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James Sirius Potter

"You can shriek until you're hollow or whisper it the other way, trying to save the youth without putting your shoes on."

0 · 331 views · located in Hogwarts

a character in “The Year The Sky Fell {Hogwarts}”, as played by ¢σℓ∂


.: When in my life have I ever been obnoxious? :.
|| Shake It Off || I Don't Wanna Live on the Moon || I Found Space ||


"Not to be arrogant, but are you a victim of a memory charm?"
James Sirius Potter

"They call me all sorts of things. In the first year it was brat, Harry, 'Harry Potter's son'. Later there was 'Hey can you introduce me to your dad and or mom' and princess - which I'll take as a compliment, thank you. Now people have gotten in the habit of just calling me by my surname - 'Potter' - with either stupefaction or resentment, and I can't forget dunderhead, bird-man, ass and 'pixie bitch'. They're not terribly creative, most people just call me James which as you know is my name, so I'm content with that."

"Honestly it comes as a relief that I can't host any birthday extravaganzas during the semester."
July 15th

"I'm one year shy of being recognized as a legal adult, and then..."

"Does this matter?"

"I used to think being their son was more trouble then it was worth. I love them, of course, but that's still true on occasion."
Harry and Ginny Potter

"This guy is my true best friend. He's the most loyal companion you'll ever meet - I can promise you that."
Horned Owl named 'Scoot'.

"How do people always conveniently forget that I like both guys and girls? Is it that complex?"
Bisexual | Biromantic

"And I really want to kiss you, right in front of your dad."
His few adolescent romances were like fireworks, seizing the attention of peers who'd whisper debates on whether or not the two would graduate with a wedding planned - and how could they not, with his extravagant displays of affection something from fairy-tales and novels? However, after having his heart bruised by two that were more interested in his linage and inherited fame than him and a failed romance with a girl from Beauxbatons James had decided to stray away from high school romance and stick to more practical things, such as daydreaming.

"What can I say? I'm the giant in my family."

Genetics gave to him unruly hair, thousands of strands sprouting from his head in a haphazard mess of thick, soft locks that despite the overcrowding never seem to tangle. Passed down from his ancestry was also his eyes, a green diluted and softened into translucence, contrasted by the ring of black surrounding the irises. Genetics, however, didn't predict his height - his tall stature coming to a surprise to his parents, believed to be apart of the same anomaly that blessed Bill Weasley. With proportionate, sturdy shoulders and a body neither huge or petite he towers, takes up space, but never to the point of being imposing or intimidating.

Never had he reached the point of being 'ripped'. His abdominal muscles aren't protruding with a wish to escape his body and when he flexes his biceps become defined, sure, but they're not the size of bowling balls. From Quidditch and his need to stay active, lest he become a bundle of nerves from the monotony, his body is supported by lean muscle that's softened by thin layers of fat, which he'll always mark as an advantage - after all, you can't snuggle a rock.

In the face James is striking, of harsh, sharply defined features, such as his large nose and the traces of his cheek bones highlighted with every move of his jaw. With a healthy complexion he distances himself from the pale ghastly skin tone he possessed in his first year and with his lips prone to curving upwards people call him approachable, eyes always luminescent, and some call it starlight, others call it arrogance or naivety.

From the bludger colliding with his skull in his third year, subsequently causing him to cut himself on a shard of a shattered broom, lies a crooked scar on the back of his neck in its memory. There's the indents scattered around his body - on his right index finger, his back, knees - from a chickenpox curse paired with a scratching charm. A vertical line of dark skin exists across his hipbone for approaching the whomping willow, a perfect circle from negligence during potions class, and the permanent cat scratch above his left eyebrow are some of his various scars earned through a life of foolhardy adventure. Aside from scars James has a tattoo of a pocket watch that settles on his upper right forearm, always displaying the correct time, and with some encouragement it can be tugged along the surface of his body.

To some James comes to a surprise, for in many ways he's exceptionally ordinary, and in others he's of unique magic that sparks adrenaline and dopamine, with his tangible dreams and the eccentric fantasies fashioned into the grandest adventures.

