Earlier, when it was still dark and cold, the large red brick Potter home is toasty warm. Yet unlike the countless times before there is no chatter or laughter filling the home. The Potter's house elf, Nimmy is old with salt-peppered colored hair. Much like her younger brother, Dobby, she had large, bubble-like blue eyes, small bat-like ears, and a long-pointed nose. She was far older, but she looked like an alternate female version of Dobby.
Nimmy refrains from tearing up as she glances at the Mistresses empty chair. Her poor master and master's son had little to no appetite as of late. The master did not eat as well as before, and the master's son often picked at his food. Nimmy had to beg for the master's son to eat a bit before he finally did. She could only return to the kitchen to quietly dab her eyes and finish the rest of the housework.
An older wizard with wispy unruly hair and lukewarm hazel eyes, Fleamont Potter sits at the head of the table quietly reading a copy of the Daily Prophet. The front-page reads, "Marital Alliances? Goblin Alliances? What Alliance is possibly next?!" He ignores the front page and turns the page peeking over his newspaper at his son, who quietly stirs his bowl of oatmeal.
His son looked different ever since his fall from the broom but even more so now. James's unruly hair had been somewhat tamed now having been lengthened. With his long hair pulled back with a hair tie and silver, thin, round spectacles causing his son to appear that much more mature. His son no longer looked like a boy, but rather a thin, young man with long shadows of grief cast over his face.
Fleamont almost opens his mouth to speak but thinks better of it. Setting down his paper, he decides to lead by example. He stiffly cuts up a piece of hotcake and downs it with a bit of bitter coffee. He'd never much liked the muggle commodity, but he found he could not stand the taste of sweet tea as of late. Then again, his Euphie had always had a fondness for sweets.
His throat swells up with emotions and Fleamont rapidly begins to eat to push it back down. Seeing his father eat, James reluctantly begins to gulp down the bowl of oatmeal. He had begun to taste food again, but he hadn't regained his appetite.
After eating a little over half of his bowl, James pushes the bowl away. "Is there anything you would care to discuss with me before I depart for Hogwarts dad?"
"There is one thing," Fleamont said removing a velvet box from his hand and sliding it across the table towards James.
James stares blankly at the velvet box that comes to a halt before him. "New cuff links, dad?" He asked in confusion.
"No," Fleamont gravely responded, "open the box," he gestured with an aged spotted hand.
James cautiously opens the velvet box, the velvet box snaps open to reveal a silver ring with the engraved Prince family crest, a wyvern coiled around a sharp dagger. The engraved wyvern is embellished with tiny sapphires.
James's handshakes as though his hand can't bear the weight of the velvet box. "Dad," he choked out.
"Rowan Prince will be wearing a matching ring with the Potter crest," Fleamont plainly said, "and you will do no less. The two of you are betrothed James and I expect you to comport yourself in such a manner during your time at Hogwarts."
A turmoil of emotions flashes through James's hazel eyes including resignation. He reluctantly reaches out to pluck the silver ring from the velvet box. His fingers seem numb as he removes the ring from the box. The ring seems to burn as he slides it onto his fourth finger on his left hand. He wanted to fling the ring away with all his being, but it was as though a part of him was weighed down by the ring making it an impossibility to ignore.
Fleamont is uncertain of what to say to ease the situation, but he knew that he could not apologize enough. He knew that he had robbed his son and Rowan Prince. Yet he would rather the two of them have a chance in the far-off future than for that opportunity to be stolen.
"We best be going, it's time," Fleamont huffed rising out of his seat, while his bones quietly groan in protest. "Are you all packed?"
"Yes, Dad," James quietly replied, but unable to remove his gaze from the coiled wyvern on his hand.
"Then let's be off to Platform Nine and Three Quarters," Fleamont murmured, "I'm sure your friends are eager to speak to you." He gave his son a knowing look since James refused to respond to any of his friend's owls during the winter break.
The two of them silently strode down the hall and out, before side-apparating to Kings Cross Station. With ease, they passed through the enchanted wall and arrived on the other side, Platform Nine and Three Quarters. The air is crisp and gray and cold. The scarlet engine gleams, with smoke drifting from the engine over the crowd and the wrought-iron archway. The first few train carriages are mostly full of students waving goodbye or finding their friends to sit with.
Unlike the time before, the world feels gray as they make their way through the crowd of people. Among the throng, there are cats meowing from pet carriers, owls hooting from cages, and the odd frog croak or rat squeaking to their owner. This time his mum wasn't here, and she never would be.
James freezes at seeing his worried friends in the distance. He stiffens at feeling his dad pat him on the back. "Go on, James, I'll be fine," Fleamont said.
And for the first time, James clearly looked at his father. He saw the sleepless shadows on his father's wrinkled face. The air of loneliness that had never been before. And at that moment, he finally understood his father's pain and anguish. It was the same feelings that he had once felt for his own son...
James instantly reaches over and tightly hugs his dad. And when he does, he realizes how much shorter his father is. His father was old and grey, and he was all alone now.
"Take care of yourself, dad," James sincerely whispered. "I'll write to you at least every week if not more."
Fleamont blinks back tears and pats James on the back. "I'll be alright, son. I don't want you to be distracted with your O.W.L.'s this year. It's what your mother would have wanted," his voice quivered at his parting words.
James merely hugs his dad tightly, before letting go. "I'll see you soon enough, Dad," he promised. His dad blinked back tears, but James turned away forcing himself to walk away. He needed to go back to Hogwarts.