Hii! You must be the awesome person who decided to read this story cuz you want to read a story. Well, you're in the right place! This story has fluff, humor, romance, angst... pretty much everything you need.

- This is set in a Muggle World, and a really modern one at that!

- I don't own Harry Potter

- ENJOY!

James was used to the fame by now.

He was used to all the paparazzi, he was used to all the media, used to the constant fans, to the screaming, and the support.

But if there was one thing he would never get used to, after years of being a celebrity, it was how terrible the bathrooms in the airport smelled.

"Seriously," he groaned to his personal manager and best friend, Dandy. "It stinks in there. Do people not flush or something? It's almost like people go on the walls."

Dandy snorted. "Nobody does that, dude. It's New York. It's a crowded place. People are bound to forget to flush once in a while."

James shot him a look. "Does that or does that not include you?"

"Well… I haven't done it recently…"

"You are disgusting."

"Hey! I-"

"James Potter! James Potter!" screamed a young girl, running up to him. "I'm your biggest fan! Can I have your autograph?"

"No, me!" argued another boy. "I'm your number one fan! I have your poster in my room! Autograph?"

"OMG, James, can I have a selfie?"

"MR. POTTER, MR. POTTER!"

"Can I have your autograph?"

"Enough, please!" barked some of his security, pushing the crowd away. "We've got somewhere to go!"

James sighed. Being a soccer player was amazing, and he didn't take it for granted, but he was always in the eye of the media. Whatever he did, the people knew. Which could be kinda annoying. You brush your teeth? They know. You buy a new sweater? They know.

Like, can't they give it a rest?!

James Potter was one of the top celebrities of the world. He was ranked in the '10 Best Soccer Players to Walk This Earth' list, and he'd endorsed many companies, gotten many awards, and won many matches. He was a Midfielder, arguably the world's best.

He'd just returned from a selection round in California, just to gear up for the FIFA World Cup happening next June. The teams would be selected in a few weeks, and he'd made through all the original rounds. It was currently late August.

"Ahh, home sweet home," he breathed, once they'd exited the airport. "New York City! I'm back!"

"Come on, sir," his bodyguard said, ushering him into the car.

"You remember my address, right?" James asked. "My new temporary apartment? Not the mansion? 2023 Sunrise Apartment-"

"We got it," his driver assured him.

"Awesome." James leaned back. "I'm so tired. Take me straight there."

Dandy coughed.

"What is it?"

"Well, you had to go to the mall to pick up those photos you needed by tomorrow…"

"Oh, right." James groaned. The PG process could be a pain sometimes. Printing out photos, putting up photos, ordering photos, ergh. "Fine, take me to that mall first."

"Yes, sir. It'll be approximately fifteen minutes."

"Sure, sure." James leaned back in his seat. "Play some music."

"Heck yeah!" Dandy exclaimed, pulling out his phone. "Yo, driver, connect the thing to bluetooth."

The driver grumbled something incoherent and pressed a button on the screen.

"Can I pick a song?" Dandy pleaded.

James shrugged. "Whatever song you want. As long as it's not that terrible rap we heard the other day."

"I love rap!"

"Yeah, but that one sucked."

"No it didn't! I know that rap by heart, wanna hear?" Without waiting for a response, he plowed on. "I was-"

"Ew, no." James covered his ears. "Anything but that song."

"Fine, fine. Can I play… Shawn Mendes?"

James nodded. "Yeah, of course. Anything you want."

"Heck yeah!" he repeated, typing in something on his YouTube. 'There's Nothing Holding Me Back' started to play, and Dandy started singing along, terribly off pitch and off tune. He sounded more like a screeching cat and a siren than a singer. "Baby, there's nothing holding me back! You take me places that tear up my reputation-"

"Dandy," interrupted James.

"-manipulate my deci-"

"Dandy. Dandy. Dandy!" cried James.

Dandy stopped, turning around. "Yeah?"

"Shut up."

He sniffed and turned to the window, while the music continued playing. James closed his eyes, and the next thing he knew, Dandy was shaking his shoulder.

"What is it now?"

"We've reached the mall."

James sighed and pulled open his car door. He shrugged off his black coat (hey, the plane had been freezing), showing off a stunning teal shirt and black jeans. His black hair was shaggy, strands falling all over his face. His eyes were a warm shade of hazel.

He wasn't modest at all. He had a fair bit of an ego that had only faded over time, but he wouldn't deny one thing, that he looked awesome. And he loved his hair. He purposely messed it up, because… well, he liked it that way. It just felt right.

"I'll be right back," he said, wanting nothing more than to curl up in his bed and sleep. He was so tired after the matches and plane rides. "This should only take a couple minutes. I just have to get my photos and be right back."

"Dude," laughed Dandy. "It's a Saturday. The malls are going to be full. The lines will be horribly long."

James rolled his eyes. "Shut up," he groaned, shutting the car door and walking into the mall. He went and stood in the PG photos line, which was short, because not many people came here to get photos.

"Oh my…" whispered a voice.

He turned around. It was a teenager with blonde hair and blue eyes.

"James Potter!"

"That's me."

"Can I have a selfie with you?" she pleaded.

