This drabble story is written for THC/The Houses Competition (Round 9 - It all ends here).

House: Slytherin

Class: Transfiguration

Prompt: [Quote] "For we pay a price for everything we get or take in this world; and although ambitions are well worth having, they are not to be cheaply won." —Lucy Maud Montgomery

Link/Title: James's Biggest Regret

Word Count: 963

Betas: DaughteroftheOneTrueKing, Fires of Eden Red Rose Aurora, CupCakeyyy, shy-n-great, and VanillaAshes

AUGUST 26, 1971
7:29 AM

"For me, Dad?" asked eleven-year-old James Potter. He felt tears well in his eyes as a silky, slippery piece of cloth was placed in his hands. His father had told James many things about the sacred Invisibility Cloak, regaling tales of adventure and mischief back when he was a boy. Now that James was receiving this great heirloom, the young first-year-to-be couldn't keep his bespectacled eyes off it.

"Yes, son," Fleamont Potter replied, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "This cloak belongs to you, now. It is a rite of passage. I should hope you'll pass it on to your son when the time comes."

"But I might not have a son, Dad," said James with a quizzical look on his face.

"Even so, fathers and sons share a bond that is unparalleled by any other. I expect you to honor that, you hear?"

"Yes, sir!" said James with a salute. He instantly put aside his concerns about not having a son.

Fleamont chuckled lightly, ruffling his son's messy hair.

"I love you so much. Don't forget that."

"Never," promised James with a sincerity most eleven-year-olds weren't capable of.

Fleamont smiled. "Your mother and I consider ourselves incredibly lucky to have been able to have you when we did. Because I have entrusted you with this cloak, I am going to offer you some fatherly advice that I want you to take seriously. All right, son?"

"All right."

"When I was younger, my mother and father were determined to make me a well-rounded man. They wanted me to understand Muggle culture. I remember feeling indignation when Anne of Green Gables was placed into my hands. Why did I have to read a book about a culture I wasn't involved in?

"I read the book before I started Hogwarts, and it was all I could think about. I couldn't get enough of Anne Shirley and her moxie. Subsequently, I followed the author, L. M. Montgomery, through a subscription to the London Times. It was one of her quotes that keeps me going to this day."

"And that is?" James inquired. He wondered what his father would tell him. When Fleamont spoke, the eleven-year-old held his breath.

"'For we pay a price for everything we get or take in this world; and although ambitions are well worth having, they are not to be cheaply won.'" He paused and lifted up the cloak. "You will face trials and tribulations when you go to Hogwarts. Your mother and I won't be there to comfort you when you're upset or reprimand you when you do something wrong. You'll need to regulate yourself and make your own decisions.

"I am trusting you with this special cloak," continued Fleamont with a serious tone, "with the understanding you will not misuse it. When you use this cloak, it should be for good reasons. Of course, you're allowed to explore with it as much as you like, but let me make it clear that if I hear of you using it for malicious reasons, this cloak will be taken away from you, and you will never see it again. Am I understood?"

"Of course, Dad," said James, vowing to make his father proud if it was the last thing he did.

He wouldn't let him down—not now, nor ever.

…

DECEMBER 12, 1979
7:29 PM

James felt numb as his father's casket was lowered into the ground. Lily had offered to come to the funeral with him, but he'd declined, saying that he needed to come to terms with his loss alone. She didn't understand what it was like to lose her only lifeline to the world.

No one did.

It was raining. The pitter-patter of water that filled James's ears soothed him a bit, but not much. Even though the grass beneath his feet was slippery, he felt glued to where he was standing. Overall, the environment was depressing enough to make one suffocate in their misery.

James was wearing a black trench coat with an equally black fedora, trousers, and pair of boots. The rain rolled off his clothes, so he remained relatively dry. The same couldn't be said for some of the guests, who were soaked to the bone and shivering from the chilly air.

It was then that he realized he'd never see his father again. Fleamont had insisted a portrait would not be made for him, saying that he'd rather be free to explore the next life without a single tether to this one. James felt resentment towards his father for this, but it was quickly squelched by his crushing guilt.

The words Fleamont had spoken to him as a child rang in his head: "For we pay a price for everything we get or take in this world; and although ambitions are well worth having, they are not to be cheaply won." He had big dreams of becoming an Auror, but his arrogance—and his treatment of one Severus Snape—got in the way. Because he had been so focused on reminding Snape of his place in the world, he had forgotten about those dreams.

Once the guests had left and the gravestone was placed, James gave up his numb feelings and crumpled to the ground and sobbed. He had completely disregarded his father's rule about using the cloak for good, and now, he was paying the price. James's tears blended with the rain, his clothes becoming muddy as he clung onto his father's headstone with grief. He had ruined his chances at a great life, and all because of his hatred for one boy.

"I'm so sorry, Dad," whispered James brokenly, knowing that his father would be deeply ashamed of him if he was alive. "I'm so, so sorry."