The room his get unceremoniously tossed in is simply cold and grey. But the bigger thing here is the feeling. One minute he’s thrumming with natural magic, the moment the door shuts its like its all seeped from his body. He hardly thinks he’d capable of wandless magic, and even if he wasn’t he’s not foolish enough to attempt to run, but even if he wanted to he couldn’t. The sensation is heaving and disgusting and for a moment he wonders if this is how muggles feel. Not that they’d know the experience of being with magic blood, but it’s distressing, the difference between feelings.
Inside this horrible room is two chairs, separated by a simple table. It looks like an interrogation room. There are two doors. One he just came through with much more security then the one on the other side. He doesn’t bother to sit, rather, he stands motionless, waiting for something or someone to happen by.
As the second door opens his eyes snap to it and he resists glaring. There in the doorway is his damned father, who looks towards with him an amused, smug expression.
“Father,” he says as a means of greeting, loathing dripping from his words.
“Somehow I knew you’d always end up here. You never could even begin to live up to the Moriarty name.” His father grins, and Jim just stares. “When they called even your mother wasn’t surprised. We all knew, you little freak, that eventually you’d end up here,” he gestured around the room, but still Jim says nothing.
“When you’re found guilty.”
“If.” He interjects. “You don’t know if I’ve actually done anything.”
“When or if, regardless. We are disinheriting you. We can’t have the likes of you tarnishing our good name. All that I and your brother and mother have worked for, we wont let you and your twisted little ways ruin that.”
Jim simply stares on, teeth grit, but keeping silent a moment before finally he is calm enough to speak. “When this is done, where will I go then?” He asks, fists clenching so tightly his knuckles are white, nails threatening to break skin.
His father gives a booming laugh. “That is no longer my problem. You are no longer my problem.” His father steps towards the door, reaching for the handle.
“What about my things, “Jim snaps.
With a raised brow his father looks towards him. “Those are our things now. we’ll probably sell them off I suppose. No point in keeping useless items around.” With that the door is opened and with a final grin Jim’s father leaves, the heavy door echoing behind him, leaving him in the suppressing room.
When he gets out of here, his father will regret casting him out. Putting a roof over his head was the only safety net his father had. With that gone, he sees no reason to hold back.
He takes a deep breathe, trying to keep level as guards appear once more, guiding him towards the holding cells of the ministry. Simple rooms made of stone. Just as suppressing as the last room.
When he gets out he tells himself. When he gets out.