Chapter Text
To anyone outside the four boys in the dorm it would probably come as a surprise, but giving points as a joke actually started with Peter. He, like the rest of them, had a mean and sarcastic streak, only it was twice as hilarious when it came from him.
It was still early in the Autumn of first year, and the boys were just starting to warm up to each other. Peter was struggling with concentrating on some nasty potions essay, James was daydreaming and Remus was reading comics when Sirius barreled into the room.
“Look everybody!” He said, louder than necessary, speaking with multiple exclamation marks as he often did in those early days. It was as if all the excitement and volume that Grimmauld Place had been stifling and smothering for eleven years came spilling out all at once.
He went on to show some charm, or a trick, or a transfiguration – exactly what it was he was trying to show off was forgotten over the years – but Peter’s reaction was not.
“Bully for you, ten points to Gryffindor, you’re the cleverest of them all. Now can you shut up and let me concentrate on this bloody essay before Slughorn uses my guts as potions ingredients?”
The whole dorm room was stunned, none more so than Peter himself. Then Sirius started howling with laughter and the three of them joined and laughed for the better part of half an hour, until their bellies hurt and couldn’t take it anymore. Then Remus added a quip, and they all went off again. They didn’t get much work done that evening, but they all ended up helping Peter with the essay anyway and he was so happy that he didn’t mind much anymore.
In James’ opinion, it was probably one of those things that cemented the four of them as a group. If no one outside the four of them knew that Peter could be so sarcastic and funny, or if no one understood that Remus lit up with mischief as much as the rest of them, or if others found Sirius stand-offish, unreachable and a little mean, well… that made James feel all the more special for having the three of them all to himself.
Remus always only gave odd, unrounded numbers as points, and always as a whisper, only amongst themselves. “Eleven points to Hufflepuff!” he muttered to James later in their first year, when they decided to trail a group under James’ invisibility cloak on one of their reconnaissance missions, following them right through a secret tunnel that took them directly to the cellar of Honeydukes. James had never seen Remus so happy. Come to think of it, through the years, many of Remus’ pretend points were chocolate related.
Peter, bless his soul, was very grandiose with his point giving – and he was the only one amongst them that also took points regularly. “Oh, that has to be a foul, forty points from Ravenclaw!” he would yell in the Quidditch stands to confused glances. James also noticed him giving himself points under his breath, though more modest amounts, for small things, the kind that teachers didn’t notice. It was fair enough, James thought, considering that he so rarely got points during classes – he just wasn’t the kind to speak up – and everyone wanted some kind of recognition. “Five points to Gryffindor”, he mumbled to himself when he solved a bit of tricky crossword puzzle that stumped Sirius. James observed and made a point out of giving him points as well for those little things, too. He even gave him ten points for a snazzy looking outfit or for making effort with his hair, and though it was a joke, he liked how Peter preened afterwards. And since Peter was so easy to underestimate, even for them who knew him so well, it was always easy to give him points for ingenuity that managed to surprise them every single time when it came to making a particularly funny joke that came out of nowhere, or coming up with particularly creative ideas for pranks, or generally sneaking around and catching others unaware.
Sirius was snarky half the time, delighted the other half in his point giving. An eyeroll with ten points to Ravenclaw when Gilderoy Lockheart boasted a feat obviously not his own, a low whistle and fifty points to Gryffindor when the Prewett twins snuck in adorable bunnies all over the castle for Easter, and frequent five points went to James himself for botched attempts to catch Lily Evans’ attention.
It had been a running gag for years, more versatile and withstanding the tests of time than even puns on Sirius’ name. When Remus was made prefect, the boys very quickly learned that the points he gave became real; the magic of the castle worked in a way that every time someone with the authority to give or withhold points uttered the correct words, points were automatically given or deducted. The castle was not so subtle as to discern humor or sarcasm on that count. The boys, of course, thought this hilarious. They spent most of fifth year amping up the joke and trying to rile Remus up into giving them by mistake, until it became so entwined in their language it was practically jargon. But Remus never wavered – what was Remus, after all, if not a tall and lanky bundle of self-control. Or at least, he almost never wavered: they managed to get twenty round points out of him one time, along with a whispered “fucking hell, you lot are absolutely bonkers, aren’t you?” when they showed him their Animagus forms for the first time.
Really, Remus would have made a much better choice for Head Boy, if you asked James. Unfortunately, Dumbledore did not ask James.
