Disclaimer: I don't own James Potter or anything else you recognize from the Harry Potter books and no profit is being made from this piece. I do own all original prose and interpretations, so no stealing.
Summary: James Potter was the confident Marauder, the leader, and he's the one who keeps them together when things get hard. But when Sirius nearly kills Snape using Remus, James doesn't know if he can keep doing it. Canon. James-centric.
Was This Courage?
"Bravery is being the only one who knows you're afraid." –Franklin P. Jones
Normally, Quidditch was James's refuge when things were too much, when the pressure of the war and his aging parents and his position started to cloud his mind. Normally, he could clear his head and start feeling like the tenuous control over his life belonged to him again instead of Fate or God or whomever had taken interest. Normally, he hadn't just saved Snape's life and nearly killed Sirius.
James pulled a tight loop around the center goalpost and nearly unseated himself. He pulled up and straightened out, barely slowing down as he wove through the stands. He'd been out there for far too long; he could feel the sweat dripping into his eyes, making his grip slip on the handle of his Star. Exhaustion was creeping up on him, blurring his vision. If he didn't stop soon, his body wasn't going to give him a choice and it didn't matter if he was still airborne.
Sirius's face as he realized what he'd done. Hurt. The confused, wide gray eyes staring up at him from the ground. Scarlet blood seeping between fingers. Then he was running.
Was this the famous Gryffindor courage? The lack of fear? Taking risks with no regret?
He leaned into a steep dive, jerking the broomstick handle up roughly just before he hit the ground. Dully, he realized that if he'd only been a moment later, he would've been plastered on the grass, but that was a stupid, ridiculous thought.
He was James Potter and he wouldn't let such a thing happen to himself. Just like every Potter heir before him, he was a Gryffindor in every way. He was in control. He was strong and brave and never cried, never faltered.
He shot down again and tried to convince himself that his eyes were just watering.
A piercing scream rang out through the chilly air as he sprinted to the Willow, dodging branches with his wand in hand, barely hitting the knot in time. Please, God, not too late.
Could that be courage? Running towards danger instead of away from it?
They had been so fucking perfect. James had thought they knew each other better than anyone else, that they could predict each other's thoughts and actions, that they'd always be friends. He had never even entertained the possibility that of life without their friendship or without them.
He thought about it now. He thought about leaving Peter cowering in the Great Hall, about Sirius sobbing in the Hospital Wing, refusing to have his broken nose healed, about Remus's tormented screams echoing in the tunnel.
His fear was tangible. It was in the chill of the night air, the sweat that stung his eyes, the exhaustion that burned in his lungs and the painful clarity of his thoughts. It was in the rough wood of the door and the desperation as he flung it open and pulled the boy into the tunnel with him, the split second of silence after Remus thuds against the door.
A howl pierces the silence.
Had that been courage?
He couldn't see anymore. He couldn't breathe. He could barely think.
James fell to the ground, shaking too hard to do anything but kneel on the muddy ground and clutch at his hair as he wished it all away.
He always had all the answers. He was the one who knew what to do and who had to do it. But now he didn't know what to do. He didn't know what he could do.
He sees warm blue eyes and has hot cocoa before a blazing fire. A soft voice speaks kind words, but he doesn't hear it, can't feel the warmth. All he knows is cold: cold realization, cold hate, cold fear, cold desperation. He was so cold.
How could that have been courage?
He was James Potter. Everything was perfect. He had the best friends and family. He was top of his class and tops in Quidditch. Something like this wasn't supposed to happen to someone like him. He was supposed to get the happily ever after. He didn't deserve this.
He could just walk away.
A frail boy lies in a large, white bed and he hears a deep, calm voice, his voice. There's a moment of silence before he gets a small, wavering answer. He settles in next to his friend; the empty dorm would've been too much anyway.
This was courage.
Things weren't okay and he needed to accept it. James let the tears run out on their own as he finally came to terms with all of it: that maybe this time everything wouldn't turn out the way he wanted. And he could do nothing to fix it.
As soon as he'd calmed down, he took a deep breath and stood up on shaky legs. With a quick charm, he cleaned himself up and, broom in hand, began to walk back up to the castle.
There were people who needed him. There were people who needed his charming grins and stupid jokes, his awkward forgiveness and ridiculous plans. There were people who needed him to stay the same even if nothing else did.
Author's Notes: So this was a pretty big edit. I tried to keep the original feeling of the one-shot while putting it more in line with my current style. It's still not quite right, but it's much closer than it was before. I hope you all still like it. Please review if you read it and thanks to everyone who reviewed the first one or added it as a favorite.