chasingstag | game world sample

“To be honest, Prongs, you’re a bloody strange familiar.”

James sits crosslegged on the small, rickety bed and listens to the sounds of the tavern below that murmur faintly through the boards of the inn’s hardwood floors. Cheap and certainly not at all up to his usual standards, it’s also the place that asks the least amount of questions, which means for now that it’s the best that James can find. The noise that echoes from below means few people are likely to notice the click of Prongs’ hooves as he steps across the room. James had already attracted enough attention simply bringing Prongs inside; the fewer people asking questions, the better.

“How many elves walk around with a tiny deer and bring them into shabby inns?” He squints at the antlered creature on his bedroom floor, its head lowered to the legs of the tiny desk shoved in the corner and its antlers just brushing the wall. “Am I supposed to feed you?”

He could have left him outside, he supposes. That certainly would have been easier. Few people would look twice at a single traveling elf entering an inn. A dog-sized stag, on the other hand, tended to raise a few eyebrows even in the shadier parts of town. Fewer eyebrows, sure—but still a few. In the end, however, leaving Prongs behind is out of the question. The thought of doing so brings back that dull ache in his heart James has been trying to ignore since he awoke. The feeling of loss, of emptiness—pieces of himself, poured out—the further he is from Prongs, the stronger that grows. And James cannot yet deal with that feeling alone. He cannot leave any more parts of himself behind while he sits alone and thinks of Lily and Harry and doesn’t know—may not ever know—if they lived the night he died.

Prongs lifts his antlered head and gives James an even stare as he shoves the heel of his palm against his suddenly-burning eyes. He knows enough about magic to guess what Prongs could be, though he hasn’t a clue how it could have happened. James laughs: a weak, wet laugh.

“If only Sirius could see you. He’d take the piss out of me for it.”

That hurts, too, thinking about Sirius. James takes a deep breath and runs his fingers through his hair.

Whatever this is, however it is they’ve come to be, it’s done now. He can’t go back. But—and he clings to this, like a burning fire beneath his ribs, hot and furious—he can go forward. He has to go forward. He’ll learn what’s happened to him, and he’ll learn what’s happened to his wife and son. There aren’t any other options. “It’s not the end,” he whispers, and Prongs lifts his head a little higher. “Not until I say we’re done.”