[ - ]
Table of Contents [Report This]
Printer Chapter or Story Microsoft Word Chapter or Story
- Text Size +
To Number 12 Grimmauld Place


James felt like he was going to be sick. Everything around him moved in a blue of colour as he spun the knob on the side of the time turner, his hands shook and he stared down at the shiny gold because it was the only thing besides himself that was holding still. It was as though the world was spinning backwards - back and back and back and back….

“One…” he counted.

“...two….”

“...three….”

“...four….”

And he turned the wheel one rune and spun the knob again…

“One…”

“...two….”

“...three….”

“....four…”

“...five….”

“...six….”

And he stopped. And the world stopped. And it was the weirdest thing because there he sat, in the same chair before the same desk in the same room - though the light outside was a wee bit darker, the earth tilted just a wee bit further from the sun in January than it would be in April.

“Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore’s voice made James look up. And there he sat, minimally perplexed, considering a boy had just appeared in his presence. He stared at James for a long moment, his eyes flickering to the time turner in his hands, and Dumbledore said. “I see.” He stood up. “Where do you need to go?” he asked, instantly falling into the role of helper without asking a single question.

“Number 12 Grimmauld Place,” James replied. He thought about it for a moment. “To Sirius’s bedroom, the upstairs bedroom.” That was the only place he knew of that neither he and Maryrose, nor the Death Eaters had been to in the house. Therefore, it would be there that he would be safest until he could figure out how he was going to save Maryrose.

Dumbledore nodded, and he asked, “Am I to stay with you?”

James thought for a moment. Having Dumbledore there would be quite handy. But then again, the future Dumbledore had told him to go and get Maryrose and then bring her to his office and that he would help him at that point. There’d be no reason in having mentioned that step if he was to have brought Dumbledore along with him. No, James thought, I gotta do this alone. So he shook his head, “No sir. I’m to go alone.”

“Very well.” Dumbledore looked about and then picked up a teaspoon from a tray at his side and set it onto the desk before him, before he waved his wand over the spoon. “Portus,” he whispered and the spoon glowed for just a moment before going as dull as it had been before. Dumbledore looked up at James. “There you are. A Portkey.”

“Thank you, sir.” James hadn’t used a ton of Portkeys in his life, but he’d done some so he knew how to use it. Just it would be the first time he’d do so without help from his father and the thought frightened him.

A fleeting thought went through his mind. If Charlus continued getting ill as he was… eventually there would be quite a lot of things that James would do for the first time on his own without his father’s help. And the thought both terrified him and gave him strength and so he reached out his hand and closed it ‘round the spoon, feeling altogether the role of a man for the very first time in his life.

Dumbledore stared at the empty seat long after James had disappeared, stroking his beard and wondering what his future self was up to.




James landed spread-eagle on Sirius’s floor, his belly pressed to the cold wood as the gut wrenching, naval-pull of a transport completed and he kept his eyes firmly shut until his stomach and senses had had a chance to have caught up to his physical body. Finally, he sat up and he looked about at the room.

He’d never been to Sirius’s bedroom before - he’d only seen it behind Sirius when they’d talked in the mirrors the little time Sirius had spent here. The walls were green and grey and dark and dismal, but the things permanently adhered to them were entirely Sirius in nature. He’d stuck posters of muggle men and women up here and there - women in bikinis with huge breasts holding cocktails with fruit and fancy paper umbrellas (Clearly he decorated before he figured out how flaming gay he is, typical Sirius, thought James, shaking his head and smirking at how different this room would have been decorated if Sirius had stayed there after he’d fallen in love with Remus and sworn off all sexual attraction to the opposite sex). There were Gryffindor banners hung about and drawings Remus had sent him, pictures of creatures and sketches of memories they’d shared at Hogwarts, letters in James’s handwriting and pamphlets, travel brochures for exotic lands - islands and boats and sunny beaches. Costa Rica Packing List, Sirius had written across a parchment he’d stuck to the wall and he’d listed loads of things he wanted to remember to bring with him on a dream trip…

James heard voices outside the room and he got up and crawled over to the door, pulling it open carefully and out onto the landing, peering between the rungs of the bannister to look down the narrow, creaky-looking stairwell. It was so dark in the house, the light high above the stairs rocked on a long black chain, rocking back and forth slowly. James squinted down and his breath caught in his throat as he saw the door on the next landing was opened. Kreacher stood in the hall, his ears flapping. “The Dark Lord and Kreacher’s Mistress are coming, they’re coming,” he said.

