A portkey. It’s a bloody portkey, and he should hesitate. James doesn’t know where it’ll take him, or who the bloke behind his mask and robes is, but it’s an opportunity he knows won’t present itself again.
He shoulders himself into a seated position as best as he can manage, one of the lenses of his glasses cracked, before he flashes a tight grin at the group of Death Eaters who’re looking at him in surprise. “Gentlemen,” the word is a gasp, his voice harsh despite the amount of ridiculousness James has managed to insert into it, and then he grabs hold of the empty can.
It’s out of place, so different from the repetition that’s grown used to, and James’ instincts prove right. It only takes a moment before he feels that familiar hook somewhere behind his navel before he’s pulled from the room.
The first thing he smells is the dirt. It’s fresh, and there’s a breeze that smells like salt, and a part of him feels like sobbing at the texture of anything other than concrete.
His senses catch up with him then, and James fights back the urge to vomit as the nausea from traveling overwhelms him. There’s not much in his system, and it’s only the awful retching noise that fill his ears as his body fights his will before it ultimately wins.
Why here? The cottage is small, although certainly well hidden. It’s not much to look at, but it’s better than anywhere he’s been in ages.
It could be a trap, James thinks. He’s no idea who’s provided him with the portkey out of that hell, and while he’s certain he could wager a guess...Nah. If he’s right the outcome isn’t easier to predict.
“Dad! It’s Dad!”
No- there’s no way. He’s had little time to think of them, of his family, taking comfort in the fact that they had gotten away safely. That his followers haven’t been able to find them is a source of their aggravation, yet remains James’ hope. And the mop of hair on the little boy’s head, he’d recognize it anywhere, and he’s a person. A little person all of his own, who’s talking-
Half of him believes he’s hallucinating now. Dreaming up an escape, and James wobbles slightly as his hand catches the fence just before Harry – Harry! – slams into his leg.
And the two faces that are quickly hurrying after the youngster, calling him back to them, aren’t real either. It’s too easy – it’s been years, and nothing’s ever been this easy....
“Prove it,” he says hoarsely, all the while knowing he doesn’t look all that intimidating. He’s got no wand on him, no real way of fighting back, and he has to do something – but the shades of his wife and best friend are staring back at him, and he needs to know. He needs to know what’s real. “They said they couldn’t find you, that you disappeared. Prove it.”
@snufffles and @mrspr0ngs // a starter for this verse ya’ll are ripping my heart out with
