For as long as he could remember, James’s parents told him how freeing flying was. Dad always talked about the rush he felt flying through the open air, feeling like he didn’t have a care in the world. Mum shared stories of stealing her brothers’ brooms and teaching herself how to soar. James has been on a broom since before his little brother was born. One of his parents’ favourite pictures of him was one with him in a nappy, zooming a foot or so off the floor, his very pregnant Mum standing with her arms around his broadly grinning Dad. Mum and Dad liked to tell him how joyful he was in that moment, how happy he was just to fly. But, of course, James was too young to remember it.

James liked to fly, sure, but he always felt that he flew with purpose. Before Hogwarts, he flew to chase his siblings or catch up to his older cousins or participate in Weasley/Potter Quidditch games. Sometimes he flew to travel; like his father, he preferred it over almost all other means of transportation (though he would admit that he liked Muggle automobiles too). Once Hogwarts started, James flew almost solely on the Quidditch pitch, either at practice or during games.

Still, he wondered what it would be like to fly just for the sake of flying. To soar among the clouds simply because he could. To leave everything on the ground for a while. To let go. Until today, that seemed like a silly thing to do. He had too many concerns, too many responsibilities, to randomly jump on his Nimbus just because.

But today, something changed.

James knew that everyone expected things from him. His mother expected him to be a role model to his brother and sister. His father expected him to shoulder a little responsibility. His god-brother expected him to be the endlessly annoying child he’d been since his primary school years. His brother and sister expected him to be both bully and saviour. His extended family expected him to effortlessly fit in with the constant hustle and bustle. These were common, everyday expectations; James was James, and he was expected to do these things because he was part of the family.

However, people’s expectations of him got worse when James started at Hogwarts. Here, the staff hadn’t seen him in a nappy, chasing Crookshanks around Aunt Hermione’s floor. Here, students didn’t know that for as loud a bunch as the Weasleys were, they sat quietly, contemplatively, more frequently than they led the world to believe. Here, no one remembered the messes he’d made with accidental magic. Here, people knew of him but didn’t really know him.

At Hogwarts, Professor Flitwick expected him to behave like his Marauder namesakes. Professor Longbottom, who had seen him in a nappy and did know that the Weasleys could be a quiet bunch and helped clean up some of his early messes, expected him to behave at school like he did at home. His cousins expected him to live up to Weasley and Potter legacies even when they weren’t necessarily doing the same. His friends expected him to be brave and daring like his father. His Quidditch captain expected him to be a wunderkind on the pitch like his mother. People who didn’t know him expected him to be the same sort of arrogant, bullying, toerag that his grandmother once accused his grandfather of being. No one at Hogwarts expected James to just be James.

And up to today, that was fine. Before today, he could ignore what the staff expected because he knew that his parents loved him. Before today, he could ignore what his cousins expected because he was part of a ridiculous extended family that was both calm and rowdy. Before today, he could ignore what other students expected because his friends liked him for him and not who he was related to. Before today, James could ignore those expectations because before today he didn’t really, didn’t truly, understand them.

Before today, he thought he knew what it meant to be James Sirius Potter, son of Harry Potter and Ginny Potter (nee Weasley). Before today, he thought having had family survive the Second Wizarding War was something he had in common with everyone, and it was, but not the same way. Before today, he knew that people randomly stopped his dad on the street, that people always wanted to shake his dad’s hand, that people couldn’t resist asking his dad for autographs or pictures, particularly if Aunt Hermione or Uncle Ron were around. Before today, he knew that his dad and aunt and uncle were on Chocolate Frog cards. Before today, he knew that a number of members of the Weasley family had been awarded Order of Merlin medals. Before today, he knew that his family knew many of the names carved in the memorial wall at the Ministry of Magic.

But today he found out why.

James wasn’t sure why he’d bothered taking N.E.W.T. History of Magic. He knew that all of his older cousins had, even though few had passed their History of Magic O.W.L.. James suspected that each of them had received the same talk that he’d had just that summer about the importance of history and knowing where one came from. He also suspected that those who, like him, hadn’t passed the History of Magic O.W.L. had probably returned to Hogwarts with a sealed letter like the one James had carried to Headmistress Sprout this past September. James also remembered -- with vivid clarity -- the Howler his dad got from Teddy when James was nine. He’d never seen a Howler directed at his dad before. He didn’t remember what it’d said, other than something about Teddy’s Mum and Dad, but James had been shocked that the scary voice was Teddy’s. He couldn’t understand why Teddy had been so angry.

Until today.

Because Teddy must have felt then like James did now. Teddy must have felt he’d been lied to his whole life. Teddy must have felt like there was so much he didn’t understand about the world because no one told him the whole truth. Teddy must have felt so very betrayed by the people he loved most.

Years of being James Sirius Potter had not prepared him for learning about what really happened during the Second War. Years of wondering about his dad and his aunts and uncles had not prepared him for the horrors they had to endure. Years of seeing his dad bravely go off on Auror missions had not prepared him for the reality of what his dad had done, here at Hogwarts, all those years ago. Sure, Uncle Ron sometimes joked about the trouble they got into at school; sure, Aunt Hermione sometimes slipped when she scolded the kids for using the Map; sure, Dad had weird scars that he said happened at school. But to sit in class and hear Professor Binns talk about the Chamber of Secrets and the Tri-Wizard Tournament and the Order of the Phoenix and Professor Dumbledore’s death and his father’s defeat of Lord Voldemort right there in the Great Hall where James ate three meals a day? Nothing in his life had ever prepared James for that.

James wondered how Teddy coped with hearing about the role his parents -- particularly his dad -- played in the war. James wondered how Victoire, Dominique, and Louis coped with hearing about the Battle of the Astronomy Tower, where Uncle Bill received his scars from Greyback. James wondered how Lucy and Molly coped with the fact that Uncle Percy had practically abandoned the family for years. James wondered how Roxanne coped, and Fred was coping, with the whole truth behind Uncle Fred’s death. James wondered how Rose and Hugo would cope with the large roles Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron played in the war. James wondered how Al and Lily would cope with what he’d just learned.

Because James didn’t think he could cope with the truth about what his dad did. He didn’t think he could shoulder the knowledge of who his dad was. That his dad, at twelve, saved his mum from a basilisk. That his dad watched Voldemort kill another student then use his blood to resurrect himself. That his dad spent a year being called a liar because the Ministry didn’t want to believe him, only to finally be believed after Voldemort attacked the Ministry and Death Eaters killed Dad’s godfather. That his dad with there, on the tower, the night that Dumbledore was killed. That his dad had spent a year on the run before sacrificing himself. That his dad survived the Killing Curse not once but twice. That his dad defeated the most evil wizard of all time.

There was too much in his head, too much truth for him to try to understand, for him to stay in the castle. Looking outside, the blue sky seemed to beckon him, and James finally understood what his parents had been trying to explain for years. So James made his way down to the Quidditch pitch, his broom over his shoulder.

Today, he would fly just because. Because he wanted to soar among the clouds. Because he wanted to leave everything on the ground for a while. Because he wanted to let go.

And so, on that crisp, clear day, James flew.