Chapter Text
‘Crucio’
James jolted up, feeling his chest being compressed each second while a sweat was dropping down his temples.
‘Another nightmare,’ he told himself through his shattered breath, his body trembling and his clothes damp from sweat.
Disgusting.
‘Breathe,’ he can hear his dad’s voice, ‘In and out.’
But he can’t
He tried to inhale, take in some air, to breathe, but nothing was coming in, as if there was some barrier, as if there was no space in his lungs.
Shaking his head, he could feel his finger holding into his scalp, his nails digging within him, trying to reach out for something, trying to come back.
But come back from what? This wasn’t him! This had never happened before!
‘In and out,’ he keeps repeating to himself, taking a deep breathe, three seconds, then let it out for another three seconds.
‘Crucio!’
‘In’
‘—mudblood—‘
‘Out’
‘In’
‘Out’
Yeah, like that.
‘In’
‘Out’
He could feel his chest moving up and down in a steady rhythm, his limbs not trembling that much anymore. And he could finally see, not blinded by darkness anymore.
‘In’
‘Out’
Exactly like this.
Calm.
Control.
He’s still in control of himself.
Finally, he threw himself back into bed, staring into the ceiling, feeling the hot tears forming behind his eyes.
This was the worst week of his life. Right now, he’d do anything to be back to Hogwarts, to the loud castle, away from the silence of the manor. Hell, he’d rather have Severus Snape hex him all night rather than lay in his bed like that. Anything was better than silence.
Maybe he could see Remus tomorrow? Yeah, that’s good. If Alastor doesn’t reply to his letter by morning, then he’ll go see Remus.
No, this also wasn’t an option. He was barely in control of himself. What if he gets into another ‘episode’ while he’s with him? Remus already has his problems to deal with, no need to add James to the list. Plus, he needed to control himself before Harry was coming back. This was the third time this week, and if this continued— It won’t continue. No way it would continue.
Thinking about Harry… Why wasn’t he replying to his letters? James had been over to Surrey, spoke with Harry for hours by the park. He wrote to him constantly, and Harry replied as quickly as he can. Until he didn’t.
Still, he kept his daily visits to Surrey, but instead, he watched from afar, under his cloak. He was either by his bedroom, or walking outside, by the park sometimes, and on rare occasions, having his meals with his relatives.
This was enough.
There was no use in lying down and staring at the ceiling for the rest of the night. If he woke up early, then he might just have an early start.
So, he sat up from his bed, and looked down at his own hands—
He blinked, eyebrows crossed.
There was hair, right here, dark curls tangled through his fingers, along with tiny spots of—
Blood?
Was he the one that did that?
Sneering in disgust, he stood up, wiping his hands on the pants of his pyjamas, but it wasn’t enough. There was still some strands, along the fact that the blood spots were under his nails.
Pathetic.
So fucking pathetic.
He forced himself up, dragging his feet behind him, feeling like he was dragging heavy metal chains behind him. The bathroom wasn’t far away, yet it felt as if it was. It was an eternity until he finally reached the knob, and turned it open, the light of the bathroom automatically turning on. Then he walked over to the sink, not daring to look back into his reflection. There was no need to, the picture of how he looked like was already planted in his head. Pale, eyes either blood-shit or hazy—not his eyes, his shoulders slumped—not his shoulder, and his hair more of a nest that was abandoned underground for years—not his hair.
The man reflected by the mirror wasn’t him.
The warm water was now running between his fingers as he untangled the hair between them and cleaned the blood under his nails.
He was so fucking pathetic.
How did Lily marry such a looser?
How did she even like him back?
What did he see in him?
He was an arrogant teenage boy who claimed to be good at everything. Yet, when it was the time of danger, he was the one who failed.
Determining that it was no good to remain in his bed in the moment, he decided to abandon it and go to the sitting room. His papers were still there, and he could continue his work. He has to. Because no one else would. No one else even doubted Sirius’ innocence. But James did. Because James knew Sirius more than anyone else. They knew each other more than anything else. The two of them, bounded by their endless energy and the summer midnights under the same roof.
It was like having a brother.
“Missy!” James called out.
The sound of the familiar crack snapped in the air.
“Did Master Potter call Missy?” The house-elf appeared, looking up at him with big sad eyes.
