It hadn’t been a relaxing summer at all. Martin had spent nearly the entirety of his waking moments fretting over why Jim hadn’t responded to any of his letters. His brain had spun several vivid images of the Slytherin lying dead somewhere, the victim of a horrible accident. Martin had nearly driven his mother and siblings mad with his stress and panicking. Mum had been over-kind, as always, and in the end Simon had used his job at the Ministry to confirm that, yes, James Moriarty was alive and well. Surprisingly, knowing that hadn’t helped. “I suppose,” Martin agreed. He worried his lip between his teeth, then asked, “Did you do anything - er, fun?”
Jim wasn’t sure what to tell them. He’d done pleanty that he’d consider fun that others wouldn’t. But there were some things he could technically tell Martin, he just wasn’t sure if he wanted to. “Erhm, I suppose so, yeah. I went to a friend’s party as well, and then went on a trip, that’s generally why I didn’t get your letters I think. I went to one country from another. When I returned I had to find a new place to live. That’s generally what my summer was. Lots of moving.” He left out anything really detailed that he’d done on his trip with Sebastian, or withheld the fact that they were actually living together, and of course, considering he’d paid Tony another visit, beyond the party, well. He kept that too himself as well. He tugged them on, turning a hallway that led to the stairs to the dungeons.