Echoes of a Lost Star
Chapter 3: Echoes of a Lost Star
James Potter may as well be dead. Ever since his star had disappeared it had been the most horrible time of his life, he didn’t smile the same, didn’t laugh the same, didn’t joke the same.
It had destroyed his marriage, now his life was work during the week, be with Harry on the weekends and occasionally going for dinner with some friends.
It was not life, it was more like a routine, a broken record player that kept repeating the same melody over and over and over again.
The sun had died and everyone around him could feel it.
James had looked everywhere, he had done everything he could to avoid accepting the cold hard truth, his star was dead, dead because he had left him when he needed him the most, because he turned his back on him for one stupid mistake and now James was paying for what he did, he was forced to keep living in a world without stars, just a long endless black night.
He knew Sirius and Remus were still looking for him, but he didn’t let himself have hope, hope was a dangerous thing, James knew that if he got his hopes up only to be disappointed again he wouldn't be able to handle it.
The day started like any other day for James Potter. The sun had risen, but its warmth did not reach the cold corners of his heart. He pulled himself out of bed, mechanically going through the motions of getting ready for work. The cheery laughter that once filled his home was replaced with a heavy silence that seemed to echo through the empty rooms.
His marriage to Lily had crumbled under the weight of his unspoken grief, and the shards of their relationship lay scattered like forgotten memories. Each day, James found solace in the routine of his job at Saint Mungo's. As a social worker and child psychologist, he dedicated himself to helping others, hoping to fill the void that had been left in his own life.
James arrived at the hospital, putting on a facade of professionalism and warmth. His colleagues saw the professional exterior but failed to notice the emptiness behind his hazel eyes. He immersed himself in the problems of other families, listening to their struggles, and offering solutions that he himself could not find.
"Mr. Potter, the Smiths are here for their appointment," his assistant called.
He nodded, straightening his tie before putting on a practiced smile. The Smiths sat in front of him, sharing their concerns about their child's behavioral issues. James listened attentively, offering advice and strategies. In their gratitude, they failed to see the sadness in his eyes.
The day progressed in a blur of consultations, paperwork, and feigned smiles. But James couldn't escape the haunting memories that resurfaced in the quiet moments—the laughter they shared, the warmth of Regulus' touch, and the pain of losing him.
In the late afternoon, James received a message that brightened his otherwise dull day. It was time to pick up Harry from Lily's house. His heart stirred with a mix of emotions as he apparated to the familiar doorstep.
Lily opened the door, her expression a mixture of concern and pity. "James, how are you holding up?"
He gave a half-hearted smile, "Same old, same old. "How's Harry?"
"He's inside," Lily replied, her gaze searching his eyes for signs of change. Finding none, she sighed. "He's been asking about you a lot lately."
James nodded, entering the house that used to be filled with the joyful sounds of a family. Harry was playing with his toys, he looked so beautiful, his baby boy was so grown up, Harry had somehow managed to inherit all of James’s best qualities and none of the bad.
"Daddy!" Harry's face lit up as he ran towards James, his little arms out for James to catch him, and James promised himself he alway would, Harry is and will always be James’s number one priority.
James crouched down, embracing his son tightly. "Hey there, little man. Did you have a good time with Mum?" he softly ran his fingers through Harry’s unkempt black hair.
Harry nodded, his innocent eyes reflecting the love he held for his father. James cherished these moments, the only rays of light in his otherwise gloomy existence.
As they settled into their routine, the weeks continued to pass in a monotonous cycle—Harry spending one week with Lily and the next with James. The only constant in James' life was his love for his son.
"Daddy, why do you look sad sometimes?" Harry asked one evening, his small hand reaching for James' face.
James forced a smile, ruffling Harry's hair. "Oh, it's nothing, Harry. Just a bit tired from work."
