Family History
As they stepped through the door, the familiar warmth of the cottage embraced them, the scent of old wood and faint traces of herbs lingering in the air. Harry barely registered the feel of the floor beneath his feet, the soft sound of Remus closing the door behind them muffled by the weight of exhaustion clinging to his body.
His eyes felt swollen, the skin beneath them tender and raw from the hours of crying, and he blinked sluggishly, the blur of the world around him merging into one indistinct haze. His feet carried him forward, one step after another, up the narrow stairs, but his mind barely acknowledged the journey. The weight of the day pressed down on him like a leaden cloak, each breath feeling like a struggle to remember how to move.
Remus trailed silently behind him, his presence a comforting shadow, never too far away, yet giving Harry space to process the magnitude of what had just transpired. Neither of them spoke—their silence heavy with shared grief.
Harry's hand found the door to his room, and he pushed it open. The creak of the hinges felt too loud in the quiet cottage, but even that sound barely penetrated the fog of exhaustion clouding his thoughts. The room stood before him—simple, familiar, yet so painfully unfamiliar at the same time. He stepped inside, his eyes scanning the walls, the bed, the modest dresser. The sight of it twisted something deep in his chest.
This could have been my room. The thought settled in like a stone dropped into still water, rippling outward, each wave carrying with it the bitter truth that struck him all over again. He could have been living here. He could have grown up here. His whole life could have been so different—should have been so different.
He moved toward the bed, his legs heavy with fatigue. Sitting down on the edge, he slipped off his shoes with a lethargy born from both physical and emotional exhaustion. The laces came undone with little effort, and he kicked them to the floor, too tired to care where they landed. Slowly, he pulled his legs up onto the bed, curling them beneath him. The bed felt too small, his body too long and awkward
He curled up as best he could, pulling his knees close to his chest, trying to find some semblance of comfort.
Remus stood in the doorway, his hand resting lightly on the frame, watching his son trying to find peace in a world that had been so unfair to him. His heart ached, the pain of seeing Harry like this, so fragile and broken, too much to bear. He could see the exhaustion in every movement Harry made, but he could also see the sorrow, still raw and bleeding, just beneath the surface.
Harry’s face, streaked with tears that had long since dried, contorted, the muscles in his jaw tightening as a fresh wave of grief began to rise within him. His breath hitched, the tears welling up in his eyes once more, and this time, he couldn’t hold them back. They spilled over, silent and slow at first, but soon his whole body began to tremble with the force of his sobs.
Remus watched, helpless, as Harry’s body trembled with the force of his sobs, his small, muffled gasps for air cutting through the silence of the room. Each shake of Harry’s shoulders felt like a blow to Remus’s chest, driving a deep, aching emptiness into the spaces where his grief already festered. The sight of his son—his real son—broken like this, made something snap inside him, a well of anger he thought he had long since buried.
James, he thought bitterly, his teeth grinding together, his jaw tense. The name echoed in his mind like a curse. How could you? How could James have done this, taken everything from Harry—from him?
Remus’s hand tightened around the doorframe, his knuckles white. He had lost so much—friends, love, years he would never get back—and now here was his son, robbed of his childhood, of the comfort and safety he had deserved, all because of James's selfishness. Harry had grown up in misery, unloved and mistreated, all because James had stolen the life he should have had. The betrayal seared into Remus's heart, burning like an open wound.
For a brief, dark moment, he hated James. Not the memory of the friend he had loved and fought beside, but the man who had taken everything from them, shattering their lives into a thousand unrecognizable pieces. James had robbed him of the chance to be a father, and he had condemned Harry to years of suffering and loneliness. That grief, that fury, felt like a hollow pit inside Remus—an emptiness he didn't know if he could ever fill.
He forced himself to take a breath, his hand slowly unclenching as his gaze softened. Now was not the time for his anger, though it raged within him. Right now, Harry needed him. That was all that mattered.
Remus swallowed the lump in his throat and stepped into the room. His voice was soft, but it carried the weight of his own sorrow, a sorrow that mirrored Harry’s.
