Author's Note: Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. The
James Potter I ordered from the catalogue is mine. This is AU, so incidents
portrayed do not reflect those in any of Rowling's books. This is told from
James Potter's perspective, and he occasionally refers to himself in the
third person because he is sexy enough to get away with it, and it's just
part of his heroic charm.
I suppose the course of my existence rested not within the hands of my blissfully ignorant parents, the miraculous Albus Dumbledore (acclaimed Headmaster of the illustrious Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry), and certainly not the calloused pair belonging to myself, James Potter, small-time criminal mastermind and Quidditch aficionado, but was borne upon the quaking shoulders of one Remus Lupin.
He was an eerily reserved youth with mocha tresses, a gaunt face, a tremulous manner of addressing others, and downcast eyes bespeaking indescribable horrors. Yet, there was an air of confidence in his handshake, a bit of a swagger in his gait, an unmistakable sincerity in his smile that impressed me the instant he introduced himself, gaze locked upon the worn carpet of our First Year dormitory.
"Lupin is a genius," our professors declared exuberantly, "the perfect candidate for the future Minister of Magic," as he was blessed with obnoxiously diplomatic manners and decided poise that only materialized during overwhelmingly stressful situations. To us, me and my fellow Marauders, he was simply Moony, a pathetically repressed devil with a halo. He possessed a mischievous streak, the required trait of all members of our merry band, which reared its ugly head whenever anyone felt driven to motivate him into achieving greatness. However, his willingness to comply with my countless plots of hexing random individuals into next week, paled dramatically in comparison to his bringing HER into my life.
The invincible James Potter's very persona was obliterated and reconstructed, at the mere age of eleven, by a jade-eyed, crimson-locked, peaches-and-cream-complected siren. Lily Evans. SHE alone entered the world with the capacity of simultaneously being a man's undoing and his guardian angel. She cast a permanent spell over me without so much as uttering a syllable the instant I gazed into those glittering eyes and scrutinized those disheveled braids that hung just below her shoulders, accentuating that tantalizing smattering of freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose.
Lily had been Moony's dearest mate since his folks abandoned him on his grandmother's doorstep on his fifth birthday for 'reasons improper to enumerate in civilized company.' Although I'd hardly define the head of a drug ring and the leading lady of every married, European mans' bed as 'civilized company.' Moony's presence must have hindered their careers. Fortunately, the aforementioned grandmother had the Magic touch and offered her 'responsibility' a top-notch education in the 'supernatural arts,' and Lily, the precocious offspring of those 'blasted muggle neighbors' was welcomed heartily into her 'harmless coven.'
As time progressed, so did Moony and Lily's magical prowess. Alas! Only a single Hogwart's letter was delivered to the unassuming single-level house on Windsor Street, scrawled in an elegant hand, for Remus Lupin.
After a bloody DECADE of waiting for my opportunity to unleash 'real' magical expertise upon the individuals privileged enough to attend Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, along with myself, the owl perched atop the windowsill, commencing a rhythmic melody of TAP TAP TAP. Before you can say "Lemon Drop," September the first dawned, the journey aboard the express was completed, the sorting was undertaken, and Sirius Black and I were lounging in our dormitory, immersed in a passionate debate pertaining to the establishment of the Marauders.
"It's impossible to become legendary troublemakers and heartbreakers with only two people, mate. Dynamic duos are simply a myth. You have to promise me right now that anyone who rooms with us will automatically be a member of the Marauders. Initiations and all that phlem-phlam would only reduce us to the level of Slytherins." He mussed his tie contemplatively.
"Don't get your robes in a twist, Black, or worse, give yourself a hernia. It's a bit too early in the year for the nurse to get wise to my level of indifference concerning the health of my peers." Dramatically he swooned, clutching his sides and hacking horrendously. "You can have it your way, Drama Queen! Anyone who sleeps with us wreaks havoc with us." He quirked an eyebrow suggestively "So, there'll be Marauderettes then?"
