The Art of Trying

First Year

James Potter had accepted, from the moment he was born, that he was last. And he understood, theoretically, that it was not a prospect of personality or validation, but one of name. He spelled his name and saw the P followed by the otter and accepted his condemnation to be last, and every time, he tested his patience, learning the sounds of his name like a mantra in his head, merely a whisper, until it was finally voiced. But James tested his patience, and understood, every single time, his inability for it. 

Muggle call lists took in the story of his life the character of a nemesis. And James, every morning, listened right into the voice of his nemesis, and tested his patience – that he did not have– and thanked Merlin himself when his nemesis left for the day. It had become a routine, one he had become numb to. One, he thought, he had mastered.  However, now, as he stood in line, behind a row of kids, like him, bussing to enter the Great Hall and meet their fate (that would define their Hogwarts experience), James Potter, last in line, comprehended just how little patience he really had in him. 

His heart was pounding in his chest, like a hammer, trying to break free from its cage, and as it throbed faster and faster, everything seemed to move mockingly slower. His peers seem to move their feet at the speed of a turtle, and the hat, whose voice boomed, seemed to be purposefully spelling his every word with the object of dragging the sorting affair into the next year.

And really, just how jealous James Potter was of every other kid that stood in front of him. Because he knew it was not a matter of personality or validation, but of name. But as Sirius Black, Casey Danes, Lily Evans, Marlane Mackinon, and then even, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew (who stood just sheer places in front of him) made their ways through the doors, James Potter could not stop himself from wishing it was him in their place. 

Time crept along until, finally, his name echoed in the air. Now, it was his moment to walk down the line of brown tables, drawing the attention of everyone, students and teachers alike. Suddenly, time quickened, and everything turned into a whirlwind. His senses couldn't grasp it all, and the moment slipped away, leaving only a vague memory. Later, James would not be able to remember the tension that hanged on his shoulders before he sat in the stool, the questions that roomed and crept his mind as his feet paced to the front of the hall, he would not recall any of it, but he would remember, as well as he does his name and with the same remorse, the conversation that followed the placing of the hat on his head. 

“Oh, a Potter.” the hat’s voice in his head sprung James to his nerves, a wave through his own consciousness, dangerously close to the voice of his own thoughts, “It has been a long time since I last sense the magic that follows your family, a powerful thing it is,” 

And it was the last thing James expected, to be burnt at the hands of an inanimate object. The reimagining of his city, now ashes, were too recent to not be still considered a fire hazard when confronted with a small flame. 

“I still remember your dad’s storyline, a foretelling that called for promising futures, just as yours does. But you are not your father, are you? His naivety doesn’t concern you; you want things out of life, you expect things of it, and your role in it. Wide-eye hopes, and guileless dreams are not your matter of interest, at least not any more.” 

James was hot, burning all over again. However, he was used to the sensation by now, learnt through the summer how to incinerate and thrive. He knew his matters of interest and would not let something as insignificant as melting derail his path. His dreams were at an arm's length away from him, and letting them slip just because he couldn’t breath, or because the smoke fogged his vision was not something he would tolerate. James noticed it, the logic the hat was following and refused to accept it. 

“You strive for knowledge, crave the feeling of success that borns from acquiring a new skill, you find contentment in the challenge of a complication, but more so in the resolution of a puzzle. You seek knowledge in a desperate need to prove that you are worth something. You do not want to need, but to be needed.” James noticed it, the logic the hat was following and refused to accept it, “You have a frantic yearning to be loved, and you would burn the world if it meant the scratch was satisfied, therefore I see your  future belongs to–”

The hat was wrong, James would not let the world burn, he would let himself burn. 

“--No.” James thinks. 

“No?” 

“I do not belong in the house you think I do. You have read me in all the wrong ways. My desire to be loved is not a flaw but a service; my every action is meant to care for those I care for. I would watch the world, I would make the world burn if it meant protecting them.”

“My point still stands, and my readings are never misguided. Nonetheless, I am not a hat to go against wishes, and your nerve to stand up to my vision and my declaration, proved your possibility to thrive where you want to be at. But know that in slytherin, you would have shone, your nerve yo manipulate me, proved that too” the hat went silent, and then, 

“GRYFFINDOR”  

And immediately James is washed over by a sense of bitter relief. His sorting was remote from how he had envisioned it. It did not cause him the emotion he always thought it would, it did not compare, in any kind of sense, to the memories his parents had shared with him. It felt wrong and dirty. For all James was willing to struggle for his spot in the house, now, he felt undeserving. 

Had he delusion himself into thinking he deserved to be there? 

Would he struggle to keep up with the rest of his peers?

