Disclaimer: all characters belong to J K Rowling and Warner brothers.
a/n [1] binary fission - the way of the bacteria. A bacteria reproduces by growing large and splitting in the middle, becoming two bacteria. James is very much a bookworm, but there will be a reason for that.
The proof is a bit odd, isn't it? I was going to prove it with physics, but that's so much harder. You'll just have to deal with basic chemistry equations. A theory can be disproven with only one example, which is why James uses only one example to disprove this theory. The proof doesn't work by the way. The data is skewed. The kilocalories of energy were taken from fat of a yogurt rather than normal kilocalories. It should really be about 2 bunnies per 1.*sigh* oh well, pretend that you don't know that. And please don't check the math for that one; I did it by hand.
Sorry about the subtle shift in tone in the journal entries of these chapters. Ack… I hope no one's bothered by them. They're used to balance out a mood of a chapter, to keep something from becoming too depressing or tense, or to make something happy, dark and ominous. Does it work?
// …. \\ denotes flashbacks
Persistence of Memory
By neutral
Chapter six - persistence of desperate escapes
This will be the first of several proofs why the theory of magic is not valid (Will put me up to this, I really have better things to do with my time, well… ack).
Reason one: let's take something specific from magic, dragons for instance. They are the ferocious beasts that prey on pitiful animals one-tenth their size in those magical tales. By definition, they are large, fire breathing, airborne beasts.
By the ecological law, all animals can only absorb ten percent of the energy in a meal, meaning, if dragons were to have the ability to spit fire, they would have to devour the food ten times that amount of energy output.
Lets say at one puff of fire, they can heat 1,000,000 grams of water from room temperature (that's barely enough to roast one rabbit) to boiling point. The amount of energy required for that act would be:
1,000,000 g x (100 °C - 25 °C) x 4.184 J/g °C = 313,800,000 J
A 300 gram yogurt contains roughly 125,520 joules of energy.
To boil that water, they would need to burn about 2,500 yogurts. Since dragons can only use ten percent of the food they consume, they must eat 25,000 yogurts just to boil 1,000,000 grams of water, or burn half a bunny rabbit. As a result, they must consume at about 7½ bunny rabbits to burn 1. This is disregarding the fact that they need to use energy hauling their huge bodies to chase the poor little bugger.
This problem could be bypassed if dragons were to carry nuclear reactors within their bodies, in which case they would be radioactive and self destruct their own DNA (that would derive hundreds of dragon mutants, and probably even render most of them sterile. Maybe dragons reproduce by binary fission [1]? But they're suppose to lay eggs like birds… ack… this is making less and less sense by the minute) Or if dragons were to receive free lunch buffets, have generous parents to burn their food for them, or use the black widow theory of eating their mates, or self consume, or follow the pandaism way of eating trees at hard times, otherwise, they will die.
Moving onto fire. The heat of a fire does not travel only in the forward direction. If that is the case, then the only part of a fireplace that's warm is at the top of a chimney. Heat radiates outward in a cloud; every blast of fire the dragon breathes, they will suffer a whiplash.
Dragons must have eyes of steel, otherwise, they will go blind. They must live in areas with low oxygen content, otherwise, they will spontaneously combust. They must have scales reinforced from heat damage, otherwise, they will kill themselves within hours. But if they did, their skin would be so heavy that their large bodies will no longer be capable of supporting themselves against gravity, unless their skeletons are thick enough to support them. In any case, they probably couldn't even walk with all that bulk.
And I haven't even gotten to the part about dragons supposedly being able to fly yet. (*splat goes the weasel*) They must have the wingspan of about twenty times their body lengths, and that would only work if a dragon was anorexic. Not to mention the kind of damage they would bring just trying to lift off.
If dragons did exist, then we'd be seeing crop circles, mutilated rabbits, and explosions from spontaneous combustions in much larger proportions.
End of proof one.
- James [May 21st ] [ St. MaryAnn's Orphanage ]
James cautiously slid his hand across the table and carefully lifted the elegant vase. The glass was rattling between his fingers; he could hear it click against his watch as he trembled. James drew several shaking breaths, but every gasp seemed to lodge like a piece of stone bone in his throat. Haltingly, he held out the vase at arms length and swung it with a few practiced attempts.
