❝𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘴...❞
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Lily Evans was the first ever witch not to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in attempt t...
Hey again! This chapter is dedicated to possibly one of the bravest people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. Rosie I love you so much, keep being strong and beautiful and amazing! chespin44 ♥️♥️♥️
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(16th June 1977)
James Potter rarely did things by halves. He was either all guns blazing or still in bed. That was just how he worked, and so when he came bursting into the office of the Headmaster he did so at ungodly hours of the morning and with the sort of bellicose that might wake the dead (or the sleeping portraits).
"What do you mean I can't go home?! My mother is dying?! We have a week left of term, sir! A week!" It had never been uncommon for James to be opinionated, if it weren't so then the MPP, frankly wouldn't need a review because it simply wouldn't exist. He often ran into situations driven on impulsion and impulsion alone, and he had often paid for his discontent as reflected in his record amount of detentions. James Potter did not shy away from authority, he thrived in the challenge. Whether that was cretinous or the contrary wasn't for him to say, although he preferred not to ponder too much on it.
"Mr Potter you must understand that it is in your best interests to stay behind for the final week of term. You still have a Muggle Studies NEWT to sit and your organisation is under review as of today." The Headmaster replied, the very essence of tranquil, observing his student with a deathly forestalling bemusement. It was unfathomable how Dumbledore seemed to be in complete equanimity with the world; it might end now and he'd be too busy philosophising why to bother saving himself.
"I don't give a toss about Muggle Studies, with all due respect, professor. I'll take the NEWT again in seventh year. Sirius'll probably fail anyway," James tossed a hand to the side, mimicking flicking the apparent extraneous issue away like an insect.
"Mr Potter, your mother wouldn't wish to have you marching home looking as vehemently angry as you are now. It wouldn't do anyone any good."
"My mother wouldn't want me wasting my time!"
"Exactly."
James fixed his eyes a few feet above Dumbledore, to the plethora of rows of hardback books that sat in elegant an orderly rows. It reminded him of the library in Potter Manor– his old home.
"I taught your mother, you know?"
James looked down, fixing narrowed eyes on his Headmaster who looked calm in the sort of way a fool might. He was yet to learn the true extent of the hardship of getting James Potter to change his mind. It was much like a lamb trying to negotiate with the butcher's knife.
