1.

There had always been something eerie and deeply unsettling about his father. Maybe it had been the deranged attitude towards power and leadership that had made him enforce a strict regime of discipline and callousness. Naturally, his father would consider himself the leader of the family and often found pleasure in denigrating and reprimanding his children for educational measure. Despite the revulsion he felt towards his father though, James obliged, and still took part in the mandatory monthly audiences that Harry required everyone of the family to participate in. The gatherings usually consisted of harmless updates concerning family business – how his siblings and himself were doing at work, how they got along financially, what to do for the next bigger family meetup. All pretty boring but it nearly always ended up in a clash, especially between James and Harry. James was now twenty-eight and old enough to mind his own business, yet his father repeatedly attempted to have a say in his life. James hated that. The conversations never ended well. And neither had it earlier today.

So James's day had started off quite shit, having to see the man he had secretly forsworn many years ago as part of his progressing alienation from his family. Along with it had also come a loss of respect towards his mother, not least because she'd prove to be the most vocal when it came to criticise him for the 'disrespectful behaviour towards his family'. "You should be grateful," she'd always remind him.

As he was making his way to the lift that would take him from the Ministry's ground floor diagonally sixteen floors up, James kept thinking about his earlier conversation with his father. It annoyed him that he couldn't brush it off as easily as he had wished to. His father's words kept echoing through his mind and he could feel that his nerves began to tickle. Usually when his nerves did that, it meant that his emotional containment had already reached the limit. It would then only be a matter of minutes until he'd have to take it out on someone. Though he was generally a very short-tempered person and he didn't mind that. Under normal circumstances, it took about half a day until he'd reach the point at which he'd have to release the pressure of crushing rancour. The confrontation with his father, however, had reduced said time to a third and James was already feeling the urge to release his anger. And it wasn't even Noon yet.

"You are still too young for the position. I was too young for it, I wasn't prepared for the responsibility," Harry had said, touching his son's shoulder as if to comfort him. "It is a burden, you know. And just think of the consequences when you make mistakes. You'll have to stand by every decision you make, however bad it might have been."

The more his thoughts circled around his father's words, the harder heavy iron fists hammered against his skull, provoking anger and aggression to build up inside of him. Wild rage was throbbing in his chest, waiting for the right moment to burst through his flesh like rotten explosives that would leave nothing but faint flakes of ashes. As he stepped into the lift, James caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrors that surrounded him. He scoffed at his appearance. He needed a haircut, and maybe a shave, but most of all he'd have to workout more so that he'd become bigger and stronger. He wanted people to see what he was capable of. He looked tired and weak though and frankly, he had not gotten much sleep lately. Apart from the Muggle business with which he occupied himself occasionally, he'd been working on a couple of investigations that required a lot of attention and focus.

"Ronald does a wonderful job and it will only be a few more years until he retires and then...-" His father had paused theatrically at this point - "Then it will be your turn and you will be stronger and more suitable than ever for the position."

James clenched his fists and lifted one of them in order to bite it hard. He did not need to feel the pain he inflicted upon himself but instead only wished to convince himself of the strength of his jaw, the force he was able to accelerate and focalise onto anyone and anything that would stand in his way. Damnit. He was shaking with anger and rage. He knew that "a few more years" meant at least ten to fifteen years and not even that he was certain of. It was frustrating to think that Weasley was a rather skilled Auror and unlikely to get killed in a chase or fight. Head of the Auror Department had been a well deserved success in an otherwise very insignificant life, James had to admit.

2.

Ping. James's dark eyes scanned he indicators of the lift. Someone had required it at level 8.9 which, to his further annoyance, was the level on which the Senior Auror quarters where located. If he were lucky, it'd just be one of the many secretaries joining his ride and if he were very lucky, she'd also be good looking. If he were unlucky though...

The doors opened and, contrary to his prior perception of the day, luck was very much on his side today.

A tall, young man with messy red hair stood in front of him, seemingly lost in thought. The redhead didn't immediately look up and was only slowly lifting his lost gaze as he made his way to enter the lift. Only when his weirdly glossed green eyes met James's did he jump back, withdrawing in shock until, to James's amusement, he stood frozen like a helpless deer paralysed by its own fear.

With a broad grin on his face, James stepped out of the lift – his office could wait – and slowly approached his prey. He examined Hugo carefully and was surprised to see that the boy was looking way better than he should based on his excessive use of drugs. But instead, he was wearing a rather expensive suit, and his face was smooth, speckled with obligatory Weasley-freckles, but otherwise well taken care of. But James knew that time was not in Hugo's favour and so soft skin would perish, nasal cavities would only take so much cocaine. It was probably just excellent predisposition. Hugo was Mrs Weasley's son after all. She had had excellent looks, James always found. Too bad she had died a few weeks ago, given that she'd been more than once focus of his secret but lively milf fantasies.

Hugo's face had turned even paler and the many freckles began to look like tiny, red painful flames.

