Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
J A M E S
All James could think about that morning was how much he didn't want to turn up for his morning shift. Part of him felt ashamed. The other part was still holding a grudge at Peter, and another part-that stupid, insensible one, whispered to him that if he didn't show up for his job, Griffin Lanz would get pissed, which, for the first time, would be a good thing.
James had crossed Lanz before with his irresponsibility, untimely jokes (though, granted, all jokes James cracked, no matter how lighthearted, seemed untimely for the grumpy pool manager) and just overall attitude, which made James, according to Lanz, unfit for his job. He'd threatened James before, but to no avail. Lanz was all bark and no bite.
But maybe . . . maybe if James crossed the line one more time, it would be the final straw. Maybe Lanz would finally decide he'd had enough and actually raise a complaint about James to Peter's dad. And maybe then, James could only hope, Peter's dad would stop being so forgiving just because James was his son's friend and because Peter felt that he owed him, after disappearing from his life for a year and being the causer-albeit indirectly and not at all deliberately-of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter's deaths.
If Mr Pettigrew decided to fire him, Peter would stop carrying the burden of that guilt and James would have a pretense to cut ties with his friend for good. Not work some pity job that he may have not otherwise gotten. He would struggle again for awhile making a living as a street musician, but at least he wouldn't feel indebted to Peter or his dad.
He shook his head and scolded himself internally for the petty thoughts. Yes, he was hurt. More so about the fact that Peter had kept this secret from him, lied to him and was absent from his life when James needed him most. It was not something he could imagine himself doing-betraying a friend.
But then he realized he was talking out of bitterness. Peter had messed up, but he'd tried to make amends in the only way he knew how. And he'd kept up to date with James' living situation the whole year he was gone. He knew James needed a job and a stable income. The lifeguard position wasn't a pity job. It was an apology.
And goddammit, James had missed his friend. The band fell apart after his life went to shambles. He enjoyed the acoustic sessions he performed in the streets, where it was only him and his guitar-and occasionally Sirius, who joined him for a duet when he wasn't too lazy to carry his drum set up and down the stairs from his flat-but he felt incomplete without The Marauders. Performing with them in the live music nights at The Three Broomsticks brought him back to the good old days.
Sometimes, he dared to call the present . . . even better. Because back then, they were still just music majors, trying their hand at songwriting and performing, but it was always limited to his parents' garage. On occasion, they performed in local churches who would have them. But they never had an audience. Now they did. Not a real audience like those of legitimate musicians with fanbases, but something close. Something enough.
