I wrote a short thing! I wrote a short thing!
Okay technically, this was supposed to be a drabble. Isn't quite a drabble anymore, but it is less than 2k and I am pleased. I can too write short things, see?
Assignment #3: Veterinary Sciences: They're So Fascinating Aren't They?
Task #9: Sugar Glider Squirrel - write about someone seeking advice from a mentor, parent, or parental figure.
Disclaimer: J.K Rowling is not a goddess, but her writing is magical, and I can never compare. So, she keeps the characters, the places and her own created world, while I borrow them all every now and then like the pathetic human I am. The plot is all mine though!
Word count: 1311 words
Warnings: none
Enjoy!
"What's wrong, James darling? You're too quiet."
Euphemia looked questioningly at her thirteen year old son. James was sitting still at the breakfast table, staring thoughtfully into space. He didn't even seem to be aware that breakfast had been cleared, or that his father had already left for the Ministry. The boy was quieter than a mouse, with not a hint of his usual fidgeting nature, and it worried her.
"James?"
James looked up at her, startled. His hazel eyes were serious behind his round glasses in a way that shouldn't have been right for a thirteen year old.
"What's on your mind, love?" Euphemia asked her son.
James smiled up at her reassuringly, but she wasn't fooled by the happy look he sported. His mouth was turned up, but his eyes were still clouded over in thought.
"I'm okay, Mum, really" he started, and she gave him a look before he could brush off her question with one of his usual rambling spiels. He blushed sheepishly at being caught out, but looked like he was still about to continue.
"James Potter, you should know better than to lie to me," she reprimanded him in turn. His mouth closed shut with a soft click. "Now, tell me what's going on, love. This is the third day you've been this quiet, and the hols have barely begun. What's troubling you so much?"
He sighed and slumped in his chair, but didn't respond.
She didn't press the issue, opting to hunt around for the newspaper Fleamont kept leaving at odd corners of the dining room and look over the headlines of the Daily Prophet. She found the paper tucked behind the podium holding the long-lost sculpture of Iolanthe Potter and, shaking her head at her husband's little eccentricities, took the paper back to her chair next to James at the dining table and sat down to read.
She knew her son. He'd tell her what was bothering him eventually; she just needed to wait him out.
Sure enough, halfway through the article on the latest bill passed for amendments in the Wizengamot, James spoke up softly.
"Mum?"
She put down her paper calmly, adjusting her pine green skirts, and gave him her full attention. His head was bowed low; his fingers ghosted over the grooves carved into the sides of the table.
"What do you do," he asked haltingly, "if—if someone you know isn't who they say they are?"
She frowned at the worrying question. "How are they not who they say they are, love? Did they lie to you? Do something wrong?"
"No," James said, looking up now. He still wouldn't look into her eyes. "Not exactly. Well, they did lie, but… not about who they are? The lie doesn't matter as much."
Her frown deepened. "You're not making much sense, dear."
James shot her a quick glance. "Sorry, Mum."
"No, dear, don't apologise." She reached out to pat his hand. "I'm just trying to understand you."
He smiled at that. "Thanks, Mum."
She smiled reassuringly. "Of course, love. Now, the problem?"
"Right." He took a deep breath. "I don't know, Mum. He—they—" he bit his lip at the slip up, "kept something from us. And… it's big. And they don't know that we know, and I don't know what I should do."
Euphemia pursed her lips gently; trust her son to make it doubly difficult for her to provide him with any sort of counsel. What was she supposed to say when she had so little to go on?
"Do you know why they decided to keep this secret from you?" she tried.
James, bless him, answered instantly. "Yeah… it's bad, Mum. Their secret. If someone found out, they'd be kicked out of school for being who they are."
Euphemia frowned. "Are they dangerous, James?"
James looked at her, his forehead crinkling in thought. She spared a second to smile at how much like his father he looked, her James. "They… probably, I guess. They're supposed to be dangerous. They aren't dangerous to us, though, just the opposite. And he—they—take great pains to hide their secret, so I know they're careful not to hurt anybody."
"Sounds like they got the short end of the stick, whoever they are," Euphemia commented.
"Uh huh," James nodded his head. "I don't know what to do, Mum."
She observed her son. James looked defeated and small, slumped in his seat in a way that would have gotten him reprimanded by Fleamont, had he been there. Euphemia herself had seen how lost in thought the boy had been over the past three days, and she didn't doubt that her son had already turned over all sorts of grand possibilities in that head of his. But James was exactly like Fleamont in every way—he would look for answers everywhere, turn complex plots and puzzles over in his head, and yet the simplest, most basic solution would escape him.