I shrugged my shoulders in defeat. "How much shagging can an eleven-year- old possibly manage?" "Potter," he tsked authoritatively, "I have contacts." I was rescued from the ensuing pillow fight designed to coerce him into revealing exactly who said contacts were by the arrival of Moony. "Hello, Gentleman. I'd like to introduce myself. The name's..." "Victim Number One," Sirius interrupted enthusiastically, continuing smugly, "Say no more, Chum! Say no more!" Corners of his mouth barely twitching into an easy-going smirk, Moony muttered that his name was not in fact 'Victim Number One', as Sirius would have insisted on calling him for the remainder of our friendship, but Remus Lupin.
Dismissing the correction, Sirius surged onward with his dissertation, "Lupin, I've got an uncanny knack for categorizing people. You'll be the presumed goody-goody, the one who supposedly keeps us all in line, but in reality, you're the guy who'll contribute the diabolical insights, which ingredients we'll have to 'borrow' for our dastardly potions, and such." My best mate paused briefly, spitting into his palm, and I obligingly did the same, proudly continuing the tradition we had perfected over many years of fistfights, good-natured bickering, and envisioning our futures (myself as the captain of a Quidditch-World-Cup-winning team, and he as the sole possessor of a brothel of incomparably gorgeous witches). Cordially, I clapped Lupin on the back, "I'm James Potter. Welcome to the Marauders! Now, hurry up and unpack because for our brand of mischief, a man's gotta be clothed in his finest!"
Theoretically, Lupin should have been the least amazed of all of us that Lily Evans, the epitome of innocence and meticulous upbringing, would stow away in his battered carpetbag in order to be jammed into the luggage compartment, jostled harshly about by the abrupt swaying of the awe- inspiring, scarlet engine (a.k.a the Hogwart's Express), and transported to a breathtaking castle, situated securely in an undisclosed location, without informing her parents of her decision prior to her hasty and clandestine departure. Nevertheless, it was Moony's jaw that unhinged and his tongue that lolled across the floor following the awkward disentanglement of limbs and primping of appearance of the hilariously rumbled young lady, who emerged from his belongings with an endearing and triumphant grin plastered upon her pleasantly flushed face.
"Th...That's not dress robes, mate. That's a bloody, well...GIRL!," Sirius inclined his head haphazardly in her direction. Leave it to Sirius to be... flustered (?) over the inexplicable appearance of a member of the opposite sex. She sauntered over to him, the gentle sashay of her hips causing me to inhale sharply, but hopefully not audibly, winking seductively at the clearly flabbergasted Remus, and extended a delicately formed hand.
"Lily Evans, at your service." Sirius perked up considerably at the notion of her submitting to him, but I discovered an agonizing fire coiling amongst my innards, surging upward into my throat at the very idea that she had invaded my domain and was attempting to persuade SIRIUS to allow her to be a Marauder, AS IF HE HAD SACRIFICED TEN YEARS OF HIS LIFE DESIGNING AND REALIZING THE VISION OF FORMING AN ALLIANCE OF PRANKSTERS DESTINED TO CHANGE HOGWART'S, PERHAPS THE ENTIRE WIZARDING WORLD, FOREVER. "My best mate Remus and I are a bit of a packaged deal." I guffawed rudely, yearning for this delectable demon to apparate into the deepest regions of the netherworld from whence she came.
"I could be your diversion. With my charming smile, fluttering eyelashes, and heart-melting feminine whiles, I am EXACTLY what the Marauders need to reach the paramount of pranking," she grazed Sirius's arm flirtatiously with her fingertips, resulting in Sirius nearly collapsing from a fit of gulping, and me clenching my fists, enraged, until dirt-encrusted fingernails penetrated sun-bronzed skin, and droplets of blood cascaded upon the floor, snarling murderously, "YOU. ARE. NOT. EQUIPPED. TO. BE. A. MAURADER."
