James looks at the paper his father holds out to him. He takes it, squinting at his father. He expects nothing good from whatever this is.
Maybe he ought to go back to London, put some distance between himself and his parents. Nothing seems to work at the moment. The resentment, frustrations and irritation he feels when he’s in the same room as his father are tiresome. Yet, it only takes a minute together to have his hackles up. Not even a good gallop through the fields helps settle the uneasy feeling that they’ve crossed some line, that they’ve gone from having their differences to something like Sirius’s family.
James shakes his head. No. He loves his parents. Both of them. It’s just that lately, Fleamont seems to find something wrong with whatever James does, and it’s petty and annoying and he has every right to be pissed off with his dad.
Except when he opens the paper, it’s right there, black on white, his very own responsibility. He can’t blame anyone else for this.
Still, he goes on the offensive.
“Where did you get this?”
“Where do you think?” Fleamont answers, his eyes look tired. He’s not angry, James realises, he’s disappointed. And somehow that infuriates him even more.
“This is none of your business, Dad.”
“Isn’t it, James?” The look in Fleamont gives him is so cold that James flinches. They break eye contact, and Fleamont whispers what sounds like ‘No’ under his breath, his shoulders losing some of the tension.
When he looks at him again, he seems resolved though. “I want to trust you to do the right thing, but when she came here, to talk to you, I was reading in the library. With the door ajar,” he adds.
“I confronted her myself, felt the need to protect you from some gold-digger.” He shakes his head.
James closes his eyes, he still far from happy with his own behaviour, but to hear his Dad felt the need to involve himself just ticks him off more.
“It’s still not your business, Dad.” He finally says and the silence feels like a steel mate.
“What are you going to do?” Fleamont asks. It’s as much a peace offering as he’ll give.
Still, James can’t help himself. “What is it you think I should do, hmm? Since you seem to feel this is your business, I’m sure you have an opinion.”
Fleamont scoffs. “I do, indeed. I do.” But before he adds fuel to the fire of James’s provocation he grits his teeth. “I rather hear your own ideas though.”
“I don’t want to discuss them with you though.” James says and with that he naively believes this conversation might be over.
A strong hand grips him and he’s turned back to face his father, who has gone red in the face.
“I will not let you walk away from this, James. It’s unacceptable.”
Before he can tell his father he isn’t walking away from this, that he is well aware and intends to take his responsibility but that it’s not an easy matter, since Lily Evans asked him for space, time. And the ball is in her court, so to speak. But telling someone about this, about them, feels like a betrayal of the small piece of trust that they’ve so painstakingly forged for themselves. So he stays silent.
“I think you should marry her.”
James frowns at that. It’s not what he expected from his father, who seemed so keen to keep the gold digger away from him.
“Your morality seems a tad archaic, dad, as well as melodramatic. It’s 2025.”
