A Matter of Pride: James's First Interlude
As usual, James Potter was not having a very good day. Having just returned from a two week stake out mission, in which their one hope in cracking into the underground black market turned fruitless, his nerves were at an end. Within an hour of arriving at the office, he managed to cause his new secretary to burst into tears, and his trainees to retreat in a corner. To be fair, his trainees did try to address the failed project, "So I take it the mission didn't go as planned?", and poor Toni (or was it Evelina?) thought he needed a reminder of all the paperwork sitting in a heap on his desk. Finally, in order to ensure the rest of the office's safety and his own mental state, James had locked himself in his personal workspace, forcing himself to make some headway on the long, detailed reports. He paused mid-sentence, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then proceeded with the description of their main lead's body parts hanging down from various street lamps throughout a town around Nice. Sleep, obviously, had not come last night either. His right hand trembled sightly, but not terrible enough for it to ruin his writing and make him start over.
Suddenly, his door swung open, the movement making the parchment on his desk flutter.
"It was locked for a reason," James growled, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Quite a good reason too, I'm sure," His head jerked up and stood so quickly that his glasses, which previously were balanced so precariously on the tip of his nose, now dangled off one ear. Flushing, he awkwardly fumbled with that irritating object until it was back in its proper place. The man before him no longer resembled a fuzzy blur of green and white.
"Professor! What are you—", someone laughed, causing James to remember the door was still open, "What a surprise, come in, go ahead and sit down," He reached for his wand, but Dumbledore beat him to it, shutting the door and creating several protection charms around them. James sat back down and waited, his mind rushing with different scenarios.
"Have you learned anything new?"
"But sir, surely you have read the reports—"
"Humor an old man, James."
"Nothing new. I still don't know how I woke up. I don't know what happened to the package-but I know it was there! That and the pain are really the only things I remember that were real before the nightmares came. I've been examining my memories with the pensive and it looks like I have straightened out most of them. I haven't heard of any other attacks like mine, but there has been a steady increase in hate crimes targeted toward muggles and muggleborns. No use of the Dark Mark yet. So, what happened to me, might not even have been a Death Eater attack. It could be totally unrelated," James sighed, tugging on his hair. He had been starting to lose hope of finding any new leads after a year of absolutely nothing.
"How's the Prime Minister?" Dumbledore's smile was gone. Sharp blue eyes sought his own, no trace of the familiar twinkle.
"For the moment, I think he is safe. Dani and I have been monitoring him, and he hasn't met with anyone out of the ordinary or acted sporadically. He's still himself—rattled, obviously with what's being going on—but himself," said James.
"There's been an incident," James felt his chest tighten. The older man continued, "Alastor Moody, Fabian Weasley, and Alice Longbottom, were attacked, and, while alive, are in a critical state at St. Mungos. They're like you, James." The dark haired man exhaled, unaware he had been holding his breath. He unclenched his hands underneath the desk.
"Am I being called back in then, temporarily?"
"Almost Immediately. I have already spoken to the minister, and he has processed your transfer papers. You have an hour to pack and prepare, and then your portkey is scheduled to leave at 19:00. Once you leave, you'll have a half hour to breathe before our meeting tonight. We'll be meeting at the usual place," said Dumbledore. He started to get up, and James jumped to his feet to help. "No need to see me out-you've got plenty to do," Dumbledore waved him down, and then with a swish of his wand, removed the protective charms he had cast before opening the door.
James looked down at his desk piled with its half-finished reports, splattered ink pots, empty boxes of take away, and finally to the trio of frames pushed to the far corner. In one of them, he and his coworkers stood jostling each other to fit in the frame for their annual photograph. In the center, Dani was straightening the collar of his robes for their engagement photos, smoothing down any wrinkles across his shoulders. It had been hard to come to France, but in the two years, he forged a life here.
He looked at the last frame; it was of his parents: Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, wearing matching Christmas jumpers that had St. Nicholas on a broom, hurling packages as he zoomed back and forth on their sweaters. They were laughing and waving at him. It was a safe photo to have on his desk—his parents had been dead for years now. So there could be no danger to them or leverage for him, if anyone tried to use them as leverage. But, it still hurt to look at them, so James had often avoided it. But now he looked and tried to get his fill of them.
He was going home. Returning to (Sirius, Remus, Peter, full moons, horrible weather, Godric's Hollow, Lily) England, after all this time and all that happened, would be…challenging.
A/N: I originally wrote this to get into James's head, but then was going to have this as a chapter in "A Matter of Pride." But, it seemed to slow down too much of the pace. If you are interested, I might add a couple more interludes from James to this as the main story on "A Matter of Pride" continues. I am still working on it, but its been a busy week, and so I am behind a little in my writing.