He was supposed to be at the new flat with Lily and Harry, but James had been too restless to stay in one place. He'd buried his father, today, and could not handle sitting around and feeling more and more pity from everyone around him. Lily knew exactly what he was going through, so he didn't blame her for trying to comfort him, but he just--didn't want it. When his mother had died, James had been able to accept it straight away. She had been sick for a long time, it was just the way it was meant to happen. But---his father shouldn't have even been there. How could they have believed that bringing him along was a good idea?
He couldn't sit and be sad because it was his fault his father was dead.
James entered the kitchen, glad that most of the Order had decided to avoid him whenever he came near. Marissa had never been good at leaving him alone, which wasn't a terrible thing, really. She was like one of the guys--that you could whine and break down in front of without feeling like too much of a wimp. He skulked forward and dropped into a seat, pulling a bottle towards him and flicking the top off with his wand.
"So."
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