Door creak open, raise hands and swing down, right over the strange man's head… James tried to picture the action in his mind's eye and inwardly cringed. It looked rather painful. Perhaps he shouldn't swing hard, just enough to stun him and buy James time to run. But would he be able to hit the man's head? He seemed awfully tall… maybe James should swing at his stomach, or maybe…
James pressed his back against the wall beside the door, heart pounding hard enough for him to feel the tremors in his fingers. He was going to get out of this alive, James told himself firmly. But even as he repeated that thought incessantly in his mind, his stomach had already begun to sink. With his arm brace still at the orphanage and his ribs throbbing at every footfall, how far could he run? He could probably cover two minutes of straight sprinting without keeling over.
Hit that stranger hard… to hell with trying not to hurt him too seriously… James stubbornly set his jaw.
A soft creak.
James froze; the blood from the tips of his fingers to the roots of his hair felt replaced with lemon drops, stiff, grainy, and sour. The door knob—James in his panicked fit couldn't help but notice the slight chip on the gold paint at the keyhole—gave a slow jerk to the right. James took a startled and involuntary step back.
Where had been the footsteps he had been anticipating? Oh, damn the carpet… damn, damn, damn!!
But before he had the time to recover from the shock, the door was gliding soundlessly on oiled hinges, swinging open as if in slow motion, tearing out his sinews. James didn't pause to listen to voices. He didn't pause to look at faces, or even notice that there was more than one person coming through the door, or what they looked like. He could almost feel something cracking within him.
With a strangled cry that sounded more like a whimper, James swung the vase with the madness of a hunted animal. He wasn't even conscious of how hard, just that he was bringing his arms down at an enemy that was dangerous and he wanted to escape. Just swing, hit, and run. Swing, hit, run. James lashed out. He was trapped in a nightmare or one of those really bloody video games, and all he could do was mechanically cut down everything in his path.
// I… I'm not going to let you win… I'll die before I let you win… \\
"Harry?!" a startled voice sliced through that dream-like haze like a red hot wire.
James gasped, feeling as if had been starved of air for several minutes, and was suddenly painfully aware of the hand clasped around his wrist. The stranger with the tangled back hair had caught his arm almost effortlessly, but James still clung to the vase like a lifeline. For a moment, they stared at each other numbly; the stranger's pale eyes were wide in surprise and James knew he probably looked much worse.
It was over.
The vase slipped through James' fingers and fell onto the thick carpet with a dull thud. Trembling nearly uncontrollably, James wretched his wrist free and took slow steps back. The dark haired man was frowning at he stared at James, as if he couldn't quite absorb what had just happened. He looked like a fugitive. The clothes he wore weren't shabby, but that glint in his eyes—James only saw that expression reflected in the homeless men he passed when he crossed the shoddy areas of town.
Someone moved forward.
James abruptly noticed the second man behind the dark haired stranger. They were from the café, James noted with a churning stomach. They were the two men at the café Will tried to warn him against. Trouble, they would get him into trouble. Breathing heavily, James backed up until he felt the four-poster against the back of his knees.
The two strangers stopped at the bedroom door, resolutely barring James' path to freedom. James frenziedly scanned the room for another vase.
"Harry…?" the dark haired man whispered.
The sandy haired man took a hesitant step forward and paused, uncertain. Something about his gait threw up the professor signs in the back of James' mind. "What were you doing?" he asked quietly.
"You… you're…" James paused in his stuttering to breathe.
'What the hell are you doing? What the hell do you want with me? Why the hell are you calling me Harry?!' James breathed hard. He desperately hoped he didn't look half as frightened as he felt.
They were pinning him with stares that were unnerving in their intensity. James shrank back, dragging the sleeves of his shirt over his wrist out of nervous habit. The dark-haired man, the fugitive, took a slow step forward and James felt as if he had just treaded on his gut.
With no other place to go, James bolted.
As to how he managed, James couldn't even remember; he was vaguely aware of diving past the fugitive and nearly knocking the professor to the floor as he scrambled for the door. Flashes of passageways, ancient paintings, and delicate decorative cupboards raced past him as he pounded down the corridor. He was blindly running; he couldn't even recall the twists and turns in the hallway.
