he mastered the broom

but guys

Twelve has two possible reactions to realising he got kissed by the Master

  1. he has a bit of an existential crisis
  2. he shrugs and says to a shocked (or perhaps not so shocked) Kate Stewart, “what do you mean your dad never told you about the time he caught the Master and I making out in a UNIT broom closet?”

and both are absolute gold 

anonymous asked:

Can you do a fic (idc if it's canon or not) where James and Sirius are teaching Harry to fly for the first time or like coaching Harry's little league quidittch team? Love your fics btw

Here you go anon! Not canon because I thought this would make more sense with a slightly older Harry :) 


“Are you sure this is a good idea?” James asked, holding his son a little above the broomstick that was floating a few inches off the ground. Harry seemed quite eager to try it out, judging by the way he kept drawing out the word “daddddd” and wriggling in James’ arms. 

 “Of course I am. It’s tradition that I buy him brooms, and the girl in the shop said it’s suitable for 5 to 8 year olds. Are you telling me that your son isn’t good enough to fly on a kid’s broom? Because he mastered the baby one with only a few minor causalities to vases and the cat.” 

 “Sometimes I think you got it him just to piss off the cat,” James replied, surveying his best friend, who seemed just as excited as Harry.

“Maybe a little bit,” Sirius smirked, “come on, let him go on it, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“He’s only four,” James said with a sigh, but he hadn’t had a very strong resistance in the first place, and had really only bothered to argue for the sake of telling Lily that he’d tried.

He set Harry down on the broom, which was much bigger than the one he’d gotten for his first birthday, but still quite a bit smaller than a full sized racing broom. Harry wrapped his legs around it happily and immediately floated upwards until he was just above James’ eyeline. 

 “See, he’s a natural!” Sirius beamed, reaching up to grab hold of the tip of Harry’s broom. “Come on sport,” he said, tugging Harry along while James ran behind them to keep up, “let’s see how far you can make it.” 

“Careful!” James called when Sirius let go off the broom, giving Harry a little push as he flew across the garden gleefully. 

“Stop worrying so much Prongsy,” Sirius said, flinging his arm around James’ shoulders. “It can only go a couple of feet in the air.” 

“I know,” James admitted, smiling briefly at Sirius before turning his attention back to Harry, who was getting dangerously close to the trees that separated the garden from the fields beyond. “Turn, Harry,” he called out, then more frantically, “TURN!” when there was no sign that Harry was going to pull the broom in either direction. 

“Ah,” Sirius said and then both of them were running towards the end of the garden, calling out “Harry!” and “turn!” and “trees!” as they went. They didn’t quite make it in time to prevent the crash, but James dug his wand out of his back pocket just in time to stop Harry hitting the floor, and Sirius rescued the broom before it could get beaten up too badly. 

“You have to turn, buddy,” James sighed, picking Harry up from where his spell had caused him to land gently. 

“Oops,” Harry said, grinning at his father before turning to Sirius and saying, “Can I try again?” 

“Yeah,” James said, putting Harry down on the floor so he could clamber up onto the broom himself. “But stay low this time and we’ll teach you how to not crash into things.” 

“Also known as how to not give your parents a heart attack,” Sirius nodded. 

James did this by guiding Harry around on the broom for a little while, telling him when to shift his body weight, while Sirius flew by their side on one of James’ old brooms, demonstrating the correct movement if Harry was struggling to turn in a full circle and making sure he didn’t let go of the broom at the wrong time. 

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take him long to pick it up and soon he was zooming around the garden with James only mildly concerned that he was about to fall and hurt himself. 

“Looks good for a chaser, don’t you think?” Sirius grinned, coming to stand by James’ side and elbowing him lightly in the ribs. 

“Thinking a seeker actually,” James replied, shielding his eyes against the sun as he watched his son push his broom down and descend a good meter before easily pulling himself back into a straight line. “McGonagall will like that.” 

“Maybe he’ll play for England one day,” Sirius laughed, offering James one of the brooms he’d collected from the shed along with a soft, spongy quaffle that was made for kids. “Shall we?” he asked. 

James took the broom and ball with a smile, “I think we shall,” he replied, and the two of them kicked off from the ground. Hovering on either side of Harry, they began tossing the quaffle between the three of them, making Harry laugh and nearly tumble off his broom again when Sirius threw the ball purposefully hard at James head, which it bounced off and flew towards Harry, who caught it instead. 

“These are the kind of things you’ll need to know for professional quidditch, Harry,” Sirius told him with mock seriousness. “How to aim things at people heads.” 

“Especially your daft godfather’s,” James added, taking the ball back from his son and lobbing it at Sirius. 

Which is how Lily found the three of them later on, laughing and hovering in a circle close to the ground, the game of catch descended long ago into a game of who could hit each other in the face the most often. 

Worryingly, as the afternoon progressed, Harry had gotten pretty good at that too.