“Get me a cup of tea,”
“Missy will get Master Potter a cup of tea!”
Then she disappeared with another crack.
He dropped to the cushions on his sofa, grabbing his glasses and pushing it to sit on the crook of his nose. He just needed Alastor’s reply to come, with the wanted response.
Letters..
Why wasn’t Harry responding to his letters?
Did he say something wrong?
No, no way. He would’ve seen it by Harry’s face if he did. His feelings are reflected on his face.
Was it his birthday and he forgot?
No, it was still in the middle of July, and Harry’s birthday isn’t till the end of Jul
‘—born as the seventh month dies—‘
That prophecy had ruined everything.
EVERYTHING!
Just if Dumbledore could tell him which Death Eater had overheard the prophecy, just if he would tell him, then he’ll make sure that they’ll pay. He’ll make sure of that. Just You-Know-Who knowing about the prophecy was enough to ruin his entire life.
Was it Malfoy?
He was one of You-Know-Who’s closest Death Eaters, even if he wasn’t convicted, and one of the most skilled ones. He was capable of running from Dumbledore’s grasp.
It didn’t make sense though.
What would someone as Malfoy do at Hog’s Head? He’ll go to a much better pub than the ones in Hogsemade.
A tap on the window caused James’ head to snap, stand up immediately, and run to the window.
Archimedes was there, flapping his wings, waiting for James to open the window.
Seriously! Why couldn’t he go to the owlery?! That’s better though, he wasn’t in the mood to walk all the way up to the owlery.
He pushed the window open, allowing the cool morning wind to enter the musty room, and for his grey owl to hop on his arm.
“You’re the best!” Jame said, unrolling the letter from his leg.
Harry.
This must be Harry.
He was probably distracted by something and finally remembered to write back.
To James Potter,
His grin faded, replaced by the slump of his shoulders and a frown.
This was not Harry.
It is a shame for you not to come back to the Auror department. Being a transfiguration Professor? Really? This was really a path I did not expect you to go through. The department could utilise your skills better than this school, and I’m sure it would only be couple of years before you become the head of the department—if you continue on your old rate, ofcourse.
Also, I did hear that now you’re a member of the Board of Governors. Honestly, this was unexpected. James Potter? The one who would somehow find a way to jinx Shacklbolt’s drinks no matter the precautions he took becoming a Board member? Do not blame me for laughing.
Regarding your request, I do trust that you can control your own anger. It’s understandable to be angry at Black, wanting to cause as much harm as you can inflict. But believe me, rotting in Azkaban is a much worse fate than being killed.
Meet me this afternoon by the entrance of the Auror department. It is my shift today, and it would be easier to sneak you in.
Alastor Moody.
James stared in disbelief.
Alastor agreed.
ALASTOR AGREED!
“YESSS!” He yelled out, jumping in the air, the letter crumpling in his fist, “YESYESYESYESYES!”
He would contact Sirius!
No! He’ll talk to Sirius!
Finally!
His greatest hope is that none of old mates were here. The last thing he needed was to see Shacklebolt when his last interaction with him is James spiking his drink and that stone-headed man break-dancing in the middle of the office.
Most of his old mates were dead anyways.
“Potter!” James turned his head, finding Alastor, not so different from what he remembers. A couple of new scars, and a new cane of course.
That cane was so fucking cool. If he would ever be old enough or suffer from a limp, he’ll have to get one of those.
“Oh! Good afternoon,” James greeted, taking out his hand from his pocket and waiting for his direction.
“I would appreciate catching up, but not right now,” Alastor hissed, his magical eye darting everywhere, checking that there was no where in sight, “Let’s just get the job done.”
“You’re really a lifesaver.”
“I just trust you enough to let this slide,” Alastor said, leaving through huge golden gate, “If it was someone other than you, I would never accept that.”
James didn’t reply, he just trailed behind. Alastor thought that James also thought that Sirius was guilty. It was better to leave it like that.
His hands were held in two fists, his jaw was tight, his steps and spine straight and formal.
“Keep it down, Potter,” Alastor whispered, “I am sure you are still furious about Black’s actions, but being in Azkaban is a much worse fate than death.”
James stiffly nodded.
Keep him believe that.
