šššš šššš ššššššššš ššššš. šøš¶:š¶š¶ ššššš. ššššššššš š·š½, šøš¶šøšæ.
šššššš: šššš
The last thing he remembered seeing was his fatherās face imposed on unfurling banners.
With a sudden jolt Jamie came to, eyes bursting open onto the dark sky overhead. Lungs burned in desperation for air, and he took a swift gulp. His tongue tasted like smoke and dust, burning his sinuses as he began to slowly register what was going on around him. He couldnāt quite remember where he was, until he had managed to turn his head and take a look around. Was this⦠the Hogwarts pitch? At the realization, it had slowly came back to him. One second ago he was sitting comfortably in the stands, only mildly paying attention to the debate before him. Now he was⦠Well, he wasnāt sure where he was, his vision obscured by something. A blink and that obstacle became clear ā a spiderweb like crack splintering across his glasses. Nothing a quick repairing charm canāt fix. Even he couldnāt mess that up.
āNo matter,ā he croaked out to himself, suddenly realizing just how winded he was. āJust grab your wand and fix it.ā Easier said than done it would seem. As his brain registered his limbs again, Jamie attempted to lift up his right hand only for a jolt of searing pain to catapult up his arm. He hissed miserably before letting his hand fall pathetically back to his side. āShite,ā he moaned, turning his head to try and get a view of the affected area to little success. I really hope thatās not broken. It was the last thing a professional athlete needed, much less a person in his precarious situation.
Slowly, and with mighty effort, Jamie began to sit up, now registering the blurry landscape around him. He was still in the stands, and a throbbing at the back of his head seemed to signify that heād fallen over and hit his head on the seat. Must have been after the demonstrations⦠Duh, he thought. The memories began to come back to him in quick spurts. The debate. The student stepping up. The banners bearing Kingsley and his fatherās faces. That maniacal voice. Was it some kind of terrorist attack? He wasnāt sure, but he remembered the frenzy that filled the stands as everyone began running for the closest exits. Thatās when I must have been knocked over.
Whatever was going on, Jamie needed to get out of there, rather quickly, and so far it felt like most of his other bones were intact. He could make it to safety on foot, of that he was certain. āGet up, Jamie boy, cāmon now,ā he grunted, āYou need to get to⦠to the castle, of course!ā What place was safer than Hogwarts (or really, in a comfortable proximity to the pitch)? He couldnāt just apparate, and Hogsmeade was a bit far⦠Surely everyone was regrouping at the school and it was a safe point in all this mayhem. Yes, Jamie Potter was sure of it, and he was determined to make his way there and hopefully find a healer to tend to his wounded wrist. All will be just fine.
A stupidly optimistic thought.
As he slowly began to sit up, he heard a sound coming from the darkness just a few feet away. Oh no! Instantly Jamie fell into a panic, his heart wildly thumping against his chest. Without a thought, he flopped down and tried to roll between the benches in the stands, squeezing his eyes shut as he attempted to slow his breathing. Play dead! Dear lord, look unconscious! A simple thought, but in that harrowing moment it felt his safest bet. His wand hand was hurt, and he was already poor at magic when it was perfectly fine. If danger lurked in the shadows, then he would be a goner. Harry Potterās eldest son, alone and wounded, the perfect victim. He swallowed and attempted to bury the thought. You canāt see me! Iām dead, you wonāt notice me! He kept repeating the thoughts in his head as he willed his body to be incredibly still, hoping and praying that whoever was about to stumble upon him either had good intentions or would believe him not worth injuring further.
your Ā actions Ā were Ā so Ā weak, Ā your Ā heart Ā canāt Ā have Ā been Ā in Ā them Ā -- Ā two Ā months Ā ago Ā was Ā the Ā first Ā time Ā he Ā recalled Ā words Ā spoken Ā by Ā the Ā greatest Ā professor Ā hogwarts Ā had Ā EVER Ā known:Ā theĀ veryĀ firstĀ momentĀ hisĀ bodyĀ feltĀ theĀ sameĀ achesĀ ofĀ painĀ andĀ fearĀ thatĀ hadĀ beenĀ presentĀ whenĀ heĀ wasĀ seventeen.Ā ofĀ allĀ theĀ demonsĀ thatĀ hadĀ onceĀ buriedĀ themselvesĀ soĀ deepĀ inĀ hisĀ skin,Ā heĀ couldĀ nowĀ feelĀ themĀ crawlingĀ aroundĀ again.Ā
dumbledoreĀ hadĀ beenĀ rightĀ allĀ along.
