You are only young once, but you can be immature for a lifetime.

- John P. Grier

"James?"

"Mmhmm"

"Have you ever heard of the phrase 'a watched pot never boils'?"

James Potter glanced back over his shoulder at his Mother's question. His unruly black hair stuck up at an assortment of angles, possibly due to its natural desire to not obey the laws of gravity or possibly because he had rolled out of bed not three minutes ago.

"No?" he replied raising an eyebrow, which could just about be seen under his wonky glasses, "What's that supposed to mean? A pot's bound to boil regardless of whether you watch it or not...

"Well," he added with a shrug, turning back to face the window, "providing you've heated it of course."

"I don't think that's what your Mother meant, James," Charlus Potter noted from behind him. "I believe she was trying to say, in no uncertain terms, get away from that window and come and give us a hug."

James swung his head around again, "I honestly would love to Dad, but my letter should be arriving shortly," he looked down at his bare wrist as if to estimate the letters arrival time, "and I would hate to miss it."

He returned to his vigilant analysis of the morning sky, but flung his arms wide. "Here, you'll have to make do with this imaginary hug for now."

"Ah, but you see my boy your letter will arrive whether you're stood by the window or not. Your presents on the other hand..."

Clapping his outstretched arms to his head, James spun around to face the two adults with a look of horror plastered across his face "You wouldn't!"

"Really James," Dorea Potter giggled, "I would've thought by now you would know that he very much would."

"Yeah, but not without a fight!" James' dramatic expression changed into a lopsided grin as he jumped forwards to grab his ageing parents into a warm embrace.

His Mother leant over him and pressed a kiss to his cheek, "Oh, my little boy all grown up and waiting for his letter to Hogwarts!"

James wiped at his cheek in jest, "Mum!"

"It might be best to let her love you excessively while she can, I'm sure you won't want her turning up at Hogwarts in six months crying about how much she misses you," joked James' Father.

Dorea scowled and slapped her husband on the chest, "I will do no such thing!"

She looked up into the blue eyes of her husband which were framed by shallow wrinkles and a pair of eyeglasses similar to her son's. His hair was a steel grey - a very specific type of grey that made him look distinguished rather than old.

Charlus stood at just over six feet and was able to look down on his slightly smaller wife affectionately. He had one arm still wrapped around her, his fingers rubbing against the sleeve of her silk dressing gown and the other arm around - "James! Dear Merlin boy, can you not stay away from that window for more than two seconds?"

Dorea watched his eyes crinkle when he chuckled at their son's desperation to get a glimpse of the Post Owl. He looked down at her again smiling and she shrugged, "Like father like son."

"I would resent that comment if I knew you weren't lying, did I really used to be like that?"

"Every day," she smiled, tucking a long strand of white-blond hair behind her ear.

Charlus steered his wife towards the kitchen table where they observed their only son for a few peaceful minutes.

James Potter in his striped pyjamas had both hands placed apart on the kitchen counter, allowing him to lean as far forward into the open window as possible. His round and slightly smudged spectacles glinted as they reflected the rays of the morning son; Dark eyebrows were set, and brown eyes continued to scan the sky fruitlessly.

"I have an idea," whispered James' Mother.

Charlus Potter arched an eyebrow, "To get him away from that blasted window? Go on, I'm listening."

Dorea Potter clicked her fingers and it was only a matter of moments before a tiny House Elf appeared at her side.

"Hello Aealy, how are you this morning?" she began conversationally. Charlus observed from over her shoulder, offering the house elf a friendly smile and a wave.

"Aealy is feeling very good this morning Mistress thank you. How is you feeling?"

Dorea turned to her husband, who nodded in answer. "Yes, we're feeling very good too. Now I was wondering if you could do me a quick favour?"

"Aealy can do all the favours for Mistress! What is my Mistress wanting?" The house elf was positively giddy at the prospect of being given something to do so early in the morning; she swayed from foot to foot, her large, blue, tennis ball shaped eyes gazing up at Mrs Potter in adoration.

"Could you rustle up three full English's please? As soon as possible."

Catching on to his wife's thought process, Charlus Potter leant forward to add, "And a round of toast please, if you've got the time."

"Of course Aealy is having the time for Mistress and Master, Aealy is cooking straight away!"

With that the house elf disappeared in a flash of batlike ears and freshly pressed pillowcase.

Charlus smirked at Dorea, "I see what you're doing here, how very Slytherin of you."

"Well, you know me," she replied, "I know a certain boy's weakness, and it smells a lot like bacon."

James' parents spent the next five minutes attempting to coax their offspring away from the window, only to be batted away with cries of, "I'm sorry, but I don't want to miss it!" and "Oh look here it comes! Oh... no, my bad... that's one of those flying metal things."

