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Remus approaches him on the second to last official day of sixth year before they go home for the summer.
James is already looking forward to the summer: Sirius has promised that he’ll come and stay, even though he’s officially moved out to his own flat. James still doesn’t understand why Sirius needs to move out at all, and he very much didn’t mince his words while telling him so.
“Ah, come on, Prongs,” Sirius said, easily, when James told him his objections to his moving out, “I’ll still come stay with you. After all, I can’t abandon my best friend, can I?” And then, with a straight face: “Effie would never forgive me, and she and I have been through too much together.”
So James thinks, despite no Sirius living with them anymore, it’ll be a good summer. He’ll come and stay, and hopefully he’ll be able to convince Moony and Wormy to come stay with him, too. And who knows, maybe Lily and he will write to each other. They’ve struck up an odd friendship, the two of them, and although he knows not to expect more, he can’t help but hope…
But anyway. Friendship is good. It’s good, being Lily Evans’s friend. She’s smart, and funny in a casual way that takes James by surprise sometimes, and sometimes when she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, James forgets how to focus, but… Friends. Friendship is good.
He’s spending his last day of the term enjoying the shade under his favourite beech tree. Padfoot and Wormtail are still in the Gryffindor dormitory, packing their trunks to go back home, and Remus is at a Prefects’ meeting – or so James assumes, because that’s where Remus usually is when he disappears. He’s lost his favourite Snitch, so he’s amusing himself by reading Quidditch Through the Ages – or, more accurately, he’s got the book propped open on his chest, and he’s peering at the Black Lake, trying to spot the Giant Squid.
He’s entertaining the thought of wandering closer to the lake and skipping stones across the surface to lure out the Squid (in his head, he’s named her: it’s Marietta and he thinks that suits her – he’s also decided that she’s a female squid, because of his fondness for the name) when he’s interrupted from his thoughts.
“Hey,” says a voice, making James jump.
James turns and is met with the gently smiling face of Remus Lupin, who sits down next to him.
“Moony,” he says, delighted. “I thought you were at a meeting.”
“I was. I’m not anymore,” Remus says.
James looks at him appraisingly. It’s been a week since the last full moon, and he seems to be healing well from it, although when he pushes up the sleeves of his robes, James can see the faint white scars on his arms, the scars that never quite seem to fade. He makes a mental note to get some hot chocolate from the elves for Moony later tonight. “How was it, then?” he says, instead of voicing anything that’s on his mind. Remus doesn’t like when he hovers or fusses – which he maintains he does not, no matter what Sirius says to the contrary.
“It was alright,” Remus says.
Alright from Moony can mean anything from awful to incredible. James knows better than to pry, though. If it was Sirius, he could just ask, and say What on earth do you mean by ‘alright’? Was it good or bad? Tell me everything!
That won’t work with Moony, so he tries a different approach. He rumples up his hair, slumps back against the trunk of the tree, and says, “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Remus says, and then glances at James. There’s a frown on his forehead, and his eyebrows are furrowed; nothing new for Remus, really, but James worries anyway.
“Was Evans there?” he asks.
“Course she was there,” Remus says. “She’s a Prefect, isn’t she?”
James pretends to notice the badge on Remus’s robes, extends a hand and pokes at it. “You’re a Prefect, Moony? That’s where you keep going off to?”
“No,” says Remus, “I keep going off to meetings of the I Hate James Potter society. Lily started it, she’s the president.”
James flips Remus off, but when Remus laughs, he can’t help but join in. He always feels vaguely proud when Remus takes the piss; it’s his influence, he likes to think, and a noble influence at that.
“Actually,” says Remus, the smile on his face fading slightly, “the meeting ran a bit longer.”
“Why’s that?” James says.
“Dumbledore wanted to see us. He called us to his office.”
James sits up a little. “Don’t tell me you and Evans have gone and got detention on the last day of term, Moony. Even Padfoot and I know better than that.”
“We didn’t get detention,” Remus says, which James already assumed. “But, uh. Dumbledore wanted to talk to us about… about being Head Boy and Head Girl.”
James’s eyes grow wide. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Remus confirms.
“Moony, that’s amazing!” James says, but then he sees the way Remus’s shoulders are hunched in. “Why aren’t you more excited?” he demands.
“I said no,” Remus says, after a second.
