WE HAVE HARRY POTTER
Part 3
James was a wreck.
Of course, he knew that the state he was in was probably nothing compared to the state that his father was probably in right that very second, but James still cried, still hardly slept, still hardly ate, still slipped lower and lower into the aggressive and desperate clutches of the monster that threatened to take him.
He knew that his family was worried about him. He knew, he was not completely taken unawares of what was going on around him everyday, all the time.
People were constantly whispering, pointing, sending him those loathsome pitiful looks that James could not stand.
However, after a time, he found himself not caring much about it anymore. Not caring about anything much anymore.
His marks were slipping; he was top of the year for the last few pieces of Transfiguration homework, but now, he was bottom.
The teachers were sympathetic, however. They did not call on him in lessons, when he had that oh-so-obvious red eyed and pale and sallow complexion. They left him be when he got a terrible mark on his latest piece of homework, or could not seem to remember that they even had any homework for that lesson. For that he was grateful.
Neville, or professor Longbottom, as they were supposed to call him in school, was quite worse for wears, too. His lessons did not consist of much actual learning, more dappling in whatever sort of plants took your fancy, or just standing around and not paying much attention, chatting with your fellows.
As Albus' godfather, Neville was very close to the family, and he tended to watch out for the three of them, generally little things that seemed to warm James' heart, even though the gestures were small. Little pats on the back, encouraging smiles.
Neville's face too had the same sort of depressive and ill look about it, he did not look like he got much sleep, and when he smiled, the grin did not seem to reach his eyes. They were more like grimaces anyway.
Albus and Lily too seemed to be falling into a state of emotional and physical disrepair. It was strange that for the three fairly different but strangely sometimes identical personalities seemed to all fair the same way in situations like the given one.
They all sat, every evening, in a lonely corner of the Common Room, not generally enjoying each other's company, due to the fact that none of them actually spoke or made an kind of contact with each other, sitting in silence, thinking their own thoughts, thinking about their father, and the kind of horrors that he was probably facing right that second. That was, until, Lily went to bed, and then eventually James and Albus. That was the only time that they made contact; murmured goodnights - although each of them undoubtedly knew that those were straight out lies.
As if James had a nice, peaceful, relaxing, good nights sleep. He dreamed of his father being tortured endlessly, killed in front of his very eyes, until he woke, and bolted upright, and realised that it was a dream - until, in his cold sweat, he realised with a dry sob that that was probably happening in real life, too.
Every morning, when he saw Albus and Lily, he knew in an instant that they were having the very same night time labouring that he had every night, too.
Sometimes, James felt so, so angry at his father. Why did he have to go and get captured? Why did he have to fall into a trap? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?
But then, James felt angry with himself. How could he even think that? His father would never leave them intentionally, he would rather die.
And then James was hit with the horrific truth. His father was probably dying for them right this moment. And then James felt so desolate, and so alone and desperate, that he just wanted to shut himself off from anything and everything.
Even Quidditch had lost it's spark, for James. He knew his father would not want him to stop everything, to put everything on hold because of him; but James simply could not help it. His father was a constant, he was always there, willing to talk, or just be your company for whatever reason and at whatever hour.
And now, he was gone.
And so, James found himself trudging along the corridors of Hogwarts, on the way to his Defence Against The Dark Arts lesson. Fred was walking beside him, and even he, the normally most frivolous out of all of the Weasley and Potter clan - and there was a lot; enough to populate almost half of Gryffindor, anyway - was in a very sombre mood. It seemed, nobody had the heart to be happy anymore. Even Hogwarts was quite downtrodden; Harry Potter was such a good, light, constant for all of them, too.
The war hero.
The auror.
The world-wide celebrity.
The modest man, who hated leading, and yet was so very good at it.
He lead a nation into a whole new world, even if he would never realise, or admit it.
'Today, we're going to be doing a bit of recapping - Boggarts.'
James was in his lesson? He looked around blearily. Yes, he was. Fred was sitting beside him, groaning rather half-heartedly along with the rest of the class, at the professor's - James could not even remember his name anymore - announcement.
The professor no-name talked a bit more about Boggarts; of course, James knew, and had retained quite a bit from his earlier years of his education, and even in his current state, he still remembered a lot.
Before James knew it, he was lining up amongst all of his classmates, waiting for his turn on the Boggart.
Suddenly, he felt nervous. James Potter, nervous about facing a Boggart. But, then again, he had no idea what it would turn into, what his new deepest fear would be. He had a pretty good idea, though.
His used to be a Dementor; like his father's. Fear of fear itself, in essence. He dreaded what the creature would morph into this time. This was probably the only time in his life that he would ever, ever wish that a Dementor would just show up. At least, instead of something else.
And then, James found himself right in front of the monster, and it was making a slight whirring sound as it whizzed between shapes; a tarantula, clowns, china dolls, a banshee, and -
A dead Harry Potter.