Would he, once again, feel like an outsider?

Was he not his place to dictate where he thought was better for him? 

Had he been in the wrong?

Was Slytherin really a better suit for him? 

James felt insecure in his place. And for his plans, that entailed the enjoyment of his Hogwarts years in such ways that they would shadow those hunting years that have shaped him to that day, James had to compromise his emotion, once again. Fake it till you make it. He would become adequate. He would fit in. And if he needed to do so, James Potter would burn himself all over again to prove that he deserved to be there. 

He would work every day to demonstrate to everyone that Gryffindor was the right fit for him. 

…

The beginning of his new life was not to a great start, James decided. It was a daunting realization, however, it was one that brought a sense of stubborn determination to change fate and make it his own, regardless of stepbacks. It was a conscious decision James had promised himself ever since he was old enough to envision his Hogwarts years; he would create his own happiness, even if it meant crafting it from his imagination. 

James might have found his intention faltering during the sorting ceremony, but standing in his room – his room in the Gryffindor tower – staring at his roommates, he found that dream vibrant all over again. In front of him stood Sirius Black, his new best friend, and Peter Pettigrew, his oldest friend, and James could not have been more thrilled. 

“James?” Sirius asked the moment James stepped into the room 

“Sirius!” James exclaimed, throwing himself at Sirius, almost throwing him off balance “What were the chances we would end up together? This is amazing” 

“It seems the universe smiles at us, I would know, I am a star” 

“The brightest star!” 

“James, hi” 

Turning his attention off Sirius, James turned to stare at Peter, who stood awkwardly to his other side, hugging his arm like a shield. James smiled, broad and big, launching at Peter, throwing him off balance, they landed on the floor.

Sirius laughed, and then so did James, and then Peter. 

And when they stopped, James cheered “Pete! I can’t believe we are roommates, we called it! We got it! We are here! Can you believe it?” 

Peter grinned, “I can, James, I can. It is going to be amazing, the two of us against the world, like we always talked about” 

James beamed, Sirius interrupted, “You know each other then?”     

“We know each other?” Peter questioned sarcastically, almost offended “Yeah, we do, we’ve known each other forever, I’m his oldest friend. Do you know each other?”

“Oh right! Yeah, we do” James began, “Pete, this is Sirius, I met him on the train, he is awesome. You are gonna love him!” 

“I’m his newest friend” Sirius added

“Sirius, this is Pete, my best friend, he is the sweetest. You two are gonna love each other, I just know it” 

“I’m his best friend” 

And James, oblivious to the tension, continued talking, “Oh Pete, that makes me remember, I was looking for you in the train, where the hell were you? Oh I’ve missed you, it feels like ages since I last saw you”

Peter stared at James, perplexed, “Where was I? Where were you? You’ve been out of touch the whole summer, I tried reaching out a hundred times, you were never there, you never answered, I got really worried, I thought maybe you’d left, but then your mom told me you were home.”

“Maybe he just didn’t want to see you, mate” 

“Shut up, you don’t know anything” Peter sneered, “But, you know James, if you didn’t want to see me anymore you could just have said something. You can still say something, I mean, it can be tricky because we are roommates, but I don’t want you to think that you have to be friends with me. And like, I know I am not the most social person ever but I will be okay, just, you know, you don’t have to take care of me, I don’t want to be a burden for you” 

Oh, it hurt. With every word Peter uttered James felt his heart shatter like a glass being stomped on time after time, into tinier and tinier pisces. Pieces of his heart so fragile, small and sharp that stitched to his skin scarlessly. 

Peter had been there for James, always, unconditionally. He had held James’ hand as he spiraled through his worst years. Had pulled him up from the depths of his worsts when he couldn’t do it by himself, and had drowned himself to lie there next to James, at rock bottom, when he couldn’t drag him up. Peter had been the best friend James could have ever asked for, and James? James had repaid Peter by making him feel like an afterthought. 

How could James be trying so damned hard and still be failing? Nothing was never enough, his best was not enough. And James, broken, seeing his broken friend – fault of his actions – decided he would work to the end of his years to amend the damage his sharp edges, that by then he had not learnt to cushion, had ripped open.  

He would start with an apology, and then, he would adapt, he would become adequate, learn how to be everything everyone needed him to be. He would turn himself inside out, cell by cell, until he could cherry pick the ones that would create the version of him everyone expected of him, and disguise those that did not match the created image. 

He would be the friend Peter deserved. 

“Oh Pete, I am so sorry. I never meant to make you feel like you are nothing but a priority to me. I was just so busy this summer, not that it is an excuse. Pete, you are my best friend, you know that right? You are someone that I choose to have in my life, time after time. You are not a burden, and I am so sorry I ever made you feel that way, please, can you forgive me?” 