There was a war on. His parents seemed older and were constantly stressed, his dad’s thick black and shortly trimmed hair turning white, the stubble on his chin following. His mother seemed tired and wary, and James caught her more than once red-eyed and looking like she just cried. The headlines in the newspapers seemed dark, and the conversations that his parents’ constant stream of guests brought over were even worse. Things looked terrible.
So really, James felt incredibly selfish to say that in the summer after sixth year he was blissfully happy.
He was of age and could use as much magic as he felt like – and he felt like using a lot of magic. The summer seemed sunnier than any summer before. And the best of all was that Sirius was finally, officially (or as officially as mattered, anyway) a part of the Potter family and out of Grimmauld Place for good. James got to keep him all to himself without the constant backdrop of worry that accompanied every other school break until then.
They slept in almost every day, then ate amounts that made his mum groan about the endless pit that was the stomach of an adolescent boy, and finally popped on their broomsticks to either explore or play one-on-one quidditch. James was still bitter for losing the quidditch house cup last year. He was determined to do better this year, and Sirius was a good enough sport to let him bounce play ideas off him and even mock them up and practice. When Sirius was bored of the quidditch, they used their broomsticks to find hidden corners, forests and lakes. They’d transform and run around to their hearts’ content or lie by the lake through the long summer days, until they got hungry and returned to raid the kitchen.
Some days, Peter joined them. Remus also came by for a few days at a time, and James had to pretend not to notice that he didn’t sleep in the guest bedroom. On those days he felt invincible – he had the three of them together, where he could see them, just the way he liked it. They joked and argued, and if James had to tell Sirius to lay off Peter a few times, it always sorted itself out one way or another (one time by Peter transforming and biting Sirius, which James personally thought was hilarious). Occasionally the conversation turned serious, and they talked of the war, but they always went right back to joking afterwards. They went around the town and bought themselves cool muggle clothes – it was the first time that James got his own clothes and not just let his mum do his shopping. He bought tight blue jeans that grew wide under his knees and a snug-fitting button up shirt with a colorful print. His mum said he looked ridiculous, but Sirius thought he looked hip, and said it “showed off all that quidditch muscle on you!”. And since Sirius’ opinion was really the only one that really mattered as far as James had always been concerned, James strutted around in his new outfit like he owned the town. He felt like the king of the world.
And then came the letter.
The six of them were having a late breakfast – it was the weekend Peter and Remus had stayed overnight and his mum and dad were both at home as well. James was content. Of course it was Sirius who read it first, being an obnoxious prick as he was – he had grabbed James’ letter and started reading it out loud.
“Dear Mr. James Fleamont Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as Head Boy for this year, …” Sirius started to read, then let out a bark of laughter “Head boy! Our Prongs!”
“Wait, what?” James was honestly shocked. “How could I be Head Boy? I’m not even a prefect! You’re having me on.”
Sirius shoved the letter in his face. Head Boy.
Well, shit. And also: what the fuck?
“But I’m quidditch captain! They won’t make me give it up, will they?” was, predictably enough, the first thing he could think of saying.
“Let me see that!” his mum said, then read the letter. She beamed at him, “Oh, Jamie, this is incredible! I’m so proud of you! Look Monty, something good in these rotten times after all.”
“Oh, my boy! Such excellent news! With all those detentions I admit I didn't see this coming. but of course, you’re a brilliant choice and I’m glad Dumbledore sees it! What a wonderful message to send.” his dad was beaming at him. They both looked so happy, and it had been a while since he saw them so relaxed. They needed some good news, James knew it, and he didn’t want to disappoint them, but…
Head Boy? James? With more detentions than he could count, self-proclaimed king of mischief, and never one to shy away from some foul language and a well-timed hex when the situation called for it? He wasn’t a symbol or a message to send and Merlin knows he didn’t always do the right thing , even if he did have to admit he was often the first to stand up against the wrong things.
Sirius and Peter were sniggering behind their eggs and toast and Remus wore a shit-eating grin as he said, “You ok there, Jamie ? You look a bit like…”
“Don’t say it” James warned, just as the three of them sing-sang gleefully, “ a deer in the headlights ”, and he let out a groan.
James was not done sulking about it later on when they were lazing around by the lake. Remus comforted him in the most Remus-y way possible – sharing his chocolate and weed – and the four of them were laying on their backs, the weed having slowed everything down as they were looking up at the leaves on the tree dancing in the sunlight and the breeze and at the clouds traveling through.