heādĀ stoodĀ thereĀ forĀ moments;Ā evenĀ withĀ foreknowledgeĀ ofĀ whatĀ wasĀ toĀ come,Ā heādĀ admitĀ thatĀ heĀ foundĀ himselfĀ silenced.Ā gaspingĀ -Ā atĀ leastĀ inĀ spiritĀ -Ā withĀ aĀ crowdĀ ofĀ peopleĀ whoĀ missedĀ theĀ men,Ā whoĀ missedĀ formerĀ colleaguesĀ andĀ schoolĀ friendsĀ becauseĀ theirĀ griefĀ remainedĀ endless.Ā whileĀ heĀ knewĀ littleĀ ofĀ suchĀ connections,Ā heĀ feltĀ aĀ sadnessĀ ofĀ hisĀ ownĀ weavingĀ away...
hadĀ heĀ notĀ beenĀ aĀ cowardĀ allĀ thoseĀ yearsĀ ago,Ā maybeĀ theĀ civilĀ glancesĀ ofĀ appreciationĀ couldāveĀ turnedĀ intoĀ friendshipĀ (Ā thatĀ maybeĀ heĀ couldāveĀ beenĀ farĀ moreĀ thanĀ theĀ sonĀ ofĀ aĀ deathĀ eaterĀ ).Ā Ā
heĀ tucksĀ himselfĀ away,Ā awareĀ ofĀ theĀ roleĀ heāsĀ toĀ playĀ ifĀ successĀ isĀ onĀ theĀ table.Ā honouringĀ theĀ veryĀ maliceĀ andĀ discontentĀ ofĀ whatĀ itĀ meansĀ toĀ beĀ aĀ deathĀ eater,Ā asĀ notĀ toĀ arouseĀ suspicionĀ inĀ thoseĀ whoseĀ mindsĀ hadĀ alreadyĀ beenĀ taintedĀ withĀ theĀ darknessĀ ofĀ paranoia.Ā Ā
theirĀ eyesĀ wereĀ tooĀ similar:Ā theĀ sameĀ oraclesĀ ofĀ truthĀ thatĀ spokeĀ onlyĀ earnestly.Ā thisĀ wasĀ harryĀ potterāsĀ son,Ā oneĀ ofĀ theĀ manyĀ childrenĀ dracoĀ recalledĀ readingĀ aboutĀ inĀ theĀ prophetĀ andĀ left...well,Ā heādĀ beĀ theĀ perfectĀ victimĀ toĀ arouseĀ evenĀ moreĀ tension.Ā
(Ā dracoĀ couldnātĀ haveĀ thatĀ )
āĀ ifĀ IĀ createĀ anĀ illegalĀ portkey,Ā doĀ youĀ believeĀ yourselfĀ capableĀ ofĀ escapeĀ ?Ā āĀ heĀ questions,Ā makingĀ himselfĀ knownĀ asĀ heĀ lowersĀ hisĀ hood.Ā timeĀ hadĀ beenĀ kinderĀ toĀ dracoĀ thanĀ heĀ deserved,Ā eyesĀ agedĀ onlyĀ byĀ slightĀ wrinklesĀ atĀ theirĀ creaseĀ andĀ hairĀ darkenedĀ onlyĀ slightly.Ā Ā āĀ believeĀ whatĀ youĀ wishĀ butĀ theĀ lastĀ thingĀ iādĀ wantĀ toĀ do,Ā isĀ hurtĀ you...Ā āĀ heĀ chuckles,Ā asĀ ifĀ unphasedĀ thoughĀ itĀ wasĀ clearlyĀ aĀ front;Ā heĀ refusedĀ toĀ letĀ hisĀ emotionsĀ makeĀ himĀ weak.Ā Ā āĀ betĀ youĀ heardĀ allĀ aboutĀ meĀ fromĀ yourĀ --Ā sorry,Ā IĀ canĀ onlyĀ imagineĀ thatāsĀ stillĀ hard.Ā āĀ didĀ itĀ everĀ stopĀ beingĀ ?Ā heĀ debatesĀ theĀ sameĀ withĀ hisĀ ownĀ grief,Ā sheādĀ beenĀ goneĀ soĀ longĀ andĀ yetĀ theĀ woundĀ itselfĀ stillĀ feltĀ asĀ openĀ asĀ ever.Ā