His footsteps were deafening in an empty house; James wasn't sure if they were pursuing him but he never stopped to look. Blindly, he sprinted past the countless doors, his bare feet skidding across the rumpled rug. How large was this place? Where the hell was the exit? He felt like he was running in circles in a where there was no escape… just endless corridors leading into middle where there was a huge monster waiting to devour him. But James kept running. He wasn't sure what the halls around him looked, except he had no idea where he was or where the door was. But I have to escape…
He was going to live… live, live, live! He wasn't ready to die just yet! He didn't want to die just yet… James was barely aware of his erratic gasping.
// Someone, please help me! Please… please… \\
The familiar clink was in his side, gnawing at his lungs. Every breath he took sent flashes of pain through his ribs.
Damn it, no!! Run, breathe, run, breathe… oh god…
That voice was back, mumbling something incoherent… hopes, dreams, wishes of some long dead child. It soft voice that whispered in the back of his mind when he was alone, and he knew there was no one in the world who would help him or care. When he was truly in trouble, there was no one.
// No one… no one… no one!! \\
He hated this. He hated being helpless; he hated losing control of his life; he hated being dragged into a fight he couldn't win. Fights were fought to be won; he couldn't afford to lose! But how could he win like this…?
// I'm not going to die. I'm not going to let you win… \\
His once broken ribs where throbbing again, eating into his lungs as he ran. It was a miracle he even survived with so many shattered into fragments a year ago, but the damage had been done. With every step he took, he could feel a hot stab of fire in his chest. His steps were faltering, and the room was beginning to swim in his eyes.
A sharp tug on his ankle threw off balance and flung him off his feet. James struck the floor hard, but the blood pounding in his ears numbed all the pain. James crawled to his knees in a desperate attempt to stand, but his lungs were screaming for air. All he managed to do was hutch over in a defensive ball as he choked and gasped for breath.
// … I'm not going to die until I take you with me! \\
Suddenly, hands were on his shoulders, cautiously pulling him to his feet. Stuttering incoherently, James fought against his captor, trashing and clawing at the arm.
"Harry, its okay, it's just me!"
"No… let go!" James fitfully resisted, clawing at the stranger's hands. The echoes of a memory was haunting the edges of his mind, and he was sounding vaguely hysterical.
Get away… he had to get away! That thought was reverberating in his ears, slamming against the sides of his skull as if struggling to burst free, and all he could feel was that overwhelming and blinding fear.
"Harry, what's wrong with you?" the fugitive hoarsely whispered. James cringed when he felt the hand on his shoulder tighten almost painfully.
What was wrong with me? James didn't know. It was as if some feral and ferocious instinct had taken over his mind, and he was acting out of pure impulse.
James tried to stand again but he was trembling too hard. His legs felt boneless and refused to stay straight, and the stranger had to catch him before he sank to his knees. James should have felt embarrassed, humiliated even, with the way that the stranger held him up by the shoulders as if he were just a small child, but James was too shaken, too numb. The stranger was the only thing keeping him standing and James clung to his arm and trembled until he felt as though he was going to shatter.
"Is he alright?"
"Yes, don't worry. He's only exhausted. Sirius, get some water."
James leaned back in the chair and stared blankly at his hands, wondering when the day had gone wrong. Ever since that morning, everything had become so strange. The sun had rose with the stars aligned for his doom, and now James felt too drained to even protest his fate. When the fugitive picked him up like a small boy in the corridor, James couldn't even find the voice to protest.
Had he done something awful without meaning to, and now a curse had fallen over his head? All in one day, he had been misidentified, kidnapped, then pursued like some hunted animal, and now held captive… somewhat. James dazedly watched the fugitive retrieve the water pitcher and the professor pulling out mugs seemingly out of thin air.
It was so utterly strange to be treated like a guest in this situation.
"You should get something solid in you, but I'm afraid we have nothing here at the moment. Drink something. You'll feel better."
The professor held out a mug filled with something that looked like water and smelled like water, but James didn't take it. He looked at the stranger quizzically.
"I still have your coat," James suddenly remarked.
"Oh," the professor blinked, as if just remembering. "That's alright."
"I'm sorry about taking off with it. I should have remembered to return it."
