Part 1
James feels stupid. Shit, he is stupid. He's been staring at his phone since he got up, two hours ago. He's been staring at it, hoping a text would come through from Mr. Reggie. But he said, he said it was for school purposes. So why does James feel so disappointed? He sighs, deciding to shut off his phone, and hopes, and gets out of bed. He's surprised, to say the least, that Harry has yet to come running in.
But just as James throws on his shirt, the peaceful quiet of his room is ruined. Harry comes barging in, screaming, “Papa!” and running in, squealing. James can't help but smile, any depressing thoughts leaving his head instantly. It's a wonder that Harry continues to do that to him every day.
“I'll be put in a minute, Harry. I've barely just gotten dressed.” James smiles, ruffling Harry’s hair, “I’m proud of you though. I like how much you like your art.”
“You like getting to see Mr. Reggie everyday.” Harry bluntly corrects, sitting on a chair in James’ bathroom. He smiles, trying to fight the sudden heat coursing through him right now.
“What could you possibly be talking about?” James asks, before starting to brush his teeth.
“You like Mr. Reggie.” Harry giggles, teasing, “And I think he likes you too.” James shakes his head, not able to respond due to the toothpaste in his mouth. He looks at himself in the mirror, and luckily his cheeks aren’t near as red as they feel. He spits out the toothpaste before responding.
“Now, Harry, these false ideas are getting dangerous. It could seriously hurt someone.” James tells him, not mentioning that the person he could hurt would be James, if he were to get his hopes up. Just for a second, and yet it would hurt as if he’s had that hope for years. That’s just how he is. He feels a lot, too much sometimes. Both a curse and a blessing, he guesses. Well, that’s how he got Harry, anyway.
“They’re not fake. It’s true. Anyone can see it.” Harry argues, a pout forming on his face. James laughs again, picking Harry up as they both make their way to the kitchen.
“Trust me, Harry, these assumptions are just your imagination.” James whispers into Harry’s ear, “Now, let's take a bowl of cereal and go. We’re running late.”
They do just that, and Harry stops talking about the ideas he’s so sure of. They take the cereal and instantly get in the car, James anxiously tapping on his leg. He checks his watch. 8:45. If they leave now, they’ll be cutting it close, but it’s worth the risk. Harry talks the entire way, per usual, about his friends and his project and how excited he is and how fun it is there. It makes James smile even more, all the way to the school, where the nerves start to come in. He feels his stomach twisting into knots, his mouth suddenly much too dry. He can feel his entire body fucking shaking . He does not like this. No, not at all. He can barely get Harry out of his carseat with the way his hands are shaking, jittery and nervous to see the man inside that school. At this point, he finds it quite normal that Harry found out. Look at the way he’s acting right now, for fuck’s sake. He’s far too obvious. The idea of that makes him want to vomit, but he pushes it away. So what a four year old can see it? Doesn’t necessarily mean Mr. Reggie—however old he is—can see directly through James.
He checks his watch again. It reads exactly 9:00 AM, which is alright. Okay, so he might be cutting it close, but as long as he can get in there and not stall, he should be fine. Maybe a minute over, but he sincerely doubts it. He just has to pray, as well, that traffic isn’t bad.
But apparently none of that is going to matter. Because all the parents are stuck outside the door, which is closed. And Mr. Reggie is nowhere to be seen. James tries not to curse out loud, knowing all the young children and possibly hostile parents could hear, but he sure as hell does in his head. Now, this is going to throw off his whole plan. He has to reassess, how is he possibly going to get to work on time? 9:02, and there’s still no movement. 9:05, and James starts to tap his leg again, Harry gone to find his friends, most likely. 9:06, and a woman walks up to him.
The woman Mr. Reggie is always talking to.
“Um… hello?” Is the first thing James says, confused and somewhat annoyed that she’s come to talk to him. Of course, she doesn’t know the reasons but—
“James Potter, correct?” She asks, voice soft and a pleasant smile on her face. The smile continues in the eyes, possibly a bit mischievous if James had to put a word to it.
Nonetheless, he is shocked by his own name out of her mouth. He can’t help but wonder how she got as he answers, “Yes? How do you—”
She interrupts him, yet again, practically bouncing with energy, “Oh, Regulus told me. Told me a lot, actually. You know, some of it he didn’t have to tell me, but once you get him talking about what he’s passionate about, you really can’t get him to stop.”
“Pardon? Regulus? I… passionate?” James stutters out, getting more confused by the second. Her eyes show the slightest hint of fear, before lighting up again.
