Yesterday is Tomorrow (Everything is Connected)

Thirteen: Hold On

Yesterday is Tomorrow (everything is connected)

XIII

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You don't get to choose when or who you meet. However, you do get to choose who you hold on to.

- The Girl Who Leapt Through Time (Toki o kakeru shôjo) (2006)

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December 1975

"DERANGED WIZARDS ATTACK YULE SHOPPERS IN DIAGON ALLEY," the headline screamed on the following days' Daily Prophet.

James couldn't stop staring at it, couldn't stop staring at the accompanying image that was blown up to cover the entire front fold. Despite being in black and white, James would wince at the beginning of each playback loop, from the final explosion of debris being catapulted through the air, the focus on the mad, cackling female form and the hooded men being blown back, and the single emphasis of the puddle of blood, darkly stark against the white snowbank.

He could feel the lingering anxiety and adrenaline from the event rush through his veins and lungs, and James clenched his hands tightly into fists as he sat at the breakfast table, eyes fixated on his father's paper despite the older man rustling it and clearing his throat, ignoring his toast in favour of whatever section he was reading.

How can you be so calm about this? thought James, lifting his eyes from the headline to look at his father, seeing only his hazel eyes as they swept back and forth across the text he was reading, and his more salt-than-pepper hair. Sitting at his father's right, Dorea was focused on stirring her honey into her tea with poise.

Both his parents seemed remarkably calm that morning. Swallowing thickly, James looked down at his clenched hands and slowly unfurl them, watching as they shook with minor trembles. They had been so close to the Avada Kedavra - they could've died if it weren't for Hermione - James nearly died watching her leap out of the blasted window - her duel with the other woman, getting flung back -

"James, darling, pass the butter please."

James' head shot up to stare at his mother.

Dorea's grey eyes focused on her son, waiting for his acknowledgment, and when it failed, she said again, a bit stronger, "James. The butter, please."

With a shaking hand, James reached out and slid the butter tray toward his mother, who watched him with a carefully neutral expression on her face. Her son kept his face down, facing the table. Clearing her throat, she caught her husband's attention, causing Charlus to lower the paper briefly and catch his wife's eyes.

She then flicked hers toward their son, and Charlus gave a small, inaudible sigh as he folded the paper and placed it to the side.

"James."

James' head snapped up, and Charlus briefly winced at the look in his son's eyes. His heart ached for the raw pain that was etched on James' face - from a sleepless night, if the bruises under his glasses were any indication - but also by the lowered pull to his mouth in worry.

Charlus reached forward and placed his hand on James' shoulder. "Son, it's alright to be scared. But it's over now. This is the drain from everything. You'll be fine in a few days."

James looked down at his lap, clenching his hands in his lap. "You're right, I'm sure you're right - but I - I can't help but remember - see it all in my mind every time I close my eyes-"

"Darling," breathed Dorea, leaning across the table toward her son, her eyes shining. "We're here. We're fine."

"But you weren't!" protested James, the words bursting from him quickly. He blinked rapidly, glancing away. He whispered, "I saw the spell, too. I saw it."