Okay, here is the next POV! It's everyone's favourite Potion's Master! Well, he's not mine…Special thanks go to Lady Taliesin for writing this and letting me post it under my name! You've been great!


Dumbledore took a deep breath before continuing. "On the 31st of October 1981, Voldemort murdered James and Lily Potter. Three days ago, a miracle happened." He paused, casting a meaningful glance at the Order's members. "James Potter is alive. He was brought back from death by the wishes of his son. I found James outside Godric's Hollow and brought him here." Here the headmaster turned to where James sat. "James, if you could please stand."


Incredibly, infuriatingly typical.

Death was meant to be final. That was the whole point. They live, drive you to the edge of insanity, snuff it, and it's over.

Done. Finished.

Apparently someone forgot to mention that small detail to James Potter.

I narrowed my eyes, drawing further back in the corner and glaring at the lanky, black-hair idiot standing awkwardly before the assembled Order. Of course James Potter had come back. Of course. Would anybody bother wishing me back to life if I kicked it? No – probably'd declare it a national holiday, if anyone deigned to notice at all – but James Potter, head boy, hero, and all-around quidditch-extraordinaire; well, that was a different story entirely.

And, to cap it all off, he'd probably receive a hero's accolade for the whole business as well. As though he actually did anything! And I, the Order's spy, risking life and limb for a bunch of vainglorious fools, get stuck teaching potions to a group of nutters at a crackpot school.

Makes one wonder what sort of world we live in, really.

And now Order members were actually showing some small sparks of intelligence – wouldn't have thought it of them, but there's ineffability for you.

"….Death Eater in disguise…"

Quite a brilliant theory, that, but sadly untrue. I don't think it's possible for anyone (with the debatable exceptions of Black, Lupin, and the oh-so-famous-boy-who-lived, of course) to mimic that utterly clueless and vapid expression that quite clearly screams, "I am James Potter. Bow, minions."

Not even Lucius is that good, which really is saying something.

Ah, Potter takes the stage. And just when you thought you were finally rid of his voice once and for all, he comes back fourteen years later and decides to start flaunting it once more. I believe I asked him about that, some twenty years or so ago. Suggested perhaps he ought to invest in a toad and become lead singer of the Hogwarts' choir.

Needless to say he completely missed the sarcasm, and two weeks later Hogwarts was reeling in shock as Professor Flitwick was hospitalized for a heart attack. Bets flew wildly at the time, and the most commonly accepted theory came to be that Peter Pettigrew had finally bungled a spell badly enough to do some actual damage.

(I knew the truth, of course. And kept it as a tidy bit of blackmail information for later.)

Quite the glory days, really. No double dealing, with thick-headed prats on one side and even more thick-headed oafs on the other. No, back then it was me against just about every thick-headed jerk in all of Britain.

And now James Potter, ringleader of it all, is back from the dead, giving some uppity start speech which might be a tad interesting if it actually addressed the whole point of the issue – whether or not the eloquent sod is James Potter.

Although, to be fair I'm not exactly paying attention – it is Potter, I know it. It just has to be. Because the Universe really is that unfair.

And, of course, the Order is stunned into silence. That or he cast a silencing charm on them, which at the moment seems increasingly likely. Would that convince the Order (falsely, but who cares?) that he's a Death Eater…?

"If he isn't James Potter, why would he sound so pained?"


And so, the battle continues. Order, zero – Death Eaters, one.

Coming next is…Wormtail!