James Potter (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alotofgood) wrote2011-01-26 04:12 pm
alotofgood) wrote2011-01-26 04:12 pm
post-012. may 1976.
May 19, 1976 — afternoon.
Hogwarts, Scotland
Gryffindor Common Room, Hospital Wing
Directly after this.
"It's not that bad," says James, wincing when he shifts his hand away from Remus and Peter's prying eyes.
They look at him.
"Really."
Peter looks worried. "James, you should really see Madam Pom —"
"You saw what happened to Regulus. He's got it worse. This'll heal in a day, maybe two at most," James says, interrupting Peter from whatever he was going to say. "Besides, if Madam Pomfrey hears about this, then Professor McGonagall will, and then Quentin March will, and once March's heard, that's it."
Remus sighs. "Yes, but you can't play in the final with a broken hand. Quidditch players need their hands."
"It's fine, Remus. It's just a little bruised, that's all. I feel all right."
In truth, it hurts like nothing he's ever known.
It was absolutely worth it — because there's something about really giving someone a beating that provides satisfaction a simple wand hex or jinx can't, but ...
Well, it hurts.
The tops of his knuckles have turned several shades of purple, blue, black and green. The skin has been broken in places, oozing half-coagulated blood.
And he can't exactly flex any of his fingers yet.
(He tried. It nearly made him yelp embarrassingly.)
"Just — someone go find Sirius, or something. All right?" he snaps. "Leave me alone for a moment."
Remus exchanges glances with Peter.
"I won't go looking for Regulus again," James adds exasperatedly. "The moment's over anyway."
"All right. We won't be long." Remus stands up. "Stay here. Don't move. Come on, Peter."
When they leave, James lets out a shaky breath.
Hogwarts, Scotland
Gryffindor Common Room, Hospital Wing
Directly after this.
"It's not that bad," says James, wincing when he shifts his hand away from Remus and Peter's prying eyes.
They look at him.
"Really."
Peter looks worried. "James, you should really see Madam Pom —"
"You saw what happened to Regulus. He's got it worse. This'll heal in a day, maybe two at most," James says, interrupting Peter from whatever he was going to say. "Besides, if Madam Pomfrey hears about this, then Professor McGonagall will, and then Quentin March will, and once March's heard, that's it."
Remus sighs. "Yes, but you can't play in the final with a broken hand. Quidditch players need their hands."
"It's fine, Remus. It's just a little bruised, that's all. I feel all right."
In truth, it hurts like nothing he's ever known.
It was absolutely worth it — because there's something about really giving someone a beating that provides satisfaction a simple wand hex or jinx can't, but ...
Well, it hurts.
The tops of his knuckles have turned several shades of purple, blue, black and green. The skin has been broken in places, oozing half-coagulated blood.
And he can't exactly flex any of his fingers yet.
(He tried. It nearly made him yelp embarrassingly.)
"Just — someone go find Sirius, or something. All right?" he snaps. "Leave me alone for a moment."
Remus exchanges glances with Peter.
"I won't go looking for Regulus again," James adds exasperatedly. "The moment's over anyway."
"All right. We won't be long." Remus stands up. "Stay here. Don't move. Come on, Peter."
When they leave, James lets out a shaky breath.