“What was the old man thinking?” he said for the millionth time. “I can’t be an example ! Head Boy is supposed to be all about the rules and order and keeping the school running and that’s not what I’m about at all! I’m not even a Prefect! And for a good reason!”
“You are one of the best students in our year, though” Remus provided thoughtfully.
“And the little kids do look up to you, they always have”, Peter added.
James groaned, and said, “It should have been you, Moony.”
Sirius hitched himself up on his elbows and gave James a sharp glare. “Ok, enough sulking, Prongs. Are we really going to do this now? You really need us to spell it out for you?”
James groaned again. Sirius pulled himself up, then pulled James up and took his face in his hands and looked him directly in the eyes. James rolled his eyes at the theatrics, but Sirius always did love his drama, even if the weed tended to mellow him out a bit.
“You’re a leader, Prongs. You may not be about the boring things like order and rules, but people follow you, because you always lead them somewhere interesting. Hell, us three have been following you like puppies since first year, but we’re not the only ones. You’re everything that’s fun and good about magic.”
James swallowed. On the ground, Remus and Peter were nodding thoughtfully.
“I love Moony, you know I do, but he’s not you, Prongs. He’s a follower. No offence, Moony - ”
“Hm?” Remus said, and James wasn’t sure he was following at all anymore,
“ – but the school doesn’t need a follower right now. The school needs someone creative and fun. And who knows this school better than us? You’ve been practically running the school anyway, Prongs, everyone listens to you and you know it. You’ve been making Hogwarts about fun and mischief and putting the right people in their place since we’ve crossed the lake in those boats in the first year and you all but shoved Snivvy into the water. People look up to you, Prongs, whether you’re Head Boy or not. Honestly, you’re the obvious choice. Own it, Prongs! Ok?” And Sirius banged their foreheads together, intensifying the glaring, “Ok??”
“Ok! Merlin, ok, Pads, ok”, James laughed.
“Who owns this school?” Sirius asked again, not letting go.
“I do, shit, I do!”
“Say it, Prongsie!”
“I own the school!”
“LOUDER!”
“I OWN THE FUCKING SCHOOL!” James yelled and laughed, and Sirius finally let him go.
“DAMN RIGHT you fucking own it, pretty boy, you and those tight muggle denims! Ten points to Gryffindor!” Sirius concluded.
“Fucking hell, you’re intense.” James laughed again. And that was the end of that.
On September 1st, James made good on his promise to own it. He messed up his hair, just so, and wore one of the tightest pairs of pants he bought that summer and the most colorful shirt with the Head Boy badge shining on it, and following Sirius’ advice, left one more button undone than he really thought was necessary. With Sirius clad in his famous leather jacket by his side, and with people stopping him over to chat every two seconds on the platform, James really did feel like he owned the school by the time they finally climbed onto the train.
“What do I actually do, now?” James pondered. “I feel like I should be helping first years with their trunks, or breaking up fights, or… something?”
“Prefect meeting, Prongs. Prefect meeting”, Remus provided. “But sure, if you feel like helping some first years on the way, that sounds perfectly lovely.”
“Shit, fuck. I mean, right.”
By the time they made it to the front of the train, James and Remus had, indeed, helped eight of the younger kids with various problems, and were stopped to chat by approximately twenty others. If there was also a slight… delay, due to some… choice exchange of words and gestures with some of his favorite Slytherins, well, they still weren’t too late to the Prefect's car.
“No. Nope. Nuh-uh. Just – no.” was the first thing he was greeted with when they arrived, coming under a blur of shockingly red hair. James couldn’t help his grin.
“Oi, Evans, it has come down to the two of us to keep this school on its feet, has it?”. Ho, but this was going to be fun .
“Just what I need. An entitled rich boy to mess everything up. Why couldn’t it have been you, Remus?” She looked at Remus, her unnaturally green eyes seeming to beg him to confess that this was just another one of their pranks.
“I’ve been asking myself the same question for the past month, Lils, yet here we are.” James replied merrily.
“Should I get Padfoot to give you his speech too?” Remus chuckled. “There were some right fancy words in there about charisma and leadership .” He had been listening, James thought with a smile.
Lily took a deep breath, then grabbed James by the wrist and took him to the side and cast a wandless silencing charm – which James personally found very impressive, even if the green glare in her eyes hinted at the verbal lashing coming on.
