James awoke groggily, taking off his wire rimmed glasses and wiping his eyes blearily, attempting to take in his surroundings.
Ah, thank Merlin, he was no longer on that uncomfortable park bench, he was home. Safe, at home.
He breathed a huge sigh of relief, and then suddenly, the previous nights events all came back to him.
I don't want you here.
"Fuck," he whispered, putting his glasses back on and sitting up, leaning his back against the headboard, facial expression plummeting.
What was he supposed to do now? Stay at home? Great idea, James, he mentally scolded himself.
Why did his father hate him so?
Why did he have to cause him so much pain?
Surely, James had never done anything too bad. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe, he was actually such an awful person, such a nuisance in his father's life, that he deserved it.
James slowly got up off the bed and went and sat at his wooden desk, bought for him for schoolwork only.
He sat back in the chair and stared around his room, taking in the red and gold walls, pictures of famous Quidditch players scattered in an orderly fashion around them, the spotless carpet that his mother had obviously just cleaned, his extremely high priced broomstick sitting in one corner, his stack of spell books in the other.
He didn't deserve all this. His father was right. Why should he have all these things? He had never done anything to deserve them.
James averted his gaze back to the desk, the only unclean thing in the room.
James had told his mother to please respect his privacy, and never go through the desk. There was really not much there, but a few stray potions and spells written down messily, for pranks he and Sirius were already planning.
His eye caught on a shiny red tube, and he picked it up, trying to remember what it was. On top of it there was a shiny metal contraption. He pushed on it, flicked it, wrestled with it, before finally, a faint spark of fire came out of the top.
James dropped the lighter, and sprang back into his chair in surprise. Ah, now he remembered. His father had brought this back from one of his Ministry meetings- this was a piece of Muggle magic, used to light cigarettes and pipes.
James picked the lighter back up, and flicked down the metal bit with his thumb, making it re-light. He left it lit, holding his thumb down intently, watching the flame burn. It was such a pretty thing, the flame, gold with a red tinge. It brought warmth to his body, making him feel a little happier.
All of a sudden, the flame got too hot, and seared the base of his thumb a little, making him drop the lighter once again, in a reflex action. It really hadn't hurt too much, just surprised him a little.
He forgot about the lighter for a minute, and brought his newly scorched thumb up to his face, studying it intently.
All that was to be seen was a slight black mark on the skin, and some red flesh around it. He could still smell the scent of burning, and it gave him a cheap thrill.
It was kind of like an adrenalin rush, and the slight pain made James want more, making him want to see just how much pain he could stand before chickening out.
He picked up the lighter off the ground, and flicked it again with the same thumb on his right hand, once again watching the flame flicker in the air.
His flesh became hotter and hotter, and he could feel the burning sensation once again. But, this time, he let it continue. His eyes started to tear, and he gritted his teeth. The pain started to become unbearable, but the adrenalin kept him going, knowing that he could cause himself that pain kept him going.
It finally became too unbearable, and James set the lighter down on the desk and cradled his thumb in his left hand, blowing on it slightly. The black mark was much bigger now, and most of his thumb hurt, the skin swelling and red.
He grabbed onto the end of his thumb closest to his hand and squeezed it, making all the pressure rush to his wound, making the pain a little easier to take. It started to throb, and he let go, the pain rushing through his body.
He sat back again, holding his thumb out in front of him, gritting his teeth and breathing heavily.
Had the pain really been worth it?
Had the adrenalin rush really been worth it?
James decided it had. He had deserved it, and it had felt good, in an odd way, at the time. As if, even though it was causing pain, it was making some of his other pain leave. At that point, all the pain he had felt from his father, from Evans, form the day before in general, it just disappeared. From that one moment when his hand was burning... it was all forgotten.
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"James!" came his mother's cheerful voice from just outside the door, breaking him out of his silent reverie of gazing at his scorched finger.
He frantically picked up the lighter and stashed it under a few scattered pieces of paper on the desk, and then rested his hands normally on his lap, his right under his left.
"Yes, Mum! Come in!" he called back, his voice breaking a little in the middle, as he tried to clear his voice.
The door opened and standing in the doorway was Mrs. Potter, holding a tray of what looked like bacon and eggs.
"I bought you some breakfast dear," she said coming over to James and placing the tray down in front of him on the desk.
"Thanks Mum," he said, truly grateful. It seemed as if he hadn't eaten in days.
"You're most welcome dear. Now," she started bustling over to the windows to open his curtains, and waving her wand at the bed to make it quickly, "I'm going down to do some shopping and run some other errands today, so it will just be you and your father, okay James?"
James' stopped breathing for a second, before breathing in quickly and suddenly.
"I- I see."
Mrs. Potter studied her son's expression.
"Something wrong, James?" she said curiously.
James snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at his mother with a cheerful smile on his face.
"No, of course not. Don't worry about me Mum, have a good day."
"Hmm, okay. Be good, and please don't do anything silly like leave without telling us where you are going again! And make sure you eat your breakfast," she said, starting to walk out of the room.
"Yes Mum," James groaned, as he would have any other day.
They said their goodbyes, and Mrs. Potter left the room with last minute instructions on eating and cleaning.
As soon as she had left the room he slumped down in his chair, his downcast expression mirroring how he felt. He picked up his fork and slowly started to eat. Maybe, if he just stayed up in his room all day, then his father would forget he was even there.
"Boy! Get down here!" screamed Mr. Potter from the base of the stairs.
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