There was this small building that James immediately recognised as the interrogation unit. Of course he did recognise it, ‘interrogating’ death eaters until they couldn’t stand him anymore was a part of the long list of ‘what James and Sirius had in common’. And he was training under Alastor’s wing, that itself should be the reason why he was going back and fourth to it.
Finally, they reached one of the white, window-less rooms. Alastor took out his key collection and unlocked the door.
“Wait here,” he ordered, and James nodded, getting inside. He never thought that he’ll be back again.
A part of him was glad that he wasn’t an auror anymore. He never wanted to be an auror, it’s not where his soul belonged. His soul belonged in the air, flying freely in the bright blue sky, with cheers erupting from everywhere.
The sound of Alastor’s steps snapped James back, along with the sound of scrapped metal chains across the tiles.
Quick review. Sirius was his secret keeper ever since they went into hiding. There was no single attack on Godric Hallows before Halloween. No suspicious Death Eater’s movement around the area. Not to mention that there was no trial for him! If he at least got a trial, James would have a picture of what had gone wrong!
Soon, the door was pushed open, with Alastor appearing in the door, long with—a man James could barely recognize.
A mop of mess.
Dry and pale skin, the flush of life taken away from his face.
Hair that once was once shiny right above his shoulders was a tangled mess, a nest of dead dry twigs. Bones were visible through his shaggy clothes. His grey dazed eyes not looking at anything other than his steps.
“Sit,” Alastor pushed him down on a chair, binding his hands on the table by a binding spell, then Alastor turned his eyes to him, “You have thirty minutes, Potter. I’d suggest you use your time wisely.”
Sirius froze, his spine suddenly snapping, then he slowly looked up, eyes widened, grey with a poor hint of life.
“J—James?” He tried to call out, except it came out as a dry, cracked, mutter, then tried to sit up properly, stand up, make sure that he’s real, that it wasn’t some illusions the dementors were creating to make him miserable, “You’re—you’re alive! You’re up!”
James sneered, looking down at him in disgust.
“Do not place my name on your filthy tongue.”
Sirius’ shoulders slumped, his eyes staring at him in disbelief.
“It wasn’t me! You know it was—“
“SHUT IT!” James slammed his fists on the table, “AFTER EVERYTHING WE’VE BEEN THROUGH, YOU DECIDED TO HAND METO YOUR PRECIOUS LORD?!”
“Do not cause much chaos,” Alastor’s voice came, as he was leaving towards the door, “There are silencing charms, but still take cautious.”
“No need to worry about me,” James hissed, his eyes not leaving Sirius’. He listened as Alastor’s steps echoed through the corridor, echoing and echoing, becoming far by each second that passed, before letting out a breath and dropping himself on the chair. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” Sirius started,
“It wasn’t me! We switched secret keepers!”
“WHAT?!”
Sirius was taken aback, “What do you mean what?!”
His hand went through his hair, and it took him everything to stop himself from pulling it.
“Okay okay! We need to clear things first,” James said, “I have no idea what happened about the last couple of months before Halloween.”
“Oh..” Sirius sat back, “that’s makes sense.”
“Er—yeah. I would’ve got you out if I remember,” James said, then but on his lips, “If I switched the secret keeper, then who was it?”
This was enough for Sirius’ face to turn red, his fists tightening against the binding spell.
“PETTIGREW!” He spat out, “THAT FUCKING RAT!”
….
It felt as if the while world froze right behind his eyes.
“Peter?!” James exclaimed, “Are you sure? Peter?!”
“Yes!” Sirius yelled out, “I gave Hagrid my motorbike to get Harry to Dumbledore, and then went to check the rat’s hiding spot! He was not there, and there was no sign of struggle! When I chased him down, he blew off the pavement, killed those muggles, cut off his finger, and then turned to the rat he is!”
James was going to be sick.
This was impossible to believe.
Peter wouldn’t do that.
But would Sirius do?
He and Peter had known each other since they were seven. Had known him way before James had known Sirius. It was James, Peter, and Marlene. Before Hogwarts, it was the three of them.
He shook his head in disbelief.
“I’m telling the truth!” Sirius fought, “I was the one who convinced you to make him the secret keeper! I was sure that the Death Eaters will come after me first, and I begged you to! Then—then.”
“Yeah yeah, let’s..let’s stop right here,” James said, feeling the ceiling had somehow fallen over his head, then he looked down at his watch.