“Harry,” he said, his words tender, though his voice trembled. He walked closer, careful not to invade Harry's space, yet near enough that he could reach out if his son needed him. “Would you… would you like some time alone? Or… would you like me to stay?”
Harry didn’t respond at first, his small frame still trembling with the weight of his grief. The room was quiet, save for the sound of his uneven breathing, and Remus felt his heart tighten as he watched his son curl further into himself, as if trying to hide from the pain. The silence stretched on, heavy with unspoken words, until Harry slowly lifted his head from the pillow.
His face was tear-streaked, eyes red and swollen, but there was something in his gaze—something fragile, tentative. His lip quivered as he stared up at Remus, searching his face as if looking for reassurance, for comfort in the storm of emotions swirling within him.
“Dad…” Harry’s voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. “Could you… could you lay down with me?”
The words were soft, hesitant, but the vulnerability in them broke Remus’s heart all over again. Harry moved slightly, shifting his body to make space on the bed, and Remus felt a lump rise in his throat. His son, who had been deprived of warmth, love, and comfort for so long, was asking him for something so simple, yet so profound. How many nights had Harry spent in that cupboard under the stairs, alone and scared? How many times had he needed this—someone to hold him, to tell him he wasn’t alone?
Remus didn’t hesitate. He stepped closer to the bed, his hands trembling slightly as he reached down to untie his shoes. With quiet, deliberate movements, he slipped them off and set them aside. The bed creaked softly as he lowered himself onto it, lying down next to Harry with care, making sure not to crowd him, but close enough that Harry could feel his presence.
Harry shifted slightly, moving closer to his dad. His small body curled into Remus’s side, seeking the warmth and security he’d craved for so long. His head rested against Remus’s chest, where he could hear the steady beat of his father’s heart, a rhythm that soothed the turmoil inside him. Without thinking, Remus reacted, his arms instinctively tightening around Harry, pulling him even closer.
He wrapped one arm around Harry’s back, holding him securely, while his other hand moved to Harry’s hair, which mirrored Remus’s in both texture and color. With slow, tender movements, he began to run his fingers through the strands, gently smoothing them, offering comfort in the only way he knew how.
Harry sniffled quietly, his breath still hitching, though the sobs had subsided. The tears that had once flowed so freely now dried on his cheeks, and though his body remained tense, he slowly began to calm down. The warmth of his father’s embrace, the steady motion of Remus’s hand in his hair—it was enough to quiet the storm that had been raging inside him since Gringotts.
Remus stayed silent, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as his hand continued its soothing rhythm through Harry’s hair. He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask questions or offer reassurances—he simply stayed with his son, his presence alone conveying all the words they didn’t need to speak.
The room was filled with a deep, almost sacred silence. The tension that had once filled it began to ease, replaced by a quiet stillness that wrapped around them both.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Harry didn’t feel so alone. He could feel his father’s chest rise and fall with each breath, could hear the soft, calming sound of his breathing, and it grounded him. The ache in his heart hadn’t disappeared, but with Remus beside him, it felt more bearable, less overwhelming.
Remus lay there, his hand continuing its gentle rhythm through Harry’s hair, his heart aching as he held his son close. The silence between them was thick with unspoken emotions, a quiet refuge from the storm they had just endured. Remus glanced down at Harry, who had stilled against him, breathing deeply but unevenly.
In that moment, Remus felt an overwhelming surge of love for the boy in his arms—the boy who had been through so much, who had been robbed of so many things. He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper as he finally spoke the words that had been sitting on his heart since they’d arrived home.
“I love you, Harry,” Remus murmured softly, his voice filled with tenderness.
At those words, Harry stiffened against him. The comfort and warmth that had settled between them shattered instantly. Remus could feel the tension radiating from his son’s body, as if the very name—Harry—had struck something raw and painful inside him.
For a moment, Harry didn’t move. His breathing hitched, and Remus could feel the tremor running through him, could hear the slight hitch in his breath. Then, Harry forced himself to speak, his voice shaking but determined.
