Chapter 2
March 1970
When James Fleamont Potter wakes up on the morning of his tenth birthday, at precisely 7:03, he is already excited for the surprises, (and presents, mainly presents) that come along with the occasion
He can smell the intoxicating perfume of bacon being fried wafting up from the kitchen downstairs and hurriedly throws himself out of bed to follow the delicious scent.
When he arrives in the large, pale yellow kitchen, his face immediately lights up at the pile of presents on the kitchen table. "Thanks mum! Thanks dad!" Euphemia and Fleamont Potter smile as he sits down at the table and digs into the plate of bacon with an fervor that rivals that of a hippogriff. The elder Potters sit down as well to eat and Fleamont Potter demonstrates where James' appetite comes from.
Euphemia eats more slowly, raising one eyebrow at the two. "Boys," she admonishes playfully.
Both father and son give her matching grins.
Euphemia sighs, and attempts to hide her smile.
"Master James!" comes a high voice.
"Sooley!" cries James and grins at the house elf standing in front of him.
"Sooley wishes Master James a happy birthday!" James grins and does a mock bow from his seat. "Sooley has made Master a gift!" she adds rather shyly.
"Aw- thanks Sooley!" he replies. Sooley snaps her finger and hands James the parcel that's appeared. He carefully rips it open and takes out the gift. "An avocado! Thanks!...."
Sooley blushes and disappears with a loud pop. James shoves his fork into his mouth and swings his head around to look at his parents.
"Mum, dad, can I open my presents from you guys yet?" James asks. Hardly distinguishable around the mouthful of eggs currently in his mouth.
"Yes honey, go ahead" replies his mother. Groaning at the nickname, though he secretly doesn't mind it, he makes his way over to the pile, a huge grin cresting his light brown face. He opens the present carefully, unwilling to rip the paper. He pulls out a pair of broom clippers. "But- I don't have my own broom, I just use dad's,"
And use he did. Almost as soon as he'd learned to walk his father would set him down on the broom in front of him and they would fly all over the yard together. He practiced using the broom day and night, sometimes sneaking out to have a quick fly. He had gotten quite good and had sulked for a bit when he found out about Hogwart's policy about first years on the team.
"Just keep going" his mother encourages him. Puzzled, he open the next package. Its a small jar of broom polisher. An idea starts to form in his head, when his father pulls out a package from the cabinet under the sink. He sees the shape of it and eagerly tears it open. He is confronted with the newest broom model. A Nimbus 205. He stares at the broom for a few seconds before standing up to pull both his parents into a bone-crunching hug. Fleamont and Euphemia share a smile and James' father ruffles his hair, but then James grabs the broom and tears out into the backyard.
The amazing, thought-clearing, exhilarating feeling he always gets when he's in the air feels magnified by a hundred on this new broom. He spends hours flying until the cold March air finally catches up to him.
He comes back down, not knowing how his skill will blossom in the later years, so much he could have played professionally if what happened that fateful night in October had been avoided.