xylodemon | hp fic: 41 Random Facts about James Potter

Title: 41 Random Facts About James Potter
Character: James
Rating: PG
Words: ~2,200
Summary: A few things James thinks you ought to know.
A/N: I realise 41 is an odd number, but that's precisely the number of things James was willing to talk about.

For

snegurochka_lee, because her James and my James should get together for a cup of tea.

41 Random Facts About James Potter

James' middle name is Alexander.
He doesn't think there's anything wrong with that, either. A perfectly standard name, Alexander is. It's strong. Manly. Remus would probably say something swotty like stalwart, but James has often suspected that Remus is off his tree. The point is, it's a good name -- a great name, if history can be believed. It's strong, manly, and possibly stalwart. At any rate, it's a right sight better than Sirius' middle names. Yes, names. Sirius has two, and they're both terribly poncy.
In spite of the stories Remus likes to tell -- which, depending on how much Remus has had to drink, have included a curse gone rogue, a mediwizard Confunded by a house-elf, squalling orphans raised in the Cotswold by a feral pack of Nogtails, and a baby-swap performed by a wandering tribe of Gypsies that just happened to be in the neighbourhood -- James and Sirius met on the train.
Quite accidental, that meeting. It wouldn't have happened at all, if James and Sirius hadn't both thought they were next in line for the sweet trolley. A confused tangle of arms and and elbows and knees turned into shoves, and Sirius trod on James' foot. Insults were exchanged, until James depleted his (then) sad store of choice and shocking words. Sputtering, he called Sirius a dirty, rotten, knob of a wankstick, and Sirius smiled.
James didn't realise it at the time, but that smile was one of the defining moments in his life.
He knows that makes him sound awfully slow, but the truth is, he can be slow from time to time. He also didn't realise he had a werewolf for a housemate through all of their first term and a good bit of their second.
Sirius likes to take the credit for it, but Peter was the one who sussed out Remus' furry little problem. He whispered his theory to James in front of the common room fire with a white face and a bit of parchment clutched in his shaking hands. The parchment detailed Remus' visible injuries and the dates of all his disappearances, and James was too gobsmacked to do more than blink, because Peter's silent observation had won out where his nosy questions and Sirius' strops had failed.
They confronted Remus on a foggy March morning, just hours after the full moon. Dark spots of blood peppered the bandage that snaked around his wrist, and in the hard silence before his defeated nod, Remus looked like he was going to cry. Sirius was bloody furious -- we're meant to be friends, not a lot of greasy Slytherins keeping secrets in the dark -- and Peter did cry, because he found the whole thing terrifying. James simply smiled; one of his best mates was a werewolf, and that was nothing short of brilliant.
He changed that assessment after the following moon, when Remus dragged himself upstairs like a wet cat, only to pass out and give Sirius the bother of putting him to bed. Between the blood on Sirius' pyjamas and hands and the gash on Remus' face, it suddenly became nothing short of horrible, and James decided that something needed to be done. Remus sighed and said it was pointless, but they mostly ignored him. They rarely listened to him anyway, so they didn't see the point in choosing that moment to start.
Peter researched potions, and James looked for spells, and Sirius carved an intricate and bloody frightening set of runes onto the posts of Remus' bed. When that didn't work, they tried new potions and different spells, and when that didn't work, Sirius investigated the sort of Arithmancy most people only whispered about, and used his pocket money for books on things like folklore and Muggle religions. When one of Sirius' books suggested werewolves could tolerate the presence of animals, they all complained it was a shame they weren't animals, until James remembered there was a spell for that.
To this day, James can't believe he didn't remember sooner. His Uncle Milton was an Animagus -- he had, in fact, been the pony at James' eighth birthday party -- and Sirius' father might've been, if the Ministry hadn't revoked his permit because of some unpleasant business with a Dark Arts spell, two outlawed potions, and an illegally-obtained phail of Hungarian Horntail blood.
Probably for the best, all things considered. If there was anyone who didn't need to be the first dragon Animagus the Wizarding World had seen in nearly five hundred years, it was Orion bloody Black.
Their first prank was a colossal failure. So colossal, in fact, that once they'd got back upstairs, and once they washed, and washed again, and washed again, they vowed never to speak of it. Suffice to say, it involved an Erumpet horn, two bags of Ice Mice, one nicked Ravenclaw tie, and what would've been a Babbling Beverage, if Peter had been able to tell the difference between a newt's eye and a salamander's toe. James' hair turned a startling shade of green, and Sirius didn't walk straight for a week.
The first time he kissed Sirius, he was fourteen.
It's probably not what anyone thinks: they weren't drunk, they hadn't been dared, and no one had been Confunded. They got caught in a blizzard, and they leaned too close while huddled in front of what passed for a fire inside the Shack. Sirius smiled -- a smile similar to the first one they shared, only edged with something very, very different -- and as the wind howled and the fire snapped and popped, pressing their mouths together seemed like the easiest and most obvious thing in the world.
James is incredibly proud of his antlers.
However, he privately wishes they were just a bit smaller, because they have the unfortunate habit of getting caught in things like doorways. Or low-hanging branches. Or bed hangings. Or Sirius' robes. On one memorable occasion, Sirius was still wearing them.
He should say the Prank was another defining moment in his life. He should, but he can't. The things he learned that night -- that the wolf inside Remus is stronger and more dangerous than any of them wanted to admit; that Sirius hates the same way he loves: with everything he has and without regard -- were all things James already knew. Unfortunately, it took Snape begging for his life to make James pay attention.