“Listen here, Potter. I see what Dumbledore is doing here, but even if I get it, I don’t have to like it. People always follow the entitled man , you can do half the work and reap all the credit, and in the end it’s you people will remember, and it’s you people will listen to. Fine. Ok. That’s just how it is. And Remus is right, I guess.” She sighed, seeming none too pleased about it. “People will follow you. People love you. You’re fun, you’re athletic, you’re confident, you don’t hesitate.”
“Er, thanks?”
“Ugh. So this is what I need from you. You will. NOT. Screw this up for me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Green eyes rolled again. “You want to use your, whatever, charisma for the good? Back me up. No Good Cop Bad Cop, Potter, I mean it. I will NOT be the rule-stickler goody-goody to your fun careless ways. You want to lead? Lead, but do it with me, not against me.”
James looked at her seriously, “Hey, Lily, ok. Yes. I get it. I understand. I have absolutely no intention to go against you here. I will take this seriously. I can take things seriously when I care about them, haven’t you seen me play quidditch?”
Lily gave a conceding nod.
“Right. And I care about this school. I care about the people in it. And I see what’s going on outside and how it’s seeping into the school, and I intend to do what I can to keep the school a safe place and a good place, and to help or do whatever it is that Head Boys are supposed to do. I may not be one for rules, I guess I will need your help to balance me out there, but I promise to try Lily. I won’t let you down.”
Lily looked as if she was trying to decide whether to be convinced by his little speech. Then she sighed.
“Ok. Not like I have a say in the matter, anyway. One last thing, though. This,” she pointed between them. “is me setting a boundary. No more asking me out. This won’t work if I’m constantly worried about talking to you in a way that won’t get you hopeful you’re getting closer to getting into my pants. Can you respect me enough for that, Potter?”
“Yes.” James nodded, “And – I’m sorry, if I made you feel like that – I do respect you Lily, I really do.”
“I don’t need an apology. I just need to be able to really work with you. I think this can be a good thing if we can work as a team, but I need to know I have your back for that, and that you won’t constantly be thinking of getting together with me.”
“I won’t let you down, Lily, I promise.” He repeated. “I care about this. And for the record, I think the two of us will make a kick-ass team.”
Lily smiled at him. “You know what, Potter?” she mused. “I think we just might”.
It took all of thirty minutes after the feast was over for James to slip up for the first time, and it was all Severus Snape, because of course it was. Ok, it was a little bit James too.
It may have only been a “watch where you’re going”, but said in that particular and familiar sneer, in that specific obnoxious voice, James couldn’t help but interpret it as a slimy git trying to intimidate some of the younger kids to set himself above them. Snape had always rubbed James the wrong way, and he couldn’t resist stepping in and flaunting his new status and authority over him.
He slow clapped theatrically, “Wow, Sniv, what an impressive feat, telling off kids that must be at least five years younger than you. Really, well done, such bravery, such chivalry. Five points to Slytherin.”
It should be said in his defense that even though he had spent the past two years trying to rile points out of Remus, James genuinely did forget that his newfound authority meant points were real.
Unfortunately, they had a bit of a crowd at that point, so his mistake had an audience.
“Thanks for the points, Potter. Let’s see how long that big head of yours manages to keep up the act and fool everyone before it all goes to shit and they all realize you’re nothing more than blatant favoritism. I personally thought you’d last a bit longer than one day, but I must admit I won’t be too disappointed to see you screw it up sooner rather than later.” Snape smiled and he walked away. James had to bite his tongue to keep from throwing an immature insult to his retreating figure just to have the last word.
Lily just raised her eyebrow at him, and he groaned internally. He was going to have to do better.
Snape’s words were still haunting James the next day, as he was sitting at the corner of the quidditch pitch alone, spiraling.
A lot of people underestimate what it means to be the captain of a school quidditch team. Or maybe, a lot of people don’t care as much as James Potter does about being captains of school quidditch teams.
It means scouting the best players, and hyping them up, and motivating them, knowing their strengths and weaknesses, and yes, sometimes turning shit players into the best they can be because that’s just what they have to work with. It means thinking up plays, and drilling, and getting the team to stick through long hours of practice. It’s the logistics of booking the field, fighting with the other captains, getting to know the opponents, keeping up with trends in the quidditch world. Resisting the urge to use his invisibility cloak to spy on the other teams, but not being above listening to Peter who just coincidentally happened to be at the right place at the right time as a rat.