Peter sighed, “Yeah James, it's fine. Don’t worry about it”

“Uh guys, not to interrupt this very emotional, cero uncomfortable for the third wheel, best friends conversation, I know you were having a moment, but our other roommate has just arrive and I don’t know if we want him to scare him off right away with our poofery, I think that is a line to bend the second night, we wouldn’t want to scare him off” 

Both Peter and James turned to stare at the new persona, who stood stiff by the door, looking as if he got caught cheating and was looking for the smoothest way to bolt the room. 

Peter grinned when he saw the boy, reaching forward to grasp his wrist and drag him forward into the room, “Remus!”

“You know him? Do you know everyone at this school” Sirius blunted 

“I met him at the train, guys this is Remus, Remus, these are Sirius and James” 

“Hi Remus, don’t believe anything Peter says about me, he hates me”

“I don’t hate you! I barely know you” 

“Then you are jealous of me, which is arguably worse, and will most possibly lead to hate in the long run, which ultimately means I am right” 

“My gods you are insufferable!” 

“My point is proven!” 

James, noticing how uncomfortable Remus looked, decided to step in. The boy darted his beautiful brown eyes between Sirius and Peter as they bikered, he bit his nails, a nervous cope James guessed, it drew James’ attention, he couldn’t look away, he might have stared at Remus’ thin lips for moments too long. James observed and noticed Remus  looked like he needed a break. 

“Hi Remus, I’m James” he stepped forward, reaching out a hand Remus did not take, skeptically James returned his hand to his side, “ it’s nice to meet you, I promise they are not normally like this– well actually I don’t know, they just met, so they might be. Anyhow, I am sure they will get along just fine soon enough, it's the jitters of the first day”  

“Yeah, I was only teasing” Sirius reassures

“Yeah, me too” 

“I am sure we will all get along, we are gonna be great. And like, maybe coexisting might bring up some conflicts, but that is nothing we can’t work through. This will be great, and you don’t have to hang up with us, no one has to hang up with anyone if they don’t want, but it would be nice, if at least we got on, and what I am trying to say, I guess, is that we are not normally this much of a mess, you have just caught us at a bad time, out of context, you know. Not that you have missed out on anything, there was no relationship building, well actually me and Pete know each other from way back, but that is it. We are all just trying here…” 

James knew that he was ranting, that he should stop, that he had stopped making sense three full sentences ago, but his hand hung heavy by his side, rejected. It made James spiral, memories of a time where his presence was neglected, his friendship unwanted, forced his tongue to the point where he couldn’t stop talking, because maybe, just maybe, if he said something more, if he could explain himself, if he just kept trying it wouldn’t feel like he was sinking, as if someone was sitting in his chest. 

It was never a good sign when his chest shrunk, it was a warning. James liked to think that he was a self aware person, and he knew, understood the signs his body gave him, learnt to read his signs like a  language and right then, all knocked up, his body screamed: 

Fix it.

  Fixit. 

     Fix it.

He hates you! 

Fix it.

    Fix it. 

       Fix it. 

You can fix it, if you just try hard enough.  

“And yeah, that, I just– It is nice to meet you, Remus.” 

But there was no fixing whatever that was,

“Hello, James” 

Because Remus, who James knew was too nice to point out the fact that he hated him, just turned around, walked to the last bed, near the window, opposite where James stood, and said:

“Do guys mind if I take this bed?” 

“Not at all mate, all yours” Sirius interpose, and as if he could read into James’ mind, or could sense his needs like a primal sense, pulled James by his shirt to one of the beds, and sat on the one next to it, between James and Remus “James you take that one, and I’ll take this one. Pete you can take the one by the bathroom, I am sure you’ll appreciate being close to it for your night emergencies”

“Sirius, don’t be rude to Peter”

“I was just joking” 

“It’s fine James, this way I’ll be the first to the shower”

“Oh, I didn’t think this through, Peter, Pete, Peeett, change beds with me”

“Tough luck, tough guy” 

And just like that, in one setting and various moments, the beginning of the Marauders’ – although they wouldn't be called that for months to come – dynamic unravels. And as the school years moved forwards James Potter began to curate his role in its whole ordeal, through trial and error crafting a version of himself that would fit in in every ambience. 

The first shift James made official in his new persona was his emotionality and his coping abilities. To that point, James realized he had depended too much on Peter, and Peter, bless him, had been there to pick him up every time he fell. But then, then, James was not worth such generosity anymore he decided, so instead, he would become a light, the sun in an empty galaxy, and he would be there, to guide, and look out for Peter every step of the way, like he had once done for James. He would repay Peter, prove that he deserved him in his life. 

