James "Prongs" Potter (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} _cervus_) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} timerift_log,@ 2022-03-30 15:20:00 |
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Who: James Potter and Hope Mikaelson
What: Totally normal behaviour. Nothing to see here.
Where: Back of the Dragon's Breath Pub
When: 30th March, just after 1am
Rating/Warning: Language, probably
James hadn't known if anyone would still be in the bar at this hour, but as he stepped through the doorway that separated the pub from the muggle world beyond, it was to find a handful of stragglers hanging on, possibly leaching out the call for last orders as long as possible. Thankfully, none seemed too fussed about the bedraggled wizard hauling himself over the threshold, even if he looked a little worse for wear. That was the thing about wizarding pubs, James had always found - you could get away with anything.
Well, more or less.
James had spent all the time since his arrival trying to get home again. He'd gone back to spot he'd appeared from, finding nothing there but a clueless and tired-looking Ministry official. James reckoned he'd done very well not to turn the bloke into frogspawn - he'd have been about as much help that way. After being shooed away, he'd snuck up as close as possible, trying every ward and charm and whatever else he could think of to find a clue. A hint. Anything... All as desperation and panic, so far carefully kept under control, started to claw it's way up his chest, wrapping itself like ice around his heart and throat. It was only hours later, when his head was pounding and his wand arm ached, that he'd given up. He'd tried apparating, although he'd known it was hopeless before he'd even stopped spinning and felt the sharp pain of a splinch shoot up his arm. The tip of his left pointer finger was probably even now falling out of the sky somewhere near Cornwall.
Eventually, emotionally and physically defeated, James had headed back towards the Dragon's Breath pub. An hour's sleep, two tops, and he'd be back on it. That was all he needed, and then he'd get back home. Back to Lily and Harry, whose names pounded through his veins and faces swelled in his mind's eye every time he blinked.
Smothering a yawn with no small degree of frustration, James' hazel gaze landed in a worn looking armchair that sat vacant by the pub's dying fireplace. That would do. Steps and doors seemed like too much effort, especially for a cat nap. Which was definitely all this was. Stumbling forward, he threw himself down into the seat, long legs splayed ungainly out in front of him as he stared unseeingly into the embers.