Oh, Rein-deer!
James nervously smoothed down the front of his robes for the sixth time as he continued to stare at himself in the mirror. He’d sort of expected to feel better at this point. To feel different. He’d thought he would look at his reflection, dressed up to the nines in obviously adult robes, on the night of his debut, and he’d hoped that he would feel changed somehow. Ready. Adult.
Instead, he felt like a child playing dress-up. Out of place in robes too mature. Too beautiful. Too shiny. He felt like he looked stupid.
His hair was its same, usual mess; his Dad had offered to tame it for him, to slick it down with some Sleekeazy and comb it into a neat style, but that hadn’t felt like James. He’d wanted to be himself, but now he sort of regretted not taking the offer. His locks looked dishevelled. Dry. Wild. He ran his fingers fruitlessly through the train-wreck, stupidly hoping that would make it better somehow.
The robes from Trousseau had turned out great. They were a deep, regal purple, which made James think of Peter comparing his family to royalty. In reality, he wondered despairingly if he looked as much like a human plum as he felt. It was a compromise — James didn’t want to wear green despite people saying it would suit his skin tone, and his Slytherin Mum didn’t particularly want him wearing Gryffindor red on his debut. Thus, purple. One of House Potter’s colours (the other was gold, which wasn’t much better).
There was an elegant but subtle brocade swirling through the fabric in a few shades darker than the main purple. It was sophisticated, and luxurious, and not at all James. Neither was the flashy, expensive gold buttons, buckles and cufflinks. Nor the golden rings that his Dad had insisted he had to wear.
He tried to find the positives as he looked at himself. His shoes didn’t look like fancy rowing boats strapped to his feet; they fit nicely and didn’t look comically large. That was something. And he supposed his shoulders looked somewhat broad — he knew he was a bit muscly from quidditch, and so at least the broadness showed, making him look less like a string-bean.
He thought the corset-style waist thingy he couldn’t remember the name of, looked weird, however. He knew they were fashionable for young men because they supposedly made their waists look trim. James just thought his torso looked top-heavy. Like a triangle on its point.
At least the trousers and over-robe were fairly simple. Well, they were purple and long enough to remind everyone that he was six-foot-stupid, but simple, nonetheless.
He fiddled with his buckles once more, before deciding that this was as good as it was going to get, and he tried to fortify himself for the rest of the night.
A knock sounded at the door.
James took a deep breath. “Come in!”
He turned as Sirius stepped inside.
“Oh deer.” Sirius examined him with the shake of his head. “It’s as bad as I feared.”
James’s heart dropped.
“You’re more handsome than me,” Sirius continued in his dire tone. “I can’t believe this day has come!”
James frowned, feeling fragile. “Don’t mess with me right now. Do I really look that bad?”
Sirius huffed a laugh. “Mate… you look fantastic. Devilishly handsome. Giving me a real run for my money.”
James turned dourly back to the mirror. “I thought I said not to mess with me.” He despaired at his reflection. “This is stupid! I feel stupid! Maybe I should change? Or maybe I shouldn’t go at all? I’ll try again in a few days. See if I can work up the courage by the Greengrass Ball.”
Sirius’s brow furrowed too, and he came up behind James, his head peeking over James’s purple shoulder to meet his gaze in the mirror. “I wasn’t kidding, Prongs; you look good. Don’t change and don’t cancel.”
James tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh. “Are you sure?”
Sirius put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure. If you looked ridiculous, I would tell you, and then I would make fun of you.”
James figured that was true. He let out a breath. “Thanks mate.”
Sirius smiled like: ‘of course’. “That said, I’m begging you — please let me fix your hair.”
A relieved laugh escaped James. “Oh, absolutely. Have at it.”
James really had to trust the process as Sirius stuck his head in the sink to wet his hair. There was then an awful lot of product and ‘scrunching’, and Sirius insisted he had to stay bent over for so long that his back started to hurt. But eventually, he was allowed right side up again when Sirius started yammering on about a particular hair drying technique — something about ‘diffusing’, James found it difficult to follow along.
“Honestly, it’s a travesty the way you treat your curls,” Sirius murmured, mainly to himself, as he fussed at James’s locks, styling them for what felt like an unnecessary amount of time. “Your hair wouldn’t look nearly so messy if you put the work in.”
“Some of us really can’t be arsed for all the primping,” James responded dryly. “Some of us don’t spend hours on their hair every day.”
“And yet, here you are, reaping the rewards of my expertise,” Sirius shot back in a superior tone.
“Touché,” he conceded. “Are you done yet?”
“Oh, fine! I suppose this will do.” Sirius retreated his hands and steered him towards the mirror once more. “Et voilà!”
