Chapter 798 - 798 – D.A. Club? Ⅳ (2/2)

Georgine Prince merely snorts and says, ”A bargain is a bargain, Mr. Potter,” before turning on her heels and departing towards the Great Hall for dinner. She had far better things to do with her time than mind students on her own time. Really, what did they take her for, a Hufflepuff?!

James is left shaking his head and muttering something under his breath safely out of earshot of Professor Prince about Prince women being alike. Taking a step back, he checks the classroom and finds that everything is right where it ought to be. Satisfied, he grabs his bag, and removes a silver key from inside. He had been granted the key by Professor Dumbledore and he had been asked to ensure that it was not lost.

Taking his responsibility much more seriously than he would have ever as a student, James with great care locks the door behind him, and ensures the door is locked, before putting the key away in his personal mokeskin pouch. He had begun to walk down the hall, when he noticed that one of the classrooms was slightly ajar.

James frowned and walked over, before peering inside to find confetti all over the place. Peeves must have gotten into the classroom. Rolling his eyes, James lifts his wand and casts the vanishing spell, ”Evanesco.” The confetti vanished leaving the classroom as it had been before.

James wrinkles his nose a bit at the dust that was in the air and turns to leave when he spots a sheet that slipped to reveal silver claws and the bottom of a glassy surface framed by a golden frame. There are runes at the bottom of the golden frame that read as ”Erised Stra Ehru Ovt Ube Cafru Ovt On Wohsi.”

James frowned at the words and not for the first time lamented his choice in Divination rather than Ancient Runes. Feeling a bit curious despite himself, he approaches the mirror and moves aside part of the sheet aside. The reflection partially shows a familiar woman hands cradling a sleepy toddler with dark fluffy bird-like hair with sleepy emerald eyes, his son, Harry with an inflamed scar-like lightning bolt on his forehead.

A fierce heartache causes James to fall onto his knees panting unable to stare at the reflection before. His rapid breathing increases feeling faint much like the time before with Rowan. With unsteady hands he reaches into his pouch and removes a blue swirling vial filled with a calming draught that he had been given by the infirmary matron, Poppy for emergencies.

James spills some of the calming draught on his clothes, but he manages to gulp down most of the potion. Still breathing rapidly, he rests on his hands and knees until his breath slows down and the emotional turmoil mostly passes away. Feeling rather sickly, he wipes the cold sweat from his face and unsteadily rises to his feet.

Without gazing into the reflection, James pulls back the sheet to cover the rest of the surface of the mirror. Pulling his hand back as if scalded, he stares at his pale trembling hand, before clenching it painfully into his fist until his nails drew blood from his hand. Not even letting out a hiss of pain, he unclenches his hand to see raw, red crescent moons in his palm.

James did not know what dark sorcery the mirror was, but it was something vile. Casting a spell over the mirror to hide it, he turns away to leave. Feeling sick to his stomach, he hurries out of the classroom towards the nearest boy's bathroom to empty his stomach.

Panting James flushed the mess down the toilet, before stumbling out of the stall to his pale and ashen face that resembled that of a dead mans. Washing his hands first, he then throws cold water onto his face, before drying it with the sleeve of his robe.

Hanging his head over the sink for a moment, James merely stands there lost in thought. He no longer had an appetite and joining everyone in the Great Hall no longer appealed to him. A trip to the infirmary would be best, and he did not trust himself at this time. He did not deserve it.

And with those swirling dark clouds of thoughts, James left and made his way to the Gryffindor Tower. For as a writer once said, ”I am I, and I wish I weren't.” Regret is the bitterest of poisons to take and serves only to drive one mad with that very same regret.