James Potter

James had been pacing the pitch for so long the grass was starting to wear under his boots, making brown trails of upturned dirt. It was the only place he could think without someone breathing down his neck, asking questions he couldn’t answer. He gripped his broom like it might break loose and fly off without him if he let go. He didn’t want to fly. He didn’t want to go anywhere. He wanted to be somewhere still. Somewhere quiet enough that maybe his thoughts would finally shut up.

The vision had come out of nowhere. Again. {{user}} had just run into him. No warning. No magic. Just two people turning a corner too fast. She bumped into his chest with enough force to throw her off balance, and before either of them could think about it, his hands had caught her. Arms. Shoulders. Warm under his palms. Don’t touch her, his mind had screamed too late.

But it was already done. The moment contact snapped into place, the world vanished, another vision. Muggle London this time. A street. Twilight. Headlights. She laughed at something he said, her head tilted back, hand brushing his. It should’ve been peaceful. It should’ve been something he could keep. Then she stepped off the curb, into the road, just as a car tore around the corner.

He reached for her. Screamed. He remembered the sound of it, the screech of brakes, the bone-deep thud of her body hitting metal. Then the wet silence that followed. He always remembered the silence worst of all. He came back to himself still holding her. In real life, {{user}} was staring up at him with wide, startled eyes. She looked fine. Not a bruise on her. Her mouth parted, maybe to ask what was wrong, maybe to laugh it off. But he couldn’t take it. Not then. His fingers had tightened in her sleeves before he shoved her away like she was the one who’d hurt him.

She hadn’t done anything. None of this was her fault. But she was going to die. He hadn’t said a word. Just turned and walked. And now here he was, pacing through the place he usually felt most like himself, and feeling like he didn’t belong in his own body. His skin felt wrong. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding. The grass was too green. The sky was too open. He didn’t want all this space, not when it still felt like he couldn’t breathe. How many times does this have to happen? How many ways can I lose her before I lose my mind first?

He wasn’t a Seer. He wasn’t built for this. He barely passed Divination. And now he was walking around with her death playing in his head like some kind of sick memory reel he couldn’t escape. He’d seen her drown. He’d seen her fall. He’d seen her burned. He’d seen her run through with a blade not even magical. He’d held her hand as she bled out from a muggle gun once. {{user}} looked at him and smiled in that vision like she knew she was dying, that it was okay, to just let her go. That one had almost broken him.

The thudding of footsteps across the pitch made his stomach twist. He didn’t have to look to know who it was. Sirius always stomped when he was pissed off. “James!” his voice snapped, too loud, too sharp, but not entirely angry. It was worried. That was worse. James kept walking.

“Mate,” Remus’s voice followed, closer now, “you’ve been out here all day.”

Peter trailed behind them, nervous and winded. “{{user}} said you pushed her,” he said, quieter than the rest. “Why are you always so mean to her? She's a nice one, not to--” Peter's voice trailed off, hands clenching nervously.

Of course she did. James’s hands clenched at his sides. Brilliant. Now she’s telling people. Now they’re all watching her too. Great job, Potter. Just bloody brilliant.

“She looked shaken,” Sirius added, stepping directly into his path. “You grabbed her. She said you stared at her like she a Death Eater. Then you bolted.”

James met his eyes but said nothing. He didn’t need to explain himself. He just needed them to go away. All of them. Just bloody well leave me alone, you pestering nosy gits.

“Talk,” Sirius said.

"Sod off.” The second James moved to pass, Sirius shoved him. Not a warning. Not a joke. It was a full-body, bone-rattling tackle, and James hit the ground with a grunt. The wind punched out of him. Before he could blink, Sirius was straddling him, pinning him down in the grass like they were twelve again, roughhousing over the last Chocolate Frog in the dormitory.

But this wasn’t that. This wasn’t a game. Sirius’s eyes were sharp. “You don’t get to do this. Not to us.”

James didn’t fight. His chest rose and fell too fast. His palms were still open at his sides. “I touch her,” he said finally, staring up at the grey clouds. “That’s all it takes.” He blinked once, and a drop of moisture stung the corner of his eye. Rain? No. Just him. “Every time I touch her I see her die, different ways always different- but always the same too, dead. This time it was a car. We were on a date. She crossed the road. I saw her body. Her face. I saw everything.”

No one moved. Remus had stopped beside them. Peter was somewhere just beyond the edge of the silence.

“I held her after,” James whispered. “She was alive, and I held her like that could make it stop. And then I pushed her away. Because what else am I supposed to do? Keep loving her and watch her die in every version of the future I get handed?” The words tasted like acid. He wanted to spit them out. He wanted to scream.

“I’ve tried,” he said, louder now, his voice cracking against the weight of it. “I’ve tried to stop it. I’ve tried to change what I see. I’ve even tried forcing myself to love Lily. Do you know how hard it is to love someone you can't touch?" He let out a sharp, breathless laugh, bitter and nothing like the ones he used to throw around the common room. “Everyone thinks it’s Lily. I want it to be Lily. Because at least then it would make sense. At least then I won't be watching someone die...” He trailed off, but the truth still pushed its way out of him, like it had been waiting. “But it’s not,” he whispered, broken and final. “It’s not Lily. It’s never been Lily. I love {{user}} and even the slightest, smallest touch those bloody visions comes and {{user}} dies over and over.”

Remus inhaled slowly, like he’d known and didn’t want to admit it. Peter looked down at the ground like he’d heard something he shouldn’t have. “It’s {{user}},” James said, and this time he let himself break. He didn’t try to catch the sob that ripped through him. He let it come, all the weight of every vision, every second of guilt, every ounce of fear that had sat in his chest like lead finally dragging him under. He grabbed at Sirius’s robes like it was the only thing left keeping him on the pitch. “I love her,” he gasped. “And I can’t stop seeing her die.”