James spends a lot of time flying, these days.
Out on the Quidditch pitch, life is simpler and balance comes naturally. All that matters is the wind in his ears, the perfecting of his technique. The cool air makes him feel different than he has on the ground for what feels like a grey, lonely eternity. It makes him feel alive.
Off the pitch, nothing makes sense. His whole world changed so much in one night that it's hardly recognizable now. Classes are silent: even the other students and professors seem to have caught the mood, and the tension is difficult to bear. The silence is brittle, as if one word spoken would shatter the world.
The Tower is worse still. There, the silence takes on an icy quality, and the air almost hums with danger. James doesn't spend much time there anymore. Instead, he makes a brief appearance there right after class to grab his broom. After dark, he hides in the library or the toilet until he's sure his friends—he can't stop thinking of them like that, regardless of the strain—are asleep, and then puts on the cloak and tiptoes back in and up the stairs to tumble into bed and the gentle release of sleep.
His friends are silent, too: somber strangers that he once laughed with.
James knows he is silent, too. He thinks that perhaps he can speak for all of them when he knows his silence is of the shocked variety. He would readily admit to being all in favor of the occasional (regular, even) Snape-taunting. Git, he thinks idly, then surprises himself by regretting it. He'd also willingly admit to various pranks, booby-traps, dancing suits of armor, and the like.
…But this? This thing, this abuse of the word "prank"? It's more than Snape-taunting. It's more than a prank. It's bigger than just a game. This is life and death laid bare in harsh relief.
James doubts, now. He wonders about all the mocking over the years. Was it really as harmless as he'd thought? Suddenly, Severus' greasy hair and clear fascination with the Dark Arts…and his long-ago friendship with Evans—Lily, James corrects himself—don't seem quite worth all the years of mockery. And even if they were, the scale would be tipped by this whole nightmare. The realization has hit him like a ton of bricks: he's the one who is the git. His victim was nothing but a human being.
Sometimes, James feels like a stranger in his own body. He barely recognizes himself anymore.
He knows his father would tell him that growing up isn't easy…but he's pretty sure this isn't what it's supposed to be all about.