Harry Potter Oneshots

• I Promise • James Sirius Potter •

W A R N I N G: depression, mentions of suicide. If [stuff like] this triggers you,
D O    N O T    R E A D.

🖤🎾🐨

I clutched my books closer to my chest as I quietly walked down the deserted corridor, my shoes click-clacking in the stone floor. A storm raged outside and rain hit the windows in furious sheets.

I turned a corner and a group of girls heading the other way; towards dinner; passed me, their voices loud and excited. I squeezed passed them, a slight look of annoyance etched onto my face.

Rounding another corner, I see a two boys going the the same way as the girls. I let my hair act as a curtain as I sped past them. Their laughs rang in my ears. A sound I had not made in a while...

I came to a stop outside the y/h Common Room. Muttering the password/Answering the riddle/Tapping the correct barrel, I made my way inside. Fighting against the exhaustion, I placed my books on the desk and start to work on my Potions essay set by Slughorn.

You didn't feel like eating. You hadn't for a while.

As your quill glided across the parchment, you had to struggle to keep your eyes open, struggle to keep your grip on the quill, struggle to fight the tears that threatened to fall.

But you were so tired.

You gave in.

Your eyes slid closed and the feather fell from your hands, your head lolling onto your chest. The sleep felt good. Like you hadn't had one in a while, and you hadn't; the bags under your eyes gave that away.

Your dreams were filled with dark thoughts and death. A specific, recent death.

Flashback/Dream thingie.

"Mum! Mum!" I pushed past the constant stream of people, my screams and tears meaning nothing to those who wanted to escape.

"Muuuum!" my screams got louder.

And then I saw her.

On her knees.

Held at gunpoint.

Tears streaming down her face.

"Please..." she whispered. "I have a child. A daughter. And if I die... she'll have no one..."

She turned to me.

"I love you..." she whispers. "Now run..."

The gun sounds and my screams mix with my mum's. The man runs away as police sirens sound and I cradle my mum's limp form in my arms, crying and screaming. A pair of strong hands rip me away and I try to fight them, screaming my mother's name.

I wake up in a cold sweat. I'm still in the Common Room. It's dark and the storm is dying down, the wind still howling.

I wipe away a stray tear.

Time skip MUGGLE STUDIES.

We filed in as one, the buzz of chatter dying down. I slide into my seat at the back at the same time as my partener comes up with a new way to annoy me.