Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin

Chapter 13: The Imperius Curse

The Three Broomsticks Inn
4 November 1994
5:00 p.m.

Finally home (for some definitions of home, anyway) after an exhausting day at the Wizengamot, James Potter stepped into his room at the Three Broomsticks with his ill-fitting plum robes on a hanger slung over his shoulder. Fighting the urge to toss them onto the floor in frustration, Lord Potter instead hung them carefully in the closet in case another "emergency session" was called while he was still ensconced here. They were his father's robes, after all, and he still hoped that one day they would be Jim's. Then, he poured himself a glass of Firewhiskey, kicked off his shoes, and sat down on his little bed to brood over the day's events.

His son—both his sons—were in deadly danger from the Triwizard Tournament, and there was nothing the government could or would do about it. Indeed, he was quietly convinced that elements of that same government were somehow responsible for everything. To James, there was definitely some connection between the Quidditch World Cup attack from earlier that summer and the current funny business involving the Goblet of Fire. And the most obvious connection between the two was the still-missing-and-presumed-dead Bertha Jorkins. It was a point he'd raised during the Wizengamot session earlier that day, only to be roundly mocked by several of the other Lords for suggesting in passing that the true purpose of the Cup attack might have been a distraction used as a cover for the Goblet's sabotage.

Of course, in James's view, the fact that most of the people who'd mocked his suggestion were former Death Eaters was persuasive evidence (in his mind, at least) that his theory had merit. Unfortunately, one of those Death Eaters was both the DMLE Director and also James's boss, so that rendered the chances of any serious investigation nil.

With a loud sigh, James took another sip of whiskey and then set the glass on the side table before reaching underneath his mattress to retrieve the book he'd hidden there earlier. He'd only read a few pages, however, before there was a knock at his door. Quickly, James hid the book once more before opening the door to find two familiar yet unexpected figures on the other side: Barty Crouch Sr. and his personal assistant, Percy Weasley.

"Director Crouch!" James exclaimed in surprise. "What brings you here?"

Flummoxed, he stepped aside to allow the two wizards entry.

"Forgive the intrusion, Potter," Crouch said gruffly before gesturing towards the younger wizard. "I believe you know my assistant, Percival Weasley?"

"Indeed," said James. "His family and mine go way back."

James reached out to shake Percy's hands, and the younger man reciprocated before his attention was drawn to something else.

"Quite so, Lord Potter. Er, forgive me, but ... is that my father's car?!" Percy exclaimed while pointing to a leather valise on the floor next to one of the windows.

"It is!" James answered with a grin. "Amazing bit of magic on your father's part! An enchanted car that folds down into an easy-to-carry satchel. Ingenious!"

Percy beamed at the compliment, but then a loud harumph from Crouch interrupted them.

"Sorry, Director Crouch," James apologized. "So ... what can I do for you? Does Mr. Flamel need me for anything tonight?"

"No," Crouch replied. "In fact, effective immediately, you're off the Flamel assignment. Flamel is staying at Hogwarts, and Porpentina Goldstein and Julian Montmorency are with him pretty much at all times, so your presence is redundant."

"Oh," James said with visible disappointment. As fond as he was of Arthur Weasley, he had enjoyed his brief reassignment away from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.