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J A M E S
The raindrops were pelting the dirty window, each drop hitting the glass with more intensity than the previous. James strummed his fingers over the guitar strings, eyes closed shut, the melody mingling with the sound of the rain outside.
"When I was younger, I'd pray for thunder; a thousand angels banging on their chairs." His voice was low and gentle as he sang, perfectly matching the tranquil atmosphere of that morning.
While all the guests at Hogwarts appeared frustrated with the sudden change in weather conditions, considering the warm temperatures of just a day ago, James was grateful for the rain. The sound of it served as a soothing therapy for his soul, and its presence guaranteed him a day off work.
A day where he didn't have to feel his butt get numb from sitting for seven hours straight in a high chair under the boiling sunlight, staring at middle-aged people swimming in a waist-deep pool. A day where he didn't have to envy all the guests with their faces that radiated happiness, thinking about how his own life had turned upside down in the blink of an eye.
"The white of all the lightning was never that frightening, like cameras all flashing in the air."
How had things taken such a massive turn in just a year? How had he ended up from a music major with vivid dreams of a future as a rockstar to . . . this? James still remembered everything all too clearly; his memory particularly detailed in moments long gone, now more bitter than sweet, as though to torment him, to taunt him.
He still recalled all the days he'd compose songs with Sirius, Remus and Peter in the garage of his house. Vacant plans of a successful future career they'd exchange at two in the morning-more wishful thinking than fixed goals-as they sat on the trunk of his dad's truck with beer and crisps, gazing at the constellations in a clear night sky.
"We'll be the most famous British boyband ever," Peter would exclaim dreamily. "The world's totally gonna forget about those annoying One Direction boys."
"Mate, the fact that you're comparing us to those talentless stinkpots that still shop at GAP is the most depressing thing I've heard ever since I crawled out of my momma's womb," Sirius would then say, face-palming at the words of his overly enthusiastic friend.
"But can you just imagine it, Padfoot?" James remembered himself repeating every now and then, his voice blazing with hope, which was now a word he'd long since erased from his vocabulary. "The four of us, England's most well known pop-rock band. Imagine all the gigs, the crazed fans . . . We'll sell our own merchandise and people will pay to purchase our autographs."
"Uh-huh, 'bet no one would wanna buy that chicken scratch Moony makes. Even a child's scribble looks better."
Remus would always roll his eyes afterwards and make a futile attempt at being mad at Sirius' acid comments, but James noticed all too well the smirk that would always hover on his friend's lips whenever Sirius wasn't looking.
"And oh, after it would clear . . . The wonders of the universe, they seemed so near."
James slightly sped up the pace of his fingers over the guitar strings. The rain was falling more vehemently outside, the window now looking as though someone had poured a bucket of water over it.
"Lying in my backyard, head is facing skyward, I'd imagine all the things that I could be," The light above his head flickered. No later than two minutes, the electricity went out, hues of grey and slate blue now suffusing the lodge. "A pilot or a fighter, an astronaut or writer, anything except just being me . . ."
James remembered how he always told himself that when he became famous (always a "when" in his naive twenty year old mind, never an "if"), he'd buy his parents a mansion by a Californian beach, where the sun always smiled down at the locals and the sea surpassed the beauty of sapphires. Not that they couldn't do it themselves if they wanted, considering their immense wealth, but knowing his parents' abstemious nature, James knew they'd consider such a purchase to be a waste. But they deserved it after all they'd done for him his entire life. He wanted them to know that he wouldn't grow up to be just another trust fund kid, that he could and wanted to earn his keep, doing something he loved.
He remembered all the promises he always made to himself right before his nightly prayer, about one day making his parents proud. He would lay awake, his eyes counting each star he could spot from his bedroom window, dreaming of the jubilant look in his parents' eyes as he'd glance down at them from the stage - tears streaming down their eyes, his dad roaring "That's my boy!", his mother throwing her hands in the air triumphantly.
"And oh, the bells would start to ring . . . Words came to my head and I would start to sing."
He remembered Jessica - the moons in her eyes, the grace in her walk, and the way her smile would make the sun crawl behind the hillocks in shame when they sat together by Windermere's shore and he showed her one of the lame songs he'd composed for her.
He remembered how she'd always smell like roses and watermelon, and how crazy it drove him when she giggled between their kisses. And he remembered the promise ring he'd gifted her on her nineteenth birthday, and how her tears had flown like waterfalls down her face as he'd sworn to the gods above that he'd marry her one day. But most importantly, he remembered how he'd never in his life felt happier than at that moment right then.
"With the moon as the spotlight that shines on me, and the stars were the lighters in the air. And the wind screaming loud sounded just like a crowd, and I swore I was already there."
There was a shift in the wind. Raindrops turned to hailstones, and the smeared window now trembled violently. The holes between the window frame and the wall allowed currents of cold air to slither inside, sending icy chills all over James' body.
He wanted to sleep, but his brain seemed to be temporarily stuck on rewind, determined to make him relive every memory, every past dream, every unfulfilled goal he had tried to bury for one whole year.
The faces of his parents, standing on the front row of a wild crowd, cheering up at him, proud of their son's success. Sirius, Remus and Peter behind him, playing their instruments exultantly, because they were finally there and they had finally made it and everything that had started as nothing but wishful thinking of four naïve college boys with big dreams had finally come true. Jessica, running into his arms as he removed the white bridal veil that shielded her beautiful face, kissing him over and over again while chanting "Yes, James Potter, I will marry you."
Everything he ever wanted. Every dream that never came true. Every promise that he couldn't keep.
A lump as huge as a fist formed in James' throat. The wind outside continued to howl, as if the sky itself was bemoaning the absence of the sun. Goosebumps pricked his arms, his skin tingling in the frigid air that had now fully enveloped his lodge.
"I'd howl at the moon, I'd howl at the moon . . ."
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the song james is singing is called howl at the moon by the lomls the script bc james loves them if you can't tell,, i've put it in the media box again
IM SO SORRY FOR THE 1D ROASTS AGAIN LMFAO I LITERALLY LOVE THEM I PROMISE!!! it's just the marauders joking around