“Oh, that’s right. You only know him by the name his students call him.” She laughs, as if that’s cleared everything up.
“You’re talking about Mr. Reggie?”
“Oh, god you’re stupid. I have absolutely no idea why he sees you as he does.” That sentence alone causes James’ heart to fly up, getting stuck in his throat.
“What?” Another stupid thing out of his mouth. God, he has to stop this. But he can’t help it. He just can’t, and he doesn’t know if it might ever get better.
“Oh, nothing.” The girl waves it off like it’s nothing, and he can’t help but randomly have that awful feeling again like he wants to hurt her.
“So, I see you and Mr. Reggie talking a lot. Are you two close?” He raises an eyebrow, and he can’t stop the jealousy from peeking through the edges of his voice.
Her eyes widen before she laughs again, “Oh, just good friends. I’m married to someone else, if that’s what you meant. I guess I never really formally introduced myself. I’m Pandora Lovegood, pleasure to meet you.” She sticks out her hand, and James takes it gingerly, shaking for a second.
“Well, since you’re such a good friend of his, do you happen to know where he might be?” James tries not to sound too interested, but again, he has almost no control over his voice.
“Oh, he’s just running a little late. He should be here in no time.” Pandora comments, clearly sensing the rush, “Do you have somewhere to be?”
“Work. My boss isn’t exactly pleased with people being late, and I’ve been late one too many times to get off the hook. I’m just worried about the outcome. There’s also a meeting at 10:00, which I absolutely cannot be late for. So just… work.” James rants, feeling a little like he’s overloaded too much on this poor girl he met five minutes ago.
Nonetheless, she looks plenty sympathetic, “I see. Well, he should be here any minute. Just was late getting out of the house. We all have those.”
And just as she predicted, Regulus comes flying down the hall, unlocking the door and frantically chanting, “Sorry, sorry I'm late. I was late with leaving I… sorry, you can come in now.” And, despite the need to get out of here, James can’t help but walk up to him and start a conversation. That’s just how he is, though. Never one to leave someone without a simple wave or conversation.
“Mr. Reggie?” Mr. Reggie spins around, facing away from the classroom right as he’s about to walk in. The second he sees James, though, he averts his eyes, messing with his sleeves instead.
“Yes, Mr. Potter?”
“I was just… you seem very frantic. Are you alright? You don’t take me as the kind of person who would be late.” James says, ranting again just because of the nerves he has in his body now, watching Mr. Reggie, or Regulus, fidget.
“Well, normally I’m not. Today was… different however.” He glances up through his curls for a brief second, but clearly can’t hold it, “Now, I have a class of toddlers to teach and I assume you have somewhere to be. Sorry for the hold up. Goodbye now.” And then Mr. Reggie walks away, bringing his voice up and seeming much more cheerful than when he was around James.
“And that, my friend,” Pandora announces, causing James to jump and turn around, shocked that she was still there, “Was Mr. Reggie getting flustered.” And with that, she too, just leaves. James finds it odd, how both of them have the tendency to leave without truly answering a question.
“I- flustered?” He calls after her, but no luck. She’s already gone, and James stands there, dazed by the word. Flustered? By what? Or, by who? James has the lingering thought that it might be him, but he refuses to get his hopes up. He’s worried that may only lead to worse heartbreak when he inevitably realises that Mr. Reggie will never see him as more than one of his student’s parents, and maybe if he’s lucky, a friend.
So, he walks out, dazed but also feeling the slightest bit down.
He never got to see Mr. Reggie’s eyes.
***
He walks into the office at 9:40. Ten minutes over. And, just as expected, Dumbledore is standing there with a harsh look on his face. James can't blame him. He's been late 3 times this week, and that is just unacceptable. Especially Dumbledore. Especially with what feels like a war with VA, a corporation that apparently contrasts all that OOTP stands for.
“Why are you late?” He asks, arms crossed and looking down at James through his spectacles. Dumbledore always has a way of making James feel incredibly small, and nervous.
“I’m sorry. My son’s teacher wasn’t there in time, and the school is 30 minutes away. It was out of my control. It won’t happen again, I promise.” James rambles, half his words a mumble.
“You said that last time. And, you couldn’t just have left him?”
“I- what no! He’s my son, and there was no one to watch him. I’m sorry for my tone, but I can’t just leave him with no parental supervision.” James tries not to raise his voice, but that was just such an absurd idea, “I mean, he’s four years old.”