Eyes narrowed to slits, she appraised my reaction to her speech, tossing her braids over her shoulder, "My equippedness, according to your definition, has yet to be scientifically proven. Potter is it? Merlin's gift to witches, I'll wager. Well, it's arses like you who nearly kept the muggle and magical populations alike enslaved in the Dark Ages. You with your blinding arrogance and immeasurable superiority complex, too terrified of the unfamiliar to embrace change, even if it is obviously more gorgeous than you." Coyly, Sirius draped an arm over my shoulders. "She's got ya there, mate. If I had a choice between snogging with you, her, or a rotting corpse, my tongue would be wrestling with her's faster than you can catch a snitch."
"I'd take the corpse," a mousy lad, abnormally hefty for his vertically- challenged structure, with phenomenally pointed teeth, and an oppressive eagerness to please, piped up, scuttling into the dormitory, as well as the throes of our heated discussion. "I...I'm P...Peter. P...Peter P...Pettigrew. Mum got into a minor disagreement with some muggle machine at the office, so I missed the train. I've got this fascination with maggots, which corpses tend to accommodate an abundance of," he concluded matter-of-factly.
Sirius released his mockingly-affectionate grip on my shoulder, advancing upon the newcomer with an outstretched arm and devilish glint in his eye, prompting Peter to cower in the corner. "Check it out, Chamber Pot! It seems that P...Pettigrew here is the ideal addition to your organization of outlaws. His are the lips, which will be eternally melded to your arse. Although we all know Evans here was secretly dying to assume said prestigious position, she must be sadly disappointed." Lily cringed visibly, arousing my wrath even further, and enticing me to rumple my untamable shock of midnight hair.
Unbeknownst to my darling mum, Dad had taken me aside one evening and explained what he dubbed 'the unsolvable mystery that is woman.' Judging by the lack of information I gleaned from that particular experience, all he was able to teach me was women decimate your bank account; I was not inclined to engage in any verbal confrontations with the bewitching Lily Evans. However, should my hands strangle her of their own volition, that was another matter entirely.
To my unfathomable relief, the Headmaster glided into the dormitory with a majestic rustling of robes and rearranging of lengthy limbs to settle himself upon Lupin's bed, gently guiding Lily to the nearby desk chair. "P...Professor, I..." Lily ducked her head guiltily, traces of tears glistening in the corners of those vibrant eyes. "You simply rushed to the aid of a friend," tenderly, he wiped away her tears, pride tinting his regal voice. "Gallantry suits you, Ms. Evans. Gryffindor House shall be honored by your presence, I am certain. You mustn't fret about your parents. A letter has already been sent, explaining that Remus couldn't get along without you. What I don't understand," he beamed pointedly in my direction, "and perhaps your good friend, Mr. Potter, may be able to enlighten me," I blanched excruciatingly at his idiotic assumption, "Why did you bother considering confining yourself in such a miniscule space without so much as a single chocolate frog to keep you company?" "I..." Lily blubbered woefully, inspiring Dumbledore to squeeze her trembling hand adoringly, "You needn't explain it to me, Ms. Evans, but there is a SLIGHTLY miffed owl fluttering madly about outside the door with your letter, awaiting the opportunity to finish his business with you." She nodded in utter bafflement, stumbling into the otherwise deserted corridor to complete the transaction.
"Gentleman, I bid you farewell," Dumbledore excused himself, shaking hands with each of us in turn, leaning down to whisper conspiratorially into my ear, "Mr. Potter, you might attempt to reevaluate your previous judgment of Ms. Evans. She is extraordinarily equipped to be the perfect companion for anyone so lucky as to win her heart."
Sirius was right of course, Lupin did earn the reputation as the goody- goody-keep-'em-in-line fellow, while Pettigrew waddled constantly in my wake, practically pissing himself with sheer euphoria the microsecond I breathed in his proximity. Pondering about Dumbledore's characterization of Lily Evans consumed more waking, and slumbering, hours than I cared to admit that first year, and only seemed to intensify during each consecutive term at Hogwart's. Every successful prank and outburst of jubilant laughter emitted by a student due to one of our strokes of genius, never failed to bring with it images of a specific, spurned, jade-eyed, crimson-locked, peaches-and-cream-complected goddess. Maybe the Marauders needed her effervescence as much as Moony; maybe I, James Potter, needed her effervescence more than the lot of them.