“I love you too, Dad,” Harry whispered, the words catching in his throat. “But…”
He pulled back slightly, enough to look up at Remus, his tear-streaked face twisted with a mixture of anger and something far deeper. His eyes, still red from crying, darkened with the fury that bubbled up inside him, a fire that had nothing to do with Remus and everything to do with the weight of the name he carried.
“I don’t…” Harry’s voice cracked as he spat out the words. “I don’t want anyone to call me Harry Potter again. Ever.”
Remus blinked, taken aback, but he said nothing, allowing Harry the space to get it out.
Harry’s chest heaved as he continued, his voice hoarse but steady. “James Potter… he took everything from me. Everything.” He clenched his fists, his knuckles white with tension. “I don’t want anything to do with him. Not his name, not his legacy… nothing. He’s not my father. He never was.”
Remus’s heart tightened. But he stayed silent, giving Harry the space he needed to speak.
Harry’s voice trembled, but there was a fierce determination behind it now. “And… Harry—Harry isn’t even my real name anyway. It’s what HE wanted me to be. I always thought… after I found out I was your son, it was easier to let people call me that.
He stopped, as if searching for the right words, then finally looked up at Remus, his expression filled with uncertainty. “But... Dad, could I—could I be called Matthew instead?”
There it was, the question finally spoken, timid but hopeful, like the fragile whisper of something long buried. Remus’s heart clenched, not in pain this time, but in a mixture of emotion so complex he couldn’t untangle it.
He met Harry’s eyes, his own gaze softening. “Of course, you can. That’s your decision to make, after everything we’ve found out.” Remus’s voice was gentle, as though he were cradling this fragile moment between them. “You can do whatever you want, cub.”
He leaned in a little closer, his hand resting lightly on Harry’s shoulder. “It would… it would make me happy to call you by the name I gave you when you were born.” Remus’s voice thickened with emotion. “ It was your grandfather’s name and I have always loved it..”
Harry blinked, his breath catching, but Remus wasn’t finished.
“But,” Remus continued carefully, “I understand if you’d want to choose a name that has no ties to any of this. A name that’s just yours.”
Silence hung between them, heavy with the significance of what had just been said. Remus watched his son carefully, waiting, giving him the time and space to make this choice, to carve out the path he wanted for himself.
Harry’s brows furrowed slightly as he seemed to think deeply about Remus’s words. He bit his lip, eyes cast down for a moment, then slowly looked up again.
“I was supposed to grow up as Matthew,” Harry said softly, the certainty growing in his voice. “That’s who I was meant to be. Before everything.”
The finality in his voice made Remus’s heart twist, but there was also something right about it, something that felt like it was settling back into place after years of being out of joint.
Matthew looked up at him, eyes resolute now. “I want to be called that.”
Remus felt his chest tighten again, this time with a rush of pride and deep affection. He smiled softly, a warmth blooming in his chest, even through the sadness that lingered in the air.
“Then I’ll call you Matthew,” Remus said, his voice steady and filled with warmth. The moment the name left his lips, he saw a flicker of something change in Matthew’s expression—an ember of joy that began to glow amidst the remnants of sadness. A small smile crept onto Matthew’s lips, soft and tentative at first, but growing as he took in the weight of that name and what it meant.
They fell into a comfortable silence, the atmosphere around them feeling lighter, as if the very air was beginning to heal. Remus savored this moment, holding on to it like a lifeline in the turbulent sea of emotions that had crashed over them in the past few hours.
Eventually, Matthew broke the stillness, his voice barely above a whisper. “Dad… what was my Grandpa Matthew like?”
Remus took a moment to collect his thoughts, allowing the memories of his father-in-law to surface. “Your great-grandfather, Matthew, was a Muggle,” he began, a soft smile spreading across his face. “But that doesn’t mean he was helpless. In fact, he was anything but.”
Matthew tilted his head, curious. “What do you mean?”
