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HP - Chapter 193: Past trauma
🕑 Added 2024-08-28 23:37:51 +0000 UTCThe stone corridor was longer than expected. There was only darkness, and it took them about twenty minutes to walk it at a moderate pace. They had their instincts on alert, in case something attacked them.
Finally, after about twenty minutes of walking, the corridor led to a giant stone double door. James and Sirius exchanged a glance before moving towards it together. No sooner had they rested their hands on the cold, rough surface than an ancient mechanism was activated, and the door began to open with a thunderous creak, revealing the largest room they had seen so far.
Crossing the threshold, they found themselves in a huge chamber, far more vast than any other they had explored. Dominating the center of the room stood a colossal statue of a giant squid, its writhing tentacles extending toward the ceiling.
Suddenly, the door behind them closed with a clang that echoed throughout the room, trapping them inside. At that instant, an ominous glow appeared in the chamber's center: the Cursed Core, hovering in the air with palpable energy. Before they could react, the core cast a curse that enveloped the group in a thick, opaque fog.
'What the hell?' thought James, feeling a headache and his vision dimmed. The cold, oppressive atmosphere of the cave was replaced by the sumptuousness of a mansion he knew all too well. His heart sank in his chest as his eyes recognized every detail around him: the Rothschild Mansion.
He stood in the main hall, where every inch was decorated with exaggerated luxury. The high ceilings, the gilded moldings, the antique and expensive furniture, everything was in place, just as he remembered it. But this was not a happy memory; it was a gilded prison, a cage where he had spent his former life as Edward Rothschild. The perfect heir to one of the richest families in the world.
The opulence around him only intensified the emptiness he felt inside. His life at the mansion had been a series of strictly controlled routines, designed by his mother to mold him into the perfect heir. There was no room for dreams of his own, for personal desires or interests. Every second of his life was calculated, from the moment he got up to the moment he went to sleep, all to prepare him to meet the crushing expectations of the Rothschild family.
Glancing down, James noticed that he was wearing the same clothes he wore in the magical world. A small sigh of relief escaped his lips; even though he was trapped in this memory, he was still himself, James Potter, and not the prisoner he once was.
Seeing that there was no way out of this place, he began to walk through the mansion he knew so well.
In a moment he came to the door of his old room. He reached out his hand to open it, but, to his surprise, his hand went through the doorknob as if it were a ghost. With no other choice, he stepped through the door and into the room that had always remained the same, a replica of the space that had once been his.
What caught his attention most was the desk, where he saw his former self, Edward, sitting with a book in his hands. The young man was twelve years old, and his face, normally expressionless and cold, glowed with unusual joy. James watched in amazement as Edward's eyes, normally dull and lifeless, now shone with an emotion he had rarely experienced: happiness.
The reason for that happiness was obvious; Edward was engrossed in reading a book, one that James knew all too well: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.
The image hit him like a punch in the stomach. He remembered that day with painful clarity, the day his mother discovered him reading Harry Potter. James's expression darkened.
“Hey, stop reading! She'll be here any minute!” shouted James, approaching Edward. But, no matter how much he shouted, his words wouldn't reach the boy. He tried to touch him, to shake him to make him react, but his hand simply went through Edward's body, as if he didn't exist. The young boy was still immersed in reading, his face lit up with a happiness that James knew would be short-lived.
“It's his footsteps! Hide the book!” exclaimed James as he heard the unmistakable footsteps approaching from the hallway. But it was no use. Edward was completely absorbed in the magical world of Harry Potter, a world that offered him a momentary escape from his controlled and suffocating life.
Then, the door to the room burst open. Elizabeth entered with the same cool elegance and dignified bearing that always characterized her. Her gaze, normally calm and calculating, was instantly fixed on the book Edward was holding. Her expression hardened, and an icy fury flashed in her eyes as she recognized the childish cover. It was exactly what the maid had told her: her son, the future Rothschild heir, was reading a stupid children's book instead of concentrating on his studies.
