WE HAVE HARRY POTTER

Part 11

Madame Pomfrey eventually emerged from the doors of the hospital wing with a grim look on her face, and from the expression it was, James' stomach dropped so much so that he swore that it was almost audible.

'What is it?'

It was James' mother, who, along with the rest of James' family, had been summoned to the corridor outside of the hospital wing as soon as he had finished with his little emotional breakdown. James very much appreciated the fact that they all pretended that they couldn't see the red, raw eyes or the cheeks flushed with tear stains.

'I …' Madame Pomfrey's speech jarred to a halt as she took in the faces of the Weasley family. She gulped loudly, sniffed, pressed her hands down the front of her robes and straightened her head. 'He is not well.'

James' stomach descended even further. What could that mean, he wondered briefly, his mind sorting and sifting through all of the terrifying possibilities that could have befallen his dad.

None of the dozens of possibilities that he thought of in those few seconds was the culprit of the suffering that would cause the tense week that was to follow that day - despite his previous thoughts on the subject.

'He … He's …' Drawing a hand to her mouth, Madame Pomfrey stifled something that James might have thought was a sob.

'No.'

All of their heads whipped around to the voice and of whom was saying it. It was Neville Longbottom.

He was standing still as stone, positively glaring at Madame Pomfrey in horror. With his eyes wide and his mouth set in a firm line that displayed his utter aversion to whatever conclusion he had come across in his head that James could not even hope to fathom, the ratty old work robes he wore and the dirt stains did not detract in the slightest from his fearsome appearance.

'Mr. Longbottom -' Madame Pomfrey said in shock; apparently she had not known, like the rest of them, that Neville was here with them.

'Not Harry,' He said, walking towards the old Healer, eyes only on her watery ones. 'He can't … he's too strong. He can fight it.'

Covering her eyes before she spoke, and lowering them to meet the devastated brown eyes of her fellow staff member, she drew in a deep breath.

'I am afraid,' her lip wobbled, 'that the chances of recovery are slim. Very much so -'

'But there's a chance!' Neville said forcefully, and the rest of those gathered looked on in confusion. 'There's a chance he'll get better!'

'I …' She sighed, suddenly looking far older and wearier than James had ever seen her. She seemed to suddenly shrink into herself, as though subconsciously hiding from the situation at hand. Her mouth opened once again, but it seemed that the ability of producing speech had temporarily evaded her. She closed it and lowered her head.

There was a heartbeat of silence that seemed to last a lifetime, and all gathered remained silent and still, weary of what this conversation meant, or what it could lead to.

It was James' Uncle Ron that broke the silence.

'Neville,' he said in a low growl, jaw tightly wound and set, 'if you're saying what I think you're saying -'

Grim face set in cast iron, Neville replied just as forcefully to his old dorm-mate. 'I wish it weren't true. I only … it's the only possibility from what she's saying.'

Uncle Ron scanned the face of James' Herbology professor. He seemed to find what he was looking for, however, as he swung around in lightning speed, and punched the wall viciously, not caring about the pain it might cause. He swore rapidly and loudly while he did it, but nobody really seemed to care.

James just wanted to be kept out of the dark. He wanted to know what they were talking about.

'I will not let him become a vegetable!' Uncle Ron roared, angrily pointing towards Neville, who stood stoically facing him. 'Not after everything he's been through!'

'Oh God,' Rose whispered from next to James, her hand clasped over her mouth and her eyes as wide and round as saucers. James was still unaware of what they were all going on about. In fact, he was just about to ask Rose as to what was going on, as it was his father and very much his problem too.

James' Uncle Percy beat him first, blue eyes warily flicking between his brother and Neville.

'What's going on?' He said rather bravely, his voice cutting through the air violently. 'What's happened to Harry?'

There was a single, shuddering stop in the events, in which all eyes landed on Neville. He seemed to shrink under the weight of all of their stares, as if the realisation of the people that he was with had suddenly hit him through all of his anger that came from an unknown source to James, as of yet.

'Ask Madame Pomfrey,' Neville said softly, looking at Madame Pomfrey with apology in his eyes. 'She's the Healer, after all.'

All of their gazes switched to Madame Pomfrey. She looked at them all, each person being pinned with a strong, blazing look, before she let out a deep breath.

