Forget Her ✷ James Potter.

Prologue

When James Potter was six years old, he did not need a babysitter.

Six years of age was practically a man. James viewed himself as mature enough not to deal in trivialities such as bedtimes, eating his vegetables, minding his Ps and Qs, or chores begot to him by his parents; least of all, chores assigned while Mum and Dad were away by the pretty witch from down the road.

The point of a babysitter, to James, was benign. Six years of life are clearly and definitely enough to care for himself for only a few hours at a time. Hey, even Peter's parents sometimes left him alone for a few minutes or so! It wasn't unheard of.

But Euphemia and Fleamont were ironclad in their (retrospectively wise) ways of not deeming a six-year-old responsible enough to stay alone for long periods of time, and so they casted an advert across their little town, and immediately a response was sent by (thankfully) another Wizarding family. (Having to explain why their six-year-old could float objects across the room every once in a while would quickly turn into a pain).

Willaby Baird, aged fourteen, had deep auburn hair and a face that was quick to become a stern scowl when necessary. Her eyes were often traversing across the vast bookshelves of the Potter household, instead of watching James, perusing what book she should pick up in lieu of actually doing her job. Granted, she was only being paid in small sums, nothing actually worth doing true work on James's behalf, so it was nothing to complain of.

The third time Willa took care of James, it was on account of a Ministry-sponsored party extended to the entire British Wizarding World, meaning, of course, that Euphemia and Fleamont were among the invited—as were Charlie and Rosetta Baird.

Now, simple maths were not taught to James in the limited schooling his mum provided for him, but he did know how to add: Two sets of missing parents plus two unattended children of the age six equaled Euphemia and Fleamont capitalizing on reasons to pay Willa less. They suggested she bring along her little sister to play with James for a smaller sum, and, seeing as Charlie and Rosetta had not organised a babysitter for their young child, they took up the offer immediately.

Thus began the best night of James Potter's life. And Piper Baird's, for that matter.

No less than an hour into the Disapparation of their parents, Willa seated the two young children before her on the Baird's' couch and knelt before them like a schoolteacher. She gave them both an earnest look with those big brown eyes of hers that got her out of anything, even at age fourteen.

"I think you're both of good years," she told them, as if letting them in on a little secret. "Six is a very smart age to be."

"Thank you," James said immediately, looking entirely too proud of the false compliment. At six, Piper remembers him having lost two of his front teeth at once, leaving him with the slightest of lisps. She'd always laughed at it; he'd never appreciated that very much.

"So," Willa continued, having been used to James's untamable ego by her third night with him, "what's going to happen tonight is this: Neither of you will bother me unless one of you is bleeding or dying. If there is a fire, yell at me. I'll deal with it accordingly."

Piper—always the rule-follower, then even more so than now—raised her hand. "What about if we get hungry? Or thirsty?"

"You know how to open the pantry," was Willa's response. "Any other foolish questions, or can I go?"

"Yeah, I've got one." James jerked his chin like a roadie, acting much too tough for somebody with glasses that were too big for his face. "Where will you be? Aren't you supposed to be taking care of us?"