1965, Godric's Hollow

Edward and Margaret Potter of Godric Hollow were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Edward had inherited a large fortune from his grandfather, who had served as Minister for Magic some time ago, so the Potter family lived in considerable comfort. Yes, that's right, though the Potters were perfectly normal, they were not what you and I might consider the definition of the term, for Edward and Margaret Potter were wizards. In fact, both came from a long line of magic families, and there were even some rumors that Edward was descended from the ancient Peverell family in the tale of the Deathly Hallows.

Edward had increased his family's fortune tenfold with his series of spells and devices that he had invented to aid the capture of dangerous wizards by the Auror office, and though the he now had more money than he knew what to do with, he continued to work for the Ministry of Magic. Margaret had not worked since marrying Edward some years ago, and spent her time at home taking care of their only son, James, who, at five years old, was already quite a handful.

James Albert Potter was a spoiled, rambunctious little boy with messy black hair and a permanent grin that gave the illusion of being up to something (which he usually was). He was already tall for his age, and Margaret Potter proudly boasted to anyone who would listen that he would be six feet and very handsome. The woman seemed completely in denial of any wrongdoings on behalf of her son or personality flaws he might possess, considering him to be her perfect little angle. As such, he got anything he wanted, including the small children's racing broom he was currently pointing to through the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies while on a shopping trip with his mother.

"James, darling," she crooned, rustling his hair, "we just bought you a broomstick for Christmas last year."

"But Mother," he whined, tugging at her respectable black robes, "this one is loads better! It's faster, and it can make hairpin turns! It's the best one available!"

"Well, I suppose you have gotten a bit big for the other one," she considered, dragging her thumb across her son's cheek to wipe away the remnants of the afternoon's chocolate ice cream. "Your toes are nearly dragging on the ground these days, and we can't have that. No, I suppose we had better get it."

With a smile, she motioned towards the door, and James sped toward it, wrenching it open and darting inside without a backward glance. Margaret shook her head fondly and followed the little boy inside, extracting her wallet from her fashionable dragon-hide purse as she went.

The two of them return home late in the evening laden with bags, and James begrudgingly helped his mother carry them to the house before tearing out into the garden with his new broomstick. Margaret found Septimia, their house elf, making dinner in the kitchen, and enlisted her to carry the bags upstairs and make sure all the belongings were put away correctly. She then went the sitting room and picked up the book she had been reading this week, settling down on the sofa until she heard Edward arrive home.

"How was work, dear?" Margaret Potter asked as she stood to greet her husband, placing a swift kiss on his cheek.

"Just the usual, my dear, nothing out of the ordinary," Edward replied, sitting down on the settee next to his wife. "What time will dinner be ready?"

"Pardon me, sir and madam, but dinner is ready now if you wishes it," piped up the small voice of Septimia as she stood in the doorway to the sitting room.

"Excellent," Edward answered, pushing himself to his feet with some effort, the

"I'll go fetch James," Margaret offered, gliding down the hall and out to the yard, where she called for her son, the two of them returning after a moment.

"Wash your hands, please, sir," Septimia chimed to James, and he obeyed without hesitation.

"What did you get up to today, son?" Edward addressed James as they sat down at the table, James situated between his parents, who sat on either end.

"Mother and I went to Diagon Alley," he answered politely, "and then I practiced flying. I want to play for the Tornadoes one day!"

"Yes, so you've said," his father chuckles, and Margaret tries unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. "You'll have to work very hard for that."

"I know," James replies happily, swinging his feet under the table.

They enjoy a lovely dinner of steak, roast potatoes, carrots, and peas, with a dessert of freshly made peach cobbler and vanilla ice cream. Afterward, James practiced playing the piano for half an hour before being sent to bed, though he stays up late, looking at the pictures in a Quidditch magazine he had nicked that afternoon.

So go the days for five year old James Potter – lessons in the morning, lunch, Quidditch in the afternoon, dinner, piano practice, then bed. He has anything money can buy, which doesn't include friends. There are not many other children his age in Godric's Hollow, and the ones who do live in the village shy away from the spoiled boy, leaving him to play on his own. He doesn't even realize what he's missing, though, perfectly content for the moment to practice flying on his own, or play pranks on his parents and the house elf.