What should he do with him?
If he was right, if Peter was the traitor, and he was still alive—
In
Out
He kept repeating, knowing that this was not the right time to be sick.
“We’ll need to find a way to get you out of here.”
Sirius shrugged, “I can turn to Padfoot and flee. Dementors don’t much affect me when I’m in my animagus form. It would take some time and planning, but I think I can do it.”
James froze.
“Excuse me?” He said, “And you didn’t even try to escape? What kind of shoe lives inside your skull?!”
“And what would I do if I got out!” Sirius argued, “I just knew that you survived that coma, and that you woke up! When did you even wake up?
“A year ago, but there was a lot of chaos. Voldemort had possessed a professor at Hogwarts and tried to kill Harry—“
“Right! Harry! How is Harry?! Is he alright?! He was bleeding through his forehead last time I saw him, and was trying to get Lily—“
Then he stopped, his face sinking in his hand.
The picture came floating in his head. Harry, fifteen months old, blood seeping out from his now-scar, trying to shake Lily awake, who was lying on the floor, lifeless, red hair sprawled everywhere, green eyes staring into nothing.
“I’m so sorry, Prongs, I am truly sorry,” he muttered, taking in a shattered breath.
“Just…shut up. You need to escape soon,” James interrupted, “but not now. The ministry will suspect me. I barely managed to convince Alastor to sneak me in here.”
“I think Alastor would understand if you explained to him. You were his favorite trainee, after all.”
“I’m not planning to risk it,” James argued, “Just give me…until winter, yeah. I’ll try and look for evidence, for…for Peter, if I could, and set you free, but if I don’t..just flee.”
Sirius nodded.
They sat awkwardly for a minute, with James fingers tapping against the table.
“Harry should be in second years right?” Sirius started.
James nodded, “Yeah. You know, I became a professor.”
“Holy feet of Merlin!” Sirius sat up, “You’re joking!”
A scoff escaped his lips, “Wish I was. And guess what subject?”
“Defence?”
“Naaahhh, Dumbledore refused, but Minerva kind of felt bad for me and offered me her transfiguration position, so she’s now the deputy headmistress and head of Gryffindor.”
“No way, you’re lying,” Sirius said, “Minerva must have been drunk.”
“Hey! I’m a wonderful teacher! The students love me!”
His ears caught the echo of Alastor’s steps coming closer and closer, causing James to immediately stand up, aderlanine spiking in his blood.
“Sorry for that. I do believe you though, by the way,” James said, his eyes locking on the door, making sure to be ready at the exact time.
Smash.
Sirius’ nose might have cracked under his punch as he fell off the chair, and if his hands weren’t binded to the table, he would’ve definitely fallen off.
“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” He yelled out as soon as he heard the door opening, “ALL OF THIS YEARS OF FRIENDSHIP, JUST TO TRY AND SWITCH ME TO THE OTHER SIDE!”
“Potter! Enough!” Alastor grabbed his shoulder from behind, pushing him out, but James kept up with the fake struggle.
“He laughed at my face!” He cried out, “He laughed at my face and told me that he wished he had killed Lily from the start!”
“Get a hold of yourself!” Alastor pushed him out, causing James to stumble.
“Sorry,” James muttered, holding into the wall, steadying himself up.
This was….
unbelievable. Couldn’t be believable at all.
“If I had known, I wouldn’t have agreed.”
“No, no,” James staggered, “This is good. It’s just…”
He cannot explain it.
So sick.
Peter, one of his closest friends, had betrayed him the moment he had the chance.
He could feel today’s breakfast stirring in his stomach, threatening to escape.
Not now!
“Go home,” Alastor demanded, “Have a shot of firewhiskey.”
“You know that I don’t drink.”
“Merlin forbid that you need it.”
The first thing James had done after falling from the floo was head to closest bathroom, ignoring the fact that this was the guest’s bathroom. It’s not like there are guests coming over anytime soon.
He had barely made it to the bathroom, his hand clammed over his mouth, trying to hold back the acidic bile down.
He had barely made it to the toilet, his knees buckling, crashing down, his glasses dropping from the hook of his nose, before everything he had ate this morning came back.
It was Peter.
Everything he had for this morning came back up, causing him to wretch and wretch, cutting through his throat, sinking the acidic taste in his tongue.
