Marauders Era Stuff

James Potter and Death

James Potter was always one to be up for a fight. No matter the place, no matter the time. So, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary to see him all banged up in the bathroom of his dorm room. No doubt, he'd overestimated his ability in hand-to-hand combat and ticked off the wrong guy with one too many more muscles than him. Usually, it was in defense of one of the marauders, or perhaps Evans, but recently he'd found he couldn't help it. If anyone so much as looked at him in an off way, his first instinct was to throw a punch. This concerned his friends, of course, but upon bringing up the topic, he'd go all stone-faced and that would be the end of that.

James Potter did not deal well with death.

He and it seemed to be caught in a fickle waltz. His life had been laced by loss, and marked by sacrifice. Perhaps a part of his usual driving force was to ensure his catastrophes weren't his legacy. He felt he needed to prove himself, that he was more than just a bully, more than just another stuck up kid using daddy's money, more than he thought others saw him as.

James Potter did not deal well with death.

Every time he looked at himself in the mirror, he felt like he couldn't see clearly. That his eyes wouldn't focus, even after he wiped his glasses countless times. His reflection seemed to shift and swirl under his own gaze. He looked down to his bandaged hands, crimson bleeding through the area around his knuckles. His handiwork wasn't great, so he doubted the bandages would even do much, but he couldn't care enough at that point. They would inevitably unravel anyways, knowing the second he looked back up at his face.. or, what he thought was his face- he would throw everything off the counter in vexation. They would come apart when he kicked the trash bin across the room, they would come apart when he hurled his prized, beloved broom at the wall, and they would come apart when he cupped his face in his hands in the dead of night, when nothing could be heard but tiny, broken, quiet sobs.

James Potter did not deal well with death.