In which James Potter
is a pyromaniac
and realizes
there is something
more scorching
than Lily's red locks.
because if Lily's bright hair were a burning flame, Ella's blazing blue eyes would be found at its centre, where everything turns to ash...
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𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 had gone wrong at the Black Manor during the last two weeks of summer, James just knew it. He hadn't heard a thing from his best friend in too many days not to worry. He shouldn't have let him go. No, he should have insisted on Sirius' stay until the start of school.
James was buried in these worrying thoughts when an owl flew through his bedroom window on August 30th. He threw the broom he was polishing to the ground and hurried off his bed to the bird he didn't recognize. In exchange for a treat, James got the letter attached to the owl's foot. He could glimpse the pompous handwriting of his friend poking out of the rolled parchment, and his heart was going a hundred miles an hour as he unfurled it.
Prongs,
I'm at the Leaky Cauldron and don't think I'll ever go back to my place. I need some time alone, but if you could meet me tomorrow, that would be great. Otherwise, see you on the train.
Padfoot
James hurried down the stairs, clenching the letter, and irrupted into the dim-lit living room, startling the two nestled love birds on the red sofa.
"Sirius left his house!"
"He what?" Fleamont stole the letter from James' hands. "The Leaky Cauldron? By himself? Why didn't he come to us?" He turned to stare at the fireplace as if expecting the boy to emerge from it covered in soot.
James paced the room, his hands running through his curly hair. "He said he needed some time alone. Do you think they hurt him?"
"We should go right away. Euphemia, what do you think?"
James' mother looked at her husband, white teeth playing with her bottom lip, before shaking her head and applying a reassuring hand on her son's shoulder. "We should respect his privacy. He may not want us to see him in that vulnerable state."
Fleamont sighed and leaned back against the wall, knocking a lamp over and not even bothering to straighten it up.
James brushed away his mother's hand after seeing his father's resigned expression and resumed his pacing. "Bloody hell! Does he think I would laugh? Because I wouldn't. I just want to make sure he's okay."
"Of course, Son," Euphemia said, cupping his cheek. "And I'm sure he knows that. But you cannot decide for him. You don't even know what happened."