And then tthere he was - his own self! - with Lucy Minchum up on his back, his arms wrapped about her to keep her steady in her place. He was wearing his old trainers, the ones that were lost in the cave… But of course he hadn’t been to the cave yet.

And maybe would not go to the cave at all.

His stomach twisted.

It was the weirdest thing - seeing himself.

“Bloody hell,” Past-James muttered, looking around, down the stairs and - Present-James ducked back quickly before his own eyes could turn up, only just in time, too. “C’mon. Run.”

And he leaned forward quickly because he knew what would happen next.

Maryrose would step out of that room.

And he didn’t want to miss it.

So he looked, his breath held.

And then… there she was.

She was exactly as he remembered her - with her teal hair and her complexion very much the colour it belonged being and her eyes bright and her lips shimmery from lipgloss or something. And she wore a boys’ school uniform -- of course, because she’d been playing at being Sirius just before they’d left Hogwarts, hadn’t she? When they’d attempted to fool Regulus and the drama with Sirius having been there on the stairs occurred and the terrible moment when Sirius had thrown Remus’s ring at his chest and called them all traitors -- James’s throat tightened at the memory of all the things that were his present in the past.

His present now that he was in the past.

Bloody hell.

Maryrose, though.

Alive.

Maryrose, talking and looking at him and moving out the door of Regulus Black’s room, the pant ‘round too long at the ankle because she was shorter than the pants were meant to fit, and she’d cinched the belt up so that a bit of leather hung loose at her hip. He pressed his face to the rungs and he wanted so much to run down there and grab her right then and save her right then.

Patience, James, he told himself, Patience or you’ll mess it up.

So he stayed still.

He stayed and watched as they ran down the stairs, away from him, and the steps creaked ad thumped and groaned and he listened as they pushed opened the door of the library and a few moment later, the door closed shut with a thud and James bit his lip.

Do I go down now? he wondered, Or do I wait?

And he’d just decided to go now - he was three steps down the flight - when the front door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place opened and there were voices in the hall. He stilled himself, crouching on the steps.

“She’s upstairs, My Lord. In my son’s bedroom, my Lord. I have kept her safe.” Walburga Black’s voice carried up the stairs.

“Yes - well, I have need to bring her to Malfoy Manor.” It was Voldemort, and his voice was raspy and low as it always was, and regal and imperial. “Now that the Resistance and the Ministry are aware that the repugnant brat we’ve returned to them was a decoy, they’ll be searching for her and I have no intentions of giving her - or her grandfather - up easily. Bring me to her.”

“Yes my Lord. This way, my Lord.” And he could hear their footsteps on the stairs, climbing higher…

James pressed his back against the wall, making himself as tiny as he could, praying that he would not be noticed…

And Walburga Black climbed the stairs… and Voldemort behind her… and James could hear a third set of feet coming along. Rudolphus Lestrange, he remembered, and he bit his lip and waited…

Soon he’d have his chance to go and to save Maryrose and set things right.

He held his breath… and he waited… and he prayed.

The door on the landing below creaked - and opened and he heard Walburga’s voice, simperingly cold - an attempt at being kind that was falling short. “Deary, we’re here to visit you. I have the Dark Lord here to visit you. He’s very excited to meet you.” And then there was silence for several long moments.

And then there came a very loud, very violent bellowing scream of anger. “REDUCTO!” the Dark Lord screamed and there was blasting explosive sounds that echoed through the house and the door of Regulus Black’s room blew out and banged into the wall, hanging limply by one hinge. “FIND HER!! FIND THE GIRL!!!!!!!!”

He could still remember the panic that he’d felt in the library - that horrible, terrified feeling as they’d scrambled about the library, trying to figure out what to do - where to do - how to hide in a room that had no place to hide… and there was Rudolphus on the landing, waving his wand to repair the door, and then he was running down the steps, thundering over the steps, headed down… down to the library, down to collect Maryrose - whom he would believe to be Lucy Minchum - down to the moment that James was here to undo.

The moment that Maryrose was taken from him.