James had pulled on his hair so much by this point that it was basically standing on end. It was just so frustrating. Horribly, painfully so. In that moment, all he wanted was to be back at home with Harry and Lily, blissfully unaware of everything that the future held. He'd rather that - a few more weeks of ignorant bliss - than be stuck here, thinking of them and unable to do anything about what was coming.
Because Remus was right. The sensible, 'head boy' part of James knew that. But it felt better to pretend, and it was a lot easier to do that when the other two weren't sat on the other bed, with faces like the end of the world. Suddenly, horribly, a lump threatened to form in his throat.
"Bathroom," he said tensely, flinging back the bedsheets and stomping in the direction of the door. Once inside, he gazed at himself in the mirror, the dark shadows under his eyes, the chin and nose that Harry had inherited... he felt vaguely surprised that he didn't look any different despite all that had changed. James waited until he could no longer hear the blood rushing in his ears, then splashed some water on his face and headed back to the others.
"So what happens now?" He asked, sinking down to sit on the end of his bed, one knee bouncing erratically. Merlin, he wished they had brooms.