James frowns. Surely he’s misheard that. Surely there’s no way…
“You said no?” he says.
Remus nods. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”
James has seen how the full moon can make Remus sensitive to the smallest bruise afterwards. It’s why he’s usually careful with him, more so than he is with Padfoot and Wormtail. Even so, he doesn’t hesitate before he hits Remus’s shoulder with the back of his hand.
“What was that for?” Remus protests.
“Of course we’re talking about it,” James says. “Idiot.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Remus says. “I can’t be Head Boy. Not with…” He pauses, and looks around them.
James groans. Remus’s significant silence can only mean… “Is this about your furry little problem?”
Remus smiles, the way he always does when James calls it that. “Well, yes.”
“You’re still the most capable student in this school,” James says. “And if Dumbledore thinks so, then–”
“Dumbledore’s always been nicer to me than I deserve,” Remus says. “I don’t think any of the parents would want their children’s Head Boy to be… you know.”
James hits Remus’s shoulder again. “Don’t say that,” he says. “You sound like a self-hating knobhead when you talk like that, Moony.”
Remus’s smile grows wider. “Can’t help it if I am a self-hating knobhead,” he says.
“You definitely got the knobhead part of that right,” James mutters, and gets to his feet, holding his hand out to help Remus up. He knows not to press the topic further, knows a lost cause when he sees one. Remus has made up his mind, that’s all there is to it. “Come on, then. Let’s go help Padfoot and Wormy with their trunks.”
Remus looks relieved that James doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Yeah,” he says, “Let’s go.”
***
On the very last day of term, James is woken up far earlier than he should have been. He’s deeply asleep one moment, and the next, there’s a thump to his shoulder that has him sitting up with a start, eyes wide as he looks around for the source of the disturbance.
“Oi,” says an unsympathetic voice, and James is met with the blurry face of one Sirius Black. “Wake up,” he says.
“M’already awake, thanks to your kind intervention,” James mutters.
Sirius smirks at him. “Well, you’ll be waking up faster when I tell you where I’ve been.”
James groans. He doesn’t have the patience for the build-up right now. “Where have you been?” he asks dutifully, feeling around for his glasses. He finds them and shoves them on, and is treated with the sight of Remus and Peter, both awake, both looking curiously at Sirius as they get dressed.
“At breakfast,” Sirius announces, grandly.
James groans, throws his head back down against the pillow. “Did you wake me up to tell me off about missing breakfast, Padfoot?”
“You wound me, Prongs,” Sirius says. “I woke you up to tell you that Dumbledore found me on my way back here. He has a message for you.”
That has James sitting up. “What’s the message?”
“That he wants to see you.”
“Oooh,” Peter says. “Are you in trouble?”
“Presumably,” Sirius says.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Remus puts in. “You should go, James. Shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
James nods distractedly, opening his trunk to get out a clean set of robes. “Yeah,” he mutters vaguely, and wonders what the hell Dumbledore could want with him.
It’s only when he gets to Dumbledore’s office that James realises he has no idea what the password is.
“Fizzing Whizbees,” he tries, and is met with the unimpressed face of the gargoyle. “Er… Sugar quills? Merlin, I don’t know. Honeyduke’s finest chocolate? Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans?”
Just when he’s about to give up, the gargoyle moves and reveals the moving spiral staircase. James grins as he steps on, and the first thing he says when he strolls into Dumbledore’s office is, “Didn’t take you for a Bertie Bott’s fan, Professor.”
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle behind his half-moon spectacles. “Some flavours are, I admit, troublesome.”
“That’s one way of putting it. Did you know they have an earwax one?” James says.
“I was, indeed, familiar with that,” Dumbledore says with a smile. “Would you like to sit down?”
James sits down. He’s been to the Headmaster’s office loads – more times than he can count, really – but this is one of the first times he’s been there without knowing what he did to get him in enough trouble to go there in the first place. It’s a disconcerting feeling. He wonders if this is about what he and Sirius did during Charms last week – but no, Professor Flitwick had laughed that one right off, hadn’t he? He can’t have gone to Dumbledore about it.
“Is everything alright, Professor?” he finally asks, because Dumbledore hasn’t said anything and he feels like he might explode from curiosity.
Instead of answering, Dumbledore says, “Did Remus tell you about the conversation I had with him yesterday?”
James blinks. “The… the Head Boy conversation?”
