a/n: because there isn't enough pointless domestic!potter family fluff in the world.

disclaimer: i am jkr, killer of all characters you love (not really). title from lover of the light by mumford and sons.

"Mum! Mum!"

A young boy's voice sounds from the landing, getting louder with every thud on each step of the stairs.

"Mum!"

Harry Potter jumps the last three steps and lands on the parquet floor of the hall, skidding a little in his broomstick-patterned socks. He stumbles into the kitchen.

His mother watches him from her seat at the table with some amusement.

"Did you call?" Lily Potter asks, green eyes twinkling.

Rachel, the Potters' third youngest child, looks up at her brother with wide hazel eyes. "Harry call," she repeats solemnly, patting her father's arm to let him know. James Potter grins at her, then turns his attention back to feeding the infant in front of him. The puréed food on the spoon he's holding threatens to drip onto his corduroys so he wipes it on the rim of the bowl.

"And it's Potter coming in for the goal -" James moves the spoon through the air "- and he's tossing the Quaffle through the hoop -" the spoon flies ever closer to Thomas' mouth "- and it's a brilliant score there!" Thomas clamps down on the spoon with a gap-toothed smile and James looks up at his eldest son. "Didn't hear you get up," he comments, and his lips twitch at Harry's expression.

"Did you want some breakfast? I can do some eggs," offers Lily, sharing a conspiratorial glance with her husband. "Toast?"

Harry jumps from one foot to the other, fiddling with the end of his sleeve. "Mm," he says non-committally.

"Or porridge, like me?" suggests Sophie, the Potters' second eldest, catching her mother's wink. She's kneeling on the seat next to Rachel and lets a spoonful of her breakfast gloop back into her bowl. "It's yummy."

Harry's gaze flickers between them all: Thomas chomping energetically on his fruit purée; James loading up the next spoonful; Lily sipping pumpkin juice with a smile; Sophie stirring her porridge thoughtfully; Rachel shovelling a spoonful of egg into her mouth. He shakes his head. "Has the post arrived?"

"Post?" questions James, wiping Thomas' chin. He looks at Lily, who's cutting up the last sausage on Rachel's plate. "Were we supposed to be getting any post today, love?"

Lily bites her lip to stifle a laugh. "I'm not sure," she says. Trying to maintain a look of total innocence, she turns to Harry. "Why don't you have a look?"

The boy stares at his parents, finally realising that they're yanking his wand - or at least, they would be, if he owned one. "Very funny," he says, rolling his eyes in good-natured exasperation. He shoves a hand through his hair and plonks down on a spare chair next to Rachel while Lily and James giggle at his expression.

"Here," Lily says, handing him the bundle that Horatio, their tawny owl, had brought earlier that morning.

He sits up straighter, a beaming a gleeful grin at her, and rifles through until he finds a heavy envelope. The rest drop from his hands and land on the table with a thump, which causes Thomas to turn to look and James almost misses his son's mouth with the spoon. The girls giggle.

Harry glances down at the envelope he's holding, trying to remember to breathe. Fingers trace the inked cursive: Mr H Potter, The Kitchen, 7, Peverell Way, St Albans, Hertfordshire. He turns it over and catches sight of the red wax seal on the back bearing the Hogwarts crest. Rachel fusses beside him, clambering onto Harry's lap to look at what her brother is holding.

Grinning, he tears it open with trembling fingers and pulls out the parchment. "Dear Mr Potter," he reads, moving it out of the way of Rachel's tomato ketchup covered hands. "We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He lets out a whoop of excitement and glances up at his parents. "I've been accepted into Hogwarts!"

"Glad to hear it," says Lily, grinning.

Harry skims the rest of the letter. His smile dims a little when he gets to the end and hasn't found the broomstick requirements. He reads it again to make sure, and then looks at his parents.

"Can I take my Nimbus?"

James smiles knowingly, pushing his glasses up his nose. "First Years aren't allowed brooms, mate."

Harry blinks at him several times, then turns to his mother. "Mum, can I take it?"

Lily laughs. "He's being serious, Harry," she says kindly. "You're allowed a broomstick in your second year."

His face falls. Dejectedly: "But...Quidditch."

"Quidditch," Rachel adds helpfully.

"Dad?"

"Not everyone has a broom," James explains gently. "Some kids aren't as lucky as you."

"Some of the children in your year will be Muggle-born," adds Lily. "It'll all be new to them."

"Yeah, I know," Harry says, a little impatiently. "But I could teach them! They could have a go. I'd share it, I really would."

"I don't doubt that. But it's still against the rules."

"But Dad always says that rules are just -" Harry claps a hand over his mouth. Lily raises an eyebrow, eyes flicking to her husband, who is frantically shaking his head. A blob of fruit puree, forgotten, drops onto the table.

"Rules are just..." Lily repeats questioningly.

James licks his lips and grins at her. "Rules are just that," he improvises, feeding Thomas the last spoonful. "Rules. There to be followed to the letter. Isn't that right, Harry?"

Harry nods quickly, his face a picture of innocence. "Yep," he says emphatically. "To the letter."

Both black-haired boys smile at Lily and she looks at them amusedly. "You two are too alike for your own good, you know that?"

Harry returns to his Hogwarts letter, eyes alight with childlike awe. Over his head Lily and James glance at each other, and there is only one feeling between them: happiness.