It was only the second day of school, and James was already hard at work. Tryouts for the team were not for another two weeks, but James had offered anyone in the tower who wanted to give it a go a chance to practice with him before tryouts. It was an idea he’d thrown around with Sirius over the summer: get more people interested in quidditch, get to really know some of the new faces and have a low-commitment chance to improve before tryouts, give out some pointers before making it onto the team – and in the end the best player wins.
He thought it was a brilliant idea.
It was a brilliant idea.
Except here he was, on the quidditch pitch, and nobody showed. James was not used to people just not showing. He didn’t get it, either. Why wouldn’t they come? Did people think so little of him as captain? Did they think working with him would be a waste of their time?
Well, he thought to himself. Well. You did lose last season, didn’t you.
Well.
A logical corner in the back of his brain understood that it’s only the second day of school; that people just haven’t gotten around to even think about quidditch yet and were still settling in. Maybe if he had his friends there by his side, that corner of his brain would have won. But they weren’t, and it didn’t.
He was going to lose again.
He was going to let everyone down.
He was going to be a shit quidditch captain, and a shit Head Boy, and everyone was going to realize that it was all an act.
They probably all already knew anyway – that’s why nobody showed up. His act was up.
The thoughts were jumping around in his brain, when a familiar head of black curls on a slender figure showed up to the pitch. From a distance, and to anyone less acquainted with Sirius, it could have been a coin toss as to which of the brothers it was. It was in the way they held themselves, the way they walked. Sirius could practice carelessness and try to mimic Remus all he liked, the arrogance was too drilled into him. But even if the walk and the silhouette were shockingly similar, their energy was entirely different. Where Sirius was practically radiating with bigger-than-life energy, Regulus’ confidence ran quiet. And it was with this quiet confidence that he walked up to the center of the quidditch pitch and mounted his broom. He just kicked off with that smooth technique that James had seen in games the previous years. James suddenly couldn’t help calling after him.
“Oi Reggie!” he called.
Regulus ignored him and kept flying. James hated being ignored. This just won’t do, he thought. He mounted his own broom and started flying after him. “Oi, Reggie-boy!” he yelled out again.
This time, Regulus looked at him. He made direct eye contact, then rolled his eyes and sped up away from him.
James couldn’t help but smile as he started chasing. He had almost caught up when Regulus took a dive. James felt himself laugh as he dove right after him.
They flew that way for what must have been at least half an hour of the most exhilarating game of airborne tag James had played in ages. James was good, but Regulus was a fantastic flyer, and he also had the advantage of being the one in the lead. His creativity was beautiful, coming up with tricks and feints left and right trying to throw James off, which James enjoyed immensely. He did catch up a few times and managed to tap him in the back before Regulus got out of his reach again. Once he caught his broomstick, foul play by all accounts which caused them both to roll over a few times – neither fell off the broom, but it at least got him some eye contact with Regulus who raised his eyebrows in a look that could only mean “what the hell are you playing at?”, and James found himself laughing again.
It was all too soon, as far as James was concerned, when Regulus landed gracefully and started walking off the pitch as if this whole game of tag hadn’t happened and was all in James’ head. James followed.
“Oi, Reg!” he said again.
“It’s Regulus.”
Finally , Regulus turned around and glared at him.
“Come off it, Reggie , I can’t call you Regulus. You’re my best friend’s little brother!”
“It’s Regulus or nothing at all.” Regulus continued walking.
James ignored him and followed.
“That was some great flying, Reggi-o. Too bad the pitch was already booked.”
“Regulus Arcturus Black, if you must. And I don’t see anyone here except you.” Touché. James was suddenly reminded of the dreaded thoughts the past half hour of flying managed to shake off. He paused for a second, enough that he had to jog to keep up when he started following him again.
“Ok, fine, Reginald. What I meant to say is, that was fun.”
“Regulus Arcturus Black, current heir to the noble and most ancient house of Black. Toujours Pur, etcetra etcetera.” It had the effect it was meant to have; James suddenly remembered that this was more than just Sirius’ little brother. The lines to this war were drawn, and Regulus Black was on the other side. But James was a stubborn boy if he was anything, and perhaps a bit selfish, because this was the best he’d felt in ages, war be damned. It was then that Regulus reached the locker rooms, and turned around and lifted his eyebrows, as if to ask ‘are you really going to follow me in there?’.
James suddenly felt himself stumbling and blushing for some reason, and he didn’t. Regulus turned around and walked into the locker rooms.
“Let’s do it again sometime, Reggie Baby!” he called after him before the door closed, and though Regulus’ back was turned, he could practically hear grey eyes rolling and felt very pleased with himself.