Pacing in a cold, sterile hallway, anxiety and fear choking him. Glancing at the door to the outside, as if waiting on someone. Then, a door from the inside opens, and a doctor steps out, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, Mr. Potter. Your parents are no longer with us.” Pain, grief, and then suddenly arms around him from behind, comforting, but who?
James wanted to call it a dream after it happened, but he'd been taking a mid-afternoon nap. He'd been peacefully dreaming--something about floating cows?--when something else gripped him, and he bolted upright in his chair. His knuckles went white from how tightly he squeezed his fists against the onslaught of emotion.
His parents. Fuck, his parents. He'd always had them. He'd always been able to rely on them. Every complaint, every dream, every moment of need: he'd always been able to go to them and know that between his mother and his father, someone would give comfort or whatever else he needed.
The arms around him felt like warm relief tethering him to reality before James could drown in his grief.
Except no.
Because suddenly he felt himself shift back to reality, became very aware that all he felt was a chair against his back, not arms around his body.
Still, the tears that streamed down his face were incredibly real. As was the urge to go make sure his parents were fine. The loss had felt so real. What could it be? A premonition? God, he hoped not. He couldn't lose them.
They weren't always perfect and didn't necessarily understand them, but James couldn't do this alone.
He didn't have any arms to find comfort in.
