Disclaimer: As much as I wish I did, I do not own any of the characters.
Music: Take yourself home, Troye Sivan
Earlier, with JP
James couldn't sleep. Theoretically, he knew he needed too. He had barely been back for 24 hours but it already felt like a week. On his return to England, he had sat through four formal meetings which consisted of him giving the council updates on his work, assessing the way forward, making recommendations that could aid their efforts etc. He had maybe slept in the on-site Auror quarters for two hours between those. But on receiving news of Louise, it was understood that James wouldn't be rushing back in a hurry. He hadn't taken a vacation day since he had started this job and even if someone had a problem with him leaving his post on such short notice, no one dared to say a thing.
See, in the last few years, James Potter had built somewhat of a reputation for himself that went much beyond the Potter name. Sure, there was the legacy people saw first: how his ancestors had funded the construction of Hogwarts, the ones that came after had ensured magical education was made accessible in as many corners of the words as required. Some had invented charms, hexes and potions while others had written enough academic books to fill the restricted section in Hogwarts. His grandfather had practised magical law and followed in his father's and elder brother's footsteps to serve on the Wizengamot. His father had tried to follow the tradition, becoming the youngest wizard to head the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. But he retired after five years, an unusually short time considering he had been a sho-in for the Minister of Magic position. He gave up the Ministry life when James was born, while his wife went back to her job as the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. You would think James would be more of a diplomat that he was, given the genes.
James had carried all of this and more whenever he had walked into a room even two years ago. Now though, when someone saw his face or heard his name, they remembered the underground raid he led, the arrests he had made, the made injuries he had sustained. More than those, they remembered him being assumed dead about a year ago when he had gone missing after a mission.
About a month from the last day of his mission, his body had washed up on the shore of France. He was barely breathing, had not but an ounce of blood over what his body needed to stay alive and there was a chunk of his thigh and scalp missing. His body was both black and blue and pale at the same time. They didn't think he would live. They weren't sure if he should - him being found could have also been planned. He may have been under a million different curses or, worse, turned into a spy for the other side.
It took three months of recovery, tests and rehabilitation to him to return to work. He understood the doubts people had. He would have had worse ones had it been some other Auror in his shoes. So he let them poke and prod at him for as long as they needed. He took the Veritaserum, a truth potion, voluntarily and let them into his mind with legilimency without a fight. He even let them peek into his dreams - something that turned out to be more personal than he had anticipated. He almost lost his patience many times - he could have been out there, where they needed him more. They were losing time, losing the battle. The medics and healers would have more important assignments, they must. His grandmother's voice came to him in those times, always had when he felt the anger would consume him. She hadn't been a very patient woman, which is why she would tell him, 'The world will drive you crazy - if you let it. Hold onto that last thread of patience, for it will get you what you need more than force," Then she would sigh and lean back, "Of course, sometimes you just need to punch it out."
He reminded himself of his privilege in those days. He was alive, they had fixed his body, his mind would take more time. But he was alive. A few minutes here of there and he wouldn't have been.
In contrast to those three months, once he returned to work, no one asked him a single thing about his experience. But that avoidance ate him too and he soon returned to active duty after passing all his tests.
Had it not been for Louisa, he would have been back already. Louisa, who had been dead for over five hours now.
He knew there were things he needed to do. Louisa had some family left, whom he needed to inform of her demise. In a few hours, he was needed at St Mungo's, to collect the healer's report on Louisa's death. It would mention all the things done to her before and after she died, magical as well and non-magical. Interrogations would begin only then. It was 3 am in the morning and there was nothing more he could do today.
James Potter knew he should sleep. But for now, all he could think about was getting a drink somewhere familiar. So he walked up to the Leaky Cauldron, ghosts of old memories flashing in his head and the smell of smoke and wood taking over his senses before he even opened the door of the pub.
Author's Note: Please let me know what you think!