James potter couldn’t deny that he had had a happy childhood. Born and raised in the London countryside, the last house on his street, painted navy blue by him and his mother Euphemia when he was seven. If he focused hard enough he still managed to smell the homemade cookies baking on the oven every Sunday afternoon. The ones Sirius always managed to get burn with because of his impatience.
In the present though, his life was quite different. He had a routine, mandated by the schedule on his kitchen wall. Which neatly arranged his life from 6AM until midnight. That was all he knew, and all he wanted to know. Control.
His alarm was still the same tune that Sirius had picked at 15. So as the first notes to “the prettiest star” by David Bowie started to play he got up from his bed, taking the sheets off with him and throwing them in the wash basket as he walked into the bathroom.
6:05am
James walked into the shower. Letting the cold water hit his back as his body adjusted to the temperature. Trying to ease the tension on the muscles of his shoulders, never managing to make it fully disappear.
6:20am
He prepared his coffee. Black. Once he had hated the flavor, but he’d grown accustomed to it. He didn’t care that much to add anything.
6:35am
He got dressed into the same old plain beige uniform. And looked for his car keys. That was the reminder of the day that he did not have one since the accident three months before.
6:40am
Exactly at that time he took his meds, swallowing them down with the last gulp from the coffee.
With a sigh, at exactly 7am, after washing his teeth and finishing everything he needed to do around the flat he walked out the door. Letting the fresh air hit him before zipping up his coat. Taking the tube towards the hotel.
Morning shifts were always the best. Not many people visited a hotel bar before nighttime. That is except people with a broken heart, the ones who didn’t care about a thing in the world, and a few businessmen who bought the most expensive wine to make deals.
So he cleaned counters and held back not to prepare something with a strong percentage of alcohol for himself. The time passed slowly and the clock was ticking too loudly for him. Each movement of the clock accompanied a slow click that pushed him further and made his breathing sharper. He held the counter tightly, knuckles white while his gaze was focused on the small black needle that moved slowly. Ignoring the urges to throw a glass towards it.
“Morning James”
He turned his head abruptly, softening the grab on the counter, the ticking fading to a softer ambient noise. “Morning Frank” he straightened his back “the usual I assume?”
“Mhm” the taller man nodded. Frank Longbottom was a really nice man. He worked as a psychiatrist, one of the best to be exact. He had seen James a few times after the incident, and was the one who got him this job. Being totally honest, he hadn’t liked Frank at first, he rarely ever liked the people that tried to help him, but he’d grown fond of the man. He was older by a few years, that didn’t stop James mind as soon as soon as he layed eyes on him. And he was sure, that if it wasn’t for the fact that Frank was married to a lovely nurse named Alice he would have made a move.
He pushed the whiskey towards him, leaning against the counter. “Long time no see, how has it been?”
“Busy” the other man took a sip “I’ve been traveling a lot, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing though. I was in the city and thought I would pay a visit to my best patient”
“Not anymore”
“Not anymore indeed, how have you been?”
“Tsk” James spoke, serving himself a coke “been alright, nothing special going on”
“Did you try and contact-”
“No, I did not” he cut sharply
“Right”
Conversation was slightly stilled, but it was okay. It was always nice to see a familiar face while working. Frank said goodbye a while later when receiving a call from his wife. But he promised to visit again before he left London. The rest of the shift passed fast after.
At 5pm, after having a makeshift lunch stolen from the buffet. He headed out into the street. Christmas season killed him, and he didn’t want to face people shopping for presents while he had no one to buy presents to. He walked through small streets, which eventually lead to bigger ones, they all did. And so he ended up in London bridge.
There weren’t many people passing by, the air was crisp. James kicked a pebble and watched it roll out the side, disappearing into the darkness. James approached the railing, looking down into the water, taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes, letting the wind hit the side of his face. He felt free, it was weird to think that, in the same place he had almost died in a few months before.
He felt a presence before he saw the guy, blonde, slightly chubby, and shorter than him by at least 10cm. The man, whose name was unknown leaned by his side, staring up at him before he spoke “Do you want to play a game?”
That definitely surprised James. A game? He liked games did he? He was not sure anymore, but he had nothing else to do. “Sure. What game?”
The man’s lip quirked up, handing him a red paper square and explaining how the game was played. It was a Korean game called Ddakji, which consisted in throwing your square so that the one in the floor flipped over. It was simple enough right?
He tried a few times with no avail “this has to have a trick? Is this some joke?”
The man shook his head, grabbing the paper from his hand and trowing it. It flipped first time. James looked up to the man’s face, now piked to win. It was a stupid game for gods sake.
He grabbed the paper, examined it before throwing. Aiming to hit the middle this time. It flipped, and pride filled James chest. “If you manage to flip it the next five times I have a reward. Just saying” the man added, watching his reaction carefully.
“Great” James smirked, maybe this was his purpose for the evening. Playing a silly little game with a stranger to win five pounds. He was determined to win though, for his own ego.
Even while feeling he’d catched the trick, he stopped for a second before throwing one last time, having managed to win the past four. He took a deep breath, flicking his wrist down and letting the grip on his fingers untighten.
The paper twirled on the air, hitting blue with one of its corners. James crossed his fingers, muttering a please once in a while. Both papers jumped a little bit, and that blue one turned, revealing a purple side once again. “Yes!” James cheered “I did it, you saw that right?”
“I did” the short man pulled out a bill from his wallet, placing it in the taller one’s hands “thanks for playing with me James” he turned the bill around, showing him the number written on the other side “call this number if you feel like you’d like another game” and with that he took off, walking away.
“Wait what’s your name?!”
“Peter, my name is Peter” the man, whose name was not anymore unknown dissapeared into the darkness a few seconds later.
Peter. He looked down at the bill on his hands, well Peter had given him a 100 pound bill. A fucking hundred pounds just for playing a stupid game. He examined it against the moonlight, it seemed real. This whole situation didn’t.
Two thoughts tugged at him that same moment. Like the little devil and angel on his shoulders, like it was pictured on tv. Something told him to throw the money out the bridge and run the hell away, he was going to get kidnapped or killed, not the plan he had for the night. But there was something that kept him anchored on the spot. The thrill, the unknown. It pulled him in.
And those people had money, whoever they were. It could be like a side hustle. Batman-y, playing games for money at night and working as a bartender at daytime. He wasn’t fully sure what it all implied.
All it took were two rings for a deep voice to answer his call “Your location please?”
“Wait- right now?” The other line stayed silent, and that served as answer enough “oh, uhm I’m at London Bridge”
“A car will be dispatched to your location shortly Mr Potter”
They knew his name? As soon as James opened his mouth to speak the click that signaled the end of the call sounded. That was slightly creepy. Swallowing he waited, watching the empty road.
6:05pm
James was not taking his pills nor making dinner like his schedule very clearly read. At 6:05 pm that afternoon James Potter was getting into the back of a strangers car. Control could be dammed.