James felt rather numb and wondered if it was healthy.
"That's quite alright."
"I'm sorry about your coffee too," James added, nodding at the fugitive. "And that really loud interruption. That was partly my fault. Didn't mean it to get out of hand like that."
The two strangers didn't even bother trying to fill up the silence this time. They simply stared at him like a specimen on display. The professor's gaze was guarded but piercing; the fugitive's eyes were like an open book. James glanced at him once and quickly turned away, unable to bear his stare.
"Why did you kidnap me?" James finally thought to ask.
The fugitive jerked as if James had slapped him.
"Harry," his voice cracked at the name. "Why are you…?"
James cringed; he was beginning to hate that name.
"No, I'm not. I've told the two of you before, I'm not Harry." James said with deliberate calmness. Mentally, he was panicking all over again; he never wanted to hear that name ever again!
The fugitive wore the expression of someone betrayed. "Why are you doing this? What are you… was it because we did something wrong? You don't want to come home? Is that why?" He sounded desperate.
"I'm not Harry," James said unsteadily; the tremors were coming back. "I… I don't know who the hell he is. Honestly! If you're looking for him, I don't know where he is. I'm sorry, I can't help you. What… what does he look like? He probably looks a lot like me… but I'm not Harry, I… is he related to you? Or…"
Instead of pain, anger flashed in the fugitive's bleached eyes. He made a motion of moving forward, but the professor look-alike crossed the room and blocked him.
The fugitive sidestepped the professor and James scrambled unsteadily to his feet.
"Sirius, wait," the professor said with deliberate calmness.
He was completely ignored. The fugitive lurched forward and, panicking, James scooted back. His legs were felt watery as he tried to walk; James couldn't figure out whether they trembled from anxiety or fatigue. He ducked the four-poster, the furthest he could be without cornering himself.
"What are you talking about?" those words were spat out in a near shout. He kept pressing forward, and James skirted away from him. "Stop pretending, Harry! What sort of game are you trying to pull? I know you're Harry! You have that scar!"
"Sirius, stop. Let him speak!"
"I'm not!" Instinctively, James backed away from the fugitive, and staggered when his legs unexpectedly crumbled beneath him. He caught his balance out of sheer luck when his arm snagged the curtains. "I… ow! I've never seen the two of you before. I have no idea who the hell you are!"
James tried to untangle his arm from the cloth, but the fugitive grabbed him before he could run again. There was a distinct sound of ripping fabric as the both yanked in opposite directions, before James clambered up and skirted away.
"I'm not!! I… you have the wrong person! Oh god… this is not happening… I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming…"
The fugitive was scowling deeply. "Your eyes, those are Lily's eyes! And your face… I know you're Harry!"
"… insane. You must be… Christ, Will was right…" James backed himself into the wall, waving feebly with his hands in a disarming gesture. "I've told you at least five times that I'm not Harry! Honestly, I… I'm James!"
That must have been the wrong thing to say, or the right thing, because the two strangers abruptly fell silent.
"If you're looking for a person named Harry, couldn't you post fliers? I… I've really never met him!" James continued hopelessly. He knew he was rambling, but he was too frightened to stop. "A lot of people have scars and green eyes. Honestly, I'm James! Everyone at the orphanage calls me James! You could go ask them!"
That, again, must have been the wrong thing so say. Remus suddenly paled at the statement, drawing a sharp gasp through clenched teeth. A look that made James' stomach wrench passed over Sirius' face.
"Orphanage?" he whispered. "Why… orphanage?"
"I live there…" James chewed his lip, feeling a strange reluctance to go on. "I've lived a year there… ever since I… I…" he flattered.
The room was beginning to swim. James staggered and sank his weight against the wall.
Something so obvious had been staring back at him in the face, but he had fought it tooth and nail all the way. He let his head fall and wrung his sleeve as a distraction to avoid the sight of the strangers' faces.
'What if they did really know me? I don't remember anything from a year ago!' His words to Will just hours ago rang almost mockingly in his ears. He had only been living a year in his memories… but that wasn't true at all…
James swallowed and hesitantly lifted his eyes to meet the two strangers'.
"I… don't know if my name's really James…" and it hurt to admit that.
*