James's emotional neglect in more detail. James's aunt also died and it was very traumatic for the poor kid.
James POV || Age 9
"Auntie? Auntie? Auntie?"
Mummy and Daddy are barely home. If I get up early enough, I might see them. But most of the time, it's me all by myself. Not even putting cockroaches in their shoes is working anymore.
I've been breaking into the broom shed when they leave, flying for hours to ignore the empty house. The thrill of danger makes me laugh and forget how it's hard for me to talk, still.
"Lyle, help me! Help me!"
I perform a rather dangerous maneuver, barrel rolling in mid air. I nearly fall off my broom, giggling. I love danger!
The next day is the same, and the next, and the next. I talk to the portraits, to the walls, to myself. My head feels a little echoy and empty, but I swear the walls and floors groan and creak in response.
Uncle Lyle comes over when Daddy's big calendar on the wall says a week has passed. No, two weeks.
He seems concerned when he walks in and I'm talking to the walls again. "Hey, sonny...who are you talking to?"
I run so fast I trip. I'm so clumsy and I hate it. "UNCLE LYLE!"
He laughs when I nearly bowl him over. "Hey, James! That hair, were you on your broom again?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ James is 13 and on holiday break
Dear Sirius,
Please get back to me. Please. I know you can't come over to mine but please let me know how it is going. I'm worried about you.
-James Potter
Dear Remus, I hope your injuries eventually heal. Please let me know as soon as you can write again.
-James Potter
All my letters go unanswered. Peter is in another country, Remus is still in the hospital, and Sirius is grounded. Lily still won't go out with me, and I've still got a hair ribbon I managed to steal from her.
As if that couldn't get any worse, Mummy and Daddy disappear for days, and I barely see them in the mornings. My mind begins to play tricks on me, and I'm convinced I hear them even after they leave.
It doesn't take me long before I'm talking back, and the house doesn't feel so lonely anymore.
But even that gets old. Trying to finish all my homework only makes me ache for Remus, flying makes me think about Sirius, and trying to salvage my destroyed knitting attempt makes me think about Peter.
I write uncle Lyle, but even he won't respond. It's at that point I feel myself descending into true misery.
In typical fashion, Mum and Dad stay home on Christmas Eve. I'm in my bed, the door closed, blankets over my head.
"Son? James? That's not like him, he's usually bouncing around the house..."
Sick and tired of my mind playing tricks on me, I pick up one of my shoes off of the floor, chucking it right at my door. It lands with a thunk.
"Perhaps he isn't home, must have gone on a walk or Lyle took him out somewhere..."
"Monty, I'm getting a bad feeling. We ought to check his room. Where is that boy going when there's a blizzard coming?"