James Potter is wholly content when lounging around a common area with a study circle of friends and can often be found this way, ink staining his fingers and books piled high around his party of patchwork companions. On these days the atmosphere around him is casual and calm, his visage amiable and nonjudgmental, and even this way he draws people to him. The time he spends eating mountains of food in the great hall scarcely begins and ends in solitude, usually at least a single person joins him, trusting him to be their antidote of humor or solace for the moment. His availability to listen to them is limited, having a point where the complaints and demands gnaw at him, but for the most part he enjoys being a friend to many, to the point where it's not uncommon for him to be in another house's common room in deep conversation with those that hardly know a single real thing about him. But that's fine, he fancies his everyday life, planning Hogsmeade trips and talking people through their darkest nights, is fond of recreating muggle pizza and singing of tall tales and the embellished mundane, surrounding himself with people, and it's how he defines his name on his own terms.

But James still retains pieces of his younger self, when trouble followed his footfalls and pranks spawned from his meddling hands. The world he sees is coated in a film of rose, seeing dramatic, romantic scenes where the colors radiate and the sounds are in perfect harmony. He never sought to rid himself of the insatiable desire for adventure, and still he orchestrates these moments of glory and those strings of events leading to permanent memories. It's perpetual, the ripple of delightful chaos, and even when his demeanor is laid-back people still sense the restless energy underneath his skin, keeping them on their toes even when it's twelve am and they're still reviewing charms lessons in the Hufflepuff common room (convenient for being so close to the kitchen) because within the next hour they'll be cheering alongside the black lake with fireworks dancing between their hands and a man-made aurora borealis hanging above their dizzy heads. Naive and spontaneous he catalyzes journeys into the night and impromptu celebrations of music and laughter, painting scenes in his bright colors, tugged in whatever direction his impulses take him.

There are many things that James once was and is, one of them being lost to himself and the world, a trait that he learned to embrace along with people's skewed perceptions of him. Years before he was frightened of the expectations, his inability to create a life and name for himself, the dilemma of picking a future - but he began purging these fears since his fifth year, when his clumsy actions began to mature into something that stopped hurting people and began giving them joy, regardless if they saw him as his father, as an accessory, or less than what he is. The past and the future slips past his vision, and he's fixated on the present, prone to mistakes but always maintaining promises to never mess up the same way twice. He may not understand himself or other people well, but he's always collecting stories, always seeking to create better memories - and all the misfortune and beautiful things is put into music, chords and lyrics recited beside fires. Droplets of melancholy swirl within him, and like that he's alone - he'll say this in his head - but if he can wander the world with a bit of magic, then that will be okay with him.

It will be okay.

"When I leave this place I'll just fly across the world and play music. I want to know what'd I'd see out there."
Gryffindor || Seventh Year

"I remember those...twenty four hour studying with twenty four hour butterbeer."
Charms - O | Transfiguration - O | Herbology - E | DADA - O
| Ancient Runes - E | Potions - E | Care of Magical Creatures - O | Astronomy - E |
Divination - A | Arithmancy - A | History of Magic - A

"I guess my family has a Quidditch legacy going on the school's trophy cabinet."
Quidditch Awards

"The adrenaline never faded...but even if I enjoy it, the thought of entering professional leagues gives me a feeling of melancholy. I have other plans, this will be my last year."
Chaser for Gryffindor Team

"Parlez-vous français?"
English & French

"...It's been a capricious partner to say the least, but I wouldn't replace it, not if I can help it."
10¼" Willow, Phoenix feather core.

"However, I may have had to replace my broom a few times..."

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Marauder's Map (stolen from father's desk) || Extendable Ears || Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs || Skiving Snackbox

"I'm good with transfiguration?"
Is an unregistered Animagus, Coyote

The concept becoming an Animagus existed to him as just shy of an obsession from his third year onward, repeating itself in his head until he became a thief of the library's restricted section, hiding away in the castle's nooks while reading of laborious transformation. Something of it appealed to him; perhaps it would make him unique, or give opportunity to find his own identity and adventure that's disconnected from the name Potter, maybe he'd uncover and understand a secret to the world and of the magic flowing through it, or find something that's been calling to him and unlock a truth of himself that's been hiding.