"Now this is a surprise," James snarled softly as he inhaled deeply in order to take in the smell of Hugo's fear. He knew that Weasley was afraid and he could so clearly see it in those lost, dead eyes. James was quickly beginning to enjoy this encounter far more than he should but the moment their eyes locked, all the aggression, the painful rage and the unbearable hate had suddenly come to an end. The throbbing explosives inside of his chest had turned still and the frustration in his mind had faded. It was the quiet before the ultimate, raging storm that would break upon them in a relieving blast of carnage.

"Excuse me," Hugo murmured as he stepped aside in a desperate attempt to slide past James. James blocked his way though and made sure Hugo could not get by him.

"In a rush, mh?"

"What do you want?" Hugo asked hesitantly while trying to avoid James's eyes.

"Someone's on it, I see," James whispered as he analysed Hugo's eyes "The stuff's laced when it leaves a layer, you know."

It was hard to tell whether Hugo felt caught at all but then again, they both knew well enough about each other's involvement in the drug business.

"Why I appreciate sound advice by qualified personnel. Pity Auror business isn't going this well for you." Hugo answered calmly.

Fair enough. James wasn't pleased with what he heard and he could hardly deny that the dispute over his position within the Auror Department was his weak spot. It was hardly a blow though and he knew that he was both physically and verbally far more advanced than Hugo when it came to provocation. For a start though, he decided he'd settle for a simple trick that would distract his victim and very likely loosen the first brick in an already unstable wall of self-protection. He spat on Hugo's face, enjoying the twitch of surprise and disgust in his opponent's face. Covered in his saliva, Hugo almost looked cute. The boy was obviously trying to take the attack with composure as he reached out for James's tie which he then used calmly to wipe his face clean. James couldn't help but laugh as he allowed Hugo to continue. He'd always liked Hugo's nerve and cheekiness and he had to acknowledge that their interaction almost aroused him. James wasn't gay of course. But he simply loved confrontation and Weasley had never failed to respond accurately to it. He took great pleasure in awaiting his opponent's retaliation and even though Weasley was fantastic in containing emotion, James also knew by experience that once one pushed the right buttons, Hugo would allow to be drawn into the confrontation, the escalation and the ecstasy of violence. James took yet another step closer. Their noses were almost touching, their lips painfully close to a kiss.

"I sometimes spit on his grave too, you know." he whispered, anticipating Hugo's loss of control. "And you don't even know where it is, do you?" he added with a malicious grin and sinister false pity in his eyes. "Oh and this," he continued slowly as his finger carefully stroked along a hickey on Hugo's neck. "Don't think he'd much appreciate this. Wonder who you got it from."

3.

Ron was about to take a deep drag of a much needed cigarette. He exhaled the smoke with a sigh and closed his eyes for a second. He tried to hold back tears but the conversation with his son had been too much for him.

He'd always hoped that Hugo would one day return to the family, come home. Hermione had never given up on Hugo and it had been her biggest wish to see her son someday come back to where he belonged to. When she had died, Ron had somehow found comfort in the thought that her death might eventually bring Hugo back. There'd been hope in the naïve idea that her death had had a meaning after all.

"Why would I take books, useless books about magic, from someone I never loved?" Hugo had then asked coldly and forced his father into shocked silence. Ron had only sat still, eyes on his son who seemed so far, far away in his own world. He'd then given a brief nod, accepting the implications of his son's sharp words.

He didn't care.

He never had and he never would. Neither Hermione's life nor her death had meant anything to their son.

Ron sighed deeply and wiped the tears off his face. Today was going to be a busy day and he still had to catch up on some paperwork. He put on his glasses and took a file off the huge pile of paperwork that was protruding on his desk. He groaned when he read the cover sheet. A copy of Malfoy's written defence on a case from several weeks ago in which the bastard had managed to enforce a lower sentence than originally demanded by the Auror Department.

"Right then," Ron sighed as he prepared to have a quick reading of the thing – an annoying formality. Suddenly the door to his office swung open and Mrs Jabblepots, his secretary, stood breathlessly in his office. "Mr Weasley, sir! Mr Weasley has gotten into a fight with Mr Potter" she cawed hysterically and pointed to the corridor outside of his office. Irritated, yet prepared for quick intervention, Ron jumped up and saw McLaggen already rush by, and quickly followed up.

At the end of the corridor he saw indeed the two boys. They were on the ground, James on top of Hugo and Ron could see that James was hauling off for a strike. Adrenaline shot through Ron's body as he took all his energy to rush by McLaggen in order to stop James.

All he could think was that he did not want to lose another part of his family. He grabbed James from behind and pulled him off his son whose left eye had caught a severe hit. Hugo's mouth and jaw were full of blood and Ron assumed James might have managed a hard blow in the guts.

McLaggen knelt down beside Hugo while Ron was still busy calming James. "James! Calm yourself, James! James can you hear me?" Ron shouted, having trouble containing the boy's hard twitching body. He was full of rage, his eyes bloodshot but Ron noticed that his nose seemed a little off. Must be broken, Ron thought and couldn't help but feel a spark of pride when he realised that Hugo's punch had the precision of his mother's.

The End