Edward looked up, and for the first time in his life, he saw his mother with a scowl on her face, her face marked by an anger he had never witnessed before. A shiver ran down his spine, and his face paled as he tried, clumsily, to hide the book. But his mother's speed was astonishing; in an instant, she snatched the book from his hands with a swiftness that left him paralyzed.
“Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone,” read Elizabeth disdainfully, her voice laden with a venom James recognized all too well. Her eyes, normally cold and calculating, now burned with fury.
Without another word, Elizabeth threw the book into the large fireplace in the room. The fire was alight, for it was winter, and they enveloped the book instantly.
“No!” exclaimed Edward in horror, watching as the pages that had brought some joy into his life turned to ashes before his eyes.
James watched the tears in his former self, then his gaze fell on his former mother. A cold glint of pitiless contempt appeared in Elizabeth's eyes. That gaze was directed at her only son, who noticed his mother's stare and quickly lowered his head as he wiped tears from his eyes.
“This kind of nonsense has no place in your life, Edward,” Elizabeth said, her voice icy. She rested her hand on Edward's small shoulder and squeezed it hard digging her nails in and glaring down at him.
Edward saw his mother's look of contempt and quickly looked down at the floor. His whole body was trembling.
“Do you understand?” asked Elizabeth, squeezing Edward's shoulder, who didn't even complain.
“Yes, Mother...” replied Edward in a low tone.
James watched with a frown his fists clenched so tightly that drops of blood appeared from his palms.
Before his eyes, the images in front of him began to distort. In less than five seconds, he found himself back in the same room, minutes before the tragedy.
Edward was reading the book with the same expression as before. Unaware that a trauma was on its way.
James again tried in vain to warn his old self about the danger. Nothing worked. Again, he relived the scene where his mother burned the book and looked at him with disappointed and contemptuous eyes.
James' eyes darkened as he relived the scene with such clarity again, but that was not all. The event repeated itself. The images became distorted and went back to a few minutes in the past.
James stopped trying to warn his former self. Helplessness turned to dark fury as he watched Elizabeth, who continued to berate Edward with that same look of contempt and disappointment. The rage in James grew with every second and finally exploded in a scream filled with pain and resentment.
“Why that look of disappointment, Mother!” he shouted with a fury he had never felt before, but his words did not reach Elizabeth, who was still ignoring his presence, berating Edward.
“I'm a genius! The most promising heir in the whole damned family! Can't I have a damned hobby!”, James continued to shout, his voice laden with bitterness. But Elizabeth remained indifferent, her contempt for Edward like a sharp knife wounding James.
“Tell me, mother! Tell me you're proud of me!” said James with his rage fueled by years of unresolved pain. He remembered all those times when he had tried beyond what was humanly possible, only to receive a cold, calculating stare from his mother. No matter how perfect, it had never been enough.
The walls of memory began to shake and crack. His magic, uncontrolled by anger, was vibrating the space around him, but he was oblivious. His gaze was fixed on the figure of his mother.
“Praise me, bitch! If the Rothschilds live in the Muggle world, I will eradicate them! The family name you bear so proudly will be wiped from the world! Just praise me, and you'll save your stupid family!” shouted James, losing himself in a fit of hatred and rage. He never considered himself part of such a family. He sacrificed his life for an ordinary person. His ideals of nobility were different from his entire family, who saw everyone as ants.
Space began to shake violently. James unsheathed his wand and, with one furious motion, cast spell after another, “Bombarda Maxima! Incendio! Diffindo!” But the spells went through Elizabeth as if she didn't exist, as if it was all an illusion that mocked his despair. Helplessness devoured him, and with each failed spell, his rage intensified.
Not satisfied, he resorted to his telekinesis, trying to crush Elizabeth, throw her against the walls, destroy her, something. But nothing worked. Each attempt failed, and James' rage grew unchecked.
Finally, the space began to break down. The memory could not withstand the intensity of his emotions, and the walls cracked further, the reality of the past distorting until it all came crashing down in a burst.
With a blink, James' eyes met again in the vault room. His fury still echoed in his chest, but the real world was in stony silence.