Dumbledore nods, and then pushes a tin across the desk, towards James. “Would you care for a sherbet lemon?” he says. James looks down at the bowl – some sort of Muggle sweet – and picks one up. “I wanted to talk to you,” Dumbledore continues, “about that conversation. I was hoping Remus would have enlightened you already. I am aware that there is little that he does not share with you.” His eyes twinkle behind his glasses as he looks at James.
“Well… yes,” James says. He means to stay quiet, to wait to hear what Dumbledore has to say, but his mouth betrays him, and he says, “Honestly, Professor, I think it’s ridiculous. No one would make a better Head Boy than Remus!”
“Your loyalty to your friends is to be admired,” Dumbledore says, “however–”
“And I know why Remus said no, but… he’s got his furry problem under control,” James continues fiercely. “He would never put anyone else in danger, not–” his cheeks feel a bit warm as he thinks about the incident with Snivellus – “not intentionally, anyway, not on purpose , so I think–”
“I agree,” Dumbledore says.
James is a bit nonplussed by that. “You do?” he says.
“I do,” Dumbledore says. “Lest you forget, I am the one who offered Remus the post in the first place.”
James, who had forgotten that in his fury, flushes. “Right,” he says. “Er… yeah. Right. Sorry, Professor. I didn’t mean to… accuse you, or anything.”
“As I said, I admire your loyalty to your friends,” Dumbledore says calmly. “However, Remus has turned down the position, and I cannot force him to be Head Boy if he does not want to.”
James thinks Dumbledore probably could , if he really tried, but chooses to keep that to himself.
“That being said,” Dumbledore continues; he seems to be weighing his words very carefully. “That being said, I was very much hoping that you would agree to be Head Boy in his stead.”
James doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, he grins. “Good one, Professor,” he says.
“I assure you,” says Dumbledore, “I am not joking.”
“But… I’m not a Prefect!” James says.
“Be that as it may, you have shown your leadership skills in your tenure as Quidditch Captain,” Dumbledore says. He pauses for a split second and adds, “And you have shown your loyalty, and your bravery. All good qualities in a Head Boy, I would say.”
“Remus deserves it,” James says, adamant, “more than I ever would. Or… or the other Prefects, I dunno.”
“As Remus pointed out, his… condition would ensure he would not be able to attend all of the Prefect meetings, or conduct his Head Boy responsibilities. Not that I blame him for it,” Dumbledore says, seemingly anticipating James’s hot protest before he can voice it, “however, he is not confident that he would be able to do the position justice. And… both him and I, as well as Professor McGonagall, are in agreement that you are the best man for the job.”
“You… you spoke to Remus about it?” James says.
“Indeed. When he voiced his concerns about the positions, it was he who suggested you instead.”
James feels oddly emotional in a way Sirius would definitely mock him for if he was here. “Remus thinks I can do it?”
“As do I,” Dumbledore says. “My… concern, with the other Prefects, is that they might not be sympathetic to Remus’s… predicament. I do not have that worry with you. Nor with Lily Evans.”
“No,” James says automatically, “Evans wouldn’t ever do anything to Remus.” He thinks he understands what Dumbledore’s saying. He thinks about one of the other Prefects being Head Boy, whether they would be a knob to Remus if he was poorly or tired. He knows there’s been a snide comment or two from the Slytherin Prefects before, when Remus has to miss a meeting or swap patrolling shifts with one of the other Prefects; he can only imagine how much worse that will get if Remus was Head Boy. A sudden surge of fury courses through him at the thought. “I’ll do it,” he says.
“I was very much hoping you would,” Dumbledore says, delighted.
“It’ll help me… look out for Remus. Make sure everything’s alright. Right?” And if he gets to stop any potential Death Eaters then… all the better for it.
“Indeed,” Dumbledore says, looking oddly thoughtful. “Would you care for another sweet?”
James helps himself. “Thanks, Professor,” he says, getting to his feet.
“Before you leave,” Dumbledore says, “I wonder if I might ask you something. Are you of age yet?”
“Oh – yeah,” James said. “I turned seventeen in March.”
“I am aware of keeping you from your friends,” Dumbledore says, “but please, take a seat. I would like to tell you something.”
James sits down and frowns. “What’s up, Professor?” he says.
“James,” Dumbledore says, “Have you ever heard of the Order of the Phoenix?”
***