James would be the perfect friend to Peter. And then to Sirius, and then, hopefully, to Remus. 

He just had to keep trying. To observe and adapt. 

Afterwards, James concluded he needed to destroy at its root the cause of the sharp edges that had cut Peter: his desperate need for academic competence. He had spent his summer so fixated on his academic responsibilities that he had let slip his social ones, and now, James was fixated on making sure that mistake didn’t bleed twice. 

During his first months at Hogwarts James found himself refining a tendency that would hunt him, like smoke does fire, for years to come. Like a superhero with a day job and a secret identity, during the day James played a carefree character, perfecting his skills as an actor. He prattled with his friends, and joked around during free periods. He paced his way through the whole school, keeping himself busy and friendly in such a manner that no one could quite follow how he managed to stay top of the year and not sweat a single tear studying. He was available like an open book, like a writer taking on petitions, affirmations rolling out of his tongue like his mother language; he would offer himself to help anyone who asked or chat with anyone who was up to it. 

But the minute the clock struck ten, and the snore of his roommates, like an alarm, informed him it was safe to roam outside and snuck to the library, James Potter would disappear and hide himself within the books, and keep adding fuel to the fire, more water to the dam; more knowledge. Until late hours of the night – or early hours of the morning – he worked every sweat he did not during the day, where prying eyes could notice just how hard he had to work to keep up with his own shadow. 

James studied, and learnt, and worked, and wrote, and corrected his essays, and read until his head felt foggy and delusional, because one thing James was not willing to sacrifice for his adequacy – because he was willing to sacrifice even himself – was his education. And when there was no homework left to turn over, or new topic to revise, James Potter, eager like a cat, would grab onto something new, something bolder, and spend the following breaths, however many it would take, attempting to master any new magic he came across. 

James traveled the days like a magical candle, who lights but does not melt, and traversed the nights burning himself to the last of his wax. Every night, he burnt, and the fire felt nice to his skin, it felt like home. Every night James incinerated himself to ashes, took paper to his hands, and burnt them. And every morning James woke up groggy and deprived, swearing he would not return, that he would right his schedule. Every day he promised himself that he could manage it, that he could balance his social expectations with his academic ones. And every time he felt disappointed, where, like an addict, he always went back to his drug. 

And soon enough, like an alcoholic who never stopped drinking, and was never hungover, James Potter never felt the consequences of his escapades; his vicious tendencies. 

It is during one of these nights that everything begins to take shape, begins to consolidate. James heard it, a quiet sniffle to his back. It caught his attention. Used to the eerie silence of the early morning, that hugged and confirmed the comfort of his study hours, James Potter found himself panicked by a possible companion. 

And then, more importantly, James Potter was his mother’s son, he could not let alone, without at least reaching out a comforting hand to the clearly distressed intruder. He turned the corner, his belongings forgotten by the opposite corner where he hid, and there he found him: Sirius Black. 

It was that encounter, that stumbling into an unknown story, Sirius Black’s story, that would construct the foundations of the unbreakable bond James Potter and Sirius Black would construct a top this moment. That was the night when Sirius Black and James Potter, unbeknownst to them, laid the foundation for an unbreakable bond. Within the intricate weave of their shared history, this day stood as the inception, the genesis of a connection that would endure the trials of years.

It was as if the universe had orchestrated an encounter that would define them—James Potter stumbled upon Sirius Black in a state of vulnerability rarely witnessed. Tear-streaked and unguarded, Sirius was found by James, his usual composure unraveled, revealing the raw authenticity beneath.

“Sirius?” James whispered, reaching over with slow steps, as if approaching a scared little animal. Sirius looked so small it ached. “Sirius” 

The boy looked up and stared at James with his tear-streaked eyes, blue eyed, caught like a deer in headlight. Sirius looked terrified, so scared, so vulnerable, so small. It felt so wrong to see Sirius like this, and James knew Sirius hated he had found him like this, saw it in the smile he tried to force, understood it from the way Sirius wiped his eyes clean with his hands and still the tears did not stop hindering his image. 

“Sirius” he said, again, crunching in front of him, and talking Sirius’ hand in his; he was hurting his face. “Hey, it 's okay. It 's okay. It’s fine, just let it go. It is okay to cry. Let it out” 

A sob escaped Sirius' throat.

“You are safe with me,” Sirius cried and cried, “Can I hug you?” 