As Harry nodded, accepting his father's explanation, James couldn't shake the feeling that he was failing as a parent. He wanted to shield Harry from the burden of his own pain, but he feared that his son could feel the emptiness that had engulfed his life.
Their evenings together were filled with attempts at laughter, games, and bedtime stories. Yet, amidst those moments, James struggled to find the spark that once fueled his spirit. He had become adept at masking his sorrow, but Harry's perceptive nature made it an impossible feat.
"Daddy, can we play Quidditch this weekend?" Harry asked, his eyes bright with excitement.
James blinked, momentarily taken back by the request. Quidditch—the sport that had been an integral part of his life, a passion that he and Regulus shared—now felt like a distant memory, a reminder of what he had lost.
"Sure, champ," James replied, summoning a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "We'll have a game this weekend."
The days dragged on, and the weekend arrived. James took Harry to a nearby park, carrying with him a small Quidditch set. The vibrant colors of the park and the sounds of children playing should have brought joy, but for James, they were just reminders of the happiness he used to feel.
"Daddy, you're the best at Quidditch!" Harry exclaimed, beaming with delight as they flew miniature broomsticks around makeshift goalposts.
James chuckled, reveling in the brief moment of joy that lit up his son's face. He watched Harry chase after the tiny Quaffle, his heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions.
As they returned home, James tucked Harry into bed, brushing away his tousled hair. "Sleep tight, Harry."
"Daddy, will you tell me a story?" Harry pleaded, his eyes still brimming with energy.
"Of course," James obliged, settling beside Harry. He spun a tale of magical adventures, weaving stories of brave heroes and mythical creatures, hoping to drown out the echoes of his own unresolved past.
But in the quiet of the night, as Harry's gentle snores filled the room, James found himself sitting alone in the darkness, his thoughts drifting to Regulus. The ache in his chest felt unbearable, a longing that had only grown stronger with time.
He pulled out an old photograph from a hidden drawer—a picture of him and Regulus, arms wrapped around each other, smiles wide and carefree. James traced the lines of Regulus' face, the memory of their love etched into the faded image.
"Regulus," he whispered into the silence, a whisper carried by the winds of regret and longing.
The room echoed with the weight of James's whispered words. He sat there, the photograph of him and Regulus cradled in his hands, staring into the eyes that once held his entire universe. The memories flooded back, crashing over him like relentless waves against the shore.
"Regulus," James uttered again, his voice barely audible over the silence of the night. He traced Regulus' smiling face in the photo, fingers trembling with the sheer force of emotion.
Regulus, his first love, the one whose absence had ripped a hole in his heart that time couldn't heal. He remembered their stolen moments, their laughter dancing in sync with the stars, the way their lives had intertwined so effortlessly.
But life's cruel twists had torn them apart. Their love, once so brilliant and alive, had succumbed to the shadows of fear.
Tears welled up in James's eyes, a testament to the pain that never truly faded. He had buried his feelings deep within, hoping they would disappear, but the mere mention of Regulus stirred the dormant emotions.
"Regulus, why did we let it slip away?" he murmured, the words laced with pain and regret. He couldn't shake the haunting thought that they could have fought harder, held on tighter, he should've never have abandoned Regulus like he did, he should have kept him close.
James wiped away a tear that trickled down his cheek, a tear for the lost love, for the shattered dreams, for the life he had envisioned but never lived.
In the silence, he made a silent vow, a futile plea to a love that existed only in his memories. "Regulus, if only I could turn back time, if only I could rewrite our story...My star… my beautiful boy…"
The ache in his heart intensified as he clutched the photograph closer to his chest. His mind replayed the moments he wished he could relive, the words he longed to say but never could.
"Goodnight, Regulus," James whispered softly, his voice breaking with the weight of unspoken farewells and unanswered longing, he kissed the old photograph.
He gently placed the photograph back in the drawer, concealing it among other relics of a past life. With a heavy heart, he drifted into a restless slumber, and he dreamt of Regulus, he always did.