'What you must understand,' she said slowly, and James thought that she must be choosing her words very carefully, 'is that Harry was subjected to severe trauma over the span of that month. Trauma to both his body and his mind. As of this moment in time, having awoken from his coma, Harry is currently … unresponsive.'

There was a pause, and then a small thump as James sunk to the floor.

Sitting on the floor, James did not even need to look up to see the devastation on his family's faces. He did not need to look into a mirror to see his own heartbreak.

He knew what Madame Pomfrey was saying, and why Neville had been so angry and had seen what had happened straight away. Neville had direct relations with a situation of this manner, and the outcome was not good.

James did not think that he could bear it.

How could he possibly walk into a dull old hospital ward in Saint Mungo's, to go and visit a father that really wasn't his dad anymore? How could he ever look at the blank and unresponsive mask that used to be so full of life and laughter despite the demons that had previously haunted it so long before James had even been thought of?

A new respect blossomed in James' chest for Neville. It seemed, from his behaviour, that coping with his vegetative parents was one of the hardest battles he had ever fought - and was still fighting.

It was too much - the sting in his eyes as he clamped them shut, and the feeling of his own arms encircling his head as he brought it down to meet and rest on his knees was all too much.

James would not be able to cope, he would not be able to ever look at his dad in the same way for he would not be the man who taught him to ride a broom, or the same man that fought off the monsters that haunted James' nightmare's when he was little. The man that had told James off for feeding his crusts to the dog, and the man that supported James through no matter what - be it a horrific mark on his homework or a prank gone seriously and badly wrong, - was gone.

And the hole that suddenly felt gapingly huge in James' chest widened so much so that it was a certain fact that it would never be filled or healed, and in that void of space were the thoughts and feelings of what-could-have-been's and wishes and hopes and memories that James wanted to share his future with his father with.

It was all too much.

James stumbled to his feet, ignoring the murmured words from his family that told him to stay and to sit back down, and he walked off down the corridor, afraid of what he was heading towards, but absolutely and irrevocably terrified of what he was leaving behind him in his wake.

He found himself in the Astronomy Tower. It surprised him that it was night - the pitch blackness that was only illuminated by the brief sightings of the moon when it emerged from it's cloudy cover was strangely comforting, he found.

James did not care whether his family could or could not find him; and perhaps is was supremely selfish of him but he simply couldn't find it in himself to care. They should be worrying about his dad. Not him.

His eyes stung, but this time, he let the tears fall freely as he gazed out over the rolling hills and mountains that made up the Scottish landscape. Despite the season being summer, snow still lay on the mountains like little white caps. James found it strangely comforting.

His thoughts, however, strayed to much darker places than the blackness of night that surrounded him.

In his voyage to try and stop thinking about his father's current … state, James had begun thinking about just who had caused the entire mess in the first place.

He had reason to presume that the culprit was some sort of Death Eater supporter - there were no ex Death Eaters wondering around as far as he knew, and so therefore James thought that it might be the son of a Death Eater … perhaps looking for revenge? James shook his head. He didn't know, and he probably never would.

Some sort of searing, clawing monster crawled it's way through James' body and settled itself there, pulling back it's head and roaring. James swore, in that moment, that he would get revenge. His father was incapable of exacting his own revenge on his captor, and so James would do it for him.

They would not be allowed to get away with it. Not if James had anything to do with it.

But before James' thoughts could wallow anymore, before he could begin to work up and real hate and anger and sadness towards the entire situation and the people involved, a small and meek cough sounded from behind him.

James swivelled around, his hand going for his wand instantly, readying it just a moment before he faced the intruder of his private moment.

It was Scorpius Malfoy.

'What do you want?' James snarled, trying to make his voice sound as terrifying as he could, due to the fact that he knew full well that his face was tear-stained and probably looked weaker than it ever had before. Nevertheless, Malfoy took a step backwards, and raised his hands slightly in a show of meaning no harm.

'I … I know about what happened to your dad.' Malfoy gulped.

There was a moment of silence before James lunged at the smaller boy, pinning him to the wall and jabbing his wand, - the one his father had bought with him, - into the pale neck.

'How?' James hissed, his face so close to the boy who was a year younger that he swore he could almost smell the fear on him.

'It was only an accident I found out!' Malfoy squeaked, and James loosened his grip of the blonde boy's collar, knowing that it would do no good if his only information source as to who did this to him father ended up being strangled - as pleasant as that thought might be.