Late in his fifth year James saw his obsession take form and completed his first Animagus transformation, and in the moment all fear of the spellwork going horribly wrong drained from him, who stood solemnly calm in the fringes of the Forbidden Forest. His body learned to take on a new shape, that of a Coyote, an animal not even native to his side of the world. Yet from it he found resonance, found hints of what he was seeking and more, and he discovered quiet peace within when it began coming together, his insecurities slowly peeling away the following years.

Perhaps he's synchronized with the Coyote for the most vain reasons, trickery and whimsy, but he possess more of the coyote's spirit than a taste for rebellion and raw emotion. They share a seamless instinct explained in the conclusions that flash in his mind on short notice, the reflexes that get him praised after Quidditch matches so often, his talent to evade earning detentions with a developing skill in escape artistry. It's a subconscious awareness to the possibilities and the tug that leads the way. It's a state of being highly sensory-activated without traces of doubt, and a process of learning from consequences while vowing to never make the same mistake twice.

James thought of registering as an Animagus, especially considering he'd be sent to Azkaban if his talent was discovered by the wrong people, but he has yet to do so. Really, he isn't sure if he'll register at all, and instead selfishly keep it a secret for himself, as if it's too precious to let anyone know. Besides, it'll come in handy if he ever gets into any real trouble, right?

"I might have a bad habit of casting this just for the fun of it."

There's a chance that being an Animagus helps him in casting the Patronus charm with usual natural ease, but on the other hand it was an essential skill taught to him by his father in preparation for any potential calamity. Appearing in the shape of a coyote the charm is luminescent and electric, almost playful in how it runs and jumps through the air.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with wanting to be my own person now is there?"
Himself, though in the spitting imagine of his father.

James' boggart points at his insecurity and struggle with living in the shadow of Harry Potter, and when the creature transforms what he sees is himself, but lacking his own identity. Dressed in Auror robes, wearing glasses and without any expression of emotion his boggart gives form to the fear of not making his own life and following the footsteps of his father along with fulfilling the shallow expectations others have placed on him. These days (although he still loathes boggarts and wishes to avoid them) he doesn't mind people knowing what his boggart is and reiterates variations of the same thought - what's wrong with wanting to be himself?

So begins...

James Sirius Potter's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alice Longbottom Character Portrait: James Sirius Potter Character Portrait: Scorpius Malfoy
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Platform 9 3/4 : Hogwarts Express, September 1st

    Five years he repeated in same routine with slight variations, although always present was the distraught expressions of his parents. Ginny and Harry Potter earned their delicate wrinkles through the tradition of rushing to Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and even as a seventh year James woke from his disturbed slumber hours before his family - pondering whether or not to ditch them regardless of the howler he'd be guaranteed to receive as consequence. Always he decided against it, later to regret it whilst listening to his mother's worrying disguised as a Quidditch lecture.

    "Do a barrel roll and punt a bludger into the snitch, if it breaks into a hundred tiny pieces there's no way for them to win - got it." Bastardizing her advice he slips from her constricting hold on his wrist and enchants her with a quick peck on the forehead - mothers love that kind of thing - succeeding to grab a hold of his luggage. "Now remember to behave or I'll ground you forevermore, but more so than that remember that I love you and will write diligently throughout the year. Now, off with ye'!" James rambled to the unamused audience, volume of his voice rising with every reverse footfall that put more distance between him and his family until he could finally steady himself on the train's railing. "Farewell, my beautiful family! I'll think of you fondly!" Singing a light lament to them he disappeared into one of the rear cars, breathing the familiar atmosphere of old wood and freshly baked pastries, staring into the charming light reflected off bits of dust.

    Yet none of this particularly mattered - in fact it was particularly dull the seventh time - and his surroundings slipped from his attention, colors blending in the vortex that is tunnel vision. Guiding his luggage behind him (saved by charms that kept each case bigger on the inside) he crossed through the tiny corridor, corners of his mouth twitching upwards to greet those familiar to him, and those not so familiar, his heart taut with the craving of wanting something more and the subtle hum of woe of knowing this will be his final year studying at Hogwarts. They're to be crushed, the emotions broken by the present, and James continued on towards the back, deceivingly happy syllables of "How are you?" leaving his mouth without an intention of hearing any answers.

