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James Potter was used to being the center of the world as he knew it. It wasn’t by any kind of careful maneuvering or begging for attention, it was just…natural. Like breathing.
As an only child to two doting parents, he quickly latched onto the unobstructed joy that would fill him, thrumming like magic in his veins, when they’d lavish him in compliments for something innocuous. It warmed his chest and bubbled up to fill the space where loneliness sometimes crept in.
It wasn’t something he spoke aloud often—not after the gentle, almost sad way his mum had responded to his request for a sibling with a soft, ‘You were our miracle, James’—but though he was a loved and happy child, with older parents often unable to match the boundless energy of a seven-year-old…he did sometimes get lonely.
At age eleven with Hogwarts stretched high and imposing above him, he wondered for a brief second what it would be like to fade into the crowd—the bustling halls a stark difference from his home of three. The thought made his stomach turn uncomfortably, but next to him in the small boat, the boy he’d met on the train elbowed James in the ribs with an excitement that belied his haughty demeanor.
He’d go to his grave before ever acknowledging this to Sirius, but that small gesture—a fast friend—did loads for quelling any budding self-doubt that threatened to take root in the pit of eleven-year-old James’ stomach.
After the initial falter, James adjusted quickly to his new life in a sea full of people, reveling in the way each interaction just teemed with more than he was used to. He could make a whole class laugh with a single joke. He could cause a disturbance in the hallway with a simple spell and have older students coming up to compliment him on the ruckus at dinner. He could excel in class without really trying—at least in the early years—and earn house points and praise from the professors. His every move attracted more attention than he’d ever gotten, to the point where his nerves would hum with anticipation in the silence.
He didn’t set out seeking it, but he liked the attention. Craved the attention.
But now, at twenty-one, James wanted nothing more than to disappear. He’d had more than his fill of the limelight and had been working ruthlessly to carve out a place for himself and his family in the mundanity of a quiet life. Time had gifted him with the wisdom of what it meant to be seen by the people who mattered most, putting to rest all the ways in which he tried to stave off that loneliness of childhood with temporary adoration.
Time had also taught him hard lessons.
When one believes themselves to be the center of attention, a blindness creeps in. For several years, mischief was the crowning achievement of James’ time at Hogwarts, and he got himself (and Sirius, and Remus, and Peter) into many a detention chasing the high of post-prank adulation. And the inflated ego that came with being known, being idolized—it made him a little shite. In the haze of youth, of course, it didn’t sink in. On the contrary, the snarls from the Slytherins, the titters from teachers, the eyerolls from Lily Evans—they all fueled him. But looking back and reflecting on the unlucky students caught in their path…it made his face grow hot with shame.
Because he basked in the attention willingly, gladly, and it worked in making him feel fulfilled— shaking away the weight of loneliness that would sometimes creep back in over holidays. For a few years, at least.
It was the end of fifth year that served as a true wakeup call.
In hindsight, there was something lucky about it taking so long for the attention to backfire, taunting fate and humility as he had been for close to sixteen years, but with Lily Evans and Remus both getting caught in the crossfires of mischief-gone-amiss with Severus Snape, it was a sobering realization that this childish all-consuming need for attention had gotten out of hand. The rivalry between Snape and himself was long-standing and he (naively) never anticipated anyone becoming collateral damage in the escalating animosity between the two of them. But the hurt in Lily’s eyes as she walked away, humiliated, from her supposed friend, the pallor of Remus’ face when he’d understood how close he’d come to maiming any student—it had stricken James, stoking the coals of shame in his chest, and he made a decision in the self-reflecting of that summer to be better .
And he’d taken that vow to heart. Realizing that the masses didn’t cast away the loneliness as well as those closest to him did, James came into his own. He developed a true fascination with Transfiguration, reeled back his mischievous impulses, and became unshakeable in his hatred towards the Dark Arts. He was still the center of things—it was impossible for him not to be—but it scaled from the many to the few. He wanted only from those closest to him, and never all the time. Those few who mattered most—his friends (brothers he never had, really), parents, teachers, and finally (finally!) Lily Evans.
Somewhere between ‘You’re just as bad as him’ and ‘I do’, Lily had come around to the person James was becoming—the same obnoxious boy, maybe, but toned down. He was more thoughtful, less provocative, and loud and defiant about what was right. A tentative Charms partnership had turned into friendship had turned into co-Heads had turned into something that both of them were too scared to name until it just fell into place. And in the center of Lily Potter’s gaze was the only place he ever wanted to be. He would give up everything for her, fight thousands upon thousands of Death Eaters, hide away from the world completely if it meant being with Lily.
And then Harry came along. Sweet, precious, cursed Harry.
It’s only fitting that once James finally craved a more intimate life, out of the eyes of the world at large, he was replaced as the epicenter by his son. Not three months old and already the focus of a prophecy to bring about the end of a war.
It was not a life he’d choose for Harry, and he vowed to heaven and earth he’d do everything possible to shield him from it. They quickly went into hiding—the long nights and the quiet of the cottage rattling his nerves as well as Lily’s, both shaken from immeasurable fear. They were no strangers to risks and uncertainty, but that was James and Lily.
Not Harry.
Days passed with stricter and stricter guidelines of what they could do, who could visit. Whispered late-night kitchen arguments turned into sobs turned into embraces and muttered reassurances. They needed to do more. They needed to keep him out of harm’s way. Untraceable. Away from the action and out of the center of it all.
A Secret Keeper was chosen. The Fidelius performed. Some of the worry in James’ stomach eased.
But as he heard the spell split the wood of the door, as he shouted for his wife to take Harry and run, as he realized the target on their backs—how the Potters were the key to ending this war—had undoubtedly cost their friend his life, he understood.
This was what it was to be consequential. This was what it was truly like to have the world’s focus—the world’s future—balanced on one’s shoulders. Not the way he strutted through his younger years, demanding and basking in the attention of the world. That was nothing more than a child’s inflated ego.
But he’d finally gotten his wish.
All his posturing, all his pride…he’d passed a curse onto Harry. From nearly as long as he’d been alive, and however long he’d live (as James squared his shoulders—defenseless, his own body a blockade protecting Lily and their child—he prayed that Harry would live) Harry would truly be the crux of the wizarding world.
The prophesized child, the one to vanquish the Dark Lord.
And James, crumbling to the ground in a flash of green light—a puppet severed of its strings—would just be another casualty in the war.