James has never felt so tense waiting for his friends in his life. He’s sitting at the old Potter manor, wondering whether it had always been so bitterly cold in the family room before. After the Potter elders died, the cousins & distant relatives attacked like vultures to get their talons on this heirloom & that relic. The only things that remained was the furniture, all morosely draped in white linen, & a sole picture with a little James staring back at him with a gap-toothed smile & Fleamont & Euphemia on either side. It was one of those old-magic style paintings almost every family had, where the dad was nitpicking his son & the mum was smiling fondly at the scene & yet James could still not bring himself to look at it for more than a few minutes.
Absentmindedly he grabbed his wife’s hand. They had a plan, they’d be alright.
Moments that seemed like hours passed & finally the front door creaked open. James wand was already in his hand, ( least the message have been picked up & the intruder NOT Peter ), but he was pleasantly surprised by a mousy brown head.
‘ Peter. ‘ James breathed in relief, taking three grand steps to wrap Peter in a brotherly hug.
‘ You came ! ‘
