Chapter Text
Minerva McGonagall, June of 1972
The Potter boy was an odd one. His whole group, the group of pranksters, of marauders, was odd. However, he stuck out to Minerva.
Mr. Black was witty. He didn’t do his work. He didn’t care and he was outspoken– but not rude, not to her. If he showed up to class, he didn’t pay attention. Mr. Lupin participated in pranks but he got his work done. He’d go above and beyond, obviously aiming to be the best. He showed up. Mr. Pettigrew flew under the radar, getting caught participating in pranks, weaseling his way out of trouble. He did what was required and he came to class.
Mr. Potter was unpredictable. Some days, he’d show up, smiling ear to ear. He’d greet Professor McGonagall. “Alright, Minnie?” he’d ask, cooly.
“Mr. Potter, please be more respectful of your professors,” she chastised every single time.
Those days, he’d sit through class, eyes darting, hands fidgeting. He’d blurt out answers or strike up a conversation with his friends. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even attempt to whisper– he’d just start talking to Sirius. She’d step out to reprimand him occasionally. He’d speed through whatever excuse he had, sometimes going wildly off topic.
Other days, he didn’t show up. His friends had no idea where he could be. His other teachers reported that he missed their classes too. His homework would pile up for days or even for a few weeks. His friends, being eleven year old boys, would laugh and make excuses for him.
Minerva walked down the corridor. She had requested that all of his teachers meet to discuss a plan for next year. The boy would not make it if he kept up like this– especially as he got older. She took her seat at the head of the long table.
“Alright. I assume everyone here agrees that James Potter’s behavior is a problem?” she asked. Each teacher nodded or voiced their agreement. Albus sat at the other end of the table, watching them intently, as if a million thoughts were running through his head.
She continued, “Does anyone have anything they’d like to start with?”
Professor Slughorn cleared his throat and rose to his feet. “Mr. Potter is,” he paused. “Not the most attentive student. He’s quite a handful in my class, when he even bothers to show up.” Some teachers murmured in agreement. “I’m not sure how much he learned this year. Between avoiding homework and speaking through class, I’m not sure how he ended with a passing grade.”
Professor Binns piped in. “I agree that he doesn’t do his work or actively participate. That is no secret at all,” he said jokingly. He smiled as he glanced among the teachers. “However, that boy is intelligent. If he’d use it, he would be fine!” Professors started to voice their opinions, some agreeing and some disagreeing.
“Excuse me!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed after a few minutes of, albeit calm, arguing. The voices finally calmed and he smiled. “I wanted to make it known that Mr. Potter very rarely skips my class. He’s told me that he finds it quite interesting. He doesn’t do his homework often though, and frequently seems completely checked out of reality. As if he wasn’t in my class at all.”
The discussion continued for the next hour or two. Some teachers were concerned for James. Others didn’t look forward to continuing teaching him. One teacher even seemed annoyed at the idea of meeting to discuss him– she insisted he’d grow out of it and that if he didn’t, he would just fail his classes.
No impactful decisions were made at that meeting. No plan was created to help James Potter or to keep him in class. It was that day that Minerva decided that she would keep an eye on that boy, and all of his friends for that matter.
My word , she thought. A werewolf, a rogue Black, a boy who goes along with everything, and a James Potter. She had her hands full.
James Potter, June of 1972
“Yes, Mum!” he said exasperatedly.
She looked at him. That’s all it took for Euphemia Potter to knock some sense into you.
“I’ll keep out of trouble next year. And I’ll focus on my studies!” She raised her eyebrows. James sighed, rolling his eyes. “Sorry!” he mumbled quickly. “And I’ll apologize to my professors,” he said with a large sigh.
She had heard that he struggled at school the past year. Apparently, the professors decided that it was necessary to hold a meeting– they spoke about him for an hour or two. Afterwards, Professor McGonagall spoke to his mum about his behavior.
“James,” his mum said kindly. “You have to work on this. You can’t skip class and avoid your homework and call your teacher Minnie! It’s just not how life works.”
His face fell as he blinked back tears. “I know mum. I’ll try harder. Next year. I promise I will.” He forced a smile.
His mom looked at him, her eyes softening. She pulled him into a tight hug. “Oh love. You know you can talk to me. Or your dad. We’re here. We always are. And when you’re back at school, we’re just an owl away.”
“So am I good?” he asked.
His mom sighed while rolling her eyes. “Yes, I guess so,” she said. It almost sounded like she was going to laugh.
He painted on a smile, turned on his heel, and sped out the room while yelling “I love you, Mum!”
James flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. He brushed away a single tear that threatened to roll down his cheek. He was rubbish at school, at homework, at dealing with his friends, at being a good son. Bloody hell, he was rubbish at anything he ever did.
Honestly, he thought. Sirius probably doesn’t even like me. He’s probably just messing around to upset his parents. There’s no reason for him to like me. Am I horrible for thinking that? I think the worst of everything. I really am horrible.
“James,” Fleamont called, yanking him out of thoughts. His thoughts tended to pull him down, sucking him deeper and deeper into anger or sadness.
“Yeah, Dad?” he called.
He burst into his son’s room. “I got tickets to that Quidditch match tomorrow! It’s going to be mad!”
Quidditch. It wouldn’t matter in a week. “Cool, Dad! When?” he said, voice forced into excitement, clad with feigned interest.
“We’ll probably apparate right after an early dinner. Bloody hell, boy, you have to pick up this room! It’s like a war zone!”
“Yeah, I’ll get to it. Before tomorrow,” James said.