Chapter 4
The golden light of the late afternoon was starting to fade as the Quidditch team made its way back into the castle. James’s muscles were sore, his body exhausted from a long practice session, but none of it seemed to matter. He’d pushed himself hard, and it should’ve felt good—he was the captain, after all. But instead of feeling the usual high from leading the team, all he could feel was an overwhelming emptiness, like his body was moving on autopilot, and his mind was somewhere far away.
Sirius was laughing beside him as they walked back into Gryffindor Tower, talking about their plans for the night—something about sneaking into the kitchens for late-night snacks. Peter, trailing behind them, was still chattering about the latest prank they’d pulled off on Snape. But James wasn’t really listening. His thoughts felt distant, like he was floating through everything. Even the noise of the common room faded to background hum, and it left him feeling lonelier than he could explain.
As they reached the dormitory, James let himself slip away from the group, wordlessly heading up to the shared room. Remus, Sirius, and Peter all shared the same space. The four of them had always had this odd comfort in their shared space, the clutter of shoes and books and Quidditch gear scattered around, their lives overlapping. It had always felt like home in some ways.
Tonight, though, it felt suffocating.
James didn’t bother to talk to anyone as he walked into the room. Peter was still sprawled across his bed, looking over notes from class, muttering to himself. Sirius was fiddling with something in the corner, probably planning their next scheme. Remus was sitting at his usual spot by the window, reading a book, as always, legs stretched out in front of him.
James’s eyes flickered to Remus for a moment, but he said nothing. Instead, he walked to his bed, grabbing his pack of weed and a small pipe. The others didn’t pay him much mind—they were used to his quiet moments after practice. It was his routine, his way of disconnecting, and they didn’t question it.
But tonight was different. Tonight, James didn’t want to feel anything. The weight in his chest was heavier than it had been in a while, the kind of heaviness that didn’t seem to go away no matter how many breaths he took. He grabbed a small bag of weed from his drawer, his hands moving automatically as he prepared the pipe. He’d done this enough times to know how to block out the world.
He slid open the window, stepping out onto the balcony that connected to the rest of the dorm, and lit the pipe. The familiar taste and sensation of the smoke filled his lungs, but it didn’t provide the relief he’d been hoping for. He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke sit in his chest, hoping that it would somehow silence the constant hum of his thoughts. It was a ritual. It had worked before.
The cold air of the evening bit at his skin, but it didn’t bother him. It felt grounding, almost like a slap to his face. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the tension slowly drain from his shoulders. But even as the smoke swirled around him, he still felt empty. The numbness he craved was elusive.
A creak from the door behind him interrupted his quiet moment, and James didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Remus. Always aware, always there.
“You good?” Remus’s voice was soft, like he was testing the waters. James didn’t answer immediately, his fingers trembling slightly as he took another hit from the pipe.
"Yeah," James muttered, his voice cold and flat. He wasn’t sure if it was a lie or not. It was just the first thing that came out of his mouth, and that was all he could offer right now.
Remus didn’t push. James was grateful for that. They’d been friends long enough that Remus knew when to step back. He leaned against the doorway, not saying anything more, but the silence between them grew thick with unspoken understanding.
James took a few more drags from the pipe, the smoke swirling around him. The numbness didn’t come. The relief he so desperately needed was still far away. With a heavy sigh, he crushed the end of the pipe against the stone railing and reached into his pocket for another, his hands moving on autopilot.
Remus had moved closer now, but he didn’t say anything else. It was as though he was waiting for something, though neither of them knew exactly what.
James lit another pipe, inhaling deeply. He wasn’t even sure how much time had passed. His thoughts were cloudy, but they were there, persistent. There were days where he felt so drained, so completely worn down, that even the smallest tasks seemed too much. And then there were days like today, where everything felt hollow, like nothing mattered.
When the pipe was finished, James flicked it away and crushed it beneath his boot. He felt cold inside. Cold all the way to his core. The numbness he’d been hoping for wasn’t there, and that terrified him more than he cared to admit.
Without thinking, he reached for a different kind of release, his hands shaking slightly, and grabbed his pocketknife from his drawer. His fingers brushed the cool steel of the blade, but for a second, he hesitated. The weight of his emotions was suffocating, but the knife didn't feel like the answer.
He dropped it back in the drawer and closed it shut with a sharp click. The emptiness lingered.
James stayed quiet, lying back on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, his mind still racing, his body still numb. The numbness that had eluded him was now replaced with an unbearable sense of nothingness. It felt like he was stuck in between two worlds too tired to care, but too restless to find peace.
The balcony door creaked open again, and Remus, having clearly heard the silence stretching on, made his way toward his own bed. James stayed still, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He didn’t know how to explain it. He didn’t know how to make sense of the void inside him. The others had no clue. They never did.
And that was how it always was.
The room fell silent, the only sounds the soft crackle of the fire in the corner and the distant murmur of Sirius and Peter talking. The numbness hadn’t gone away. It never really did.
And as James lay there, staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it never would.