This is a collection of James Potters "First Times". It's purely for the enjoyment of watching James fail miserably and have fun with his closest friends (see Sirius, Remus, and Peter). It's expected that you can gather that each chapter name is finishing the sentence "The firs time James Potter...". This is James Potter, Harry's dad, not Harry's son, to clear that up before we begin. Also, I'll be updating this as I finish each "first time". At the moment, I have two finished, and I'll be posting them both. I'm almost done the third. I don't know how many there will be, but I'll let you know when I've run out of ideas. You can put in your own, if you want, but I've already finished "...Asked Out Lily Evans" and I'm almost done with "...Pranked Severus Snape", so don't offer those up c: These are not in any order. At all. This first one ("...Rode a Broomstick") is James at seven. "...Asked Out Lily Evans" is second year at Hogwarts. "...Pranked Severus Snape" is first year Halloween. You'll be able to find when these take place in the writing c: None of them will be very long, I don't think. I don't see many over 1000 words. This one, I think, is only about 640 or so. I got this idea from my dear rp-buddy Bella, who plays the Sirius and Lily to my James. Please leave a review, I'd love to know what you think and any suggestions you might have!

The stories are mine, but the characters-any that you recognize-are J.K. Rowling's.

…Rode a Broomstick

James sat on the broom, shaking with excitement. He was seven years old, his very first broomstick. It was the newest in the Cleansweep series, and James was beyond proud of it. He vowed to become a Quidditch World Cup champion some day, the youngest-ever Chaser to be on a national team and win every World Cup he was ever in—which would be all of them, of course.

"Dad, how do I make it go-o-o-ohhh!" He had leaned forward just so slightly, and the broom, having hardly raised three feet above the ground, shot forward. He tumbled off the broomstick, and, having lost its rider, the broomstick stopped, waiting. James had only one thought that repeated itself in his brain: "Stupid broomstick, doesn't know how to ride a person." The thought, to James, didn't sound like it didn't make sense. In fact, he thought it made loads of sense, though he didn't mention it to his father, who stood chuckling behind him.

James's father lifted him to his feet. "Son, it's very simple, once you get the hang of it."

"I don't like simple," James replied, pouting. "I want a new broom, one that knows what to do."

His father only laughed. "Jimmy, this is the best broom you'll find anywhere. It knows what to do if you know what to do."

James muttered something that sounded like "poppycock."

"Here." Mr. Potter picked up the broomstick and carried back to his son. He dropped it back to the ground. "You're only seven, James. You're not going to get it right away. I wasn't able to ride my first broomstick until I was eleven, right before I started Hogwarts." Mr. Potter raised an eyebrow as James smirked, no doubt thinking he was a far better flyer than his father. "Mount it. Tell the broom what you want to do. Fly."

The instructions were simple, far too simple for James's liking. But he did as he was told, mounted the broom and told it what to do, hoping it would fly. "Go up, go straight, and do it right." He waited expectantly, but his feet stayed firmly on the ground. It was Mr. Potter's turn to smirk.

"Do you want real instructions now?"

James's mouth resembled a fish, opening and closing soundlessly. Finally, he whispered out, as if betrayed by his closest friend, "You lied to me? That's not what I'm supposed to do?" He pouted again, and called for a House Elf (his favorite House Elf, Ichabod, who he called Ichy for short) to bring him a glass of pumpkin juice. He wanted a break before he decided to trust his father's instructions again.

After his snack, James mounted the broom again. Mr. Potter now sat in a lawn chair, reading a rather thick volume from his library. He glanced up to see his son ready for the next step, and then continued his book. "Lean forward slightly. Don't lean forward too far, or you migh—"

"AHHHH!"

Mr. Potter dropped his book and ran to catch up with his son, wishing he'd brought his own broomstick out, as well. "James! James! Slow down! Pull back, pull back!"

It would seem James pulled back a bit too far, and he slid right off the back, landing painfully on his back. He drew in a deep breath and let it out in a frustrated sigh, pounding his fists on the ground on either side of him. "I give up!"

"No, you don't," his father decided, steadying the broomstick over the boy. "Try again."

An hour later, James had successfully figured out how to ride a broomstick, and he zoomed around the countryside gleefully under the watchful eye of his father.