“He was a farmer,” Remus continued, the warmth in his tone reflecting the fondness he felt for the man. “He worked hard every day, tending to the land and caring for the animals. He looked scary at first glance—tall and gruff, with a beard that seemed to have a life of its own—but he was the kindest person I ever knew.”
Matthew’s eyes widened, intrigued by the picture his father painted. “Really?”
“Yes,” Remus nodded, feeling a swell of affection for the man who had welcomed him into the family. “He loved his wife, Ellen, more than anything in the world. Their love was something special. Your great-grandfather loved her so deeply that when she passed away, he only lived two days longer. He died of a broken heart, Matthew. She was everything to him.”
A contemplative silence settled between them as Matthew absorbed the weight of his grandfather’s love story, the depth of connection lingering in the air like a bittersweet fragrance. “That’s sad,” Matthew murmured, his brow furrowing slightly.
“It is,” Remus agreed, but he couldn’t help the smile that broke through the sadness. “But it also speaks to how powerful love can be. It’s a reminder of what family truly means.”
Matthew’s gaze softened, and he looked up at Remus, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “Did I ever meet him?”
Remus nodded slowly, his heart swelling with memories. “Yes, once. It was the day after Ellen died and he was at the hospital dying.” He paused, the weight of the moment sinking in as he remembered the frail man he had encountered, whose eyes still held so much love despite the pain. “When I brought you to him, he held you in his arms and cried when I told him you were named after him. He was so happy to meet you, even if it was just once.”
Matthew’s face lit up with a smile, a warmth spreading through him at the thought of his great-grandfather holding him, even if just for a fleeting moment. “He got to hold me?” he asked, his voice full of wonder.
Remus chuckled softly, his heart swelling with affection for his son. “Yes, he did. And you can be sure he cherished every second of it. Would you like to hear more about him?”
“Definitely!” Matthew replied eagerly, shifting slightly to sit up a bit straighter, his curiosity ignited.
“Well,” Remus began, his eyes glinting with nostalgia, “I remember spending nights at their house, which was filled with warmth and laughter. My grandparents had a little cottage surrounded by fields, and I loved every minute I spent there. My grandfather Matthew loved to garden, and I would often help him tend to it whenever I stayed over.”
Matthew listened intently, leaning in closer, eager for more details.
“Every morning, we would head out to the garden together,” Remus continued, a smile tugging at his lips as the memories washed over him. “He had the most beautiful flowers—roses, daisies, and even some exotic blooms he’d managed to coax into growing. We’d spend hours finding the best ones to gather into a bouquet to surprise your grandmother, Ellen. It was our little secret.”
“Did she like them?” Matthew asked, his eyes wide with interest.
“Oh, she loved them,” Remus replied, his voice laced with warmth. “She’d light up like the sun whenever she saw what we’d picked for her. But your grandfather was also a bit of a character. You see, he had a very specific hate—squirrels and rabbits. He despised them with a passion!”
Matthew giggled at the thought. “Really? Why?”
“Because they would always get into the garden and mess with the plants! It drove him mad,” Remus said, laughing as he recalled the scene. “I remember him chasing after them, waving his arms and shouting. He would do everything short of killing them to try and get rid of them. He loved animals too much for that, though, so he’d just shoo them away as best as he could.”
Matthew laughed along with his dad, picturing his great-grandfather in a state of fluster, brandishing a watering can like a weapon. “That’s kind of funny,” he said, a bright smile on his face. “But I guess I get it. They probably ruined a lot of flowers.”
“Oh, they did,” Remus agreed, his voice still tinged with laughter. “But it was all part of the charm. He had a way of caring deeply for everything around him. Even when he was furious with the little critters, you could tell he couldn’t help but admire their spirit.”
Matthew’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and for a moment, the heaviness in the room felt a little lighter, the stories of love and laughter weaving a warm tapestry around them. “I wish I could remember him,” Matthew said, a hint of longing in his voice.
“I wish you could too,” Remus said softly, his heart heavy with both nostalgia and affection. “You would have loved him. He had such a gentle spirit.”