James ran a hand through his hair. "Sure," he gave in. She squealed and pulled out her phone, taking a click, and then she smiled at him.

"Thanks!"

"Yep. No problem." Just then, he heard a commotion in the checkout line next to him. He turned around. It was a woman around his age arguing with the cashier about… something.

"-I demand to speak to the manager about this!"

"No, ma'am. The manager is busy."

"What's he doing, huh? His job is to help out customers, right?"

"Ma'am, but-"

"This price is way too high," she snapped. "Like, seriously. I can go to another store and get this for half the price."

"Then do that," suggested the cashier. "You're holding up the line. Please move."

James's lips twitched, but then he couldn't contain it when she continued to argue. He let out a snort.

The woman turned around, her eyes narrowed. "What's your problem, huh?" she demanded.

She was wearing a white NYC shirt and light blue jeans, a grey sweatshirt tied around her waist. She had reddish-auburn hair tied back into a high ponytail. She was one of those New York City girls you wanted to steer clear of. He pushed his hair out of his face to get a better look at her. Her eyes were a sparkling shade of green.

"Excuse me?" he asked, amused. Did she not realize who he was?

"You heard me," she snapped.

James realized that she probably didn't know who she was, that she probably didn't know he was James Potter, the world's best midfielder.

"The price is the price," he told her. "It makes sense. No one else here argues with it."

"No one else here has the guts," she retorted. "The price is way too high. That's why people are poor, because they don't have money to buy these things. Not because they don't get high enough salaries, but because these store people put prices so expensive!"

James stared at her. The people around them giggled slightly, because she didn't know who he was. Nobody seemed to tell her. James definitely wasn't planning on telling her.

"If you say so," he told her, running a hand through his hair. Everyone collapsed into laughter, and the woman rolled her eyes, furiously turning away.

"Just hand me the packet," she muttered to the cashier, holding out her hand.

"How much are you going to pay?" the cashier asked, a little smugly.

"As much as you want," she snapped. "Are you going to give it back to me?"

"Certainly." The cashier started to reach for a plastic bag, but she interrupted.

"No, wait." She pulled out some cloth bags and gave them to the dude at the counter. "I don't use single-use plastic."

More people around her chortled. James was trying hard not to.

She rolled her eyes. "Do you know what happens to that stuff?" she demanded. "It goes into the ocean. Marine animals eat it, thinking it's food, and they choke and die."

"Yeah, yeah," a woman behind her said. "Hurry up, you're holding up the line."

"People who don't care about the Earth," she muttered. "You're the reason Global Warming is happening, you know. You only think about yourself."

"Excuse me," said the cashier. "Can you please take your bags and go?"

More giggles.

The woman looked extremely annoyed as she took the bags from the cashier and put them in her cart. James turned away, trying to hide his grin as she quickly thanked the cashier and left the store, everyone laughing behind her.

"Does she even know who you are?" a fan asked, coming up to James. "You're like, the coolest soccer player ever! Who does she think she is?" He held out a piece of paper. "Autograph, please?"

James sighed and pulled out a pen from his pocket, quickly signing the young boy's paper. "There you go."

"You know, I'm going to become like you one day!" he cried. "I want to become a midfielder! I've saved up forty dollars for soccer lessons."

Something inside James melted. He loved inspiring people, loved it when people looked up to him like this, when he was a good influence. "I'm sure you are," James told him. "You'll become even better than me. Practice makes perfect, yeah?"

He nodded.

James ruffled his hair. "Now go on, run to your parents."

The boy beamed and ran off.

"Marry me, James!" cried another teenage girl. "I'll give you ten dollars!"

James laughed. "What a deal. I'll consider it, definitely."

"You should. It's really good."

James snorted and shook his head, turning away from her.

"Next!" called the woman at his counter. He walked forward to her, holding out the papers he needed to get stamped.

"James Potter," he stated, rummaging in his pockets and pulling out his credit card. He swiped it through the machine and held it in, writing in his signature. "I'm picking up the photos for the PG Application Process."

She nodded, stamping some papers and handing it to him, then giving him the photos. James inspected them. He was wearing his jersey, smiling straight at the camera in some, then in others, he was doing these poses. There was one of him mid-air, while kicking a soccer ball. "There you go, sir. Hope you have a nice day."

"You too," he said, taking the photos and putting them in his bag. He pushed some of his messy hair out of his face and left the store, a bunch of screaming fans surging after him. He got into his car. To no surprise, Dandy was singing at the top of his lungs to a song.

"What the heck is this?" James asked, looking around the car. Dandy had wrecked the place with cheeto packets, and he was singing to a song, horribly off tune.

"Make me a promise!" he sang… more like yelled. "Tell me you'll stay with me / If I'm-"

"Dandy," cut off James slowly, staring at the crumbs all over his car.

"Yes?"

"What… the heck are you doing?" he asked in horror, picking up a cheeto packet. There wasn't anything left inside it.

"It's 'Fallin', bro!" Dandy exclaimed. "Why Don't We! They're a boy band!"

"I figured that much," muttered James. "What have you done to my car?"

"Your car?" Dandy asked, looking around. "Oh. Your car."

James glared at him.

"You, Dandy Williamson, are in so much trouble."