James stared at his reflection in mild disbelief. His hair had never looked so… right. Normally, his hair was a fluffy mess, sticking up in all directions, no matter how much he combed it. Now though, his head was full of defined curls — it still wasn’t neat, but it looked far more purposeful. The locks were sort of playfully unkempt in a way that suited James.
“Damn.” He gently poked a curl in fascination. “Maybe I should have paid attention to that diffusing shit you were talking about.”
Sirius huffed in mock annoyance. “Perhaps I’ll make you do a proper class. How not to kill your curly hair 101.”
“I can honestly say I had no idea my hair was this curly.” James shook his head in wonder, watching the way it bounced a bit. “I mean I knew it sort of swooped in weird ways, but I figured I just needed to straighten it or something.”
“Nope! Your hair’s curly.” Sirius smiled in self-satisfaction, evidently proud of his work. “Which is why I’ve been trying to convince you to let me do your hair for years.”
James considered his locks. “I still don’t think I’ll ever be arsed to do this myself. That just took you fucking forever. And I’m not entirely sure how I’m supposed to brush this.”
Sirius suddenly looked alarmed. “Do not brush your hair!”
James raised a brow at his vehemence.
“I’m not joking!” Sirius emphasised. “Do not brush your hair unless it’s still wet.”
James turned his gaze back to the mirror. “Huh. Is that why it gets so wild?”
“Yes. You’ve been making your poor curls all frizzy.”
James had no idea. Well, you learn something new every day. He glanced at the clock to check the time. “Any chance you’d be down to paint my nails?”
Sirius brightened. “You want to paint your nails?”
James shrugged. “Fancy event. Might as well.”
Sirius bubbled with excitement as he ran off to fetch his polishes. James hoped the hair and the nails might be enough to boost his confidence.
*
There was another knock on the door just as Sirius was drying his nails with a charm. The shiny black polish felt like another little boost. James could do this. He was presentable. Sirius had made sure of it, and James trusted Sirius’s sense of style far more than his own.
“Come in!” He called again and his Dad opened the door.
People always said that James looked like the spitting image of his father. They had the same build — long and lean — and the same mischievous grin. Their facial features were damn near identical, and they had the same messy black hair, though his Dad’s was cropped shorter and looked automatically neater.
In truth, James got his brown eyes from his Mum, where his Dad’s were bright green. And his dark skin was from her too, evidence of their shared Pakistani heritage while his Dad was all English.
Still, they did look very similar. It was always clear exactly who James’s Dad was — a blessing when your Dad was as awesome as James’s, but a curse too.
The thing is, people always expected James to act like his father as well.
Unfortunately, James was not his father.
They had the same penchant for pranks, sure, but Lord Fleamont Potter was level-headed where James was reckless. He was calm where James was wild. He’d always been an academic, locked away in a Potions lab, forgetting to eat unless his wife dragged him out. James had always been more active — he loved Quidditch, loved the outdoors, loved thrill and adventure. (His Mum was the one he got his love of flying from.)
Don’t get him wrong, they got along absolutely wonderfully. James had no shortage of things to talk about with his Dad, and he loved him dearly. It’s just that Lord Fleamont Potter was a lot to live up to.
James knew he would never be as great as his Dad — as either of his parents, really — they were legends. The best Potions Master in the country and the Head of the Paediatric Department in St Mungo’s Hospital. And James was… James. The screwup kid who couldn’t even go a few days without getting a detention and/or causing an incident. All he could hope was that he wouldn’t let them down. That he wouldn’t embarrass them or bring shame on the family name. He sent a silent prayer up to Hecate.
“Jamie.” Dad smiled warmly at the sight of him, his eyes wrinkled at the corners from a lifetime of smiling. The man took in his son’s appearance, already tearing up. “Oh, look at you — you’re all grown up!”
“Daaaaad,” James chided, straightening up under his gaze. He felt… strange. Anxious. He suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands.
“And your hair!” Dad ignored him, throwing a smile at Sirius. “I assume that was you, my boy? You’ve done a brilliant job!”
“He’d be a disaster without me.” Sirius tipped his chin up proudly, preening like he always did when James’s parents praised him.
Dad walked over to hug Sirius with one arm, dropping a fond kiss onto his forehead. “I’ll bet. Well done, sweetheart. Do you mind if I have a moment alone with James though?”
Sirius jumped to obey immediately. “Of course! My work here is done!” He started to leave the room. “Prongs, if you touch your hair, I’ll kill you!” The door closed with a soft click.
Dad reached out, putting his hands on James’s shoulders, gazing at his robes. “Trousseau did a marvellous job. I’ll have to send him a thanks.”
James nodded wordlessly, his heart rate rapidly skyrocketing.
“They fit okay? Everything’s good?”
“Yep.”
“You’ve got your wand?” He continued fussing. “Do you need a handkerchief? Just in case?”
