Two Views of James Potter
The first was written largely in response to smallpotatoâs response to my fiction âLiberacorpusâ, and examines canon parallels to the actual actions we see James take.
The second re-examines James after Snilysocanon took me to task for being unduly unsympathetic.
âJames the Bully: Canon Parallelsâ
We are privileged actually to view James in action three times. Chronologically in Jamesâs life, they are Severusâs meeting him on the Hogwarts Express, SWM, and his death at Riddleâs wand.
Every action we actually witness James Potter take has a parallel elsewhere in canon.
James says, âWhoâd want to be in Slytherin?â Like Draco Malfoy says about Hufflepuff.
James is obsessed by Lily Evans, who rejects him. Like Severus, acto Jo a bully.
James attacks an individual while backed by a gang of three, the most sycophantic of whom is a rat-faced boy named Peter (PiersâŠ) P. One of his cohorts holds the victim immobile while James presses the attack. Like Dudley Dursley.
James uses Levicorpus to hurt and humiliate someone. Like the Death Eaters do at the Quidditch World cup.
And James as a father, presented at his most sympathetic (from the unsympathizing perspective of Tom Riddle) ⊠is shown indulging his son, and trying, unarmed and unsuccessfully, to protect his wife and son from someone armed with magic he canât possibly combat. Like Vernon Dursley confronting Hagrid.
Everyone, EVERYONE, whose actions parallel James, is presented canonically as a bully.
One can even find parallels between James and Umbridge: using innocuous-seeming spells to torture (assigning lines / using Scourgify to waterboard).
Then thereâs one more parallel. James is described to us as a dark-haired, charming boy, âexceptionally brightâ, attractive to both his contemporaries and his teachers, regarded with distrust by his Transfiguration teacher but generally receiving such acclaim he makes Head Boy. After years of his gangâs terrorizing other students, and after successfully covering up at least one overt crime heâs involved inâreleasing a Dark creature on unsuspecting potential victims. And the headmaster never suspects him.
Like Tom Riddle.
Maybe Iâm misremembering. Maybe thereâs some scene, somewhere, in JKRâs fiction that doesnât compare James Potter to the worst of the worst. (Come to think of it, now we have the prequel: anyone come up with any parallels to that?)
One more piece of evidence about James: the dog that spends seven years adamantly refusing to bark in the night. I grew up in a small town of about 10,000 people (about the size of Britainâs Wizarding community per the fabulous Jodel). My father committed suicide when I was 11. For about a year after, no one mentioned him to me. But after thatâmy father had previously been well-respected and loved, and people told me so. My 7th grade civics teacher tried to talk me into becoming a lawyer, like my dad. The librarian talked about his involvement on the library board. A police officer told me how my dad spent his limited free time researching forthcoming legislation and letting the department know how it would affect their duties. And so forth.
Who ever talked to Harry about his parents? Even Remus wouldnât, before Sirius. We know for sure that Minerva, Filius, Horace, Hagrid, and Poppy were on staff while Harryâs parents were at Hogwarts; itâs probable that others were as well. And none of them but Hagrid, not a one of them, ever found a good word to say to a hungry orphan boy about his parents? That beggars the imagination, unless itâs a case of ânil nisiâ. (Note that Horace, in contrast, wonât shut up about Lily. Which makes one wonder a little why Minerva and Filius did.)
Hagrid managed to snag photos for Harryâs album, presumably from his parentsâ old friends, but none of those friends ever once tried to contact the boy. It was the Weasleys who took him in and acted as surrogate parents. When Harry received attention, it was for being the âBoy-Who-Livedâânot for being Jamesâs son (except for Sirius), not for being Lilyâs son (except for Slughorn). Just how âpopularâ were Harryâs parents, anyway? Was it the same popularity as Dudley and his gang enjoyed, per Harryâthat nobody cared to disagree with them openly, for fear of being hurt?