Tears were forming behind his eyes as he held onto the porcelain, trying to keep his body up.
Peter, his friend that he knew even before he knew how Hogwarts letters looked like.
Peter, who had to at least fall off his broom once a week, or get thrown off by a bludger.
Peter, who he had built fort castles with by Marlene’s backyard.
The vomiting stopped for a second, and James could finally sit up properly. He leaned his back against the tiled walls, his hands sinking into his hair.
Peter, who James spent the late nights gossiping with.
Peter, who made the funniest jokes. And James kept using them, till now, thinking that he’s honouring his ‘death’.
Except he was honouring Lily’s death.
He made Peter the secret keeper, and Peter betrayed them.
He killed Lily.
James had killed Lily.
Albus had offered him to be the secret keeper!
Why didn’t he fucking agree!
Another wave of nausea attacked him, and by the next second, he was wretching by the toilet again.
He killed Lily.
He killed Lily.
‘I don’t know how I married such a looser.’
‘—Crucio—‘
He tried gasping for air, but it came as an ugly sob, tears already threatening to fall.
Why did he have to fuck it all up!
It was all so perfect!
So perfect!
He hand a lovely wife, he had a lovely child, he lived in a lovely home.
Why couldn’t he listen to Albus?
Why did he have to act like a blindly trusted friend?!
The cost of his trust was Lily’s life, along with his son living a miserable life under a miserable roof.
It should’ve been him!
He was the one who made Peter the secret keeper, so why was it Lily that had to pay the price of his idiocity!
A terrible sob shook his whole body as he sat back against the tiled walls, holding his knees closer.
Why did Peter do that?
Why?
Weren’t they friends?
Weren’t they brothers?
The tears were streaming down his face, running down.
Pathetic.
Pathetic.
So fucking pathetic.
He was in his thirties, crying like a six years old boy, trying to wipe it away with the heel of his palm, but the more he wiped, the more were the tears that came down.
It felt like a fire erupted his chest, evaporating all the air in his lungs, leaving him a crying corpse, crying, like a child who had been abandoned by his mother.
Good thing Harry wasn’t here.
How could he get Harry here when he was so fucking pathetic.
How could he look at Harry when his own stupidity had ruined Harry’s life, Harry’s life that barely started.
Oh, Harry, his poor little son, doomed since birth, destined to suffer since he came out of his mother’s womb.
Those brilliant green eyes that looked up at him whenever James started recalling a story from the past.
His loud laugh whenever James said a joke—one of Peter’s old ones.
His raised eyebrows whenever James made the dumbest statement.
His smile whenever he was walking along with his friends, or when he was with Cedric Diggory.
His anger at frustration at the sight of Draco Malfoy.
His boy.
His and Lily’s boy.
And he prevented Lily from seeing her boy growing up. Her last sight of Harry might be as she held him tightly in her arms, trying to protect him from You-Know-Who, calling out for James, who was blasted and unconscious by the pavement.
Was she tortured?
Or was it a quick death?
The thought of Lily’s cries, Lily’s screams, begging You-Know-Who to let Harry be.
Again, he went for the toilet, wretching and wretching, the acidic taste already carved in his taste buds.
Could this summer get any worse?
His back was still a little bit sore from the fall he had earlier, and it didn’t help that he was lying on the hard floor.
His supposed ‘bed’ wasn’t far away, but he didn’t have the energy to get up and lay there.
And his stomach was growling.
Still, he didn’t want to come down. Not when the Dursleys were laughing, all huddled together around the dinner table.
Two days.
Two days and he’ll be out of here.
The only good thing that happened at Dobby’s arrival was Harry knowing that he wasn’t ignored.
His father did write to him, sent him some sweets as well, just as he promised.
Ron and Hermione definitely wrote to him. Cedric also had written to him.
Only if Hedwig was here and he could send her with any letter.
His father was probably worried by now, and Harry needed to tell him about Dobby.
There was a knock on his door, causing Harry to sit up immediately.
The door cracked open, and Aunt Petunia appeared, her sneer as disgusting as usual, carrying with her a tray.
“I do not need your stupid father yelling in my ears that you aren’t eating,” she said, placing the tray on the floor, “Eat and save me from your theatrics.”
Then she closed the door shut behind her.
