James jumped at the sound of his father's growling voice.
"Fuck."
What was he going to do?
He looked around for an escape, finding nothing. To get through the front or back door downstairs, he would have to go past his father. The window in his bedroom was to small for even an elf to get through, and his bedroom was the only room upstairs.
There was no escape- he had to go downstairs and face it like a man.
Well, either that, or like the quivering, whimpering boy that he had become.
He slowly got up and walked over to his door, which was covered top to bottom in photographs and quidditch posters.
He had just put his hand on the doorknob when there came another loud command from his father.
"Hurry up, you stupid boy! I'll be waiting to have a talk to you in the living room," he screamed, walking into the next room.
James shakily opened the door and started climbing down the stairs, trying to ready himself mentally for whatever was to come.
He reached the living room and walked in, head down.
"Oh finally decided to come down, did you James?" snarled Mr. Potter, whom was standing near the fireplace, extremely intimidating and tall.
James shuddered slightly, pulling down the sleeves of his top, making them cover his arms and hands. Just that action made him feel slightly safer.
"Yes sir," he said, trying with all his willpower to look his father in the eye.
"Took you long enough," his father commented mildly, as if commenting on the weather.
His tone made James feel ill, and if he hadn't been so fearful, he would have retched. It was bad when Mr. Potter had an angry hint to his voice, but when he was calm – well, that was a completely different matter.
"Sorry," he mumbled, looking down.
Mr. Potter glared at him, his face starting to turn red.
"Sorry, what?" he hissed at his son.
James looked up at him, seeing the anger creasing his face.
"Sorry, sir" he mumbled, not meaning a word.
"That's better," growled Mr. Potter, his face starting to return to its natural colour.
"Sit down, James," Mr. Potter said, motioning at an armchair.
This caused a debate in James' mind. If he sat down, he was more vulnerable, easier for his father to get to. But if he refused… Well, it was likely that the consequences would be dire.
James slouched over to the armchair, sitting down tentatively.
Mr Potter walked over to the chair and stood in front of it, looking down at his son, making James flinch.
"What are you flinching for, boy?" he said roughly, spitting a little in James' direction.
"No reason, sir," said James, as quiet as a whisper.
"What do you mean no reason? You don't flinch for no reason. You know what I think? I think its fear. Pussy pansy fear. Am I right?" he said cruelly, still standing and looking down menacingly at the curled up ball that was James.
"No sir," said James, trying to stand his ground, even if only a little. He had no desire whatsoever to let his father know he was afraid. Although he was scared shitless (as rude as that sounds), he didn't want to show it, even if he was doing a poor job of hiding it.
Mr Potter stepped closer, as close as he could possibly be to the couch without being on it himself.
"What did you say, boy?" he hissed.
James was at a loss for words. What did he mean? Wasn't that supposed to get him off his back? Did he want him to be scared?
So James repeated the same thing.
"No, sir."
His father's face started to turn red with fury.
"You insolent boy. First you come in here late, slouching around like you own the place. Then, you flinch and quiver, and carry on like an absolute pansy. And then you lie straight to my face. Straight to my face!" he yelled, spitting everywhere.
James stood up in the seat, and jumped off the side, his father still barring the front of the chair. Mr Potter followed him around the side, and they both stood in warrior stance, glaring at one another furiously.
"No," James spat, "You are the insolent one."
Mr Potter looked at his son incredulously. James was even a little taken back himself, but he continued his stance.
"What do you mean, boy?" he growled, taking a step forward.
Every instinct in James' body told him to step backwards.
Step backwards.
Just do it.
Step backwards.
You want to, you know it.
Do it!
Before it's too late!
Just give in!
He took a deep breath, and took a step forward, letting out the breath slowly.
His father stared at him in horror, wondering what had happened to his son.
"I mean, that you are the one who abuses everyone. Physically, mentally, emotionally, you name it. Oh, and it was a fantastic little trick to keep Mum in the dark about my little escapade yesterday. How odd of you not to tell her that I ran away because you are a complete arsehole, who –"
But James never got to finish that sentence.
His father launched himself onto James, punching and kicking, scratching and pinching.
James tried with all his might to throw him off, but the older man always seemed to get the better of him.
They fell to the floor, and Mr Potter got on top of James, punching him over and over in the face, relentlessly bruising and battering his face.
James kicked, screamed, yelled, even bit, as much as he could, but it didn't seem to make a difference. Harold Potter was on the war path, and there was nothing James could do.
A few minutes later, Mr Potter got off James, straightening his shirt and tie, acting as if all was completely normal.
James, lucky to still be alive, sat up shakily, resting his weight on his legs. His face was a sight to be seen, almost every inch was bruised or bloody, and it seemed as if his nose were broken. All in all, he was a bloody mess.
"That'll teach you to defy me, boy. Don't ever try to lie to me again. And also, don't be scared. Fear is for pansies, and pansies don't become famous Aurors like me now, do they?" he said tauntingly.
He looked down at his son after there was no response.
"Look at you boy, you're a mess. Go and get yourself cleaned up before your mother gets home."
James glared up at him silently.
There was a sudden flicker of sympathy in Mr Potter's eyes, a rare sight for his only son.
Mr Potter got out his wand, pointing it at James.
James tried to move, but found himself unable to.
He took a deep breath, trying to ready himself for what was to come, but all he felt was a sharp pain in his nose.
Mr Potter had said a spell to repair James' nose.
Ah, a hint of remorse in his black hearted body.
A/N: Do it.