Minerva, not knowing Harry was listening, did talk about James to Filius, Hagrid, and Fudge. She did NOT confirm Lupinâs sycophantic statement that James and Sirius were âthe best in the school in whatever they didâ (OOTP) or âthe cleverest students in the schoolâ (PoA): she says that they were âexceptionally brightâ (note: âbright,â not âthe best,â even in her own field, Transfigurations, which was presumably the Animagisâ best subject and Jamesâs wandâs strength, per Ollivander).
What James and Sirius WERE the best at, per Minerva McGonnagall, was at making trouble.
And Minerva was probably at school with Tom Riddle, which is quite a standard of comparison.
We know who did talk of James to Harry: Quirrelmort, Dumbledore, Hagrid, Sirius, Remus under Siriusâ influence, and Severus. As for Severusâfor two years Snape DIDNâT throw the despised James in Harryâs face, whatever he might have felt. The first time Snape mentioned James to Harry was when Severus caught Harry returning from a forbidden, hazardous excursion (which the boy had indulged in only for his own entertainment), lying about it, and reveling in having frightened and assaulted a fellow student. Sound like the behavior of anyone Severus had known as a child?
Regarding the assessments of James: the only one who doesnât have an obvious axe to grind is Hagrid, and we know that Hagridâs greatest flaw is his absolutely uncritical admiration of âinteresting creaturesâ. With which we can, apparently, class James Potter.
Hoo boy. Does JKR have ANY idea what she wrote? Talk about Bad Boy Syndrome!
The Children of Privilege: Reconsidering James and Sirius as Tragic⊠Whatevers.
Um, sorry, the word I should be inserting here is âHeroes, â and I canât. But it can be argued, as in the Greek tragedies, that James and Sirius brought about their own destruction because of a single tragic flaw. Hubris is the classic flaw of Greek tragedy: that form of arrogance which consists of believing one is smarter or stronger than oneâs fate, that one can get away with overstepping the bounds of mortals.
And overstepping is always what James and Sirius were ABOUT. But the thing is, they were the golden boys, the children of privilege: they were raised to think they could get away with overstepping. And for years they did. But eventuallyâŠ.
Did you ever see the short (extremely so) animated film, âBambi Meets Godzillaâ? Iâve seen it several times; once was in a seminar as the example of what happens when oneâs fantasies meet reality. As the opening credits roll, we watch Bambi gamboling on a spring meadow, while sweet music tinkles in the background. Then Godzillaâs foot comes down, splat, and the closing credits roll.
One could say that thatâs what happened to James and Sirius.
I had a very long exchange with a Sirius fangirl (Nyxfixx) last year which altered my understanding of Sirius. Not that she got me to like him, or to forgive his treatment of Severus. But she did get me to see that his mind worked fundamentally differently from mine in some ways, and that behavior I saw as inexcusable, in fact criminal, was not ill-meant from his point of view.
It was not meant at all.
I may need to extend that charity towards James.
My grudge against Sirius was two-fold. I could wrap my mind, barely, around the thought that sending Severus to Remus in the Shrieking Shack was not attempted premeditated murder. It was hard for me to grasp that idea, because it seems intuitively obvious to me (as it did to Severus himself) that the expected, normal, predictable result of sending a sixteen-year-old into an enclosed space with an unconfined werewolf is a dead (or mutilated and infected) sixteen-year-old. So one would not do it unless one wanted that result. But Sirius was thoughtless and careless; maybe he really was stupid enough to imagine that Snivellus would just get a scare.
But afterwards he must have realized that heâd endangered Snapeâs life, and he should have been sorry. And he clearly wasnât: âHe deserved it,â Sirius told Harry.
Similarly, I could see a bunch of reckless teens thinking it was cool and exciting to roam the countryside with a werewolf. Unlike them, but like Hermione at fourteen, my first thought is âThatâs incredibly dangerous! OMG, what if he got away and bit someone!â But I could understand, and maybe forgive, a bunch of thoughtless boys NOT worrying about that.
Until the first time it almost happened.
