Disclaimer: Not JKR!
Red by Rockinfaerie
A Much-Needed Visit
When she woke, in the clear light of morning, it took some time for Mrs Potter to recall the miserable events of the past month. As she stared numbly at the canopy above her, each image flashed back at her, and the talk that had come with it. Unable to stay in bed any longer, she rose, and walked to the large dusty window, her moving her feet quickly across the cold wooden floor.
The sun held itself high above the slated black roofs. It was a cold, dry day, and she watched the gleaming cars drive below, their occupants hurried by some unknown business. Muggles crossed the road, their clothing so structured and strange. She stared at them for some time, watching their progress as she would a group of ants. Some would emerge, from time to time, from the houses opposite, and she was suddenly curious to see her neighbours. There was an elderly man who stooped as he shuffled, his paper in hand, to the far end of the street, and a younger man who carried a bag full of letters, like a public service owl.
Somewhere, far beyond those black rooftops and round sun was James, perhaps playing Quidditch or basking in a sunlit classroom. Her heart ached with crushing loneliness and disappointment.
Lucius had told her that morning, when she could not find her son that James had gone. Early that morning, he had left with no goodbye. Just as his father had done. Back to school, back to the place that had separated them for so long. Lucius said it was rude. Ungrateful. Thoughtless, that he should abandon his mother at such a time, to leave home for school when he was not permitted to do so. Influenced heavily, he didn’t doubt, by a certain Sirius Black.
But Mrs Potter did not feel that he had been rude or ungrateful. She simply felt empty. Dreadfully empty, as though she had been deceived into thinking that her son cared for her. When she thought of him tears spilled onto her cheeks, and she could not stop thinking of him. How could he have done this to her? How could she have let him go? She regretted returning to the drawing room that night. She should have stayed with him, and made sure he would not leave. Every morning she would run down the hall to his bedroom to see if he had returned, and on finding an empty, made up bed with no son, she would sit on it, smoothing her hands on the blanket and staring blankly ahead.
Hogwarts was his education, his home, as it once had been hers. And she hated admitting it. She hated herself for not providing a proper home in their house, for not spending more time with him. She should have cared for him, instead of the nanny. She should have been able to joke with him, to make him laugh, to speak to his friends, as Harry had. But she had always been too wrapped up in her own social game to do any of those things. And she wept.
He had sent her a letter afterwards, to tell her that he had safely arrived at Hogwarts. But it had been curt and he did not elaborate, as if not to let her see what he actually thought of her. She had resisted the temptation to send him a howler, to let him know how upset she was. But she had responded in the same cold manner in which he had written, promising to see him for the summer holidays. So shortly before he had left, in the study, with no-one else there, they had cried together. Now she found herself crying in total solitude.
And she had not seen her friends in some time. It was not that she didn’t want to; the truth was that there had been a consecution of dreadful occurrences in various parts of the country, and people were afraid to gather in large numbers. They would rather stick with their families. Individual friends had been too busy, or afraid of intruding, to call. The only family she had presently was Lucius, who had kindly taken it upon himself to look after her. He never seemed desirous of speaking with her about James. In fact, his eyes would always turn cold and his young face would crease with worry.
Isolation. That is what it was. She would sit in the living room, not bothering much with her appearance, sifting through witch fashion magazines that Lucius would dutifully buy for her. These served as a slight distraction for her, but she could never escape the great burden of anxiety that weighed her down constantly. There was something bad about her son’s sudden detachment, something she could not pinpoint, but knew that something awful would come of it.
There had thus far been only one break from her bleak period of solitude. Albert Milford had called unexpectedly, and she had at once felt embarrassed “ her hair was not smooth and her robes were creased from sitting for so long on her favourite sofa. He too looked somewhat dishevelled “ it was a very busy time for St Mungo’s, what with the numerous attacks, particularly on Muggles, that had to be dealt with. His hair was longer than usual and he was slightly unshaven, but he was very concerned to see her.
“My dear, you must be so miserable,” he told her, following her into the drawing room.
“Yes, I have been,” she replied truthfully, “but I have been trying to keep busy,” she said, folding away the fashion magazines with a short flick of her wand.
He had come to keep her company “ on Lucius’ orders, she suspected. They sat together, slices of cake on the coffee table and sipping glasses of calming draught “ a most popular beverage in war-torn days. They talked and discussed many things, mostly about their schooldays “ it seemed that everyone these days conversed about the past; the present was far too grim.
“… And do you remember Robbie Price? The look on his face when we hexed him that time, after the O.W.L.s?”
“Although he was so horribly mean “ he entirely deserved it.”
“Does anyone deserve their rear to be covered in itching powder?”
“And the worst kind, at that!” she laughed, for the first time in four weeks.
There was something about his fatigued, intelligent eyes that made her feel comforted, in a way Lucius’ conviction could not. Albert pushed his hair away from his eyes, and she felt happy, just to watch him do it. When he grinned, his teeth flashed brightly, and he absent-mindedly traced his finger around his protruding chin.
She looked away, suddenly ravaged by guilt. She tried to tell herself that it was all right, that Harry had never looked at her with such interest, with such devoted expression. But she felt empty again.
“When did your son return to Hogwarts?” he asked after a pause, hoping to gain her undivided attention once more.
“Oh. James went back shortly after we last saw you,” she replied steadily.
“He’s quite a gentleman, I must say. Very smart, and so well behaved, when you consider...” he drifted off, but Mrs Potter couldn’t help but feel a little proud, that Albert held him in such high esteem.
“I understand that he is a fine Quidditch player,” he added, reliving conversation they had had the last night she saw him.
“Yes, yes he is. Captain now.” The last time she had seen one of his school matches had been over three years ago “ one of his earlier ones. The guilt rose in her chest once more.
“Pity,” Albert said. She looked at him inquisitively. “There is talk in the Ministry, I have heard, of the National Quidditch League folding. They say it’s too dangerous right now, for whole crowds to appear in one area. It could result in tragedy.”
Mrs Potter had never cared for Quidditch as much as Albert did, but she knew it would come as a blow to James. She remembered in his second year, how James would come home for the holidays, convinced that he would play for England in a few years time. Back then, it had not been so bad. The violence that surrounded them now on almost a daily basis had been but small whispers and threats. She could never have entertained the notion that it would become so bad that she could not even socialise with her friends.
Harry’s opinions on the matter of Quidditch had been too personal, too exact, to properly discuss it, and they barely discussed anything. Harry was certainly proud of James’ achievements for his team, but Harry himself never played. Her eyes flitted to the small, framed photograph on the mantelpiece of Harry and his brother, a brother she had never met, but after whom they had named their son.
Albert’s speech moved away from James to other things, and entertained her with stories of different patients, and the manner in which they had gotten themselves into various strange predicaments. She laughed as he talked, and she could not take her gaze away from his tanned, lined face.
When she saw him out, and when the night had fallen like a thick, blinding covering, he kissed her lightly on the cheek. The door closed behind him, and she had glimpsed his hand raised in a wave before he disapparated. She held her hand to her cheek, which warmed beneath it, and found that for once, the crushing loneliness she had felt for over sixteen years had lifted slightly.
You there - leave a review!