It rained the night Sirius ran away from home. He was soaked clean through, and he stammered on James' doorstep, with his trunk in one hand and his broom in the other, and his teeth chattering so hard he couldn't speak. Even now, James wishes he found something to say -- something more comforting than all right, there? or how about a spot of tea, then? -- but Sirius was wet and shaking and James was sixteen and confused.
The first time he kissed Lily, he was seventeen.
He'd like to say he was suave and confident and cavalier. The truth is, he was bloody terrified, and he pretty much mauled her jumper in an attempt to keep himself from falling over in shock.
If asked, James would say living with Sirius was very close to having a brother. They shared everything, and they slept in the same room, and they often sat up late to joke and talk and play Exploding Snap. Of course, he'd also have to admit that it was very different than having a brother, because Sirius got weekly Howlers from his parents, and after a particularly bad nightmare, he'd whisper than he shouldn't have left Regulus in that madhouse, and they occasionally ended up in the same bed, where they fell asleep curled together and with their mouths pressed to each other's skin.
If asked, James would also say he could've done without Sirius flirting with his mum.
James doesn't hate Regulus. He just doesn't understand him.
Contrary to popular belief, James didn't always hate Snape. He disliked Snape, because of his unsavoury friends, and his fascination with the Dark Arts, and his general and constant state of greasiness, but he didn't truly hate Snape until that day by the lake when he called Lily a Mudblood.
Of course, it wasn't the chivalrous rot people make it out to be. He wasn't in love with Lily yet -- that happened a bit later. In fact, he really didn't like her all that much at the time; she was always insulting him or hexing him or ratting on him to McGonagall, and he only asked her for dates because it upset her like anything. She also didn't need his help, because Lily has always been the sort of girl who can handle things on her own. In all honestly, if Snape called her a toerag, he might've let it go, but he hates the word Mudblood, and anyone who uses it.
He hates that word, because it reminds him of Sirius' crazy, awful family. It reminds him of how Sirius shivered after escaping London in a downpour, and the way his frozen fingers curled around that first steaming cup of tea. It's also not a far cry from half-breed, and that's a word that's been hurled at Remus more times that James cares to count. Remus has faced months and years of teeth and fur and claws and blood, and James thinks Remus is one of the strongest, bravest people he's ever known.
Remus was the mastermind behind the Map. It was James' idea, and Sirius and Peter played significant parts in its creation, but Remus was the reason the whole thing worked. He got their different spells to mesh properly, and he found the recipe for the special ink needed to make a living document, and he drew the final draft, with a Muggle fountain pen and drawing tools he borrowed from his father.
Lily refused him on thirty-seven separate occasions; twenty-three times before he really meant it, and another fourteen after.
He's quite glad he found the nerve to ask her again. He's also glad she said accepted, because in the quick, awkward silence that came before she said yes, he told himself that if she said no, he was going to leave her alone and save himself the embarrassment.
The first time he kissed Remus, he was twenty.
It was also the only time he kissed Remus, because it was the night before he got married. Looking back, he should've done it sooner.
When he found out Lily was pregnant, he called the each of the boys on the Floo and insisted they meet for a drink. He shot Firewhiskey with Sirius, while Remus and Peter sipped Butterbeers and Lily nursed weak tea, and he strutted and preened and bragged, and announced the good news to anyone who was willing to listen.
Until just before last shout, when he locked himself in the Cauldron's bog. Hunched over the toilet, he heaved until his stomach ached and his hands shook against the filthy tiles, and he did his damnedest not to cry. They were still kids themselves, and there was a war on, and what the fuck had they been thinking?
They hadn't been. Thinking, that is. Not that James regrets any of it, because Harry is the single most amazing and brilliant thing James has ever been a part of. When Harry smiles or laughs or catches James' thumb in one of his tiny fists, James' chest aches with something so strong and fierce and determined it almost scares him, and he knows he'd do it all again -- the fighting, the running, the hiding. Every last bit of it.
James won't hear the spell that kills him; the green light will flash around Lily's screams and the sobbing coughs of his terrified son. He'll think of sunlight curling through Lily's hair and the first time he held Harry in his arms, then of Sirius, who he hasn't spoken to in weeks, and of Remus, who he's still unwilling to believe is the spy.
Just before he hits the ground, he'll also think of Peter, and how terribly he must have suffered.
The afterlife will be a strange place. It'll be whatever he wants it to be, and wherever he wants it to be, and when he watches Harry's life, it'll pass before him in both long stretches and in the blink of an eye. His fury at Lily's relatives will be twisted by distance and time and his inability to intervene, and his shock at Peter's behaviour will eventually sicken into anger, but that anger will ring hollow, because that sort of betrayal is something he'll never understand -- even there, in a place where he can hold the truth in the palm of his hand.
The truth will be a funny and horrible thing. He'll know that Sirius and Remus are both innocent, but he won't be able to change things; he'll only be able to watch as one spends half his life in prison and the other starves and sleeps under hedges and suffers his transformations alone. He'll know what Harry needs to do before Dumbledore, before Snape, before any of them, but this won't feel right some how, because he won't be able to help, and he'll be so proud of Harry, so very proud, but Harry will never know.
Walking in the forest will be just like coming home. He'll have Lily on his right and Sirius and Remus on his left, and he'll also have Harry, who will look so much like him, and who will be taller, older, and impossibly brave. He'll walk Harry to the end, because Harry will ask, because Harry will need this from him, because in that strange, suspended moment between the stone's open and Harry's close, they will finally, finally be a proper family.
As the twigs snap under his feet, echoing against the starless sky, he'll say he doesn't miss Peter, not even a little, but that'll be a lie.

fin