But that they continued to let the werewolf out to play after âmanyâ near misses indicated, to me, that they were near-psychopathic criminals. They repeatedly, callously, endangered the lives of every student at Hogwarts and every villager in Hogsmeade, for no reason but their own idle amusement. They committed the same crime for which Hagrid was expelled and Tommy should have been: loosing a lethal monster in an inhabited area.
What Nyxfixx kept saying and saying until it finally sank in was, âBut nothing really happened! Why should Sirius be sorry or worry about something that didnât happen?â
Now see, thatâs fundamentallyâI do mean, FUNDAMENTALLYâforeign to my mind. I usually thinkâa lotâabout things before I do them. I do sometimes do or say things on impulse or without adequate forethought; and I did that more when I was sixteen than now. But then I think about it afterwards; I have to. Especially if it seemed a mistake or a near-disaster.
If Iâd been stupid enough to let a werewolf out to romp in the streets of Hogsmeade or the grounds of Hogwarts, the first time it almost got away and killed a courting couple or old lady out gathering moonlit herbs, Iâd have been sick with horror for days. As Lupin apparently was in retrospect. I would have felt, each time afterwards that I let out the wolf, that I was playing Russian rouletteâat best, one round closer to an inevitable disaster. Keep playing long enough, and disaster WILL occur.
(Note: speaking as a math major, statistically, letting out the wolf is not strictly the same as Russian roulette, in that each near-miss does not make a fatality next time more likely. But I would have felt it did. Which means that, for me, the only way I could have continued to let out the wolf is if I were a psychopath who put my entertainment above other peopleâs lives. You know, like Tommy.
You understand, there are times when Iâve put my selfish interests or my feelings above other peopleâs feelings, if never their lives. So I can understand doing that, putting my interests first. I canât understand simply not thinking about probable consequences to others, even after having my nose rubbed in those consequences, because I canât imagine not thinking. Eventually, at least, even if I flew off the handle at first. Sooner or later my mind catches up and starts calculating probable consequences, including ones I seem to have escaped this time, whew! Not thinking of consequences at all? In anyone whose intelligence bests Gregory Goyleâs? Does not compute.)
What Nyxfixx made me realize is that for Sirius, each near-miss had the OPPOSITE effect.
The fundamental thing that Nyxfixx made me realize about Sirius is that he was a child of privilege. He spent his childhood being sheltered from the consequences of mistakes he made. So he grew up believing that any mistake could be put right: he never really BELIEVED in consequences past mending.
And part of that is that Sirius grew up with magicâand intention does matter in magic, except when it doesnât. What does Bella (possibly Siriusâs babysitter) tell us about the Unforgivable Curses? âYou have to really mean them.â But Sirius thinks that applies to everything: if he doesnât intend a consequence, heâs blindâalmost literallyâto the idea that it might happen anyhow. Even if itâs much more likely than what he did intend. Like sending another kid to meet a werewolf and sincerely expecting no worse to happen than that the other kid will be scared.
When Sirius said, âHe deserved it,â in POA the eavesdropping Severus thought Sirius meant, âSnape deserved to be torn to piecesâ for the high crime of trying to garner enough evidence of the Maraudersâ crimes to turn them in to the headmaster and get them expelledâas Harry was trying with Draco in HBP. This interpretation is natural enough, I contend, since being torn to pieces is both the most probable result of going down a tunnel with a werewolf, and what would have happened in reality had James not intervened (per James, Severus, and Albus). So I donât hold Severus wrong for thinking that way, and for being a tad annoyed that Sirius is reiterating his belief that Snape deserves to die horribly for interfering with Siriusâs criminal schemes.
But I think now that what Sirius really meant was, âSnape deserved a good scareââand that Sirius STILL, years later, didnât quite understand (or admit to himself) that he almost killed the other wizard.