“The other parents weren’t there?”
“Well, they were, but I don’t know any of them. Let alone trust them. I’m sorry, sir, but I won’t leave my child alone.” James says, unable to look Dumbledore in the eye.
There’s a pause and then, “Don’t let it happen again. If you do, there will be consequences. Our meeting is in twenty minutes. I hope you’re prepared.” And with that, Dumbledore turns and then is gone.
Prepared? James wonders, thinking of what that could possibly mean. He brushes it off, thinking that it was just for the information that would be shared as he trudges to his office. There, again, is Marlene, sitting with a soft smirk on her face.
“ Another late day. My, did something happen?” She wonders, wiggling her eyebrows. James doesn’t smile, just setting his bag down on his chair.
“If by something, you mean him being late, then yes.” He mutters, already feeling a terrible weight on his shoulders. “We barely even talked, and he was acting odd. I don’t know, I’m just so tired already.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sorry. You must have had a rough talk with Albus then.” Sympathy laces her voice as she jumps off his desk, where she was sitting.
“Yeah. Told me to be prepared for the meeting. Have no bloody idea what that even means.” James groans, rubbing his hands down his face.
“Well, sorry to break it to you, but it’s 9:50. We need to get down there and not be late.” Marlene says, holding out her hand.
“Alright, hold on.” He pulls out some papers, a notebook for notes, and pens. The papers are in case Dumbledore brings up the project he’s starting to work on. “Okay, let’s go.”
And they go.
Luckily, they get there with a few minutes to spare, allowing James to regain his composure enough to seem like he truly is fine, and isn’t about to break. People trickle in, Frank and Minerva, an assistant, and Molly Weasley with her husband, Arthur. The Prewett twins come in, too, and soon enough everyone is there, Dumbledore at the head.
“Thank you, everyone, for being here on time. This is a very important meeting that could bring us some major growth towards VA. Now, starting off with Mr. Potter. Have you finished the research on the main people in the VA?”
“Pardon?” James asks, shocked into some sort of a panic. What project? Not the one he’s currently working on, he knows this.
“Getting in the know. Seeing why these people do what they do. I gave this to you last week to complete by now, or at least get some heavy progress in.” Dumbledore tells him, clearly trying to keep calm. His voice is strained, though, and his smile doesn’t exactly reach his eyes.
James can feel a trickle of sweat slide down the back of his neck, and his face feels far too hot. All of him feels far too hot, so much it feels like his brain is malfunctioning, “I’m sorry I must have — well, that’s to say — I haven’t completed I—” He flips through his papers quickly, begging he has something. But there’s nothing. “I really — I have the other project you gave me. Um, about Mr. Riddle himself. But not— not about… um…”
“Mr. Snape. Mrs. and Mr. Lestrange. The Malfoys, none of them?” There’s a tone that throws Dumbledore into a full panic, barely being able to talk.
He can barely get out, “I— no. I can… today, get back to you or—”
“No. I’ll give it to someone else to get it done today. You are clearly unreliable.”
James looks down, and he can feel everyone’s gazes on him. His heart is pounding, so much that he can barely breathe. He can’t breathe, actually. He’s shaking, he feels tears prick at his eyes. He feels nausea step in, hurting so much. He wants to throw up, but he doesn't exactly have anything to throw up. God, why didn’t he eat? He wishes he ate, then he could have a reason to leave. Well, no saying he couldn’t. But how— how could he. He doesn’t know. He can’t think. His mind is a tornado, and he can’t grasp onto one idea. His leg is bouncing. He can feel a hand on it, but he doesn’t know who’s. And he knows it doesn’t help. It makes him want to scream, cry, slap the hand away.
“I’m sorry.” He manages, barely above a whisper, “I have to use the restroom.” He gets up and practically runs away, out the door, all the way to the mens room. He sits on the floor, shaking and so badly wishing he could relieve himself of this nauseous, stomach-churning feeling. But he can’t, there’s nothing. God, he’s stupid. So stupid. Why didn’t he remember? He should have remembered. He remembers everything else, why not this? He just— he can’t— the acid is coming up. He can’t— it hurts. He hurts, and his face feels so, so, hot. He touches it, not noticing that it’s wet until he does. He hears a soft tap, then a loud banging. It’s his head, he can feel it. He has such a pounding headache. He’s in a ball, rocking as his heart feels like it’s going to pound out of his chest, his shallow breaths since he can’t fucking breathe. Oh, this is how he dies. hE knows it. He hears the banging again. He can’t. He puts his hands over his ears. His head spins, so much he might pass out from the dizziness. It’s not helping his nausea, it’s really not.