All around the room were looking on in anticipation, some with slight reservations on their faces, like the teacher and Fred, mostly people that were closer to James. When they saw what the Boggart had morphed into, there was a moment of silence as all looked at the grotesque scene in front of them.
James' father had a trail of ruby red blood dripping from his mouth, and his arm was splayed out at an awkward angle to his side. He was wearing some old, worn and faded auror robes, that were rippling all over his limp and lifeless body, and his legs were spread, his torso was twisted over slightly so that his arm - the normal shaped arm - reached out on the floor towards James. Damp, vivid red spots of blood littered James' father's floppy body, but his eyes were by far the worse. They were so blank, so lifeless, peering out unseeingly from behind the wire-framed glasses - one frame of which was cracked - looking, staring at James in a was that James felt like it was his fault that this was happening, that the state of his father was his own fault. His eyes were no longer the sparkling, shining emeralds that James had come to know and love, as had so many people in the room. They were dull, lifeless, beseeching and so, so unrelenting in their unwavering, blaming gaze.
James' breath hitched as he saw the sight, and he hardly even saw the slightly green faced professors face, hardly heard the screams and yells from the people behind him, and he ran from the room, dropping his wand with a clatter and striding off to - well, he had no clue.
James ended up in his dormitory. His hangings were closed, so that he almost felt shut off from the world. As he wanted to be.
He heard the door opening and closing, before a whispered voice sounded.
'James?' It was Lily, and he could already tell that she was teary eyed - she was so very easy to read, like her older brothers.
The curtain was pulled back, and James was suddenly painfully aware of the state that he was in. His eyes were red and rubbed raw, his face pale and sallow apart from the red circles that surrounded his normally sparkling, but now temporarily dulled. He was curled up, his arms draped loosely around his shins, his wrists too slightly red and raw looking because he had been holding them for so long - not that he was aware how long he had been sitting there.
The curtain was pulled back, and it revealed James' siblings, Albus and Lily. They immediately got onto his bed, regardless of any sort of problems that he might have with it. He had none, and he most definitely needed the support.
'Your wand.' Albus said, handing it to James. He did not even need to query or question how Albus had gotten the wand; Fred had probably picked it up after he - very cowardly - had run off and out of the class.
'You're not a coward.' Albus said, looking at him deeply with his eyes. Lily nodded in agreement, nestling into he shoulder and giving him a one armed hug. Albus held his other shoulder, and looked at James, and then Lily as she spoke again, her voice soft and comforting. James barely had time to register, fathom how Albus had seemed to read his mind, or how Lily was even his dormitory.
'You're really not, James. Anyone would have run.'
For some reason, his siblings' comments and agreements made him feel so much better. They were probably the only people that he could ever relate to properly in this kind of situation. They were the only ones who really, properly understood him, and so therefore could be the only people that would ever be able to reassure, or make him feel better in this kind of instance.
James may annoy his siblings, and act like they annoyed him, but, he knew, truthfully, and they probably did know too, that they were the only people that he would ever allow to see himself in this kind of state.
'Cheer up, James.' Albus said, with a weak grin on his face, eyes slightly puffed up and red.
'We Potter's stick together.' Lily continued on from Albus' trailing sentence, and the James knew that things were going to get better.
He had his family, and they would be with him every step of the way.
- There was a great response to the last chapter! Fifteen reviews already! Thank you so much! Please, read/review/subscribe. It means the world. Also, I estimate about two chapters or so left. Maybe more, if I decide to do another from Harry's perspective.
Should Harry and his captor burst into a) Hogwarts, b) the Ministry, c) the aurors come and save Harry, d) or, another original idea. Please, suggestions are much appreciated and welcomed!
- Spellmugwump97
AleydisEcho- Tadaa! I do like writing Harry. I'm not sure it the need for it will arise in future, though. But, please, tell me what you'd like to happen, and I'll certainly try to incorporate it. Thanks!
Rebecca Calzone- The Cruciatus must be terrible. Thank you! I would write from one of Harry's friends point's of view, but I want to keep to James and Harry, really. But, it's always a good idea should I need it, thank you for the suggestion! What do you think of the above question?
Hunter of Slytherclaw- Aww, thank you! You're amazing. It's great - well, sort of - that I'm making you nervous. I wanted this to be not predictable, or not too much so, anyway. James and Al and Lily and everyone are going to have a pretty tough time, I can tell you that now! Thanks for the Cruciatus comment. And, thanks for the rant, it's good, don't worry about it!
Punzie the Platypus- I love your name.. now the story! It's great that you're reading this, if you don't normally read next-gen, thank you for reading! It's very much appreciated. Thank you so much! I thought Harry would definitely get into a couple more scrapes, being an auror and all. I wondered.. and here we are, I suppose!
Rachel Weasley 99- Well, here it is! I really hope you like it. Thanks for following it!
Winged Quill- I know! I feel absolutely evil. Thank you so much, though.
kwidditchfan- Oh yes, definitely. There will almost definitely be at least two more chapters.