If We Can Turn Back Time

Chapter 15: James

Season is small. She's like a fairy, or a pixie who's got a big problem with the world. She has dark eyes and dark hair. It's cut short just around her chin. Her eyes are lost and sleepy most of the time. Her button nose is covered in freckles, and her lips are full but cracked. She has an American accent that contrasts with everyone's british accent. Honestly, she's cute. She's simple. She doesn't try hard. She's like fresh rain. She comes in bursts but leaves puddles of her remains. Her words are always concealed and form some sort of a beautiful poetry. She's like mona lisa. She's a mystery to be solved. She's so real but so distant. 

Also she smells like roses. It's classy. 

I guide her to the kitchen. Season shifts continuously under the cloak as if it's uncomfortable. It probably is with my stinking of firewhisky. I couldn't help it. When I saw Alissa snogging that Ravenclaw son-of-a-bitch I couldn't help but rely on it. Firewhisky tastes great. It's not that strong even. But I couldn't let Season drink it for some reason. She needed protection. I could see it in her. She's visibly broken. 

"We're here." I whisper in her ear. Season nods and I can already see her small hands pushing the door. I remove the cloak and Season scuttles away from me. The house-elves are bowing. 

"Master Potter is returned for our services!" Winky shrieks with joy and bounces up and down. "Would you like the usuals? What about the lady?"

"The usuals?" Season scoffs. I shake my head with an embarrassed smile. 

"Yeah. Winky, the lady will have marshmallow blocks, pronto." 

We sit down next to the fireplace and I pop open a bottle of butterbeer. I sip from the brown bottle. 

"Ew." Season says. I turn and gasp.

"What? What? Why?" I stare at her. Season laughs silently. "Butterbeer is the bestest drink in the-um-entire world. It's undebatable." 

"I think it tastes like greasy cream soda. I drink it because one bottle is super expensive." 

We laugh along with the crackling of the fire. Season fidgets with her fingers. Something about her says that she's super tense and super anxious now. 

"Is your plate of treacle tarts with caramel, and marshmallows."  

There is a mountains of glossy marshmallow blocks stacked up. Season gapes at its amount. I nervously reach for my treacle tart and bite in. Season toasts some marshmallows by the fire and bite into it. Her eyes widen from the sweetness and she reaches for more. 

"Damn. I probably gonna get diabetes from all this." 

I laugh. We eat in silence, and Season seems to ease down. She melts by the fire. She's like snow. I see her eyelids dropping down. She's dozing by the fire. I don't know what I should do with girls actually. Whenever people picture me, they imagine me as tall and muscular and somewhat like Fred and George. They think I look masculine and I'm a ladies man. 

In truth. I am not. I don't have that many friends. I like to keep a few trusted ones but they come and go like seasons of a year. I'm staying at the top of classes but not getting any recognitions. I'm introverted severely and I can only show myself, my true self to the bare minimum of people. So most of you would be wondering why I dated Alissa. The truth is, it was because she liked me. And maybe so I'll get recognized. It's a lot of pressure being the son of Harry Potter. After the word of Albus's spontaneous time traveling spread, I became far more distant. When I started writing, I got too caught up with it. And now I'm worried about the future. All I have is my lanky build and my dark hair and green eyes as a shield. I just have to keep it under control.

Sighing, I gently nudge Season until she blinks her eyes open. I smile at her awkwardly.

"You should get to bed." 

"Yeah."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, James Potter."