I suppose the course of my existence rested not within the hands of my blissfully ignorant parents, the miraculous Albus Dumbledore (acclaimed Headmaster of the illustrious Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry), and certainly not the calloused pair belonging to myself, James Potter, small-time criminal mastermind and Quidditch aficionado, but was borne upon the quaking shoulders of one Remus Lupin.
He was an eerily reserved youth with mocha tresses, a gaunt face, a tremulous manner of addressing others, and downcast eyes bespeaking indescribable horrors. Yet, there was an air of confidence in his handshake, a bit of a swagger in his gait, an unmistakable sincerity in his smile that impressed me the instant he introduced himself, gaze locked upon the worn carpet of our First Year dormitory.
"Lupin is a genius," our professors declared exuberantly, "the perfect candidate for the future Minister of Magic," as he was blessed with obnoxiously diplomatic manners and decided poise that only materialized during overwhelmingly stressful situations. To us, me and my fellow Marauders, he was simply Moony, a pathetically repressed devil with a halo. He possessed a mischievous streak, the required trait of all members of our merry band, which reared its ugly head whenever anyone felt driven to motivate him into achieving greatness. However, his willingness to comply with my countless plots of hexing random individuals into next week, paled dramatically in comparison to his bringing HER into my life.
The invincible James Potter's very persona was obliterated and reconstructed, at the mere age of eleven, by a jade-eyed, crimson-locked, peaches-and-cream-complected siren. Lily Evans. SHE alone entered the world with the capacity of simultaneously being a man's undoing and his guardian angel. She cast a permanent spell over me without so much as uttering a syllable the instant I gazed into those glittering eyes and scrutinized those disheveled braids that hung just below her shoulders, accentuating that tantalizing smattering of freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose.
Lily had been Moony's dearest mate since his folks abandoned him on his grandmother's doorstep on his fifth birthday for 'reasons improper to enumerate in civilized company.' Although I'd hardly define the head of a drug ring and the leading lady of every married, European mans' bed as 'civilized company.' Moony's presence must have hindered their careers. Fortunately, the aforementioned grandmother had the Magic touch and offered her 'responsibility' a top-notch education in the 'supernatural arts,' and Lily, the precocious offspring of those 'blasted muggle neighbors' was welcomed heartily into her 'harmless coven.'
As time progressed, so did Moony and Lily's magical prowess. Alas! Only a single Hogwart's letter was delivered to the unassuming single-level house on Windsor Street, scrawled in an elegant hand, for Remus Lupin.
After a bloody DECADE of waiting for my opportunity to unleash 'real' magical expertise upon the individuals privileged enough to attend Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, along with myself, the owl perched atop the windowsill, commencing a rhythmic melody of TAP TAP TAP. Before you can say "Lemon Drop," September the first dawned, the journey aboard the express was completed, the sorting was undertaken, and Sirius Black and I were lounging in our dormitory, immersed in a passionate debate pertaining to the establishment of the Marauders.
"It's impossible to become legendary troublemakers and heartbreakers with only two people, mate. Dynamic duos are simply a myth. You have to promise me right now that anyone who rooms with us will automatically be a member of the Marauders. Initiations and all that phlem-phlam would only reduce us to the level of Slytherins." He mussed his tie contemplatively.
"Don't get your robes in a twist, Black, or worse, give yourself a hernia. It's a bit too early in the year for the nurse to get wise to my level of indifference concerning the health of my peers." Dramatically he swooned, clutching his sides and hacking horrendously. "You can have it your way, Drama Queen! Anyone who sleeps with us wreaks havoc with us." He quirked an eyebrow suggestively "So, there'll be Marauderettes then?"
