The Marauders: Year Seven Part Two

Nigel

Lily seemed to take extra measures to make Peter feel important over the next week, and in the process she made sure that James did, too.

One day Lily even dragged James off to the Library for an elective lecture on prophecies that Peter wanted to attend, and he sat trapped in the stuffy room for hours while Professor Clearwater went on and on and on about how a prophecy was made and stored, and discussed briefly the various rumors and suspicions about the newly formed Department of Mysteries at the Ministry.

James was sprawled over his hard backed chair, slouching low and desperately trying not to nod off. Professor Clearwater's Native American accent was thick, despite having been in England now for a couple of years, and it seemed to dip and rise like valleys among mountains, and James felt himself imagining the silhouette of it. The sloping ascent and a sharp, rocky descent after the pinnacle... A river would run through the valley, he thought, drifting along it in his mind... free floating...

"I am trying to make this easy on you, Potter. Simply ask, and I will give you my mercy."

James was suspended in midair, hanging limp as a ragdoll, his limbs and neck too weak to do anything but hang freely. He couldn't answer. His tongue felt far away... numb.

"I will show you mercy. All you have to do... is ask for it." The pale, leering face floated at the edges of James's consciousness, like a wraith in the darkness.

James's answer was but a breath.

"What was that?" hissed Voldemort, his dark eyes tinged with a sort of red excitement around the edges of the pupils. "Speak louder boy, I cannot hear your pleas." His voice quivered with amusement, dancing with expectation...

"No," James whispered.

Voldemort's eyes widened in surprise. He thought that James had said something else, it was obvious in his expression. James's morale raised. He felt strength in his veins. The surprise fueled him, gave him what he needed...

"No," he said louder. And as Voldemort reacted to the word, hissing as though burned by waves of hot water, James shouted the word even louder, "NO!"

He tumbled forward and hit his knees on the hard wood floor of the library, snapping himself awake with the impact. His palms splayed out before him, bracing his weight. He felt sweat on his forehead and a light touch on his back, which he twitched away from, half expecting the curling, smoke-like voice of Voldemort in his ear... But instead, it was Lily's voice.

"James?" she asked. "James, honey, are you alright?"

James looked up.

Everyone in the room was looking at him with wide-eyed concern. Professor Clearwater, startled into silence, stood at the front of the room, holding up a perfectly clear glass ball in her palm. She stared, gape-mouthed.

"Prongs?" asked Peter, voice trembling.

James shook his head and struggled up to his feet. "I'm alright," he answered. He could feel his cheeks turning hot from a flush that was drawing up out of his chest. "I'm fine." He turned quickly - too quickly, the motion made him dizzy and he stumbled and had to catch himself on the chair back. Someone gasped behind him and he felt incredibly foolish, embarassed, and even more flushed. He grabbed his bag from the floor, slinging the strap over his head. "Just - tired - going for a nap..." he hurried to the door, acutely aware that every face in the room was turned toward him with curiousity and concern. He felt sick to his stomach knowing that within an hour he would be the talk of the school.

Did you hear about James Potter? In the library? Had a melt down, he did... Something's gone funny about James Potter... Ever since he was kidnapped by You Know Who... Broken... Mad... Lost his mind...