This is my first One-Shot. Hope you like it!

I changed the ending a bit to fit the characters better.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I would sell this piece, not present it here.

Flying a Little Higher

Air blasted in the fifteen year old's face as he tilted his broom down, reaching his hand out. Closer. . .Closer. . .Almost there. . . His hands closed over a small winged ball, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

"James Potter has caught the snitch, Gryffindor wins!" a young male voice rang.

James landed his dad's old Firebolt and held up the Golden Snitch proudly to the spectators, and grinned when he saw the Slytherins glare in disgust. The Slytherin team scowled, then stalked off into the Hogwarts towers.

His teammates landed in a semicircle around him, and the crowd went wild, but there was only one person he wanted to see right now, and that was his famous father.

James boarded his aged, but fast broom and hurtled himself towards the Gryffindor stand that his father was cheering at. As he landed, his family came and congratulated him - Albus in his fourth year, Lily in her second, and their mum and dad.

"You were great!" Lily exclaimed.

"I knew you could do it, winning the last game of the season!" Albus said.

"You were grea-" His father was cut off by an obsessive fan asking for his autograph, wiping the grin off James' face. Why was his dad famous anyways? He never did anything special; those people should be asking him for autographs, not his dad. His dad looked at the eager person. "Er. . ." This had really ruined the moment. "Maybe later. . ." but no matter what his father said, they wouldn't go away, so he admitted defeat, and gave them what they wanted - a dumb little signature to prove that they had actually met the famous Harry Potter.

James' mum glanced nervously at his dad, then, trying to look cheerful, said, "You were great out there!"

"Dad doesn't think so. . ." James said as his father was being tackled by fans.

"Yes he does," His mum said. "He's just. . .busy at the moment."

James sighed, and his siblings worriedly glanced at one another. This was going to be a long day.

James mounted his broom, then glided back down to his teammates. As soon as he landed, they picked him up, and carried him, while he pretended to hold up the snitch proudly. His teammates carried him into the Hogwarts towers, still cheering happily, then finally put him down.

Later that night, Gryffindor Tower was the most fun place on earth, at least, to everyone but James. While his friends got drunk with firewhiskey, he crept up to the boys' dormitory and pulled out a sheet of paper. He borrowed his friend's new Quill and started writing.

Dear Dad,

Why are you famous? You never did anything.

Sincerely,

James

But there was something else that was bugging James.

P.S. Sorry I never asked, but how did you get that scar on your head?

James rolled up the letter, and gave it to his owl, Kiwi(his sister had named it), and watched the peanut butter coloured bird fly away with it.

In the morning, Kiwi dropped a reply into his cereal. James dried it off with a spell that he had learned, and read it.

Dear James,

I'd rather tell you at home where you can't brag about it.

Sincerely,

Dad

'Oh, that explains a lot!' James thought sarcastically. 'Why would I brag about it, anyways? It's not like he killed the most evil wizard of all or anything!'

A few days later, Lily, Albus, and James came back home for summer break. When they got home, James didn't even have to finish his sentence, "Dad, why are you-"

"People sometimes call me The Boy Who Lived, or The Chosen One," his dad said. "The one person who survived the Killing Curse."

James gulped. Maybe he didn't want to know why his father was famous.

"Is that why we have no Granddad and Grandma Potter?" Lily choked. Their dad just nodded.

"Where did that scar come from, then?" James asked.

His father touched the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead, closing his eyes, seeming to expect a pain to shoot through it. Then he opened his eyes again. "This is a story that I didn't plan on telling you until you were older. . ." He looked upon James, Albus, and Lily's expecting faces, and then he sighed. "But I think that now you're ready. I guess that I should start with this question: Have you ever heard of the dark wizard Voldemort?"

***

"But something doesn't add up," said James. His siblings stared at him, looking thoroughly confused. Even his dad looked confused.

"What is it?" the celebrated wizard scratched his head awkwardly, as if knowing what his son was going to ask.

"If you killed him the first time when you were a baby, then how did he come back again when you were eleven?"

He sighed heavily. "I promised myself that I would never tell you. You're Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron are the only other ones who know how. If everyone knew, then they'd be able to make some for themselves, and it'd happen all over again." The man felt the disappointed stares pierce his face, and he sighed once again. "I'll tell you this; This scar gave hope, and as long as it never pains, all is safe, and there is nothing to fear." The three children stared up in awe at their father. For the first time in his life, James felt like he truly knew his father, even if he didn't know the full story.

Perhaps the next year when his father came to the Quidditch match, James wouldn't feel quite so bad when a fan came along. 'And maybe,' thought James, deviously, 'Dad will buy us new brooms to make us feel better.'

From then on, James would feel as if he was flying a little higher than he had been before, and it wasn't his new broom which did the trick.