I shrugged my shoulders in defeat. "How much shagging can an eleven-year- old possibly manage?" "Potter," he tsked authoritatively, "I have contacts." I was rescued from the ensuing pillow fight designed to coerce him into revealing exactly who said contacts were by the arrival of Moony. "Hello, Gentleman. I'd like to introduce myself. The name's..." "Victim Number One," Sirius interrupted enthusiastically, continuing smugly, "Say no more, Chum! Say no more!" Corners of his mouth barely twitching into an easy-going smirk, Moony muttered that his name was not in fact 'Victim Number One', as Sirius would have insisted on calling him for the remainder of our friendship, but Remus Lupin.
Dismissing the correction, Sirius surged onward with his dissertation, "Lupin, I've got an uncanny knack for categorizing people. You'll be the presumed goody-goody, the one who supposedly keeps us all in line, but in reality, you're the guy who'll contribute the diabolical insights, which ingredients we'll have to 'borrow' for our dastardly potions, and such." My best mate paused briefly, spitting into his palm, and I obligingly did the same, proudly continuing the tradition we had perfected over many years of fistfights, good-natured bickering, and envisioning our futures (myself as the captain of a Quidditch-World-Cup-winning team, and he as the sole possessor of a brothel of incomparably gorgeous witches). Cordially, I clapped Lupin on the back, "I'm James Potter. Welcome to the Marauders! Now, hurry up and unpack because for our brand of mischief, a man's gotta be clothed in his finest!"
Theoretically, Lupin should have been the least amazed of all of us that Lily Evans, the epitome of innocence and meticulous upbringing, would stow away in his battered carpetbag in order to be jammed into the luggage compartment, jostled harshly about by the abrupt swaying of the awe- inspiring, scarlet engine (a.k.a the Hogwart's Express), and transported to a breathtaking castle, situated securely in an undisclosed location, without informing her parents of her decision prior to her hasty and clandestine departure. Nevertheless, it was Moony's jaw that unhinged and his tongue that lolled across the floor following the awkward disentanglement of limbs and primping of appearance of the hilariously rumbled young lady, who emerged from his belongings with an endearing and triumphant grin plastered upon her pleasantly flushed face.
"Th...That's not dress robes, mate. That's a bloody, well...GIRL!," Sirius inclined his head haphazardly in her direction. Leave it to Sirius to be... flustered (?) over the inexplicable appearance of a member of the opposite sex. She sauntered over to him, the gentle sashay of her hips causing me to inhale sharply, but hopefully not audibly, winking seductively at the clearly flabbergasted Remus, and extended a delicately formed hand.
"Lily Evans, at your service." Sirius perked up considerably at the notion of her submitting to him, but I discovered an agonizing fire coiling amongst my innards, surging upward into my throat at the very idea that she had invaded my domain and was attempting to persuade SIRIUS to allow her to be a Marauder, AS IF HE HAD SACRIFICED TEN YEARS OF HIS LIFE DESIGNING AND REALIZING THE VISION OF FORMING AN ALLIANCE OF PRANKSTERS DESTINED TO CHANGE HOGWART'S, PERHAPS THE ENTIRE WIZARDING WORLD, FOREVER. "My best mate Remus and I are a bit of a packaged deal." I guffawed rudely, yearning for this delectable demon to apparate into the deepest regions of the netherworld from whence she came.
"I could be your diversion. With my charming smile, fluttering eyelashes, and heart-melting feminine whiles, I am EXACTLY what the Marauders need to reach the paramount of pranking," she grazed Sirius's arm flirtatiously with her fingertips, resulting in Sirius nearly collapsing from a fit of gulping, and me clenching my fists, enraged, until dirt-encrusted fingernails penetrated sun-bronzed skin, and droplets of blood cascaded upon the floor, snarling murderously, "YOU. ARE. NOT. EQUIPPED. TO. BE. A. MAURADER."
Eyes narrowed to slits, she appraised my reaction to her speech, tossing her braids over her shoulder, "My equippedness, according to your definition, has yet to be scientifically proven. Potter is it? Merlin's gift to witches, I'll wager. Well, it's arses like you who nearly kept the muggle and magical populations alike enslaved in the Dark Ages. You with your blinding arrogance and immeasurable superiority complex, too terrified of the unfamiliar to embrace change, even if it is obviously more gorgeous than you." Coyly, Sirius draped an arm over my shoulders. "She's got ya there, mate. If I had a choice between snogging with you, her, or a rotting corpse, my tongue would be wrestling with her's faster than you can catch a snitch."
