Chapter 3
James
James watched Regulus storm off, the tension in his shoulders practically vibrating. He thrived off that reaction. Winding people up was practically a skill set at this point, and Regulus Black was proving to be particularly fun to mess with.
Still, he made sure to keep his expression easy, his stance casual—like he wasn’t still sore as hell from the erg test, like this whole rowing thing was no big deal.
Because James Potter did not let people see when something was hard.
He rolled his shoulders, stretching out the stiffness in his back as he turned his gaze to the water. The morning sun hit the river just right, reflecting off the ripples, making everything look smooth, effortless. Just like I have to look.
The truth was, he’d rather be in a freezing rink than out here on the dock. He’d spent his whole life on skates, flying down the ice, where balance and speed had been second nature. But rowing? Rowing was something else entirely. And getting through the 2K erg test to earn his spot?
That had been hell. It made bag skating for a whole practice feel like a goddamn family skate.
He remembered sitting down on that godforsaken machine, strapping his feet in, gripping the handle way too tight. He could feel eyes on him—Coach McGonagall, the rowers who’d been doing this way longer than him. Waiting to see if he’d sink or swim.
James had never been one to back down from a challenge. He’d done the whole new guy routine before—first year on varsity, first time stepping onto a D1 rink. You show up, you work hard, you prove yourself. That’s the formula.
So when McGonagall gave the signal, he threw himself into it.
First 500 meters? Easy. Legs strong, strokes powerful. His split was solid. He could hear someone muttering numbers off to the side—maybe a coach, maybe one of the other guys—but he tuned it out. Just focused on the rhythm.
750 meters. His lungs started working harder, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Push through it. You’ve done worse.
1,000 meters. The halfway point. And that’s when shit really started to hurt.
His legs felt like they were turning to lead, his grip was slipping from the sweat slicking his palms, and his lungs—fuck, it felt like trying to breathe through a straw.
Just 1,000 meters to go.
By 1,250, his vision blurred at the edges. The screen in front of him—his split time, his distance—was just a jumble of numbers. His whole body screamed at him to stop.
1,500. Quads on fire. Chest tight. His hands ached from how hard he was gripping the handle, but he couldn’t let go.
1,750. Almost there. Just 250 meters. Less than a minute.
By the time he hit 2,000, he barely managed to let go of the handle before collapsing forward, arms limp, chest heaving. He couldn’t think, couldn’t even process the pain properly—it was everywhere, swallowing him whole.
But then—
“Well done, Potter,” McGonagall said, her voice approving. “Looks like we’ve got a natural.”
James barely had enough oxygen in his brain to laugh, but he grinned anyway, lifting his head just enough to see the impressed glances from some of the guys. The ones who hadn’t been sure if the hockey kid could hack it.
He had.
And now, standing here, the pain a distant memory, the new uniform clinging to his frame, the sun catching just right on the water—he knew it had all been worth it.
James Potter loved being good at things.
Even more, he loved it when people thought it came easy.
Because the truth?
Nothing ever did. James just simply didn't know how to do anything without giving it his absolute all.
James was still standing on the dock, rolling his sore shoulders and watching the water when he heard footsteps behind him.
"Potter," Coach McGonagall’s sharp voice cut through the quiet. He turned to find her standing with her arms crossed, her usual stern expression softened just enough to make him wary.
"Yeah, Coach?"
"I need you to stick around after practice for a few minutes," she said. "Get a lay of the land, meet one of the guys—help you get your bearings."
James opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off with a knowing look.
"And don’t worry, this is a one-time thing," she assured him. "I know you boys have lives."
James snorted. "Do we?"
McGonagall’s lips twitched in what might have been amusement before she nodded toward the boathouse. "Come on, I want you to meet someone."
James followed her inside, glancing around at the rows of boats, the massive racks of oars, the faint smell of sweat and river water settling in his lungs. This place was gonna take some getting used to.
"Potter, meet Remus Lupin," McGonagall said, nodding toward the tall guy leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "Bow seat of the 1V. He’s from Connecticut—so not too far from Boston. Hopefully someone you can relate to."
James sized him up quickly—lean but strong, built like an athlete, his sharp cheekbones softened by a lazy, easy-going smile.
Remus pushed off the wall and stuck out a hand. "Nice to meet you, rookie."
James clasped his hand, and Remus smirked. "Before we go any further, I should warn you—my family’s full of Rangers fans."
James exaggerated a full-body cringe. "Brutal."
"Yeah, yeah," Remus laughed, shaking his head. "Let me guess—Bruins fan?"
"You know it," James said, crossing his arms. "Tough break for you, man."
"Yeah, well, at least my team doesn’t choke every year."
James barked out a laugh, and just like that, the tension broke. The banter came easy, and James found himself relaxing.
But then—he caught himself looking at Remus a little too long.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in a million locker rooms before. He’d spent his whole life surrounded by guys—teammates, opponents, friends. But something about Remus’ strong frame, the way his uni fit him just right, had James doing a double take.
He shook it off immediately, locking that thought way down.
Instead, he smirked. "So, you see my erg test? Think I can back it up on the water?"
Remus hummed in consideration. "Maybe. More importantly, do you think you can back it up on the water?"
"Maybe if the water was frozen," James quipped.
Remus snorted. "Don’t sell yourself short, big boy—we need you in the engine room."
James blinked. Big boy?
Something in his chest tightened at that, but he played it off with a cocky grin. "Engine room?"
"Sorry," Remus said. "The engine is what we call the middle of the boat. Biggest, strongest guys sit there and keep us moving. Meanwhile, guys like me in the front and back keep the boat balanced and efficient with more technical stuff."
James nodded slowly, trying to commit that to memory.
"Don’t worry, it’s a lot now, but you’ll get the hang of it in no time," Remus assured him. "Now, c’mon—I’ll show you around the boathouse. Where we keep the boats and oars, where we lift, erg, the whole nine yards."
James followed, listening as Remus explained the ins and outs of his new home. And for the first time since this whole thing started, James wanted to learn. He wanted to know how this worked, wanted to be good at it.
By the time they wrapped up, Remus handed him his phone. "Here. Put your number in—text me if you need anything."
James added himself to Remus’ contacts, then pocketed his phone. "Thanks, man."
"No problem," Remus said, giving him a lazy salute before heading out.
James walked home to the apartment he shared with Sirius, a grin tugging at his lips.
He was officially a Hogwarts University rower.