Matthew tilted his head, curiosity ignited once more. “What about my great-grandma Ellen?” he asked, eager to know more about the woman who had shared a life with his great-grandfather.
Remus’s face broke into a smile, warmth flooding his chest at the thought of Ellen. “Ah, Ellen was something else entirely. While your great-grandpa was the kindest, most soft-hearted person I ever knew, Ellen was fiery and full of life. She had the biggest spirit!”
Matthew leaned closer, captivated. “How so?”
“Well,” Remus chuckled, remembering the twinkle in Ellen’s eyes, “she was incredibly sassy. She had a way of teasing people that could make you laugh even when you didn’t want to. But beneath all that sass, she was fiercely loving and knew when enough was enough. She balanced your grandfather perfectly, keeping him on his toes.”
“Did she tease you a lot?” Matthew asked, an impish grin spreading across his face.
“Oh, constantly,” Remus admitted, his laughter bubbling up. “She had a knack for pointing out my mistakes with just the right amount of sarcasm. I could never tell if she was being serious or just having fun with me. But that was Ellen—she had a wonderful way of making you feel special, even while she was ribbing you.”
Matthew giggled, picturing his great-grandmother as a lively spirit, always ready with a sharp quip or playful jab. “I think I’d like her.”
“You would,” Remus said, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “She’d make you feel right at home, and you’d never run out of laughter when she was around.
emus chuckled, the memories flooding back, bringing a smile to his face. “You know, when I would stay over at their house, Ellen would let me play dress-up with her clothes and all her jewelry. She had the craziest earrings—sometimes she would even clip them to her nose and her eyebrows just to make me laugh.”
Matthew’s eyes widened with delight, picturing his great-grandmother adorned in extravagant jewelry, a picture of playful eccentricity. “That sounds hilarious!”
“It really was,” Remus replied, laughter still dancing in his voice. “And she was the best baker. There was always some kind of treat waiting for me when I arrived. Cookies, cakes, you name it—she had a talent for it. I think I gained a few pounds from all the sweets she spoiled me with.”
Matthew grinned, loving the idea of his great-grandmother as a source of endless treats. “Did she teach you how to bake?”
“Not really,” Remus admitted, shaking his head. “But I would watch her work, mesmerized. And then there was this tiny teapot set she had. Whenever I’d come over, she’d make hot chocolate in it. The cups were so small you could only get a sip out of them, but it was some of the best fun I ever had—drinking hot chocolate with her in the kitchen, surrounded by the smell of fresh bread and flowers that I helped your great-grandfather pick for her.”
Matthew smiled widely, imagining those cozy mornings filled with warmth and laughter. “That sounds like a perfect way to spend time with her.”
“It really was,” Remus said, his gaze softening as he looked at Matthew. “And you know, I can see Ellen in you. You have her eye shape, the way they crinkle when you smile. It’s like a little piece of her is living on through you.”
Matthew’s cheeks flushed with warmth at the compliment. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” Remus said, a proud smile stretching across his face. “You carry her spirit, that same kind of light. It makes me happy to see that part of her in you.”
Matthew's curiosity sparked, and he tilted his head slightly, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “What about my other features? Where do they come from?”
Remus took a moment to study Matthew, his heart swelling with a mix of pride and affection. The boy before him held so many pieces of his family, and it made him smile softly. “Well,” he began, running his hand gently through Matthew’s hair, “you look the most like me, actually. You’ve got my hair color, but your texture? That’s all your mum.”
Matthew nodded, intrigued. “So, I have your hair but not your style?”
“Exactly,” Remus chuckled. “You’ve got my jaw and cheekbones, too, and your eye color matches mine, but your nose shape is definitely from your mum.” He paused, his heart feeling a bittersweet pang at the mention of her. “And those lips and that smile? Those come from your grandfather Matthew.”
Matthew beamed at the revelation, feeling a sense of connection with his family. “That’s really cool,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. Then, his expression shifted slightly, a hint of curiosity mixed with apprehension. “What about my mum? What was she like?”
