Every now and then, the Marauders fandom gets upset that James was chosen to be a Head Boy when he wasnât a Prefect.
But of course he was.
It started in the autumn of his fifth year. The fifteen-year-old marched through the corridors, feeling rather important, a badge pinned to his robes.
Filch caught him within the first five minutes. To be fair, James hadnât tried to run. (If he had, he would have gotten away). He had no reason to. Still, the caretaker grumbled threats of torture as he dragged the Chaser to Professor McGonagallâs office.
âPretending to be a Prefect,â Filch snarled.
âIâm not pretending you oldââ James eventually broke off as he realized that there was no use shouting at the lump of clay that was the caretaker. And so, he turned to Professor McGonagall and said, âIâm a temporary Prefect for the night.â
âAre you?â she asked, with a flicker of amusement. âI donât seem to recall appointing you as such.â
âYou know, Siriusâ brother told me something interesting the other day,â James said. âDid you know that if you looked at the night sky, you could see a star that represents them both? Isnât that strange. Look for yourself, Professor.â
And she glanced out the window and saw the stars in question. Right next to the nearly full moon. Her face gave away nothing, but she curtly dismissed the caretaker, who seemed surprised if not furious.
âSurely you want me to stay to deliver the punishment?â Filch asked.
âThere will be no punishment,â Professor McGonagall said curtly. âYou caught a Prefect out of bed. Thatâs not exactly against the rules, is it?â
James could have hugged her.
As soon as the caretaker was gone, she pushed the tin of biscuits towards James. It didnât even need saying at this point. He grinned and took his favorite kind. She always had them.
âI didnât even thinkâŚâ she whispered. âItâs not full for another three days.â
âI know,â said James. âBut heâs really sick this time.â
âHe should have told me,â she said. âI would have given him the time off.â
âYeah, well,â James shrugged. âYou know Remus.â
She smiled; she did indeed.
âDid he brief you on your responsibilities?â the professor asked.
âIf by âbriefedâ you mean âwent into a three-hour lecture on what I should or should not doâ then yeah.â
âYou know that I canât make this official,â Professor McGonagall said. âPeople would talk.â
âNah, I know,â James said.Â
âYou canât brag about this.â
âI know.â
âYou canât abuse your privileges.â
âI know.â
âTake another biscuit.â
He grinned and did so.
âI believe you have work to do,â she said.
James gave her a mock salute and marched away. He performed Remusâ duties all night, never once abusing the power, knowing that doing so would tarnish Remusâ reputation. He performed them the next two nights as well and told a very skeptical Professor McGonagall that he was sick on the night of the full moon. (âOh dear,â she said. âI hope your illness stagnates.â)
Truth be told, James was a Prefect almost as much as Remus was.
They were some of the only times in his term at Hogwarts that he solemnly swore that he wasnât up to no good.
