Happy Memories // James Potter

i: 9.11.1977

"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same" - Emily Bronte

Saturday, September 11th, 1977

I don't like the way the world works for me, honestly. I know it's only logical, really I do. It makes sense to me in every way, but that doesn't mean I hate it any less.

Money was always an issue, growing up. My brother and I, we had a good life, just one without the things we needed, and being half-bloods didn't help a thing.

Mum works for an insurance agency, Dad's always been a drunk, and that leaves Remus and I without two sickles to rub together most of the time. Mum tries to send us money sometimes, but she usually mixes up muggle money and wizarding money, so I've got a stash of Euros and not a single Knut.

Remus has rich friends.

I don't have rich friends.

I have Seraphina Pettigrew and Davie Joseph, neither of whom are even close to wealthy, and as such, we need spending money.

That's why I've found myself where I am right now, inside of the Three Broomsticks, looking for a Saturday job. It's the only day we're allowed to come to hogsmeade, which isn't ideal for a job, but it'll have to do. Seraphina works at Honeydukes and has since third year, and I used to work at Madam Puddifoot's until my brother caused trouble with his friends and got me fired.

"Ophelia, right?" An older woman with fiery, slightly graying hair questions me as I walk into the inn, questioning once again if this is a good idea when several eyes land on me from across the room.

"Yes, Ophelia Lupin, it's nice to meet you." I say politely, offering her my hand to shake before taking a seat at the bar-stool she points out.

"Wonderful, I'm Rosmerta, I own this fine establishment." She says sarcastically, gesturing over to a cracked window that looks out over Hogsmeade. "Can you serve drinks?"

"Yes, I'm 16."

"Wonderful, you're hired. Saturdays, eight to three?"

"Perfect." I agree immediately, startled by the abruptness of the meeting. I'm sure she's used to hiring kids from Hogwarts at this point, though I'm a bit surprised by the lack of questions.

"Philia!!" My brother shouts from across the bar, clearly annoyed about something or other. Several people glance up at him in confusion or look around the bar in search of who he's yelling at.

Lowering my head in embarrassment, I rush over to the table that holds my brother and his best friends, not caring to know what he finds so important that he's insistent on shouting at me but knowing full and well that he'll have my head if I make a run for it.

"What is it, Rem?" I question, shoving his friend Sirius over a bit so I can sit beside my brother and grabbing his glass of firewhiskey, downing it and ignoring the glare I receive from my brother and the scoff from his friend. The liquor stings my throat as it goes down, and the warmth of it is welcome in every way. The rush it brings to my head is heavenly.

"What are you doing here? This is a pub. And don't drink that stuff, it isn't good for you." He says as if it isn't obvious. James sniggers at his friend lightly, the joyous sound making the air just a bit lighter, though I find myself glaring at him either way.

"I work here. I was just hired." I explain. "Now if that's all, I'm gonna go."

"That most certainly is not all!" He insists as I grab James' cup as well, downing the half-gone shot of Firewhiskey that he was clearly sipping on.