“James!” His voice. A clunking sound. “James! Open the bloody door!” More, one more jittery. Like a loose nail. James takes his head out from where its’ resting on his knees. He looks at the door. The doorknob is wiggling. But he can’t move, no he can’t. He might actually pass out. He sees black spots, and his breath is almost completely stopped. He hears more of the doorknob, and suddenly the door is swinging open. James can’t see who’s there, the black is covering nearly everything. He’s suffocating, he can feel it. The hands of the suffocation touch his sides, his head. All around him, he feels the arms. He can’t—
“James, look at me.” Death, calling his name. He doesn’t know where it is, but he knows he’s on his way. “ James .” It’s beside him, he moves his head the slightest, listening to Death. “ Look at me .”
His eyes are closed. He pries them open, and the spots are still there. But there’s less, and there’s a blurred image of a man. Tall, with blonde hair. He knows this man. He looks almost angelic. James has the thought that maybe he has died, and he’s in heaven now.
“Hey, hey. You’re okay, alright? Look, it’s me, Frank. Don’t be scared, shh…” James’ mind starts to clear, and he can see it now. He’s still in the bathroom, curled up on Frankas he whispers.
“Alright, you see me, yeah?” James nods, “Alright, what else can you see? Give me 4 other things.” James points at the sink, then the tiles, he points at the door, closed again, and then the wall. “Good, good. Now, 4 things you can feel, yeah?” James, once again, points to the tiles. He points to his clothing, to Frank, and then his heart, which is still pounding, but not as much. Frank smiles, “Good. Now, a hard one. 3 things you can smell.” James points at the soap, he can smell it from somewhere. He yet again, points to Frank, to the cologne he’s wearing. And he tries, but there’s nothing else he can really smell. He shrugs, “Oh, that’s alright. It’s hard, I know. Okay, how do you feel? Give me a scale from one to five.”
James thinks, really pondering. His mind has cleared, quite a bit, his heart is settling, and he doesn’t feel like he’s shaking anymore. He holds up three fingers, only because he still feels a massive weight on his chest, like he wants to cry, and he still can’t speak.
“Okay, that’s alright, you think we can stand up? Together?” Frank asks. James nods, and together they do, in fact, stand up together. James feels his legs start to shake again, and he puts more weight on Frank. Oh, thank God he’s there. James doesn’t know what he would do without him.
“That’s good, that’s good. Now, do you want me to ask Dumbledore if you can go home, or do you want to stay?”
“No I— I have to stay. I’ve missed too much… messed up… I…” James feels the tears come back, the panic. He has to stay. Surely, he won’t be able to keep his position if he leaves, right?
“If you can’t, though, if it’s going to be too hard, Dumbledore will understand. For how strict he is, he cares about his employees mental health.” Frank tells him, so much sympathy in his voice James nearly falls down again, if Frank weren’t still holding him.
“I’m fine.” James lies. It’s an obvious lie, too. He just broke down, thought he was going to die, all around Frank. He’s not fine, that much is clear. But he can’t truly go home, even though he wants to… badly. It won’t be good. For him, for Harry, for everyone.
“James, I won’t push you, but I don’t want you to push yourself either. I care for your mental health. But, if you really don’t want to, I’ll stop pressing.” Frank tells him. And James doesn’t know what to do. What’s right? He doesn’t know what would be best for him. He fears he doesn’t know anything, not anymore. His mind is starting to race again, and he thinks as long as he stays in his office, he’d be fine, yeah? Maybe, maybe not. How angry would Dumbledore be? Would he be mad at James to stay home? Or would he, like Frank said, be alright because he cares? But does he? He got so angry, James truly can’t decide.
“I’ll… stay. But, if it gets too hard, I’ll go home.” James finally makes the decision. Frank looks slightly disappointed, and James can’t blame him. James would give anything to go home and lay in bed — except his job. No, he needs this, for his well being and Harry’s.
“Alright then…” And together, they walk out of the bathroom. Frank walks him all the way to James’ office, before waving goodbye. Now, of course, it was hard. He wanted to go home, every second he was there. He couldn’t though, he knew this. This was the real world, and it made no exceptions for a breakdown.
Later, James calls Remus and asks if he can pick up Harry, because work is running late. Because he can’t leave. He can’t, even if he cries. He won’t. Sorry, Frank .