"I think they're called aeroplanes," Dorea looked to her husband for conformation, "they are called aeroplanes aren't they?"

"Hmm, yes I think so. We really should look into all this Muggle stuff a bit more, apparently it's very interesting." He gestured towards the window, "I mean to think they can make something heavier than several mountain trolls fly through the air without the aid of magic. It's fantastic!"

"Fantastic," James murmured from the other side of the kitchen, apparently very engrossed in watching the aeroplane make its journey across the sky.

It was very good timing then when three plates filled with beans, sausages, waffles, mushrooms, eggs, tomatoes and bacon magically floated up onto their kitchen table - shortly followed by a round of toast, burnt to perfection.

Dorea extracted her wand from her dressing gown sleeve and slowly conjured a light breeze to blow the scent of their freshly cooked breakfast towards James.

The two watched, trying to stifle childish snorts of laughter as their eleven year old son's nostrils twitched. His eyebrows furrowed even deeper as he attempted to work out why he could smell fry up, without removing his eyes from the window.

Slowly he turned to see his Parents casually tucking into one of the largest piles of breakfast he had ever seen. They both looked up at him as if to say 'my goodness, how did this get here!'

James stood by the kitchen counter, evidently battling with his conscience; one invisible rope tugging him towards the plate of food and another towards the window. "Why must you do this to me Mother? I thought you loved me?"

"I do love you my dear, that's why I asked Aealy to provide you with such a delectable array of food..."

"Very kind of you indeed my love," added Charlus, twirling a rasher of bacon around on his fork.

"Arghh!"

James' resolve snapped and he stomped towards the kitchen table.

Cutlery deposited his food into his waiting mouth at an alarming rate, "I admit bagon ish a reeeal weagnesh of mine," he swallowed, "and it was very wrong of you to use it against me."

"And yet I can't help but think," James' Father replied smoothly, as he placed his knife and fork down on the edge of his empty plate, "that you don't really begrudge us at all for doing it."

"Well of course not! I love food. Almost as much as I love presents..." he batted his long black eyelashes at his parents.

His Father arched an eyebrow at the boy's obvious attempt to try and get his presents early, but it was his Mother who spoke, "I'm glad you love presents James, because I'm sure you will have some to open after you've washed and dressed."

"But Mum, if you think about it..."

Whilst James was discussing avidly the pro's and con's of being allowed to open his birthday presents this early with his Mother, Charlus Potter squinted at the open window over his sons shoulder.

If he was not mistaken, a small dark owl was flying slowly towards their home. Charlus flicked his eyes back towards James' face – he was still engrossed in the debate with his Mother. Perfect; James, facing away from that side of the room had absolutely no idea that the owl was approaching. Charlus looked back up towards the window; he could distinctly make out the owls black wings beating gently as it descended towards its destination.

It was no secret that James Potter was partial to a good joke or trick, what was less well known however, was that he had inherited this mischievous streak from his Father. When Mr Potter was the Head of the Auror Department, it was essential that he toned down his humorous endeavours; now however, as the ex-Head of the Auror Department, Mr Potter was free to pull whatever pranks he liked, especially on his little tyke of a son.

So he watched the small black owl enter the protective wards that surrounded their home, and waited; a few more seconds should do it.

"James!"

Startled by his Fathers sudden interruption, James' head snapped up out of the conversation, "Yeah?"

"You know, you are absolutely right."

The bird was approaching the window.

"I am?"

The bird was level with the window. Charlus looked at the creature right in the eyes, as if trying to send it some kind of unspoken message. The owl looked back at him, and followed the incline of his head in James' direction.

James, still confused by his Fathers abrupt intrusion into his and his Mothers exchange did not notice the man's secret conversation with the little black owl behind him.

Charlus leant back in his chair; the bird was close enough now that he could observe the scene in front of him without having to change the angle of his gaze.

"Yes indeed, on this occasion I think we should ignore what your Mother was saying about waiting until this afternoon to have your presents, and have one now."

His eyes lit up, "Really?"

"Yes," his Father smiled, "in fact, have two!"

With that the bundle of feathers launched itself onto James' head, its tiny talons struggling for balance in the boy's wild mass of dark hair. It teetered precariously for a moment before securing its claws amongst James' thick locks and lodging itself there.

Dorea Potter had only been aware of the situation moments before it had actually happened, and she now found herself struggling for breath at the sheer hilarity of her sons face.

To say James was shocked was an understatement. He had been totally unprepared for an unidentified flying object to throw itself on his unassuming head and take up refuge there. Initially, he had propelled himself away from the table whilst screaming, some of the sounds coming out of his mouth decidedly more high pitched than others.