    It was like this; asphyxiated was he with the same scenery, for easily did he yearn to fly into new horizons, and he deviated only for a short list of those loved by him. Summer to him became a cruel spell of anxiety decorated with sporadic adventurous, later becoming lustrous memories.

    ( They were precious, but in those months there was family and friends he always saw, and in the first dawn of fall he vanished with crueler joy. )

    Maybe beyond here, where his fingers curled into the sliding door's indent, is where he'll find the sarcastic sorcerer. And it was so, his crooked smile arising when welcomed by air laced with tobacco and infamous chemicals. The aroma was warmth, controlling the weather of his head, always related amorphous white clouds with one person.

    "Is that a new spell?" Impish he interrupted the mantra with his shameless grim, entering the cabin as he normally would, had begun the semester just like this several times already. Step one - find Scorpius, step two - try to contain emotions, step three - fail. Proudly he carried with him simple chaos; he jostled Scoot from his slumber in the process of organizing his luggage, lost stray sheets stained with ink lyrics as they fell from above, and the owl murmured its discontent as the floor was patched by papers sick with jaundice.

    Ignoring the lost pages he fixed his jumper of maroon, and curious James looked to the infamous boy known for the bewilderment he left strangers with and a bloodline considered of debatable value (there were wizards that would scorn a Malfoy and those that would vouch for them, the others expressing various of neutrality), but in the case of James Potter he could fill notebooks with Scorpius Malfoy, his knowledge ranging from the hidden trait of sentimental and the comfort he could achieve when just beside his dear friend. Pondering the array of facts his eyes slowly redirect to the other presence in the train car, a the wiring in his brain short circuiting, embers flickering, ashes piling in his cranium.

    The seconds pile and the corners of his mouth are again contorted into an angular performance formally known as a grin. "I think I should have took my studies in divination with more moxie." The remark casually rolls off his tongue, the pupils that lingered on the blond's momentarily fixated on the infamous scoundrel known as 'Alice Longbottom'. Naturally the charade of nonchalance would persist, and thus logically he collapsed next to Scorpius, legs spread across the isolated room, briefly noting again that it's disappointing that there's not quite enough space to comfortably nap in one of these things. "Considering this recent omen, I can say with confidence that this year will be a fantastic tale of toil and trouble." His facial muscles relaxed enough for his expression to return to a less terrifying state, and pulled by the strings of distraction, he looked back over to his regular cynical companion.

    "So, Clever Boy," James began, nudging his 'best friend forever until the permanent void of damnation inevitably swallowed them whole - and maybe even then'. "tell me, how much did you miss me?" Yes, shameless was right. One could mistake him for a narcissist when he wore that visage of exuberance, but he couldn't resist asking despite the probability of a negative response because he, as one may see, couldn't live too long without Scorpius before becoming absolutely stir crazy - the disheveled hair could vouch for that, no doubt.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alice Longbottom Character Portrait: James Sirius Potter Character Portrait: Scorpius Malfoy
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When the compartment door opens to reveal Alice Longbottom, Scorpius barely looks up, but James Potter happens to be right behind her, his question much more disruptive than Alice's comment. Scorpius scoffs and bring his cigarette back to his lips, finally looking up at the intruders. He offers the girl a nod instead of looking at his best friend. “Is there any other way but traditional?”

He and Alice weren't really close anymore, but there was a certain bond knowing each other from childhood gave them, so Scorpius liked her company okay. James, however, was both his number one and the most annoying thing to ever wiggle it's way into his life.

He narrows his bright blue eyes as the door clatters shut, luggage bangs on railing, a particular horned owl sounds very displeased at being woken, and then the floor was covered in paper, each sheet making its own noise as it fell to the ground.

Why. Why was James always so noisy.

And why the hell did he find it so endearing?

