Chapter Text
James Potter, age Seven
James Potter loved his parents. He loved the fierce affection his mother gave unconditionally. She never hung onto an ‘I love you,’ she hugged him just because she could, she always made an effort to spend extra time with him after a long stretch of being away because of work. He loved the steadiness of his father. Monty was always the less busy of the two, and he made sure he was as present as possible in James’ life. They made space for his energy, and gave him room to be a kid.
For a long time all James knew was the love of his parents, and he just figured every kid had that.
James’ early life was a blur, mostly because he was an unusually busy kid. His parents tried to spend as much time with him as possible, and that meant bringing him to events and conferences and meetings. The hospital daycare kids, his school friends, the kids he met when he was with his parents, it was hard to individually picture most of them from memory. It didn’t help that he moved around a lot.
There was one kid he remembered until the day he saw him again. He only saw him once, but his face ingrained itself in James’ memory forever.
It was a banquet the Foundation had put together. The greatest names in surgical innovation at the time had been invited to meet with other well-known doctors and foundation investors to hopefully receive funding for projects they were working on.
There were not a lot of children in attendance that night, and originally, James wasn’t even supposed to go. Effie told him that growing up, he was always good when it came time for them to leave him. That night, however, he couldn’t keep it together. He’d been so upset when they tried to leave, Effie caved and decided to just bring him along.
It was like James knew he had to be there that night.
He remembered the scene clear as day, one of those odd childhood memories that sticks out more than others. Something that affected him so deeply, he could recall the image with sharp accuracy. The high ceiling, or maybe it just felt high to James at the time. Tables and chairs with gold trim draped in white cloth that reached the floor. A chandelier overhead that twinkled like the night sky. Bouquets of calla lilies, his mom’s favorite flower, at the center of every table. Familiar faces he saw frequently but couldn’t name.
It happened around the end of the night. The event was coming to a close, and people were saying their last goodbyes. Wrapping up their networking conversations. The crowd had thinned.
Across the banquet hall from the table where he sat with his mom and those most important to the foundation, a pale, dark haired woman was crouched in front of her son, scolding him. Her son, who James only knew was her son because of their striking resemblance. It was as if the woman was crouched in front of a mirror, speaking to herself with such narrowed ferocity. The boy did not cower, but James could see the discomfort on his face. His knit brows, and slight frown, and his bright blue eyes that looked everywhere but at the woman speaking sternly to him. Eventually, his gaze met James’s, and James remembered that he, for a brief moment, considered walking right over there and asking to introduce himself to the boy. Maybe then, his mother would stop berating him. Why would she do that? Why would anyone do that to their child?
James felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see his mother looking at him intently. “What’s wrong James?”
James couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene. It had changed his entire view on the world in an instant. “What’s happening over there?” he murmured quietly.
His mother took a moment to respond, assessing the scene across the hall. Watching as the mother took her son by the wrist and dragged him out with discreet anger.
The chatter at the table where they sat continued around them. Effie was quiet for a long moment, hauling her son onto her lap as she gathered her thoughts.
“There are some parents that aren’t like us, James. They do things a different way,” she began, carefully.
“They’re not nice?” It was a simple reply, informed by James’ childhood innocence.
“That’s one way to put it, yes,” Effie answered with a solemn nod.
“Is there anything we can do?” James asked, voice cracking with distress. It wasn’t right, that some kids' bullies were the people they were supposed to trust most.
“Well honey, sometimes, yes. The best thing to do is become friends with those kids. Make sure they have someone that looks out for them. Just like you have someone who looks out for you. Be someone they can talk to if they ever want to talk about it. Welcome them into your home as if it’s theirs. We all deserve a place like that.”