“I’m all set, Dad.” James wiggled his fingers at his sides, flexing them restlessly.
Dad looked him in the eye. “Are you nervous?”
James considered lying, but his father had always been able to see right through him. “Yeah. A bit.”
“That’s normal,” the man assured, manoeuvring them both to sit down on James’s bed. “I was terrified on my debut.”
James blinked, finding that difficult to believe. His father was one of the bravest, most put-together people he knew.
Dad seemed to sense his thoughts. “I was so scared I thought I might soil myself. I had to go to the restroom six times before we even got there.”
James’s brows shot up. “Wow. I didn’t know that.”
Dad fiddled with James’s lapel, laying it flat. “My Father… I know you never knew him, and I never really talk about him, but he was very harsh with me.”
James was beyond intrigued now. His parents were… well they were older than most parents with children James’s age. James had been something of a miracle baby, born rather late in his parents’ lives. As a result, he’d never met any of his grandparents. He’d heard stories of his Nani’s cooking and his Nana’s inappropriate jokes from his Mum, and rarely, his Dad would talk about his Grandma and her angelic singing voice. But his Grandfather was never mentioned.
Now, he knew why.
“I was terrified of disappointing him,” Dad continued quietly. “He was never particularly nice when that happened.”
James wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He was sad for his Dad, but also… strangely upset and betrayed that his Grandfather wasn’t a great person. Or at least, not a good father.
“It’s why your mother and I were so determined to raise you differently,” Dad told him. “I never wanted you to feel that pressure. I didn’t want you to grow up feeling weighted down. But perhaps I should have done more, prepared you more…” His face twisted and James instantly felt the urge to soothe him.
“You’re the best Dad ever,” he said sincerely. “My childhood has been great. Couldn’t have been better.”
The man smiled, not wholly convinced. “I know I’m asking a lot of you James. We can pretend this is about a ball all we want, but we both know your debut is more than that.”
James swallowed, his throat feeling tight.
“Once you do… you’ll be Heir Potter. And things will change, I won’t lie to you.” Dad held his hand and they both stared down at it. “You’ll have to learn about the family accounts. Learn how to do all the admin for the vaults, the land, all the assets. And you’ll never escape Society again. There will be charity events and society events and political games — Godric, I hate those.” He sighed. “There’s also going to be a ridiculous amount of marriage offers thrown at you.”
James winced.
“I want you to know that I’ll take care of those,” Dad added seriously. “You can marry whoever you want — I refuse to turn your love life political.”
“Thanks,” James said weakly, trying to muster a smile.
His Dad looked pained. “It’s a lot. And I hate that I’m putting this on you. But… it’s your birth right — our birth right. I want you to have all the advantages I can give you, even though it comes with so many strings attached.” He smiled a bit. “Being a Potter isn’t easy, but I know you have it in you. You’ve always been so much braver than me; I’ve known that since the day you first climbed on your mother’s old broom and scared me half to death.”
They chuckled shortly together, a little teary.
“If you go through with this, I’ll be right with you,” Dad assured him strongly. “You don’t have to worry about falling because I will catch you. Even if everything goes horribly wrong, I will still love you just the same, and you will alwaysbe my son. No matter what.”
James felt a tear escape his eye as relief and love flooded his system, and he hastily swiped it away. “Thanks Dad.”
“Oh, come here.” The man pulled him in for a tight hug and James practically sunk into it, melting into his arms. “I love you, Jamie. Always.”
James fought back a sob, clinging onto his father for all he was worth. “I love you too.”
They stayed there for a long moment.
“Oh, we’re going to rumple your robes too much!” Dad hastily pulled away and immediately started smoothing their clothes down with murmured spells. James felt soothed by the motion, but he missed the embrace all the same.
When he was done, James’s Dad seemed oddly nervous. He reached into his own robes and pulled out a small box, opening it slowly.
Oh.
A large gold signet ring sat on a pillow of plush velvet, the face engraved with the Potter crest — an adder curled around a rose, fierce but protective. Sharp teeth in conjunction with soft petals. The cruel and the kind. Potters were supposed to be both in equal measure. James always felt like he was missing half of the equation.
“So…” His Dad prompted awkwardly. “Are you sure? Is tonight the night?”
James’s hands were shaking but he willed them to stop. A few seconds passed until he felt them still, and only then did he reach out and take the ring.
He slid it onto his finger, attempting to get used to the heavy weight.
“Dare to stand,” his Dad murmured their family motto.
“Stand to dare,” James intoned back, the words feeling weightier than they ever had before.
There was a knock on his door for the third time tonight.
His Mum, never one to actually wait for James’s permission, poked her head in before James could respond. “We’ve got to head off soon. And by soon, I mean now. Are you two ready?”
James clenched his hand into a fist, the Potter ring glinting in the light.
“As I’ll ever be.”