The Wind Has Stopped. Will Rain Come Or Is The Sun Finally Shining?
The summer before third year is.. complicated.
Mostly because Albus doesn’t come home.
The letter reaches his parents one week before summer break. The content is short, simply telling them quite crudely that Albus has no interest in spending a whole summer with his family, instead, he is going to one of his Slytherin friend’s houses.
He doesn’t name the friend.
His parents are furious and lowkey worried, but have their hands filled with work so they promise to deal with it after. Yet work keeps piling up, so eventually they forget about it.
That is until the day the kids come home from Hogwarts. They had been too busy to pick them up from the train station so they had called a cab.
It is when one kid steps out of the vehicle, instead of two, that they remember Albus.
It is too late then.
The first few weeks are spent in relative peace. The parents work and Lily frowns because she still has to wait a whole year for her letter to arrive.
James just exists. Away from the prying eyes of his peers, he can finally read again without fearing social death.
He discovers a few new authors during another outing to his favorite place in the world.
His parents are at work and Lilly often at a friend’s house, which means nobody is the wiser when James regularly leaves the house to take the bus to the small library, situated between a small café behind a wall of foliage. It’s small and filled to the brim with books and dust. More than once James accidentally tripped over a pile of hefty volumes, receiving a glare from the owner.
He spends days there, hidden away behind piles and piles of books. He becomes a regular at the library and Miss Harriet, the owner, starts to give out as many recommendations, as she used to do with glares.
It’s nice, very nice to finally have somebody to talk to about his passion.
Miss Harriet is an old lady, with sharp eyes and an even sharper wit.
She insults authors as if they personally offended her and encourages James to think more critically about the things he reads.
Thanks to her James learns more about the science behind poetry.
The mathematic skill of creating a rhythm. The power of words. How one word creates a completely different feeling than its synonym.
James’ thoughts about the world start having a shape, a sharper outline, no longer going haywire in his brain.
Miss Harriet encourages him to start writing things down. The small metaphors that he comes up with during the day. The story he sees behind an object.
And so James does.
He starts carrying paper and a pen wherever he goes. He starts to write and he likes what he writes.
Miss Harriet likes it too, although she doesn’t go easy on the criticism. James doesn’t mind though. He appreciates this new, treasured friendship. She is, after all, the first true friend he has ever made.
But all good things come to an end; at the beginning of August his parents finally take time off work.
James is glad, of course, to spend more time with his family, but it also means that his trips to the library come to a sudden halt, and even worse; it means it’s time to go to the Burrow.
James doesn’t like it.
It’s loud, crowded and claustrophobic.
There are relatives everywhere, asking questions about school, girls and more.
He is forced to play Quidditch all the time and at the dinner table he has to sit between his uncles asking him about his crushes. There is also a lot of gossip happening at all times, the kids spreading rumours from school. James once almost started crying when they spoke about there allegedly being a gay boke in Gryffindor.
Truly he hates the time spent at the Burrow. There is no place to hide. So, desperate for some quiet time, James regularly leaves, with a grin on his face and some mysterious statement, that makes it sound as if he is working on a prank.
“Always causing trouble,” his Granny says with a sigh.
Oh, Grandma, he thinks you couldn’t be more wrong, as he hides a notebook under his sweater and goes into the garden to hide behind the big oak tree in the back.
Too bad his spot is already occupied. Curls hanging over her face, face buried behind the pages of an ancient-looking book is his cousin Rose.
James has never talked to her much. She is a snappy thing, with no social skills and no interest in acquiring any.
She is kind of the forgotten child of the family, James knows. None of the cousins are close to her and none of the adults know what to talk to her about.
She is gone most of the day, hidden away in her room, much like at Hogwarts, where James can’t recall ever seeing her.
She has no friends as far as he knows.
He gets jolted out of his thoughts by an annoyed “What!?” after Rose noticed him staring.
“Hm?” is all he can say in return
“If you want to execute a prank on me, get it done. If you are second guessing your, I’m sure, pathetic attempt at humor, maybe you should have thought about it before coming here.”
“What? No, I’m not here to-“
“Oh please James, I don’t have time for somebody as average as you,” his cousin snaps at him “ you have ruined my peaceful reading so I’m going back inside” is what she says as she stands up, wiping dirt off her pants.
James is left alone in the garden, not quite sure what just happened.
He straightens his spine, resolute to write a bit before another relative pops out of thin air and asks him to join yet another Quidditch game.
He ignores the thoughts about a certain blond boy, who has yet to ‘contact him’. It’s been months and he has probably already forgotten everything about their little.. situation
It is dark when his mom comes into the garden shouting his name, telling him dinner is getting cold.