Charlus watched in amusement as his son fell to the floor with cries of, "OH MY GOD! What is it! What is it!" whilst struggling to clutch at the object perched on his skull. The owl also seemed to be enjoying itself, attempting to hoot in spite of the thick letter it held in its beak. The bird gave James a good run for his money by flapping its wings enthusiastically every time he plucked up the courage to extend a hand and try and determine what was sat on top of him.

Each attempt ended with a weak, "Ah!" or "Mhhhmm!" as the owl deftly swatted him away.

"Happy Birthday son!" Charlus Potter shouted, grinning gleefully.

James looked up scathingly, causing his Mother and Father to burst into another fit of giggles. There was no possible way to take him seriously when he was sprawled on the floor with an owl perched lopsidedly upon his head.

"Charlus!" Dorea wheezed, "You are wicked!"

"I know," he laughed out in return, "Oh, I know."

He pushed himself up off his chair and walked around to his son. Pausing for another moment just to cherish the bizarre image of boy and owl combined upon his kitchen floor, he crouched down and tried to extract the creature from James' untidy hair.

"I'll get you back for this one old man." James murmured from somewhere underneath Charlus' arm.

"When you find out what it is, I hardly think you'll want to," replied his Father. With another yank to his curls, the bird came free and Charlus turned it to face his son.

Its bright eyes gleamed as it rustled it feathers and deposited its package into James' lap. He stared back at the little owl whilst his fingers curled around the Hogwarts letter that rested on his leg.

"Well played Sir, well played," James nodded to the bird and his Father in turn.

Mr Potter stood and carried the bird back around to the other side of the table to set it down and let it mill around by the salt and pepper shakers.

"Come on then," Dorea Potter piped up, "at least do us the honour of opening it at the table."

James leapt up into his chair, eyes fixed on the envelope in his hands; the incident from a few moments ago, currently forgotten.

He slid one finger under the opening, and pulled away the official Hogwarts wax seal. Folding the envelope open, he hastily extracted the parchment and read.

Dear Mr Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Charlus looped his arm over Dorea's shoulder and they watched his smile widen upon reading through the letter. The smile was short lived however, as James' approached the last line.

"Parents are reminded that first years are not allowed their own broomsticks? You cannot be serious."

Mr Potter sniggered; trust his son the Quidditch fanatic to pick up the only section of the letter that disadvantaged him. His wife on the other hand knew exactly how to avoid an uncomfortable scene, "James dear, you have to remember that some of the children going this year will never have even seen a broom, let alone ridden one.

"Imagine how they would feel if you showed up with your Shooting Star doing all your tricks. They wouldn't stand a chance! You have to at least let them think they can ride a broom, before you show up in your second year and then blow them out of the water, on the Quidditch pitch and off!" she finished with a wink.

James was drinking in her words, "Yeah! Yeah you're right Mum. I'll still be good on whatever brooms they have for flying lessons, and then next year I'll get myself right on the Quidditch team and steer Gryffindor to victory!"

Dorea smiled, "Of course I'm right, I'm your Mother."

But it was drowned out by a rather passionate, "That's my boy!" from Charlus at the mention of victory for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

She sighed, "Boys."

Then she remembered, "You forgot the other important part of that letter-"

"Not 'please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags'?"

"No, darling, the one just above broomsticks," she replied giggling at the fact he, James Potter considered name tags important.

"Oh, 'students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad'?"

It was Charlus' time to join in the conversation again, as he swept up the small black owl with a flourish and re-presented it to his son. "Ta-daa!"

"Sweet Circe, is that for me!"

"Well, I do believe I said you would be having two presents to open this morning," Charlus grinned, "although seeing as the owl isn't wrapped, it's probably best you don't try and open it."

"You got me an owl! You actually got me my very own owl!" James threw the majority of his body across the kitchen table and extended his arms around his parent's necks.

"Oh this is so cool," he said as he fell back and reached for the creature still held in his Father's large palms, "does it have a name?"

"Nope," replied Charlus, popping the p, "he's all yours to name."

"But nothing rude!" Dorea jumped in, before James could suggest anything.

The three laughed, and the owl hooted contentedly. James sobered quickly however and directed his concentration at the bundle of feathers in front of him, the naming process was obviously about to become a big deal.

"Hmmm, let me see."

After ten minutes of no progress, Mr and Mrs Potter had engaged in a hushed conversation, allowing their son more time to think.

By twenty minutes and after multiple "Mmm's" and "Aha's!" from the opposite side of the table, James Potter finally jumped up, "I think I've got it!"

Hello, thank you to those of you who are enjoying and reading the story. Drop me a comment if you have time. I think you know who's next!