Harry sighed, standing up, and going to sit by the window.
It was a bright and a sunny day. No clouds in sight. The other kids were out with their bikes, racing towards the end of the streets.
“The last one to reach there is a rotten potato!” One of them yelled, a girl with a pink bike.
Two days, and he’ll be back with his father.
Two days, and he’ll go racing with his broom.
Two days, and he’ll be laying on a proper mattress in his bedroom.
Two days, and he’ll be back by the manor’s kitchen, teaching his father how to bake, ignoring the fact that Missy can do it faster. He’ll tell him stories about his own games while the flour covered his clothes, his and Remus’ adventures while the cracks of the egg fell in the bowl, the creative detentions McGonagall had assigned him while smoke was erupting from the oven. And Harry will laugh about it, even though his treacle tarts got burned.
He’ll let him invite Ron over—maybe Hermione too, but he thought that she’d rather spend as much time as possible with her family.
Cedric will show him new moves behind his father’s back, moves that his father would say that it was too early for him to learn.
Then he’ll be back to Hogwarts.
By the warm Great Hall, huddled by his friends and housemates.
By the Gryffindor common room, with almost everyone huddling around the fireplace for warmth after hours of being out in the snow.
By their dorms, trying to put down a fire Seamus had cause, again.
Then he looked down, far from the playing kids, more at the closer streets.
A deer?
There was a deer standing at the end of the street.
Were deers here normally?
Maybe after he went to Hogwarts, deers started to come here.
It was weird none of the neighbours had kicked it away yet.
Harry opened the window, then sticked his head out. The deer tilted its head, spotting Harry, its ears flapping, and it reminded Harry of Hedwig when she was flapping her wings.
He was held by his throat, the air blocked from his airway, causing Harry to scramble, looking for a release. He tried to let it go, to run, but he couldn’t. The grip was too strong.
“Harry!”
And then, the familiar jet green.
“HARRY!”
His eyelids flew open, and Harry found himself, sitting up on his mattress, scrambling for breath.
“Harry!” Harry turned his head to the sound. Even through the darkness, he could see from the moonlight the familiar red hair, some freckles, and a pair of blue eyes staring right at him.
“Ron!” Harry stumbled, crawling from the excuse of a bed towards the window.
“Hello!” One of the twins waved, sitting behind the stirring wheel of the—
A CAR!
A CAR WAS PARKED IN FRONT OF HIS WINDOW!
A FLYING CAR!
Uncle Vernon will have his head if he saw it, whether his father threatened him or not.
“You weren’t replying to my letters!” Ron whisper-yelled.
“Yeah, long story,” Harry said, studying the car, “but I think you have a more interesting story to share.”
“It’s Dad’s,” Ron stated, “Now get in!”
“Give me a second!” Harry said, then went on to grab his stuff. Some of his clothes were scattered everywhere, along with parchment that he scribbled on out of boredom, couple of book he had taken just in—
The door flew open.
Harry froze, then immediately threw the shirt he was holding in his back, slowly raising his head to see him standing there.
Uncle Vernon.
“PETUNIA! THE BOY IS RUNNING AWAY!” He yelled out, then hurried to get a grasp on Harry.
Harry threw his bag at Ron, then immediately jumped on the window, and was about to jump into the car, but Uncle Vernon managed to get a grasp on his ankle.
“Let off!” Harry tried to kick, but his grip was too tight.
“YOU WILL GET BACK HERE!” He yelled, “I DON’T NEED YOUR FATHER HOVERING WITH HKS STICK TO MY NECK.”
As if he had a neck from the start.
“Isn’t that Professor Potter?” Ron called out, grabbing Harry by his wrists.
Harry raised his head, trying to spot him.
Maybe he got a letter about the magic incident and came?
The hands on his ankle finally let off, and with a pull from the brothers, Harry was finally in the car.
He quickly sat up, going for the window.
“Where is he?” He asked, turning his head everywhere, eager to find him.
“I lied!” Ron said, then turned to Fred, “FRED! MOVE ALREADY!”
“SHUT UP OR I’LL THROW YOU OUT OF THE WINDOW!” Fred yelled back.
Harry turned to the window of the house, seeing Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon horrified by the existence of a flying car.
“Goodbye!” Harry waved, as the car flew toward the sky, far and far away, until Little Whining wasn’t in sight anymore.
