Harry sighed. "It's just a story, James. It isn't supposed to be accurate, it's supposed to sell papers."

"But how can you let them say things like this? It's dangerous! Professor Franklyn--"

        The look Harry gave him stopped him from going any further. After a second, Harry's expression softened. "I know what you are worried about, James, and I don't blame you. But there are ways of handling these things, and one of those ways isn't arguing with people like Rita Skeeter."

        "You sound like McGonagall," James said, dropping his eyes and jabbing at a chunk of sausage.

        "I should," Harry replied quickly. "She taught me. And I think it's Headmistress McGonagall to you."

        James poked at his plate sullenly for a moment. Then, not wanting to look at it anymore, he folded the newspaper roughly and stuck it out of sight.

        "First Quidditch of the season tonight, then, right?" Harry asked, waving his fork at the three boys in general.

        "Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor!" Zane announced. "My first game! I can hardly wait."

        James looked up and saw his dad grinning at Zane. "You made the Ravenclaw team, then! That's very cool. If I can finish early enough, I plan on coming to the match. I look forward to seeing you fly. What position will you play?"

        "Beater," Zane said, pretending to swat a Bludger with his fork.

        "He's pretty good, Mr. Potter," Ralph said earnestly. "I saw him fly his first time. He just about made a crater in the middle of the pitch, but he pulled up at the last second."

        "That takes some serious control," Harry acknowledged, studying Zane. "You've had broom lessons?"

        "Not a one!" Ralph cried, as if he were Zane's public relations agent. "That's the amazing bit, isn't it?"

        James looked at Ralph, his face grim, trying to catch his eye and warn him off the topic, but it was already too late.

        "He probably wouldn't have figured it out at all," Ralph said, "if he hadn't taken off after James when he did the big outta-control-like-a-bottle-rocket-rumba." Ralph squirmed on the bench, mimicking James' inaugural broom flight.

        "But you'll be supporting the Gryffindors, of course!" Zane interrupted suddenly, planting his palm on Ralph's forehead and pushing him backwards.

Harry glanced around the table, chewing a chunk of toast, a quizzical look on his face. "Er, well, yes. Of course," he admitted, still looking from boy to boy.

        "Yeah, well, that's cool. I understand completely," Zane said quickly, waggling his eyebrows at Ralph who was sitting there looking nonplussed. "Be true to your school and all that. Whoo. Look at the time. Come on, Ralphinator. Classes to get to."

        "I have a free period first," Ralph protested. "And I haven't had any breakfast yet."

        "Let's go, ya lunkhead!" Zane insisted, coming around the table and hooking Ralph's elbow. Zane could barely move Ralph, but Ralph allowed himself to be tugged along.

        "What?" Ralph said loudly, frowning at the meaningful look Zane was giving him. "What'd I do? Did I say something I wasn't--" He stopped. His eyebrows shot up and he turned back to James, looking mortified. "Oh. Ah," he said as Zane pulled him toward the door. As they rounded the corner, James heard Ralph say, "I'm just a big idiot, aren't I?"

        James sighed. "So yeah, I stink at Quidditch. I'm sorry."

        Harry studied his son. "Pretty bad, was it?"

        James nodded. "I know," he said. "It's no big deal. It's just Quidditch. There's always next year. I don't have to do it just because you did it. I know, I know. You don't have to say it."

        Harry continued to stare at James, his jaw moving slightly, as if he was thinking. Finally he sat back and picked up his pumpkin juice. "Well, that's a load off my chest, then. Sounds like you've done my job for me."

        James looked up at his dad. Harry looked back at him as he took a very long, slow drink from his glass. He seemed to be smiling, and hiding his smile behind the glass. James tried not to laugh. This is serious,he told himself . This isn't funny. This is Quidditch. On that thought, his composure cracked slightly.He smiled, and then tried to cover it with his hand, which only made it worse.

        Harry lowered his glass and grinned, shaking his head slowly. "You've really been worried about this, haven't you, James?"

        James' smile faltered again. He swallowed. "Yeah, Dad. Of course I have. I mean, it's Quidditch. It's your sport, and Granddad's, too. I'm James Potter. I'm supposed to be excellent on a broom. Not a danger to myself and everybody around me."

        Harry leaned forward, putting his glass down and looking James in the eye. "And you may still be great on the broom, James. Merlin's beard, son, it's your first week and you've not even had your first broom lesson, have you? Back when I started here, we wouldn't have even been allowed to get on a practice broom without lessons, much less try out for the House teams."

        "But even if you had," James interrupted, "you'd have been excellent at it."

        "That's not the point son. You are so worried about living up to the myth of who I was supposed to be that you aren't giving yourself a chance to be even better. You're defeating yourself before you even start. Don't you see that? No one can compete with a legend. Even I wish I was half the wizard the stories make me out to be. Every day, I look in the mirror and tell myself not to try so hard to be the Famous Harry Potter, but just to relax and let myself be your dad, and your mum's husband, and the best Auror I can be, which sometimes doesn't seem to be all that great, to tell you the truth. You have to stop thinking of yourself as the son of Harry Potter…" Harry paused, seeing that James had really heard him, perhaps for the first time. He smiled a little again. "And give me the chance to think of myself simply as James Potter's dad instead. Because of all the things I've done in my life, raising you, Albus, and Lily, are the three things I am proudest of. Got it?"

        James smiled again, crookedly. He didn't know it, but it was the same crooked smile he so often saw on his dad's face. "All right, Dad. I'll try that. But it's hard."

        Harry nodded understandingly and sat back. After a moment, he said, "Am I always that predictable?"