With a frustrated sigh, the young wizard started tossing clothes and other belongings into his trunk. If he wasn't quick about it, he would miss the carriages to the station. For just an instant, he thought about staying at the castle with the few who were remaining for the holidays. 'And if I did that,' he thought, 'both mum and Grandmum Weasley would kill me.'
It was not easy being Harry Potter's son, and James felt like he was the only person in the world who knew it. Oh, Al might have some idea someday, but right now James felt the entire burden on his shoulders. He was the one who'd just finished his first term at Hogwarts, wasn't he? He was the one that everyone looked at with a mixture of envy and expectation.
They all figured he'd be brave, of course, and James was actually okay with that. He considered himself worthy of the Gryffindor name, and he'd been told by Professor Longbottom (after a rather hairy incident in the depths the Forbidden Forest) that he'd inherited his father's and uncles' sense of adventure.
Most of the professors expected him to be pretty clever, as well. This wasn't too difficult as his Aunt Hermione had helped him prepare before coming to Hogwarts. (Though James would never, ever admit it, he'd actually liked reading Hogwarts: A Revised History.)
No, neither of these expectations concerned James too horribly much. He felt he could handle them. But…there was one thing he was a bit concerned about. James Sirius Potter didn't like Quidditch.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. He did enjoy cheering on the Cannons with his Uncle Ron, but he didn't like playing the game.
No, that wasn't really it, either. James loved the informal games he and his cousins would play in the paddock behind the Burrow.
It's just that he wasn't, well, he wasn't very good at it.
He was the first son of the man who many considered to be the best Seeker in Hogwarts history and the woman who'd helped lead the Harpies to their first Cup victory, and he just couldn't seem to play the game even as well as his cousin Rose…and she was a year younger. And a girl!
With disgust, James slammed his trunk shut and prepared to drag it down the dormitory steps. He was almost at the door when he heard a peck at his window. James let the regal brown owl in and gave him a treat before he took the small note off its leg. Recognizing his father's scrawled handwriting, James couldn't stop a smile as he tore open the envelope.
Dear James,
I know we'll be seeing you soon, but I wanted to write you once more time before you left for home. I hope you have a good trip…and please try not to get into too much trouble on the train. (And, for your mother's sake, don't stuff yourself too much with the food from the trolley. She and your grandmother have been baking your favorites for days!)
And one more thing before you come home. I just wanted to say, in case I haven't said it enough, I couldn't be prouder of you, son. See you soon.
Love,
Dad
James read the note through two more times before he folded it carefully and put it with all the other letters and notes he'd received from his parents so far. The stack was rather tall, and James knew that each line was full of love.
Okay, so maybe it wasn't so bad being Harry Potter's son.
'Maybe,' he thought, 'Mum and Dad will help me practice while I'm home.'
With a quick movement, he flipped open the lid of his trunk and threw in a quaffle.
Author's note: I still own nothing. Very sad.