“What the hell is wrong with those muggles?” Ron started, “I mean, yeah, I know that you hate each other and all, but what is with that dingy room? Even my room below of ghoul is better!”
“My room back home is better.” Ron rolled his eyes, “I’d be surprised if it wasn’t.”
“What will happen if I managed to get some head-changing candies in their drinks?” Fred suggested, still holding into the stirring wheel.
“That would be amazing!” Agreed George, “I’d like to see that fat man floating!”
Harry laughed.
“I’m sure my father would have the pleasure to do so.”
“Speaking about your father,” Ron said, “Mum got a letter from him today, asking if I got any letters from you. You got us all worried, mate, even Hermione was agreeing on the idea of getting you with a flying car!”
“Er—about that….”
And he told them everything. About the start from him not receiving any letters, to Uncle Vernon’s guest, till Dobby the house-elf.
“That’s the Burrow right here!” Ron pointed out at a huge home, shaking Harry awake.
The sun had already risen by now, and Harry wanted nothing but to sleep.
“Shhh!!” The twins whispered, as they parked the car in the garage.
The garage wasn’t any normal garage. It was full of a lot normal things that made it look abnormal. A telephone. A TV. A bike. A remote control. A fan.
“That’s reminds me of my grandfather’s artefact room,” Harry whispered, walking carefully in order not to step on anything by mistake, “It’s full of muggle stuff.”
“Yeah, Dad loves collecting them,” Ron replied, “He works at the muggle department.”
“I don’t know what he finds interesting about them.”
“Neither does mum.”
They finally managed to silently get through the garage and towards the kitchen.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
The four of them froze.
Even the twins were horrored, sharing a last look before their death.
Should Harry be scared?
Yes.
They slowly turned around, to find a middle ground-aged woman standing there, freckled-face, red-haired.
This was Mrs. Weasley for sure.
“Beds empty! No notes! The car is missing!” She continued, “What if muggles had seen you?!”
“Mum! It’s midnight! Everyone is asleep!” One of the twins laughed her off, but that caused her face to become much redder.
“This isn’t an excuse!” She continued, stomping towards the kitchen angrily, “I will discuss this with your father when he’s back!”
“Don’t worry,” Ron whispered to his ear, “Dad’s pretty chill.”
“Come on now! Sit!” She ordered, causing the two to shut up, “Have breakfast, and then you’ll all go to your rooms and will not come back until your father arrives!”
Then she turned to Harry.
“Come on, Harry, dear, sit down,” she said, holding his shoulder and pulling him to a seat, “I’m sure you’re hungry by now.”
Harry knew that the Weasleys weren’t the wealthiest, that the Dursleys owned way more than what they did, yet, his plate here was much fuller than all of his meals in a day combined.
They all ate in silence, on fear of Mrs. Weasley yelling out at them again.
Even when she was mad, she filled each of their plates with fresh spreaded toasts, filled their cups with warm milk, and didn’t yell at them to eat faster and get out of her sight. And when they were done, they left their plates the sink, with the sponge washing the dished on its own.
“Ronald, take Harry to your room,” she said, Ron nodded, then told Harry to follow him, and Harry followed him up the stairs.
As he took the first step, he felt a sharp pain down his ankle, causing him to grit his teeth, but he kept his mouth shut, and followed Ron up the stairs.
By the time they were by the second floor, he spotted someone behind a door, a girl, peeking through the small space between the door and the wall. It was Ginny. Harry had recognised her from that day on Hogwarts Express.
“Hi,” Harry waved.
She slammed the door shut.
“Weird,” Ron commented, “Usually she won’t keep shut.”
Yeah, totally weird. He remembers the letters she had sent to Ron, bold with language that her mum will kill her for if she ever knew.
But the Weasley siblings had a rule, never snitch on each other.
“Don’t tell me we have much stairs to climb,” Harry groaned, already wanting to chop off his stinging foot.
“Sorry, mate,” Ron laughed, “You’ll have to get used to it.”
He couldn’t believe as they finally reached the third floor.
“It’s kind of annoying here. You see, the ghoul is literally above my head, so don’t mind the growling,” Ron said, opening the door that had a label on, ‘Ronald’s Room’.
The room was full of…orange.
