Paint It... Potter?

midnight escapes

He sat in the astronomy tower. The sky was calming, and the stars were bright. The brightest, Sirius, called to him, but if you looked, you could find others. Sirius was too flashy for his taste.

James found himself up there many nights. After a midnight prank, he would slip away, returning hours later. The boys had always believed his stories of narrowly escaping Filch.

James placed his foot on the railing, pulling himself up. He looked at the grounds all around him, sprawling out in every direction as far as he could see. The lake glistened under the moonlighting, rippled with silent waves.

He dared to go further sitting on the narrow bar of the railing, the cold air all around him. It was the best he could get to flying at the moment.

James had always loved flying. He was sure that he could ride a broom long before he could walk. Honestly, he couldn't remember a time in his life without  it. He closed his eyes and took a breath in. He could smell the dirt and trees. He found himself longing for the next moon. 

He cringed, 'Sorry moony,' he thought silently to his friend. It wasn't as if he was bidding his time waiting for the next moon or anything. Honestly, he just quite liked being a deer. It was nice to let go for a few hours, even if it meant living off caffeine until you could catch up on sleep the following weekend. It gave him time to not be James.

He didn't hate being James. He loved himself, his friends, his family. But sweet merlin, being an eternal sunspot, took its tole. He felt like he had to be happy it was his job, and the pay was shit but there were people depending on him to be there.

This year had been different. The summer had been great, save for the ball that he had been forced into. He realized he had never asked Sirius about that night. How he ran from him.

It was a strange event for his family anyway. Normally, the potters brushed off events like that.  His mum didn't really like parties. They had told him that it was for work. But his mum had retired years ago, and his dad had a desk job at the ministry.

They had begun acting strange. He knew they went to meetings. And he knew that they were part of the war effort. But they wouldn't tell him anything. It was infuriating. He wasn't a child. He was seventeen years old for fucks sake. He was of age. He had actually had a rather nasty argument over that one night. James was sick of sitting and waiting. Honestly he felt useless as he was. He felt locked up in hogwarts. He needed to be out there.
But his mum didn't think so.  They had come home late one night with tired eyes, and when James asked, he was cut off with a simple raised hand.

That was the wrong move Hon his dad's part. What he didn't realize that James was a coiled during. He had been holding his toung for months. He was so fucking sick of the lies. And that's what he said.

Long story short. Euphemia didn't like being called a liar. James couldn't ever recall his mum being really mad at him. Guess there's a first time for everything.

But his dad. His dad is what hurt. In many ways James was his mini me. James was almost an exact replica of his father. Not just in the way of looks, but in the mannerisms. They way they both sat a boot pages down to save the place instead of using a bookmark, in the way that they both took honey instead of sugar in their tea, and the way that their eyes crinkled at the edges when they smiled. So maybe that's why it hurts so much when his father looked at him, his eyes heavy with something James didn't understand. He didn't say anything. He just shook his head and retreated to his study.

He opened his eyes and took one last look at the sky, blinking away the remnants of the memory in the corner of his eyes. James sighed and pushed himself off the ledge. As his feet hit the floor, the small trapdoor to the towere creaked open.