"Honestly Sirius, I don't know why I even practice with you; you're a shitty fly"

James was trying to get in as much practice as possible; this was, after all, his last chance to etch his name into Hogwart's Quidditch Hall of Fame; to become a true legend. Only Sirius, who never had the focus to care much about the sport, wasn't nearly a talented enough player to give James a real challenge.

The sun was beating down relentlessly on James, and he could feel his glasses slipping off his nose. If Lily were here, she wouldn't have let me forget the sticking charm. James sighed more audibly than any man his age should, as he briefly fantasized about Lily: Her hands on her hips, admonishing me, "You forgot the sticking charm, you dolt". James wouldn't admit to anyone that it was particularly Lily's bossiness, know-it-all-ness, must-have-the-last-word-because-you-know-I'm-right-ness that kept his attention all these years, that made him fall in love with her. She inches closer, wand raised, "adgluento" and no sweat of any kind would ruin my glasses again. She inches closer to me, eyes closing, lips forming a kiss...

James felt a sharp pain in his shoulder, and slipped a little from his broom.

"Who's the bad fly now, sod?" Sirius was shouting, but James wasn't listening; already diving down at neck breaking speed. He caught the quaffle with his uninjured left hand, and hurled it at the makeshift hoop. It went through.

"You were saying?"

James Potter could never resist the opportunity to show off, even to his best friend. Even when his shoulder was probably dislocated. He touched down and motioned Sirius to do the same.

"Let's get inside for some lunch, yeah? Bloody boiling out here" James tried to hide the pain. Nothing his mother couldn't fix up in a jiffy.

"Oh good, you boys decided to come back down to earth...James are you injured? Again?" Mrs. Potter gave them both a look that would make even Albus Dumbledore hang his head in shame.

"Honestly" she began, waving her wand around James' shoulder, and making entirely too much fuss, "wounds can be healed by magic, but you know, repeated injuries like this leave their toll on the body! Just think about when you're older; you'll be all stiff and arthritis!"

The two boys exchanged looks; they knew better than to interrupt or correct Mrs. Potter. They both mumbled, "Yes'm", and that was enough for her.

"I suppose you two are wanting a spot of lunch, yes? I'll have Grob make us something small; we're dining out tonight" Not for lack of money, the Potters didn't dine out often; Mrs. Potter enjoyed cooking, her house elf Grob as her sous chef, and anyway there wasn't much choice of dining around Godric's Hollow.

In fact, James could remember the last time they had dined out as a family; the day he got his Hogwarts letter.

"Err...what's the special occasion, mum?" Clearly Mrs. Potter was waiting for James to ask this question, as her face broke out in a smile as she handed James a thick envelope.

"Hogwarts letters arrived, and...well go on, open it and see for yourself!" As usual, she had helped herself to the letter before giving it to James, as she did every year to ensure that her son was not hiding marks from her.

James noted that the letter was heavier than usual; probably something to do with the upcoming NEWTs. He opened it, scanning his grades. Os in everything but Potions (EE) and Herbology (A). This was nothing new, as he usually maintained excellent grades, using a mixture of charm and copious amounts of raw talent. He set the paper aside, and started reading the second sheet of parchment. He pretended to fail to notice the badge sitting in the envelope.

Dear Mr. James Potter,

As headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I am honoured, and immensely proud to bring to you the news that you have been selected as Head Boy for the school year of 1977. As Head Boy you will be the representative of the school body as a whole; you will be an authority for all the students to approach. In addition to acting as the superior to all of the houses' prefects, you will be representing the school itself. You have been selected following a long tradition that acknowledges the outstanding abilities of elite students, and offers them an opportunity to share their knowledge with others. The Head Boy must be fair but friendly, stern but supportive, and above all, a friend to all.

You will be sharing this prestigious position with Ms. Lily Evans, who has been chosen as the Head Girl. Together I am sure that you will facilitate another wonderful year at Hogwarts. Please meet me and Ms. Evans at the Three Broomsticks Inn, on the 31st of August, one day prior to term's start.

Yours most humbly,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

James reached in to the envelope, his hands now positively shaking, and pulled out a shiny, and quite large, Head Boy badge. He turned to Sirius, face as white as a ghost,

"Me. Lily. Head Boy. Has Dumbledore finally gone daft?" He scanned his friend for any sign of support or sympathy, but Sirius merely stared back at him, mouth agape.

"Oh for heaven's sake, son, this is a great honour! Your father was Head Boy!"

James groaned; his father was kind enough, but entirely too stuffy and rule obsessed. He had to be, as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Nobody who knew Harold Potter would have any trouble believing that he was once Head Boy. In fact, it was James' childlike determination to be as different from his father as possible, that started his career as a troublemaker; a title he neither wanted to, nor was able to outgrow. Was this what Dumbledore saw in him, his father? Was this what he was destined to become? James started to wonder if it was possible to decline the position...