Sir James Potter
James hated feeling stupid. He also hated when people treat him like he is stupid, but this made him feel useful.
James sat atop his carriage listening to the cheers of the people and the drop of the guillotine. He was dressed in one of his many disguises, a seemingly dumb man covered in dirt and grime. After another execution, James waited for someone to bring over the wooden coffin that was crucial for his plan to work.
“Hey!” the man yelled, “you’ve already got yours.”
James changed his voice before speaking, “These ‘ere are empty citizen, wouldn’t want to keep a man ‘is fair share now.” James heard the man huff and begin to lift the box onto his cart. He could hear Peter move to help situate the coffin on the carriage, it was then that James felt such an appreciation for his friend and most trusted counselor. Two pats on the box from Peter told James that everything was ready so he flicked the reins of his horse and began to navigate his way out of the plaza and towards the prison for the next step of their plan.
He waits outside the prison for his friends to bring out the members of the Lestrange, Monsieur and Madam Lestrange and their only son. He is anxious to leave before something goes wrong, but just as he thinks that this is taking too long, he sees a guard usher the family out. He knows the guard is actually Frank Longbottom, another member of the league and a trusted friend. They quickly load the family into the empty coffins and head for the gate leaving Paris.
It is there that he is stopped by the guard who asks what is inside his box. He had planned for this and says while deepening his voice again, “you’re welcome to see, but I warn you, the work of La Madame Guillotine is not a pret’y one.” James has to physically hold back a laugh as Peter opens the box and throws the severed head in a bag to the guard who panics and throws it back. James, never one to let an opportunity pass, says, “you can check the other two, they’r ‘ven prettier.”
“Open the gates!” the guard yells with a disgusted look on his face, “get out of here!” And so James did.
They ride into the forest until they meet up with the other members of the league who begin to unload the carriage. Peter hops down and finds his own horse tied to a tree. James turns to him, “ My yacht is waiting to take you and the Lestrange family back to England.”
“Are you not joining us?” Peter asks while mounting his horse and getting ready to leave.
“No,” James takes out a handkerchief to wipe the dirt and makeup from his face, “I have other business so it is back to Paris for me. I trust you know the rendezvous?”
“Unchanged?”
“Unchanged,” James replies as he hears Madame Lestrange ask Frank, “Who is it that saves us?”
“That,” Frank nods in his direction, “Is the Scarlet Pimpernel.”
James simply nods at her response of gratitude and turns to ride again to Paris.
“The Scarlet Pimpernel by Sir James Potter,” James starts his poem, using the same exaggerated voice he uses in public. “They seek him here, they seek him there, those Frenchies seek him everywhere. Is he in heaven, or is he in hell? That damned, elusive Pimpernel.” He performs the ironic poem for his friends, the Fortescues.
“Oh, do tell us more about the Scarlet Pimpernel Sir James,” Alice asks with excitement, “or who they are.”
“Oh dear, if I knew that I’d be the most sought after man in London,” James said with a hearty laugh. He feels bad for hiding his identity from his friends but he wants to keep them safe, even if that means acting like a fool for them.
“What is a Scarlet Pimpernel anyways?” the Lady Fortescue asks.
“Nothing but a wayside flower,” James smirks to himself for his cleverness, “they are very common in the spring.”
After a pleasant evening with the Fortescues, James leaves and takes a nighttime stroll through the streets of Paris. He hears a commotion not far ahead of him and he rushes forward. He finds two men beating another man who is lying unconscious on the ground. He taps one man on the shoulder with his cane to get his attention. “I say,” James pushes the man into the river with his foot. He is then met with a sword from the other man.
The brief fight was very obviously not a fair one. James very quickly overpowered the man, even going as far as to take his own sword and point it at his neck. “It would seem your friend,” James said to the man while holding the sword, “is in distress.” James then pushes the man back, sending him flailing into the water behind him.