Mainly because of the Chudley Canons posters everywhere.
“You cheer for the Chudley Canons?” Harry asked.
“Ofcourse I do! They’re the best!” Ron exclaimed, “They won the Euro Quidditch cup twenty times in a row!”
Harry raised an eyebrow, “You do realise that was a decade ago,” he said, then added, “My father loves them too. He says that were cut off from proper equipment, trainers didn’t want to train them, and players didn’t want to join them because of their political beliefs of muggle-rights.”
“Your father is literally the coolest man on earth!” Ron beamed.
And Harry silently agreed.
James stared at the letter he got this morning.
WHY DID HE JUST GET THIS LETTER NOW!
Harry’s magical incident was three days ago!
Why didn’t he get this earlier!
And why hadn’t he seen it?!
He had been coming back and forth to Surrey, watching Harry either under his cloak or in his animagus form.
When did it happen?
Mainly, that was the reason he was by Number Four, Private Drive, a day earlier than expected, knocking on the door of their boring house.
Harry knew that underage wizards aren’t allowed to use magic outside school, then it must be accidental magic.
But by the time he had his first magic classes, he was supposed to know how to control his magic.
Accidental magic wouldn’t happen to kids over eleven unless they were unstable, or extreme danger was around.
But he was watching the house for the last three weeks, no way something dangerous had happened.
He knocked on the door again, a little bit harsher, just to get someone to open the door.
The door opened, revealing the Whale Sr., James made sure that his wand was in sight, just to scare him off.
He looked paler than James remembered, eyebrows crossed in rage.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to have my son,” James said, tilting his head, while a stupid smirk was on his face.
He gritted his jaw that didn’t seem to exist.
“Your son had already left.”
“Pardon me?”
“I said your stupid son left last night!” He yelled out, then tried to slam the door shut, but James held it open.
“Really? Or did you eat him? I would believe that more,” James said.
“Don’t you dare to talk me like that in my own home!”
James whipped out his wand, pointing it under his non-existent neck, “I do whatever the hell I want.”
At that, Vernon smirked, “Would you risk having a criminal record, Potter?”
James blinked, “Do you understand the words coming out of your own mouth?”
“I perfectly know that your kind aren’t allowed to perform their silly tricks in front of us.”
…..
James was taken aback, not believing that this was serious.
A scoff escaped him, then a chuckle, then a full-on laughter, shaking him to the core.
“Oh, you poor big thing,” James laughed, “You think I’m a normal wizard.”
Then he cleared his throat, “I’d like to remind you that my last name is Potter, a noble wizarding family that held its status in the wizarding world for centuries. Do you know what that means?”
He held on his wand tighter, the tip of it on Vernon’s skin. “That means I could whatever the fuck I want and the only thing will be down is a warning letter that means nothing,” he spat, “Now, you will answer me and tell me where is Harry.” Silence resumed for a second as Vernon gulped,
“He fled in a car.”
“A car?” James repeated, eyebrows raised.
“A flying car,” he added.
“You want me to believe that Harry could get a flying car somehow and flee?”
“No, he had people with him.”
“Who?”
“Why do you think I know?!” He yelled out, and James pushed his wand closer, “A bunch of redheads! They were three ginger boys!”
Red heads.
The Weasleys!
James let out a sigh of relief, putting his wand down and letting his hand go through his hair.
The Weasleys were fine, great, even.
“You’re lucky that I know who those red heads are!” James said, flicking his wand, then he turned to leave.
If he stayed another second here, he might go insane, then he paused in the middle of the yard. With a flick of his wand the weeds in the yard grew.
“POTTER! YOU GET BACK HERE AND FIX THIS!”
He rubbed the inside of his ears, “Sorry, did I hear something?” He said, flicking his wand, and he heard Dursley crashing down and hit the floor or the wall or whatever the fuck.
Yeah, that will teach him.
The Weasleys still lives in Ottery St Catchpole, right?
He hopes so. Because if they don’t, James would have to wait for extra days so he can get a portkey.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to picture Ottery St. Catchpole. The bright, cloudless sky, along with the huge green spaces and vegetable field everywhere, and the kids chasing after gnomes that were eating their crops. And in a second, he found himself there. The Burrow was in sight, and even with other buildings somehow covering the view, the Burrow had its..unique..style.