Normal.

To the other kids on his block, James Potter wasn't normal. Sure, he got along with them just fine. He got along with pretty much everyone. Mum was always boasting about how charismatic he was. But when the other kids wanted to go watch football and he said that quidditch was the best sport there was, he got some strange looks.

Mum and Dad started to tell him not to say things like that to the other kids – they wouldn't understand, muggles rarely ever do. He had to hide his wizard blood and act "normal" around other kids so that they wouldn't be afraid of him.

The only problem was that James didn't know what normal was.

Normal to him was when he would come home and see dishes being done by themselves while his mother cheerily made supper. Normal to him was listening in awe as his father told him all about being an auror and catching all the bad wizards out there. Normal to him was his quidditch poster hanging on the wall above his bed.

Normal to other kids was complaining about having to do the dishes and listening to their fathers drone on about being an accountant (whatever that was) and looking up to football stars like they were Gods. Normal to other kids was being excited to go to the middle school nearby.

James had to pretend to be just as excited as they were, because that was normal. Although every night leading up to his eleventh birthday he ran home and checked his mailbox praying that his letter had come. It was never there.

He couldn't help the doubt he had. Was he a squib? What if he was? Both his parents were wizards so surely he had to be a wizard too. It wasn't fair. He didn't fit in with these people who lived here; he had to be a wizard.

He had done things magical. One time he had gotten so mad at his teacher that the tea that she was holding had exploded in her hands and went in every single direction. Another time his friends wanted him to play football with him and he had fallen trying to kick the ball and gotten so embarrassed that everyone was laughing at him, and the next thing he knew the ball bounced right onto the roof of the school.

He begged and pleaded with his parents, telling them that he had to be a wizard that they had to send a letter to the school telling them that he was a wizard, he had to get a letter. But they just smiled little smiles and patted his head.

"James, just calm down," his father said, smiling annoyingly. "If you're meant to get a letter, you'll get a letter."

Which would explain why James was in the foul mood he was in the night of his birthday party. None of his friends were there – he didn't want them there, they would talk about middle school and he didn't want to talk about that school – only family and friends of the family, all wizards. His sour mood lasted through dinner, cake and most of the way through presents. Until his parents presented him with an envelope.

Mr J. Potter
The Last Bedroom On The Right
24 William Road
London

It was here. Finally. The letter he had been waiting for his whole entire life. He looked up at his parents smiling proudly at him.

"Well, go on, open it!" his Mum said excitedly. "Read it aloud now."

"Dear Mr Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of necessary books and equipment.
Term beings on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Sincerely,
Minervera McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress." James's voice grew more and more excited as he read on. He was going. He was going to Hogwarts and he wouldn't have to pretend he was a muggle and everyone there would be his kind of normal and he would learn magic and be a real wizard.

He couldn't keep the smile of his face for the rest of the week.

James Potter was a wizard. He was finally normal.

A\N: I'm trying my best to do Jo justice, but I'll tell you right now, it is fucking difficult. I honestly never thought the day would come where I would write this, but I was convinced. Hopefully this doesn't turn out to be a huge failure. I'll probably re-write this a thousand times between now and the end of the story, whenever that happens.

Please, give me some sort of feedback. Anything, really. Tell me it was the worst thing you've ever read - just tell me why. It's probably the best thing you can do for me, actually.

If you've taken the time to read this...you're awesome.

You may have noticed I took down all of my old fanfictions...basically, I was embarrassed at how awful they were. I might edit them up and make them readable and then repost them. If you were particularly attached, message me and we can work something out so I can send you them and (if it was Gone Are The Days Of Summer) I might be able to send you the ending. If not, don't worry about it. His Voice and The Notebook were nowhere near ending, although The Notebook I may continue just because I loved it so much.