled, and a clench-jawed look of determination, his eyes just a little too wide and too wet to be as brave as the act he was putting on. His entire body trembled from the very bottom to the top, his glasses crooked.

McGonagall's eyes were confused, and then melted into an expression of pity. "Oh Potter - is that what you think? I apologize." She put a hand on his shoulder as he officially broke out in tears. "Oh my, my... Come along, Potter." She led him briskly down the hall to her office, which, luckily, wasn't too far from Professor Binns's classroom, so they didn't even bump into anyone on the way. "Your father is okay, Potter!" she reassured him and she pointed her wand to the handle on her office door and murmured the password she had set upon her door earlier that year to keep out prying students.

The moment they were through McGonagall's office door, she paused to take a tartan handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to James. "Dry your eyes, Mr. Potter," she said in what James imagined was probably the gentlest tone that Professor McGonagall could work through her brisk accent. She held out her hand for his glasses and he took them off and wiped his face with the handkerchief, his skin all red. James had managed to work himself up too much already and though he knew things were alright, telling himself to calm down was a bit more of a challenge than maybe it should have been. McGonagall very patiently waited.