Friday, July 4th, 2014. 9:45 PM.

  Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Borough of Islington, London, UK

  “Kids? Where are you?” Ginny called as she came through the door of Number 12. Harry tossed their work robes at the coat rack, which caught them, sniffed at them, and tossed them down the laundry chute.

  “Up in the Parlor!” came a treble voice from up the stairs. Ginny and Harry made their way up, and entered the room to find Al, Lily, and Kreacher engrossed in a game of Popping Snap. (Unlike the more dangerous variant, Exploding Snap, these cards simply swelled up and popped when misplayed or badly handled, often with amusing displays and noises).

  “Dinner is ready in the kitchen,” Al said, gingerly trying to lay out a three-card accumulator.

  “We got to help!” chirped Lily. “Kreacher made his French Onion Soup!” She squeezed her cards in her excitement. Three of them Popped right out of her hands. Al and Kreacher both quietly slid extra cards into Lily’s draw pile while she was watching the balloon-like escapees chase each other around the room.

  “Oh, I do love your recipe,” said Ginny. Kreacher puffed up a little.

  “French Onion Soup, French Bread. and French Vanilla Ice Cream on French Toast for pudding,” Kreacher said proudly. “And Young Miss Lily found Kreacher a recipe for something called French Fries!” He scowled. “Kreacher did something wrong, though. Came out looking like chips.”

  “But they taste great,” added Al.

  Harry thought it was time to bring up the elephant that wasn’t in the room. “Where’s James?” he asked. “Up in his bedroom?”

  Without looking up from their Snap game, the three players each jerked a thumb toward the high ceiling. Harry and Ginny looked up.

  “Well,” said Harry.

  “Ah,” said Ginny. “There you are.”

  A smallish dome of shimmering air protruded downward from the ceiling. Inside it, seated cross-legged on the ceiling itself, was James. He was red-faced, gesticulating wildly, and, Harry supposed, yelling at the top of his lungs, though not a whisper could be heard.

  “Kreacher,” Harry said, glancing down. “My compliments to your Master. “‘Cause that right there is exactly what I was talking about.”

  “Oh, yes, indeed,” added Ginny. Harry had filled her in on his little talk with Kreacher while at the Cauldron. Neither of them had expressed much hope, but...

  “Wow. Would you look at that?” Ginny marveled.

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  Kreacher smirked up at them. “Thank you, Mister Harry, Miss Ginny.”

  Al said absently, “Kreacher sends him up snacks and drinks every so often.”

  Lily nodded. “He yells a lot. I think. But he always eats the snacks,” she finished, shrugging.

  “Oh, good. He looks like he’s using up a lot of energy.” Harry commented. “Guys, I hate to break up the game, but Mum and I need to discuss something with James. You go down and have your dinner, and we’ll call you back up later.”

  James could apparently hear them just fine. He stopped silently yelling, then just as silently starting talking very, very fast with a look of apprehension on his face.

  As the three started toward the door, Ginny asked, “Kreacher? How do we get him down?”

  “Down?” Innocent puzzlement was not easy for Kreacher’s face to convey, but, hey, he gave it a try. “Why, Young Mister James can get down any time he wishes.” He looked up at the boy. “All he has to do is stop talking for one whole minute.”

  Oh, yeah. Malicious glee was a much better fit for Kreacher’s countenance. He scuttled out, cackling, as Al and Lily chortled along behind him. James turned red and started gesticulating again.

  As Ginny shut the parlor door, Harry said, “James. James. JAMES!” The boy finally gave him a “What?!” look.

  “The minute doesn’t start until... YOU. SHUT. UP.”

  There were a few false starts, but finally the dome started dissolving, and James, tight-lipped, floated down, rotating slowly until he hovered a foot over the floor. The last vestige of shimmering air popped, and he dropped, flailing, on his bum.

  He sprang up and dashed for the door, gabbling, “‘Scuse-me-back-in-a-minute-just-gotta...” He hit the door, (which Harry had Silently used Colloportus and Spongify on), and bounced.

  “Er,” he said weakly. “Alohomora?” Between having no wand, and not really knowing the spell, the doorknob didn’t even wiggle.

  “Oh, James,” cooed his mother. “We’re going to have such a lovely chat.”

  ***

  “First off,” said Harry, “What did you do to get...” He stopped and gave Ginny a puzzled look. “What would you call it?”

  Ginny shrugged. “Encapsulated? Suspended from a ceiling? Maybe Kreacher has a word. Enceilulated?”

  “That’ll do.” Harry nodded. “What did you do to get Enceilulated by Kreacher?”

  “I didn’t do nuthin’,” James muttered, slouching over to lean against the wall by the door. “I was helpin’!” He stuffed his fists in his pockets, and wouldn’t meet their eyes.

  Ginny raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Helping? Helping exactly HOW?”

  “Just... you know, stuff. Getting stuff off the stove, an’ stuff.”

  “With oven mitts? And what stuff?” Harry asked sceptically.

  “With magic,” James muttered. “And the soup.”

  It got very, oh, so very quiet.

  “To summarize,” Ginny spoke through clenched teeth. “You used your one levitation spell, a poorly understood and never correctly performed Levicorpus, which even when done properly dangles the subject upside down, on a POT of THICK BOILING SOUP?”

  “No.” James was sulking. “Kreacher took the soup away from me with his magic, and then I was in the whatever spell.” He looked up defiantly. “He didn’t have to do that. I coulda made it work.”

  Ginny gaped. Harry cast a quick Muffliato, and spoke to her.

  “Next Mothering Sunday, we are going all out on your Mum!”

  She looked at him. “Why? I mean, yeah, sure, but why?”

  “Six wizards, one witch. Still sane.”

  A quick DisSpell done, they both turned to regard James, who was back to muttering and refusing to meet their eyes. The silence extended until even the oblivious pre-teen felt the tension. He trailed off and looked up at them.

  “Are you through channeling Pre-War Kreacher?” said his mother.

  James nodded warily. All the young Potters were familiar with that era of family history, mostly from tales told by Kreacher himself.

  Harry smiled. “Good. Because it is time to tell you exactly what we have planned for you.”

  James, audibly, gulped.