The Art of Cartography

Just a bit Spoiled

July 17, 1971

James Potter was decidedly not a morning person. Despite all of his mother's attempts he never would be. And yet, as the sun rose Euphemia Potter knocked cheerily at James' bedroom door with quick little wraps, singing a merry little tune about the how it was time to rise. James hated it. Any eleven-year-old boy would. Any person with ears would. Therefore, he stuffed his head under his pillow (the case printed with broomsticks and Quidditch balls) and grumbled out, "Mum, no! It's too early!"

"The sun is up, darling!" she chimed, barging her way into his room as mothers are wont to do. Euphemia, though older than most mothers, filled the air with youthful spirit. Her red tinted lips brought made her smile unforgettable and her graying curls danced with life. "James, its shopping day! Get up! We've so many things to buy! Hogwarts awaits you!"

Pulling his blankets up tight around his collar and clamping his pillow over his head James gave a muffled response that sounded an awful like, "Do it yourself, you crazy old bat."

Euphemia would never believe her precious gift could say such a thing, so she replied, "Of course, honey, we can look at the beaters bats, if you like." And proceeded to James closet where she began pulling out a variety of clothes trying to decide what would be best for her son to wear. It shouldn't be cold, but best bring a jumper in case. She busied herself with these thoughts while James continued to protest quite rudely that it was much too early to be awake on a Saturday.

Suddenly, James Potter found himself ripped from the warmth of his sheets and dangling by his ankles in midair with his father, Fleamont Potter, chuckling heartily at him. James baggy shirt kept falling down around his chin as his vainly tried to pull it down, or up as it were, his hair stood up on ends and he glared angrily at his father. James was rather small for his age and rather scrawny with large hazel eyes that could glare daggers. "Stop giving your mother a hard time, James!" Fleamont laughed. "And for Merlin's sake, do not leave yourself exposed for attack like that! You start school in a fortnight and I refuse to let my good dueling name to go down the drain!"

James flopped down on the bed with a soft thud and made a dash across the room, swiping his mother's wand from her pocket and pointing it at his father. He shouted, "Tarantellegra" and Fleamont began dancing a little jig and clapped with glee. "Oh ho! My boy," he beamed. "I knew you had it in you." The two began a friendly duel of simple jinxes around the bedroom. Fleamont pretending to be affected more often than the spell actually working. Soon all three Potters were laughing and James had forgotten to continue complaining about the earliness of the hour.

About an hour later the Potters were all dressed James hair was flattened neatly to his head despite his many protests that he liked it the way that it was (standing up all over the place) and were off to Diagon Alley. They arrived with a small pop as Fleamont Potter used Side-Along Apparition to transport his son and wife into the busy street.

Diagon Alley was crammed full to the brim with witches and wizards, and the occasional Muggle parent. Fleamont offered his arm to Euphemia, "Shall we?" Euphemia smiled and took his arm before offering her other to James. James rolled his eyes at them.

"Mum, I'm eleven," he stated irritably. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked toward in any direction away from them. His parents just chortled at him, smiling at his new found independence and followed after him.

It wasn't too long before James was clinging to his mother's arm outside Broomstix, big eyes staring into the window as he begged for a new racing boom. Nimbus Racing Brooms had just released its latest model, the Nimbus 1001 and James was practically drooling over it, along with dozens of others in the shop window. "Mum, please? I could make the Quidditch team first year with that broom. They couldn't turn a Nimbus 1001 down!"

"James," his mother chided. "Don't you want to get in on skill and merit? Not just some fancy broom?"

"But Mum!" James pointed at the broom. "Just look at it. It's amazing. So sleek."

Fleamont hugged his wife from behind resting his head on her shoulder. "He does have a point, love." He joined in on James' begging. "It is very sleek." Glancing at James, he winked before adding, "And James does have a lot of talent on the Quidditch field, but it is really tough for anyone to get a spot much less a first year. There is probably some bias rule against it, I haven't heard of a first year on a team in ages. Just think, our James, the first in a century."

With a shake of her head, Euphemia wasn't persuaded. "Flying is such a dangerous thing already. I think you should wait until next year for a racing broom." She patted James' head, releasing some of the stands from their neat positions. "I'm sorry, dear."

James was thoroughly disappointed. His parents rarely told him no. He just had to think of the best approach to get her to change her mind. Tears ought to do it, he thought. "I'm always really careful, though, Mum," he sniffed at his shoes.

Euphemia stared down at her son. It was always such a hard thing to do, telling him no. She hated so much to deny him any happiness. She rubbed his head again, and his hair was freed into its natural wild mess. "Alright, I guess we can at least look at it in person."

"You're the best, Mum!" James leaped up, his face lit into a smile and wrapped his lanky arms around his mother. The broom would be his before the day was up.

And it was true, James Potter was the proud owner of a Nimbus 1001 at the days close, as well as several other things that were not needed on his school supply list. Euphemia and Fleamont just didn't have the heart to say no.

And really, was there anything wrong with that?

End note: I know it's a little short and I didn't get it up in time for James' birthday, and I'm really sad about that. But, I'm still sick with the worse spring cold I think I've ever had. Also, I had Easter plans involving my favorite spoiled little boy and a bunch of brightly colored eggs. To the real point of this note then! I'm probably pushing the envelope a bit by saying James could cast spells with his mother's wand, but from my understanding the Ministry only uses the Trace on students and they can only tell which spell was cast and where, not by whom. There's my defense. Please break it to pieces in a review.