Further, Sirius (and James) HATE Dark Magic. And they really seem sincere in thinking that so as long as theyâre not using Dark Magic, anything goes. As I pointed out in another post, itâs actually worse from the point of the view of the victim to be tortured by a common household spell than by the Dark Arts: if one is to suffer torture flashbacks, which is worse: having the trigger being someone yelling âCrucioâ or someone saying âScourgifyâ? Which trigger is one more likely to encounter frequently in the WW?
But Sirius (and James) really seem to think that THEYâRE not using Dark Magic, theyâre not INTENDING evil, therefore itâs impossible that evil results will occur.
And every time they got away with somethingâwhether letting out the werewolf or torturing other studentsâfor them, it just reinforced that they are golden, that they can control the consequences.
In his heart of hearts, Sirius truly believed that consequences are controllable: that if he doesnât MEAN harm he hasnât committed it.
And James is mostly the same. True, James had sense enough to rescue Severus from being killed (and Remus from probable execution, and Sirius from a life sentence in Azkaban). But James, too, is golden; he grew up indulged. As a teen, he got away with criminal behavior (torturing other students, becoming an illegal Animagus, letting out a werewolf in an inhabited area) with no serious consequences. And he successfully fooled the Headmaster, weathering the investigation into Siriusâs attempted manslaughter with Dumbledore getting not the least idea that the Marauders are Animagi whoâve been letting Remus out to play among the unsuspecting villagers and students.
So of course, three or four years later, James would be vulnerable to the suggestion (from Pettigrew?) that if he and Sirius could so easily fool Dumbledore, they could fool You-Know-Who, the wizard who dasnât take Dumbledore on. Because thatâs really what using Pettigrew as the Secret-Keeper relied onârather than using Dumbledore, who couldnât be taken or broken unless their whole side had irrevocably lost anyhow, theyâd play a shell game with Voldemort. And they were so sure they could pull it off, they had no backup plans at all.
Which, from the point of view of someone who always broods over possible consequences and failures, is unthinkably remiss. From the viewpoint of a golden boy, whoâs used to luck breaking for him, itâs natural.
*
Now, to backtrack to myself: Iâm the child of an alcoholic and a suicide. Anyone whoâs lived in the alcoholic brand of dysfunctional family learns that the drunk always claims the morning after that they didnât mean anything bad theyâd done the night before. And for years the child agrees, it doesnât count (except it does) because they didnât really mean any harm. It was the drink speaking and acting; it shouldnât really count. What COUNTS is what they MEANT, their innocent intentions.
(Translation: being affected by their misbehavior, however egregious, is wrong of YOU. Get over it already; forget it! They have, after all. They didnât mean to hurt you, so itâs wrong and perverse of you to insist that you were damaged by their words and actions.)
If one ever becomes healthy enough or hardened enough to resist that argument, âI meant no harmâ becomes the ultimate red flag.
Which leaves me peculiarly ill-suited to like the Marauders. In tormenting other students, the Marauders didnât mean any harm; they were just relieving boredom. In loosing the werewolf, they didnât mean to endanger innocent people; they just wanted to get some kicks. In relying on their own cleverness to fool Voldemort, James and Sirius didnât mean to make Harry an orphan; they just thought they could pull it off. After all, theyâd pulled the wool over Dumbledoreâs eyes for years, and heâs smarter than Voldemort.
Even years later, in dragging his feet in taking the Wolfsbane that night, Lupin didnât mean to almost kill three kids, to allow Pettigrew to go free, and to condemn Sirius to remaining a fugitive; he just wanted to wind Snape up a little.
See, itâs a philosophical or personality difference. I, after watching (and enduring) the damage my alcoholic (but charming and attractive) mother inflicted, find it HARDER to forgive someone who âmeant no harmââbut did it, repeatedly, anyhow, and used the pristine innocence of their intentions to insist they should be let off the hook to do harm AGAINâthan to forgive someone who DID mean harm, but who subsequently repented and tried their hardest to make amends.
Sirius and James versus Severus, in effect.
















