Second Life: Traumatized Contracted Lovers

J: 0.2 I want him.

JAMES POTTER

As an Auror, a wizard who served as a highly trained law enforcement agent for the wizarding government, I stand guard at the prisoner of Azkaban's front entrance.

Wands are not permitted for prisoners to possess. Not the staff members, not even the ones assigned only to cleaning duties, and most definitely not the aurors. Instead, we could have them outdoors. It's similar to the way muggles smoke cigarettes—you could have some magic, but only outside. I tried to understand the prisoners by talking to them about their choices and what I had learned. Of course, we disagreed and debated. However, many of the sentences these inmates were serving exceeded 20 years. The power of spontaneous, uncensored dialogue, uncomfortable silences, laughter, sadness, and all the emotions in between—real-life experiences being totally present in an unavoidable situation.

As I moved along the prisoner's hallway, I had a glimpse of the third cell—the one that is enchanted to prevent the inmate from turning into a Black Dog. It's Sirius, my best friend, Sirius Black.

I get sick to my stomach every time I check up on him. Even if he is innocent, it won't make a difference to me; it won't change how I feel about him, no matter how much he tries to convince me of his innocence.

"Prongs, as my friend, please believe me," Sirius says through the cell.

"I believe you, Padfoot I do," I respond.

It was obvious how skeptical Sirius was. His heart was racing, his hands were perspiring, and his breathing was trembling.

"You don't believe me, Prongs," Sirius says,

I started to feel a lot of agony as soon as Sirius turned to face away from me. I loved my friend, this one especially. According to his documentation from my Father, he was borrowing money from the Potter family and was able to make his payments on time at first. However, after Harry was born, he started to slip behind. He sent owls with promises of money that never materialized, made up justifications, and before he knew it, his payments were 6 months overdue. His target was my father, according to the document.

Shortly after, Peter vanished and all arrows were directed at Sirius, accusing him of having killed Peter Pettigrew.

Another close friend of ours.

I went to my office after finishing my rounds to process my emotions. It had already fallen dark when an owl that I hadn't seen in years—or even had an owl letter from—whirled through the little window.

This must be a mistake, no doubt about it.

His elegant ink pen handwriting catches my attention as the letter falls to the top of my desk.

From: Severus Black.

As I studied the letter closely to make sure it wasn't intended for anyone else, the hair on the back of my neck lifted. When I opened the letter and saw my name written in his handwriting, I couldn't help but feel excited that, for 10 years, the Half-Blood Prince had been the first to make contact with me.

Severus Black:

Salutations, James Potter,

I'm writing to inform you that your child, Harry Potter, went from 11 years old to 1 year old this evening. Please pick him up while I work out how to reverse the changes.

What the blimey hell happened?

But because I was so stressed out and needed to unwind, I hurriedly replied to his letter by jokingly asking him whether he missed me. He tried to be professional about the situation, but being the grumpy, gloomy, and boring wizard that he is, his responses were flat. He lost it when he urged me to hurry the damn up. I reminded him when he asked me to please be a responsible adult and to have a mature correspondence about the current situation, but after waiting for his response for 7 minutes, it quickly changed to 17, then to 27, and finally, I realized that he was not going to respond to me anymore.