"I'd take the corpse," a mousy lad, abnormally hefty for his vertically- challenged structure, with phenomenally pointed teeth, and an oppressive eagerness to please, piped up, scuttling into the dormitory, as well as the throes of our heated discussion. "I...I'm P...Peter. P...Peter P...Pettigrew. Mum got into a minor disagreement with some muggle machine at the office, so I missed the train. I've got this fascination with maggots, which corpses tend to accommodate an abundance of," he concluded matter-of-factly.
Sirius released his mockingly-affectionate grip on my shoulder, advancing upon the newcomer with an outstretched arm and devilish glint in his eye, prompting Peter to cower in the corner. "Check it out, Chamber Pot! It seems that P...Pettigrew here is the ideal addition to your organization of outlaws. His are the lips, which will be eternally melded to your arse. Although we all know Evans here was secretly dying to assume said prestigious position, she must be sadly disappointed." Lily cringed visibly, arousing my wrath even further, and enticing me to rumple my untamable shock of midnight hair.
Unbeknownst to my darling mum, Dad had taken me aside one evening and explained what he dubbed 'the unsolvable mystery that is woman.' Judging by the lack of information I gleaned from that particular experience, all he was able to teach me was women decimate your bank account; I was not inclined to engage in any verbal confrontations with the bewitching Lily Evans. However, should my hands strangle her of their own volition, that was another matter entirely.
To my unfathomable relief, the Headmaster glided into the dormitory with a majestic rustling of robes and rearranging of lengthy limbs to settle himself upon Lupin's bed, gently guiding Lily to the nearby desk chair. "P...Professor, I..." Lily ducked her head guiltily, traces of tears glistening in the corners of those vibrant eyes. "You simply rushed to the aid of a friend," tenderly, he wiped away her tears, pride tinting his regal voice. "Gallantry suits you, Ms. Evans. Gryffindor House shall be honored by your presence, I am certain. You mustn't fret about your parents. A letter has already been sent, explaining that Remus couldn't get along without you. What I don't understand," he beamed pointedly in my direction, "and perhaps your good friend, Mr. Potter, may be able to enlighten me," I blanched excruciatingly at his idiotic assumption, "Why did you bother considering confining yourself in such a miniscule space without so much as a single chocolate frog to keep you company?" "I..." Lily blubbered woefully, inspiring Dumbledore to squeeze her trembling hand adoringly, "You needn't explain it to me, Ms. Evans, but there is a SLIGHTLY miffed owl fluttering madly about outside the door with your letter, awaiting the opportunity to finish his business with you." She nodded in utter bafflement, stumbling into the otherwise deserted corridor to complete the transaction.
"Gentleman, I bid you farewell," Dumbledore excused himself, shaking hands with each of us in turn, leaning down to whisper conspiratorially into my ear, "Mr. Potter, you might attempt to reevaluate your previous judgment of Ms. Evans. She is extraordinarily equipped to be the perfect companion for anyone so lucky as to win her heart."
Sirius was right of course, Lupin did earn the reputation as the goody- goody-keep-'em-in-line fellow, while Pettigrew waddled constantly in my wake, practically pissing himself with sheer euphoria the microsecond I breathed in his proximity. Pondering about Dumbledore's characterization of Lily Evans consumed more waking, and slumbering, hours than I cared to admit that first year, and only seemed to intensify during each consecutive term at Hogwart's. Every successful prank and outburst of jubilant laughter emitted by a student due to one of our strokes of genius, never failed to bring with it images of a specific, spurned, jade-eyed, crimson-locked, peaches-and-cream-complected goddess. Maybe the Marauders needed her effervescence as much as Moony; maybe I, James Potter, needed her effervescence more than the lot of them.