Scorpius watches James fall into the seat next to him, sprawl out and take up all the room like he was prone to doing...either physically or with his personality. The blonde shook his head, dejectedly, fingers clenching over the results in his hands. Scorpius didn't even want to talk about his Divination scores. Or any of the others, for that fact. The paper in his hand was literally stupidity in a handful of letters. The only reason why he was even allowed to move onto Sixth year was because McGonagall took pity on him and weighted his practical scores over his written ones.

He lets the paper fall to the floor, getting lost somewhere in the myriad of what was likely song lyrics that James had dispensed when he'd entered the room. “I didn't miss you at all, idiot. It's quiet without you around. Clean.” Scorpius Malfoy, among other things, may be a really horrid liar, but that was his own business.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alice Longbottom Character Portrait: Lysander Scamander Character Portrait: James Sirius Potter Character Portrait: Scorpius Malfoy
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Lysander could barely suppress the urge to part his lips and let out what was to most likely be an outstanding yawn, the thought itself prompting him to raise his palms and scrub vigorously at his drooping eyelids. It took every fibre of his being not to simply sink into the crimson cushions that lay beneath him which, at the time, didn't seem unlike a soft, airy cloud. Be as it may, the day itself was still young and stillness of the steam-powered vehicle, coupled with its deafening hoots and screeches, signified that it was not even yet eleven o'clock- the assigned time in which the train begins to make its way to Hogwarts.

The young wizard had no one else to blame but himself for his current state of drowsiness and it wasn't uncommon for him to be in such a state; he's always up during all hours of the night doing something or other that kept him from resting. During this particular instance, he had stumbled upon his grandfather's, Xenophilius Lovegood, recordings of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. There wasn't much to read, per say, but there was much to analyse about the creature. The elusive magical creature most likely hailed from Sweden , but was never found (even by his mother, who searched the globe for the improbable creature for years.)

Lysander and Lorcan had been fortunate enough to snag an empty compartment while others were distracted by fellow friends and classmates they had not seen for quite a time. Lysander knew how difficult it could be to find a compartment that was either not completely full or would, at the very least, accept you once the students were in their respective places and the train was off and moving. The twins made that mistake second year; they had a rather unpleasant ride with a domineering fourth year Slytherin and two very snippy Ravenclaws, one of which sweated profusely. By their sixth year, well, they valued the peace that came with picking one's own space.

Despite his letharigic state of being, there was a familiar buzz of excitement that coursed through the young wizard's veins. It happened every time that he found himself back in the Hogwarts Express once again, the very sight of the sleek ebony and crimson vehicle left him breathless and exhilorated. Even at the moment Lysander was breathing in the earthy scent of the train's interior like he couldn't get enough of it and the compartments, to which some may argue are constricting and stifling, were welcoming, warm, and cozy. It was his favorite place to be. Well, second favorite to Hogwarts, of course. “I’m off to find Briggs.” Lorcan grinned that signature boyish grin of his, the one that always made Lysander want to smile back at him, no matter what mood he was in. Briggs was Lorcan’s fellow Gryffindor and good friend to boot. Lysander liked Briggs- he was a rather plump fellow and smelled of sugar plums and pumpkin spice, but he was kind and accommodating. “I’ll be back before you can say Dashing Dugbogs. Make sure Tolstoy stays out of trouble!”

Tolstoy was, if anything, an unattractive creature; he was an ugly shade of arboraceous brown, his back legs were too short for his large, lumpy body, and his eyes were bulging and cockeyed. Yet, his twin had to have found him oddly charming, for he was the one that picked out the unfortunate toad during their visit at The Magical Menagerie when they were only eleven. Lysander had to admit, Tolstoy grew on him as well throughout his years with his brother.

Tolstoy sat adjacent to Lysander, staring at him expectantly with his crooked eyes and croaking meekly. “He may cause quite some trouble, Lorcan.” He replied as earnestly as he could. It had Lorcan chuckling and patting his twin’s shoulder before vanishing.

As Lysander now found himself alone, he raked a hand through his blonde curls and pulled out a book. He might as well do some reading. He’d have a quick catnap later on the way to Hogwarts and feel rested by the time they got there.