❝𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘴...❞
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Lily Evans was the first ever witch not to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in attempt t...
Hey everyone! This chapter is dedicated to Spatula for literally hounding me on every single social media we share! Love ya ♥️♥️♥️ agentbot08
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(15th June 1977)
James gazed down at the letter in front of him with enough pique and upset to fuel a world war and perhaps set the fucking place on fire while he was at it. Nothing could ever have prepared him for a letter of this kind. Of course he'd known something like this was bound to happen and it really was just a matter of time before the ticking bomb of his balanced Potter life would erupt like a sadistic metaphorical Pompeii and destroy his harmonious way of life; and yet still the calligraphic loops of his father's handwriting did something to him he'd never dreamt up in his worst nightmares. (He rarely even had nightmares).
He was alone when he opened the letter. By the fire of the Gryffindor common room letting the unbearable heat lick his face as the shadows danced around the room in a foreboding jovial way that drove him mad.
How dare they be so delightful when Pompeii –or a bomb– or whatever paraphrasing you wanted to use– had decided to ruin his life! How dare they!
He didn't dare move away from the heat. If he moved he might be reminded that he was, in fact, real and this was, in fact, happening to him right now. If he moved, the flames might see him for the fraudster he was and decide to swallow him whole with a spark of embers. But perhaps that's what he wanted? If the flames were impervious to him then perhaps they might be tempted to spit something awful at him that might combust him. He might as well meet his demise by fire spark. If not he might do just that by firewiskey. He'd have to decide later; because future plans were for the moving, which he was not.
If the past, horrific month hadn't given him enough reason to put off the MPP meeting tomorrow (or he supposed technically it's was today since it must have been well past midnight) then the letter he held had enough confirmation.
Attending meetings– especially those you were in charge of– was a rather exigent task to accomplish while not moving and even if he was mobile he didn't suppose he'd be up to holding his final Magical Prejudice Protection meeting of the year. It would be a miracle if he could move again never mind organise and chair a meeting of more than thirty students in attendance. (Especially given the circumstances.) In fact, it might just be a rare form of biblical divinity if he could get in the bastard lost-and-found room seen as you had to want to find it to get in and in that moment he didn't quite think he'd ever want anything again besides to reverse the words on the letter he had gotten white knuckles from clutching so tightly.
Four months. It was curious how much could change for the horrific in the four months since the storm of February. He'd have given everything to go back to normal but perhaps normality was just a mirage? Perhaps it had never existed in the first place? Perhaps he'd made it all up?
