"Just fuck off, Evans! You don't know me! You don't know what my life is like! Just go back to your precious schoolbooks or whatever. I don't need your help," screamed a red-faced James Potter as he scrambled up off the freshly mown grass he had previously been sitting on, and stormed away.
Lily Evans stood up, brushing off a few stray leaves, before storming after his retreating figure.
"Oh shut up Potter, you sound like a ridiculous teenager. Stop whining, not everything is about you, you know! I was the one that hauled my ass down here. All I said was for you to go back home and see if things had cooled down. Is that a crime now? I'm sure your precious Marauder friends would have said the same thing!"
James wheeled around, breathing out heavily. Lily came to an abrupt halt, and they were barely inches away from each other, their breath mixing in the cold air. James leaned down towards Lily until their faces were nearly touching, neither of them breaking the glare.
"You know what Evans," he hissed, eyes boring into hers, "It is a crime. Just because it comes from you, it is a crime. Now get away from me, you bitch."
Lily sprung backwards, as if James had slapped her in the face.
At that moment, James regretted saying anything at all, and just seeing the hurt in Lily's eyes made him want to take it all back and beg for forgiveness.
Neither of them said anything for a minute, both breathing heavily, Lily blinking profusely to hide the tears springing to her eyes, James searching for the best way to apologise.
He opened his mouth, having finally come up with something, but Lily would have none of it.
In a resigned, slightly angry voice, she said ever so quietly, "Don't, Potter. Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it. In fact, I don't want to hear anything from you. Ever."
With that, the red haired girl turned around, not facing James, and apparated back to wherever she had appeared from with a loud 'pop.'
James stared at the ground where she had just been standing in disbelief. Had that just happened? Had he just done that?
Coming to the conclusion that he had, he sunk to the ground, right where he was, and covered his face with his hands. He didn't cry, he just sat, thinking, wondering.
Where did he go from here? He had nowhere to go but home. Sirius would still be locked up, Remus would still be recovering from the night before, and Peter… well, he didn't want to go to Peter's.
It looked like James would just have to face going home. Nothing too bad could happen, right? His father would have calmed down, and his mother would have taken his side, he was sure.
After what seemed like hours, but would have only been minutes, James stood up slowly, and started trudging in the direction of home, his soggy shoes squelching on the solid ground.
As he walked he started to feel colder and colder, and shivered incessantly, pulling his coat over him, trying to envelop his entire body. The shock of what had happened to him in the past twenty four hours had suddenly hit him, and he began to feel giddy with emotions, becoming dizzy and disorientated.
He finally made it to his house, a shivering, whimpering mess, and walked straight in the front door.
His mother rushed into the room, wrapping James into an embrace that he didn't want, coddling him and fussing over him, leading him into the bathroom and bombarding him with questions.
Where had he been? Why had he gone? Why had he not called? Who was he with? Why was he wet? Where did he sleep?
James remained silent, and after Mrs Potter had run the bath, gone to get warm towels and clothing, and stopped her incessant rambling, she stopped to look at him. Properly look at him.
He looked at the floor, not wanting to look her in the eye.
"What happened James?" she said softly, looking at her son intently.
He looked up slightly, and then realised- his father hadn't even told her what happened. She must have thought that he had just run away. His father must have said that he had just run away…
And because of that, James wanted to make sure that his mother never knew what had happened. To make sure that she never endured the pain he went through, and to reassure her that nothing had happened – just something silly. He needed to shield her, needed to help her- she couldn't know what had happened. She just couldn't.
And so, the next words to come out of James' mouth were, "Oh, nothing, mother. Don't worry. I just went to the park, and fell asleep, and then went to a friends house. Not a big deal. I'm sorry, I should have told you."
His mother looked at him, studying his expression, his body language. She mentally decided that he was legit, and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Oh, well thank Merlin. Don't ever do that again, James! You had us scared half to death," she scolded gently, hugging her only son once again.
James just received the embrace reluctantly, resting his head on her shoulder and staring into the distance.
"Sorry," he whispered.
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After his mother had left the room, James stripped off and stepped into the invitingly warm bath, automatically feeling a little better. Not much, but enough for him to be able to face the next week of holidays.
He remained in the bath for nearly an hour, until it was icy cool, and his hands were just wrinkled up prunes attached to the ends of his arms.
When he finally emerged from the bathroom, he was wearing thick tracksuit pants, and a huge black hoodie his mother had left out for him.
He trudged through the house sulkily, yet at ease, knowing his father would most probably be at work.
Once again, he was wrong.
When he was passing through the living room, carrying his sopping wet clothes to the washing line outside, a gruff stopped him suddenly, making him drop them all on the freshly cleaned carpet.
"Decided to come back, did we James?"
James spun around, scrambling to pick up the clothes as well as prepare himself for whatever was to come.
He had hoped for hours to prepare for this, why was his father at home? A feeling of dread crept up on James, and the pit of his stomach felt as if it were filled with rocks. Bile rose up in his throat, making him want to throw up on the spot.
"Yes, father," he said, looking the man sitting before him straight in the eye.
Mr Potter's eyes bore into James', and James wavered a little, although didn't break the stare, knowing he couldn't let his father win.
"Why did you bother?"
Those four words shocked James so much, that his mouth fell open in surprise. He felt as though his father had just punched him in the chest repeatedly – in fact, he would rather that.
Did he really not want James there? Did he despise him that much? He must have been meaning something else.
"Wh- what do you mean?" said James shakily, staring into his father's cruel piercing eyes.
"Exactly what I just said, you insolent child. I don't want you here. Only that stupid twittering wife of mine does. You should have stayed away," he said menacingly, as if it were a threat.
I don't want you here.
I don't want you here.
I don't want you here.
I don't want you here.
Those words resounded over and over in James' head, making his head spin, his stomach feel even worse, and his chest was fit to burst with emotion.
He couldn't take this.
He couldn't do this.
He wouldn't do this.
James turned and ran out of the room, leaving clothes scattered on the floor, and his father chuckling slightly as he left.
He ran up the flight of stairs that led to his room, flung open the door, slammed it behind him, and went and threw himself on his bed.
I don't want you here.
James started sobbing uncontrollably, hating himself, hating his life, hating everyone and everything.
He finally managed to cry himself to sleep, feeling a weight being lifted off him as he drifted into a deep slumber.
I don't want you here.
A/N: Click the button! NOW!