the cadence of part time poets

Chapter 59: James Potter's Technicolour Dream World

Oh God, life is strange,
Some are fast and some are slow;
Some believe me, don't even know,
No, no, no, no, no;
Strange, life is strange,
Life is strange,
Oh, my life is strange...

- "Life is Strange" T. Rex, 1973

Sunday 24th April 1977

Once a year, all sixth form students were required to meet with their forms teacher to discuss what it was they wanted to do with the rest of their lives. Being a rather prestigious place, most Hawkings students had their entire life plotted out by year 7, either by their families or someone their family hired. Those students who didn't commit to upper sixth (and there were some, even at Hawkings) would leave school and take over whatever business or lordship from their parents. Naturally, anyone who stayed would aim for the most reputable university that would admit them and from there head into politics or business or whatnot, and if they didn't do that it was probably because they had a diamond mine in Botswana to inherit. Remus' friends were no exception.

For most of his life James had resigned himself to simply following in his father's footsteps. Shortly before his first and only child was born, Fleamont Potter, an already in-demand corporate lawyer, opened his own law firm and was quickly propelled into London's legal stratosphere. A child of immigrants, Fleamont was determined that his own son have every opportunity available to him, though he was distinctly under the impression that taking pre-law classes at school and actual law in university was the best way for James to secure that opportunistic future. James didn't seem to refute this. As long as he had enough free time to play his sports and hang out with his friends then he was content.

Peter was a little more vague about his future. Like James, his father expected him to head into the family business, supporting Simeon as he ran the newspaper until their sons could inherit it from them. For the most part, Peter appeared agreeable to this, despite the fact that working under his brother seemed to be the last thing that he would ever want to do. Remus had never said it, but he'd always sort of pictured Peter doing something with his art. Every time he saw his friend complete another sketch it struck him that it was better than the last. And the last had always been very good so... but Peter was not a risk-taker, and he was always saying how his father didn't believe in the arts—a great source of contention between his and James' families, since Euphemia Potter, a highly educated woman in her own right, was a curator at the National Gallery in London.

"The world will always need news!" Peter would say, puffing up his shoulders to imitate his father.

"And the world will always worship art!" James would say, wagging a finger to imitate his mother.

And then, because he was Sirius, Sirius would chime in with; "Mum's right! Ars longa, vita brevis—'art is long, life is short'!"

'Life is short' became Sirius' mantra in the weeks leading up to the teacher/student meetings. He'd read it off-hand in one of their textbooks and always said it with conviction, but somehow it still felt as though he were trying to reassure himself that art was worthwhile, rather than convince the rest of them. Under normal circumstances Sirius would have had absolutely no cause to worry about his future. The Black family was so old and esteemed that if Sirius were to trace his roots back more than three generations he'd probably have found that he was cousin to not only the British royal family, but at least four other monarchies as well. Sirius could've lived the rest of his life without lifting a pinky and still have been richer than any sorry sod that crossed his path and yet, he wanted none of it. To him it was blood money—paid for but never earned. Yes, Sirius was determined to make his own way—with Uncle Alphard's inheritance as a comfortable subsidy, of course. After his meeting had finished, he left Sheila's office looking cool and collected. Not much worried Sirius Black, and certainly not the future. When he dropped down on the bench where Remus was waiting for his turn, he was still smiling. Even played at lighting one of his cigarettes, but put the pack away when Remus gave him the stink-eye.