 James hugged Sirius because it was the only thing he knew to do. He held onto him, and Sirius pressed him with all his force as if we were scared he would let go. And then, impossibly, Sirius cried harder. 

It broke James in all the wrong ways to see his friend so desperate, so raw. Sirius had never seemed like a kid to James, but right then, Sirius was a terrified kid. For all that it hurt to see him so lost in the darkness, so distraught and inherently messy, James was glad his dim light could provide any semblance of warmth. 

This was why he burnt away so religiously. 

James held onto Sirius until the boy let go, sniffling and red eyed. His back slumped back into the wall and wouldn’t meet James’ eye, so James, because he understood the shame that followed the emotion, fell down next to Sirius, staring ahead so that stares would not be a forced interaction, so that conversation would not be coerced out, exposed by the silent messages eyes carried. 

“Sirius,” James began

“I-”

“You don’t have to say anything, you don’t owe me anything,” he continued, not letting Sirius apologize, “But, if you want to talk about it, I have been told I am a very good listener” 

“I just- it's just” Sirius’ voice was harsh and croaked, he stumbled over his words, going back on them, as if he didn’t know what to say. James could almost see the gears in Sirius’ head tracking, trying to find the correct words, trying not to say the wrong thing . Sirius seemed overwhelmed. “I just don’t want you to see me any different” 

“I promise I won't”

“I- I don’t want you to pity me, or to treat me any different” 

“You are the coolest person I know, I promise to keep seeing you exactly like that, no matter what” 

Sirius took a deep breath and pulled a letter from the back pocket of his pants, and handed it to James with shaky hands. He indicated James to open it, and began talking, poured out of him like a story he had rehearsed telling, and maybe he had. 

“You know, James. When we first met on the train, and you told me your name, your last time, I thought to myself ‘I am going to be friends with him, with a Potter’.  And then, when the sorting hat was on my head I don’t even know what he said, all I remember thinking was: 

‘Not Slytherin'. Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin’. 

My family is very conservative, they praise power and appearance above everything else, they would run over every line, every moral just to sustain those values. I hate them, I hate them, James. I hate everything that they stand for. And they boarded me into the express with a beating on the back, a reminder of their authority over me, a warning to stand in all the right places, with all the right people. 

They suffocate me. And I hate them, my mother especially. I want revenge. I am not a good person, James. I wanted to destroy them, I want to be nothing like them. So the minute I had  an ounce of freedom I went and bolted right into all the wrong places and people, which sucks, because they ended up being all the right things, for me, and I got them, I got you, for all the wrong reasons. 

They poison every single thing I do. 

 I am here because I chose it. And I don’t care about that letter, I don’t care what she thinks about me, that she thinks that I am a disgrace. That I am a waste of space. I am happy, thrilled even that I got a reaction out of her. But I hate that even now, even here, she has so much control over me. That even when all I do is rum from her expectations of me, I end up living through her control. Some bullshit reverse psychology. At least I am lucky she has no space in her heart to ever attempt to be nice to me, because she would get what she wants out of me, should she only tell me to do the opposite. 

This is all I have, James. And I can’t let her ruin this for me, because I can’t take it. Not anymore. I don't want to ruin Hogwarts. I never missed not having a home, because I never knew it was something I could have, but now I think I can, I want it, and I won’t let her take this from me. 

Not this.  But I am so scared that she already did. 

And you want to know whats that most fucked up thing? What I hate the most is that she doesn’t love me. That I want so badly for her to see something worthy of me. That every day I have to fight the urge to give into myself, and be the perfect son she wants. What I want the most is to have a home with my mother. 

And my brother, and my father. 

But that will never happen. So this has to work, because if she hates me so much, I will give her every reason to hate me, and I will find all the things she wouldn’t give me somewhere else”. 

James realized as Sirius spoke, that he was not the only one who had been waiting for Hogwarts to be freer, happier. Only that, he noticed, to him, Hogwarts was another home, while, for Sirius, it was an escape, one he didn’t necessarily love, or would choose given any other option, but that was his only opportunity for rebellion; so, he would learn to love it. And James could understand that, appreciate that, respect that. And he would do all in his power to make sure Hogwarts became a home for them, for their friendship that was just brewing.

“I just want to be happy, James” Sirius sounded so tiny, but looked so resolved. James saw, like a melody hiding in the air, the determination in Sirius’ words. Comprehending just what a hardship such a fundamentally adorable emotion caused in his friend’s life.

James would make sure Sirius found a home at Hogwarts if he didn’t have it anywhere else.

Whatever the cost, whatever the means. 

“Hey Sirius?” James nudged Sirius, and waited until he was looking at him, “You are not a bad person, you are the coolest person I know”