'I heard my dad talking to someone -'

'So it was him? Your dad?' James' grip tightened.

'No!' Malfoy said forcefully, showing the first emotion that wasn't fear or wariness since the beginning of their encounter. 'He was trying to talk them out of it!'

James released Malfoy, and let the boy struggle to breathe as his mind spun with this new information.

The Malfoy's were involved … that fact standing alone did not really shock James. More the fact that … Draco Malfoy, was it? More the fact that he was trying to convince or persuade whoever was involved not to go through with it.

That was the really shocking part of it.

James knew the animosity that was shared between his entire family and the Malfoy's. It almost seemed natural - the sun rose in the east and set in the west; the Malfoy's and Weasley's hated each other. James' father had always been what his family called a "Stupidly-Forgiving-Hero-Complex-Weirdo", and this enabled him to actually hold civil conversations with Draco Malfoy in the Ministry.

They were by no means friends - James didn't think that his father's and Uncle's friendship could survive that particular shock.

Swallowing down both the corrosive anger and terrifying sadness that threatened to consume him whilst thinking about his father, James looked at Malfoy again, who's breathing looked to be under control once again.

'Did you not hear who they were?' James asked impatiently.

'No, don't you think I would have said?' Malfoy said huffily. 'My dad only said that he wouldn't get involved, and that he wasn't going to support them. He told them not to do it - practically begged them.' Malfoy looked up at James, eyes wide, as if willing him to believe him. 'I left before I could hear anything else, I thought they were coming to the door.'

There was silence before James asked another question, though this time much slower and much more thoughtfully.

'Why didn't you say anything sooner? Then maybe we could've got him back sooner - maybe he wouldn't be -'

James cut himself off before he could reveal anything more.

Then maybe he wouldn't be insane.

'I tried to,' Malfoy said slowly, interrupting James' thoughts. He was grateful to the Fifth Year. 'But I couldn't get hold of you. Every time I tried you were surrounded with people, or you were leaving.'

A sudden clarity washed over James as he remembered all of the times that he had brushed or knocked aside someone with the bright blonde hair that could only belong to a Malfoy - it was almost as distinctive as the Weasley red hair. He remembered vividly the time he pushed aside someone, - who must have been Malfoy, - outside the Hospital Wing just before Bill and Fleur had arrived.

Another thought occurred to him.

'Why me? Why not once of my cousins or Aunts and Uncles or something?'

Malfoy sighed. 'I couldn't go to your brother because we're in the same year,' James didn't know how that was an issue but he let it slide. 'Your sister is too young, and I could hardly go and have a civil conversation with one of your Aunts and Uncles, could I?' He raised an aristocratic eyebrow.

'What about my cousins?'

'Same sort of reasons as Albus and Lily, really.'

James shrugged and learnt against the wall. 'So I was the safest option out of all of my family, was I?'

'Apparently.'

There was a pause that stretched awkwardly between the two and blanketed the small tower space.

'What now?' James asked, this time he being the one wary as he expected that he would be made to offer something in return for the information. He was a Malfoy, after all, no matter the situation or circumstances.

'You can do whatever you like with it,' Malfoy said. 'I've done my part.' He started walking towards the door of the tower.

'You don't want anything?' James said incredulously.

Malfoy turned, stopping his walking, and looking at James with what he thought might even be a hint of guilt and disappointment.

'Just because I'm a Malfoy doesn't mean I don't know the difference between right and wrong. I've done what's right, and so has my dad. I'd appreciate it if you didn't get us involved.' He fiddled with the sleeve of his robes. 'We've tried really hard to get rid of the aftermath of the war. It's … hard, being treated like you're a Death Eater because of a stupid name.'

Malfoy paused, looked at James, and as if realising how much he had said, clamped his mouth shut and near enough flew out of the door, robes whipping around the corner before James could even realise that his jaw was dangling off of his face.

And James was left stew over the new information that he held.

- I hope this chapter is all right; I worked really hard on it to make the characters and the situations realistic and how I think that the characters would react. I hope you liked it.
I'm sorry for the late update; all I can say is that I'll really try hard to get the new chapter up quicker for Part 12. I'm aware that I've probably lost a few supporters; as I really probably should, given how bad my updating has been. I hope I can win you back!

Who do you think Harry's kidnappers are? I'll give you a hint; there's only two.

- Spellmugwump:)