One time i went to Constitution Hall in Philadelphia, where the Deceleration of Independence was signed and there were people there from all over the world. Asia, Africa, Europe and everywhere else. Everyone was speaking a different language but they were all talking about the same thing and i knew with clarity what they were all talking about. Because it doesn’t matter what language you speak two words are always going to be the same: Nick Cage.
It’s been two weeks since Mr Evans’ funeral, James’ mum informs them sombrely she clicks on her left indicator to leave the train station carpark. Sirius shoots James a look, but James just stares out the window and counts the number of garden gnomes they pass.
(Nobody has garden gnomes in London, except Notorious Nick from halls in first year, and even then, he’d stolen them.
He’d let James help him go at them with cricket bats in the courtyard after exams. Smashing a ceramic gnome with a swing that would’ve scored a six was one of life’s finer pleasures, he’d decided.)
“How long are you boys staying for?” Euphemia asks, and this earns James another look from Sirius.
“Not sure yet,” Sirius says, but he’s still giving James that look, the one that tells James when he’s being too depressing, or too melancholy, and Sirius is this close to calling his mum about it. It’s a look that says why are you keeping secrets from us?
“A while, I think,” James says.
“Oh?” Euphemia tries to make eye contact with James through the rearview mirror, but he stares steadfastly at the back of the headrest in front of him.
“Is it alright if we go to Pete’s before dinner?”
She pauses, trying to weigh the situation. “Of course.”