THE SCARS ON MY BODY ● JEGULUS |MARAUDERS|

✰SEVENTY-TWO✰

DAMN...DON'T HATE ME TOO MUCH PLEASE <3

TW: MANIPULATION/GRIEF/BLOOD/DEATH/EATING DISORDER

_____________________

✰ Don't you want

to make them

proud? ✰

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Dear Mr Potter,

We regret to inform you of the deaths of the late Fleamont and Euphemia Potter on the night of December 10th 1977.

They passed peacefully in their sleep due to the Wizarding illness, DragonPox. Their bodies were discovered late last night by Mrs and Mr Pettigrew who both claimed to have been invited over for supper with Mr Fleamont Potter.

As we do with every other elderly death, we were authorised to check the house for any other living beings, whether that be pets, family members etc, and found a black dog in the far bedroom on the left on the second floor. If you know whether or not this animal belonged to the late Mr and Mrs Potter, or not, we ask that you inform us immediately.

Thank you,

Our condolences,

The Council of Magical Law.

The deaths of the late Fleamont and Euphemia Potter.

The deaths of the late Fleamont and Euphemia Potter.

The deaths of the late Fleamont and Euphemia Potter.

The deaths of the late Fleamont and Euphemia Potter.

James read the paper over and over and over again until his eyes blurred so much that all he could see was black squiggles. A tear that hit the page splattered over the date and smudged the numbers into a shape of black ink. He used his heel to kick the ground from where he sat on his bed, shaking the wooden posts and let out a teeth-clutched wail that, if he had been any louder, could have been mistaken for a scream.

The voices of his three friends could be heard from the other side of the door, but James ignored them. He'd lashed out. He didn't know why, it was pathetic and unnecessary, it didn't help at all, but he'd done it. The door was blocked off from thrown trunks and piles of books, he'd cut his hand and it was bleeding, yet he did not care. The edge of the paper was painted with a bright red, he did not notice.

The deaths of the late Fleamont and Euphemia Potter.

It was only Mum who was sick. Not Dad. It was only Mum.

The corner of the letter scrunched up in his fist, tighter, tighter, tighter. His fingertips were turning white and he begged himself not to hit something again. His hand hurt. He did not care. His parents were dead. Dead. Gone. He hadn't even said goodbye.

His bedside table was home to a photo of Fleamont and Euphemia on their wedding day, framed in the frame they had bought him for his 1st year at Hogwarts so that he wouldn't forget them. He threw it across the room, finding comfort in the sound of it smashing and scattering across the floor.

"Was that glass shattering, James? Open the fucking door, James!" Remus' tone was threatening. He'd tried running at the door to push it open, there was a very loud bang. He ignored him.

Everything went silent.

The shouting stopped.

Everything he had thrown slowly floated back to where it belonged, noiselessly, the photo frame did not move, though, it stayed broken on the floor. He heard the sound of the door lock clicking, then watched as the entrance slid open, revealing the calm face of Professor Dumbledore and McGonagall. The shaking Sirius, Remus and Peter stood cowardly behind them.