She smiled fondly, trying hard to hide it. James didn't notice. "Does it change things? Now that you know this secret of theirs?"
"No!" James' head had never shot up so fast. He looked ready to fight to defend his friend, and that itself told her enough. "No way, Mum. He's still our friend."
She let her smile show. "Then why are you looking to change things?"
James blinked, freezing. "I—I don't know. Shouldn't we… tell him that we know? Won't that change things?"
She shook her head, smiling. "You can tell this boy whenever you want, love. It doesn't have to be now. What's important, is that you show him that it doesn't make a difference to you, or to the rest of your friends."
James sighed, slumping again. "I don't know how to do that."
She chuckled. "Well, you can start by treating him the same as you have so far. Nothing proves things better than words and actions when they go hand in hand, love." She frowned. "Unless you treat this boy badly. In which case, you really should stop."
James frowned. "Remus is our friend! We wouldn't treat him badly."
Her lips twitch. "Remus, is it?"
His eyes widened behind his glasses. "Whoops?"
She lifted a hand delicately to smother another chuckle. The gemstones on the beaded bracelet encircling her wrist clinked together softly.
James' wide eyes were starting to show panic. "You can't tell anyone, Mum. Not anyone. Can you keep a secret?"
"Oh, don't you worry, love," she responded, lowering her hand. "It will be my best kept secret." Her eyes crinkled in fondness at the worried expression on her son's face, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. "Promise."
James visibly calmed down. She watched as his eyes grew to their normal size, his jaw loosened, his shoulders straightened. Soon, he was her James again, and she couldn't fight her grin when he asked her if he could go out and play Quidditch with Moosey, their house-elf. Moosey would make sure he didn't hurt himself with his usual tricks on the broom. She heard him chattering to Moosey about wanting fish and chips for lunch as they left for the garden.
As she watched him leave the dining room, she lightly wondered what Remus' big secret was. She still remembered the tired little boy at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters; the boy definitely looked like he had a secret to hide. She didn't worry too much about it though; she had seen how invested James was in his friendship with the boy, and she didn't doubt that he and Sirius and the other boy, Peter, would take care of Remus well enough. She trusted James.
Turning her eyes away from the empty doorway, she adjusted herself in her chair, sighed, adjusted the purple tablecloth at her end and re-opened her newspaper. James was alright and to her, that was what mattered most.
February Writing Club:
Character Appreciation (John Watson) - Trait: Protective
Record Collection - Poetry In Motion, Johnny Tillotson: Trait: Elegant
Written in the Stars (Aquarius Edition) - (action) flying
Book Club (The False Prince by Jennifer A. Nielsen) - Jaron: (phrase) long-lost, (relationship) father&son, (character) James Potter, (color) purple
Showtime (Six) - Six: (genre) friendship
Amber's Apothecary (Brigid) - (genre) family
Elizabeth's Empire (Valentine's Day) - (genre) family
Liza's Loves (DnD Classes) - Paladin - Trait: Good
Sophie's Serial Killers (Aileen Wuornos) - (scenario) Being accused of something
Scamander's Case (Augury) - (action) flying
Film Festival (Midsommar) - (season) Summer
Lyric Alley (Teeth by Five Seconds of Summer) - Something in the way you're looking through my eyes
The Forecast Says... - 22th: Snow: Faithful
EnTitled (Supernatural Season 1) - Dead Man's Blood: alt - write about the strength in family (can be found family)
Hobby Hole (Fishing) - Food: Fish and Chips
Winter Seasonal Challenges:
Days of the Year & Religious Events - February 27th - Shushan Purim (Jewish): Write about being fiercely protective over another person.
Black History Month - Rosa Parks: Write about a refusal to do something.
National Weddings Month - White
Crochet Week: Double Crochet - (word) basic
Penguin Awareness - Emperor Penguin: (emotion) amused
Colours - Pine Green
Flowers - Winterberry: (dialogue) "Can you keep a secret?"
Crystals and Gemstones - Black Agate: (house) Gryffindor
Tarot Reading - Nine of Swords, reversed: Write about someone's worry and/or anxiety affecting their life.
But Can You Spell It: U - (emotion) Upset
Stop! Hamper Time (February Monthly): Cakes - Scones: (word) Smother
Would You Rather? (February Monthly): Write a fic set in the Marauders Era OR a fic set in the Next-Gen Era?
You Get My Love (February Monthly): Platonic - (genre) friendship
Sticker Club (February Bi-Monthly) - Horcruxes: Harry Potter - Write about a loving mother
Resolution Evolution (Winter Quarterly) - Write a fic that does not exceeds 1.5k words