James turns away while thinking that these men were quite unprepared and novice fighters. He looks down to see the knife that the man had tried to fight him with still in his hand before tossing it behind him into the water. He then focuses on the unconscious man, trying to wake him before deciding that this was worse than he thought.
“I call upon you now, revenge my wrong. Your favors will be measured by your rage!”
The curtains drop and Regulus hears the applause. He loved the thrill that came from playing a character on stage. The curtains briefly open again so that Regulus can take his bow, he is basking in the attention before there is a tap on his shoulder and the curtains drop once more. He turns to see Remus, his understudy, who is very obviously distressed.
“Regulus,” Remus grabs his arm, “it’s Sirius, he’s been hurt.”
“Hurt?” Regulus asks while panic rises through his stomach towards his throat.
“There's a man outside in a carriage,” Remus tells him quickly, “he wants us to go with him. What can we do?”
Regulus has already made up his mind, screw the play. “I must go to him at once,” he says as he rushes off stage.
Remus, still panicked asks, “what about the rest of the play?”
“Oh my dear Remus,” Regulus grabs him by the shoulders, “this is the chance that every understudy dreams of.”
“No, no, I’m not ready!” Remus worries. Regulus tries to calm his nerves by saying, “you’ll be superb! Quick, go change, I must hurry to Sirius” before he rushes out the back door, not even bothering to change out of his costume.
Regulus is rushed into a small inn to find his brother sitting in a chair. “Oh my poor brother, what happened to you?” he crouches down to see his brother’s face.
“Two men from out of the darkness, they attacked me,” Sirius said with a slur, still out of it,” If it wasn’t for this gentleman…” He turns his face to an English man in the corner wearing a baby blue ensemble.
Regulus turns to address him, “My brother and I are indebted to you, Monsieur. Monsieur?”
The man sets down his glass and stands to face them. “Sir James Potter, Monsieur,” the man removes his hat and gives him a bow. As he looks up, Regulus locks eyes with the man. He is immediately enchanted.
“Although, anyone would have done as much,” the man, Sir James, Regulus tells himself, dropped his voice to something much softer than the accent he originally addressed him with.
Regulus huffs, “If you think that Monsieur, you do not know Paris well.” He turns back to Sirius to ask about the men that attacked him. Sirius thinks that they were sent by the Marquis de McKinnon.
“I recognized his carriage,” Sirius’s head rolls forward as he takes a strained breath, “no doubt to teach me a lesson.”
Regulus is angry. “The Marquis will pay for this,” he promises a loud. After a breath he stands while trying to help Sirius up, “Come now, let's get you to bed. Can you stand?”
Sirius brushes him off, “Oh I’m alright now,” he walks up the stairs. Regulus goes to follow but the stranger catches his hand instead.
“Rather a harsh lesson,” James says with evident sympathy, “I trust the offense warranted the punishment?”
“My brother is young and hot blooded, Monsieur,” Regulus started, “his heart too often leads his head. I fear he had the impudence to seduce the McKinnons’ daughter.”
“Is love, too, a crime in France these days?” James takes a step closer. Regulus feels a spark run down his spine but answers his question.
“Only if the lady is an aristocrat and her father considers a simple bourgeois not fit to breathe the same air that they do,” Regulus says with more anger in his voice than intended, “if you will excuse me, I must attend to my brother.” He turns to leave.
“Wait!” James calls, “will I not see you again?”
Regulus is flattered and without much thought says, “My brother and I are having a small soirée at our home, on Grimmauld Way on Sunday next, if you are free?”
James, without hesitation replies, “for such an invitation, my dear, I shall make myself free.”
Regulus can’t help the butterflies in his stomach so instead he puts on his most charming smile and whispers, “Sunday next then,” before turning away and climbing the stairs. He only looks back when he’s at the top of the stairs to see Sir James smiling to himself. “Number twelve,” he calls out the address to James before disappearing into the darkness.