A Potion for the wise

Secrets and Scrimmages

Fleamont couldn't ignore a request from his son, anything from going to prank stores to getting ice cream when Euphemia said no. 

It was James' favourite pastime to see what his father would let him do before his mum found out. It was their little secret, whenever Euphemia went out James would ask his father to do whatever his mum usually says no to. Being James' father he always said yes, who could say no to such a charming young boy? He practically charmed everyone into thinking the family dog played a prank on them. He did however get into trouble for that one, he was grounded for months after Euphemia found out that it was him. 

"Dad, dad, dad, dad, dad," James said as he ran over to his father who was reading his copy of The Daily Prophet, a wizard newspaper. "Yes, James?" Fleamont asked, raising an eyebrow as his glasses began to slide down his nose. "What is it? Did you play another prank?"

James shook his head, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "No, I wanted to go play some Quidditch scrimmage with you."

Fleamont's eyes lit up with excitement. He had always enjoyed playing Quidditch with his son, even though he wasn't as skilled as James. It was their special bonding time, a chance for them to forget about the worries of the world and just have fun together.

"Well, James, your mother doesn't usually approve of impromptu Quidditch matches," Fleamont replied, a playful twinkle in his eyes. "But I suppose we could have a short scrimmage. Just promise me you won't fly too recklessly."

James let out a whoop of joy and jumped up and down. "I promise, Dad! I'll be careful!" He ran to fetch his broomstick, eager to start their Quidditch adventure.

Fleamont watched his son with a mix of pride and amusement. James was a spirited young boy, always seeking excitement and adventure. While Euphemia was usually the voice of reason in their household, Fleamont couldn't resist indulging his son's requests from time to time.

As they walked out to the backyard, broomsticks in hand, Fleamont couldn't help but think back to his own Quidditch days at Hogwarts. He had been a Chaser on the Gryffindor team and had fond memories of the exhilaration and camaraderie that came with the sport.

"Alright, James, remember the rules," Fleamont said, mounting his broomstick. "No rough play, no flying too high, and definitely no aiming for the windows!"

James nodded eagerly, gripping his broom tightly. "Got it, Dad! I'll be the best Chaser there ever was!"

With a flick of his wand, Fleamont conjured a set of Quidditch goalposts at each end of the makeshift pitch they had set up in the backyard. The two of them took their positions, ready for the friendly scrimmage.

As they soared through the air, the thrill of the game washed over them. James zipped around, displaying his natural talent on a broomstick, while Fleamont did his best to keep up. They laughed, cheered, and occasionally exchanged banter as they chased the Quaffle back and forth.

For a brief moment, Fleamont forgot about the stresses of running the family business and the ever-present threats that loomed over the wizarding world. It was just him and his son, united by their love for Quidditch.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the backyard, Fleamont called for a break. They landed gracefully, their broomsticks resting on the ground as they caught their breath.

"Great game, James," Fleamont said, patting his son on the back. "You're becoming quite the Quidditch player."

James beamed at the praise. "Thanks, Dad! I had so much fun! Can we play again tomorrow?"

Fleamont chuckled and tousled James's messy hair. "We'll see, son. Your mother might have other plans for us. But we'll always find time for a game or two."

Just then, they heard the front door open, and Euphemia's voice called out, "I'm home! Did you two have a good time?"

Fleamont exchanged a knowing look with James before replying, "Yes, dear, just enjoying a little father-son Quidditch scrimmage. Nothing too wild, I promise."

Euphemia entered the backyard, a mixture of amusement and exasperation on her face. "You two and your Quidditch antics. Honestly, sometimes I feel like I'm raising two boys instead of one."

James hugged his mother tightly, planting a kiss on her cheek. "But you love us anyway, Mum."

Euphemia sighed, unable to hide her affection. "Yes, James, I do. Now, let's get inside before it gets dark. Dinner will be ready soon."

Fleamont watched the interaction between his wife and son, a warmth spreading through his heart. Their little secret adventures, the moments they shared when Euphemia was away, were precious to him. They were a reminder of the bond they had as a family and the joy that came from embracing life's little rebellions.

As dinner was served and the family gathered around the table, the conversation shifted to lighter topics. They talked about the day's events, shared laughter, and indulged in Euphemia's delicious home-cooked meal.

Fleamont couldn't help but sneak a proud glance at James, who sat beside him, eagerly recounting their Quidditch scrimmage. Euphemia listened with a mix of amusement and feigned disapproval, but there was a glimmer of delight in her eyes.

"James, you know I worry about you flying too recklessly," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of motherly concern. "But I'm glad you had fun with your father. Just remember to be careful, alright?"

James nodded earnestly, his eyes shining with gratitude. "I will, Mum. Dad always makes sure I'm safe."

Fleamont squeezed James's hand under the table, a silent gesture of their shared understanding. They knew that their little adventures were not meant to undermine Euphemia's authority but rather to create special moments of connection between father and son.

As the evening wore on, the family enjoyed dessert, lingering at the table, sharing stories, and relishing each other's company. It was these simple, intimate moments that made their bond stronger and nurtured the love that held them together.

Later that night, as Fleamont tucked James into bed, he couldn't help but reflect on the significance of their secret escapades. They were more than just acts of rebellion; they were a testament to the unbreakable bond between a father and his son.

"Goodnight, Dad," James whispered, his eyes heavy with sleep. "Thanks for everything."

Fleamont smiled, brushing a lock of hair off James's forehead. "Goodnight, my boy. Always remember that no matter what, I'll always be here for you."

As he walked out of the room, Fleamont's heart swelled with love and gratitude. He cherished their little secret adventures, knowing that they brought immeasurable joy to both himself and James. It was their way of creating memories that would last a lifetime, a testament to the unbreakable bond they shared as father and son.

With Love and Magic,

Writerwritten64