ambivalence | james potter

prologue

First Year, Kings Cross Station

"Honestly, James, did you even bother to brush your hair?"

Euphemia Potter clicked her tongue disapprovingly as she continued to fuss over her only son, moving towards him to smoothen down his unruly black locks and straighten his clothes. The eleven year old boy swatted her hands away irritably. "Mum stop," He muttered, turning crimson red as he reached up to run his fingers through his hair while glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. "Its supposed to look like this, its cool."

His mother pursed her lips, unconvinced. "It looks like a bloody bird's nest!"

"Muuuuuum," he dragged out the syllable, narrowing his eyes to remind her of the fact that she had already promised not to make a big deal of his first day of school. She shook her head, sighing in defeat. "Alright, if you say so, dear."

"Come on you two, the train is about to leave," her husband, Fleamont Potter chided. Euphemia nodded, turning to look at James with a small, wavering smile on her face as she placed both hands on his shoulders. "Remember to write. And please try not to give your professors a hard time."

James grinned. "No promises."

His dad clapped him on the back heartily, a fond chuckle escaping his lips. "Take care of yourself, son. We'll see you during the holidays."

"Bye, dad. Bye, mum." After allowing both his parents to give him fleeting hugs, he disentangled himself from his teary-eyed mother and made his way towards the large scarlet train, pulling his trunk behind him. It was a relatively sunny day, enough to put almost anyone in a cheery mood. At that particular hour, platform 9 3/4 was a turbulent mass of humanity, brimming with witches and wizards of all kind. He spotted a few crying mothers here and there, as well as some seniors laughing as they recounted their grand summer adventures to each other in great detail. There were also some of his fellow first-years, all with the same fidgety movements and sheens of excitement gleaming on their pale faces.

Around him, parents were waving their last goodbyes to their children as the whistle sounded, signalling that they were about to leave the station. James paused to turn around and wave at his mum and dad one last time before hopping eagerly onto the train, and not a minute too soon as the train lurched forward right at that exact moment, almost causing him to lose his balance.

As he made his way down the carpeted corridor in search of a compartment and some company, his new kitten, Lancelot, started to meow loudly from where he was curled up on top of his trunk. He looked distinctively unimpressed at being jostled awake from his nap so abruptly.

James took his eyes off the corridor and glanced down at the mewling kitten. "Shut up and go back to sleep," He mumbled. The cat glared (could cats glare?) before settling back down with a discontented purr. James barely had time to look back up before someone came out of a nearby compartment and walked right into him, nearly sending the both of them crashing to the floor.

"Oi, watch it!" He said indignantly, checking to see if Lancelot was alright. The grey feline was disgruntled, but otherwise fine.

"You bumped into me," The person remarked, sounding irritated. James opened his mouth to retort back but paused when he saw who had bumped into him.

It was a girl.

She was quite short, she couldn't have been much older than him, but she was very pretty for her age. Her hair, which held some semblance to spun gold was pulled up into a loose ponytail, and her mouth was twisted into a small frown as she surveyed him with her startling green eyes. James racked his brain, trying to remember if he'd seen her before at one of his parents' many events but he didn't recognise her.