The question hung in the air for a moment, and Remus felt a wave of emotion wash over him. He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. “Your mum,” he began softly, “was a beautiful person, inside and out. She had this incredible spirit, just like Ellen. She was fiercely intelligent, and her laughter was infectious. I could always count on her to find the light, even in the darkest of times.”
Matthew’s curiosity deepened, and he leaned in slightly, eager to learn more. “How did you and my mum meet?”
The question caught Remus off guard, but a small, bittersweet smile formed on his lips as memories flooded back. “Your mum was a Ravenclaw,” he began, his voice tinged with fondness and nostalgia. “She was incredibly smart—much smarter than me, to be honest. I was in her year, and we had Charms together every year. We would sit next to each other in class.”
Matthew’s eyes widened with interest. “You were friends?”
“Sort of,” Remus said, his smile faltering slightly as he recalled the beginnings of their relationship. “I found her a bit annoying at first, always eager to answer questions and always getting the highest marks. But then, I realized I was actually jealous of her intelligence. She had this way of seeing things that I couldn’t quite grasp.”
“What happened next?” Matthew asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Well, during my fifth year, we had a project together for Charms. It required us to work closely all year, and that’s when I really got to know her. We spent hours studying together, going over notes, and she helped me understand things I struggled with. It was during those late nights in the library that I started to see how incredible she truly was.”
Remus’s gaze softened, a glimmer of sorrow mixing with the warmth of his memories. “I’ll never forget her, Matthew. She was my first love, and she’ll always be important to me. Even in the darkest times, her spirit shines through you. I loved her deeply, and I always will.”
Matthew listened intently, feeling a profound connection to his parents’ past. “Do you think she would have liked me?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Remus’s heart ached at the weight of Matthew’s question, and he took a deep breath, letting the memories wash over him. “When your mum found out she was pregnant, she was over the moon. I’ve never seen anyone so excited about anything in my life. She loved you so much before you were even born, Matthew. The thought of being a mother lit up her entire world.”
Matthew listened closely, hanging on every word. “What were you feeling?” he asked, curiosity mingling with concern.
Remus chuckled softly, though it was tinged with sadness. “I was terrified, honestly. The whole pregnancy, I was anxious about everything that could go wrong. But your mum? She was always so convinced that everything would work out in the end. I admired that about her. While I was reading every book I could find on parenting, she was just… so calm, so sure that we’d be okay.”
“Did you both read a lot?” Matthew asked, a small smile creeping onto his face at the image of his parents buried in books.
“Oh, we devoured books,” Remus said with a hint of nostalgia. “Every parenting guide we could find, every baby name book, everything. We laughed about how overwhelmed we felt, but we were also so excited. We couldn’t wait to meet you.”
But as Matthew’s eyes brightened, a shadow of sadness flickered across Remus’s face. “But then…” he hesitated, gathering his thoughts. “When it came time for you to be born, there were complications. You got stuck, and there was a lot of panic. I can still hear the chaos in the hospital. Your mum was so brave, but after the placenta detached, she started to hemorrhage. She was just too weak from giving birth.”
Matthew’s face fell, his eyes wide as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. “Was she scared?” he asked softly.
Remus nodded, his heart heavy. “She was, but she was also determined to see you. Even though everything was happening so fast, she got to hold you right after you were born. The look in her eyes when she saw you… I can’t describe it. She was so weak, but she was also filled with so much love. She adored you from that very first moment.”
Tears welled in Matthew’s eyes as he processed the bittersweet truth. “I wish I could have known her,” he murmured.
“I miss her every day, Matthew,” Remus said, his voice thick with emotion. “But I wouldn’t take any of it back. You are the best part of her, and I love you so much. I was so glad when you were born.”
Matthew felt a warmth swell within him, a sense of belonging that soothed the ache of loss. “I love you too, Dad,” he said softly.
Feeling a wave of comfort wash over him, Matthew nestled closer into Remus’s side, seeking the warmth and safety of his father. The quiet moment enveloped them, a cocoon of shared memories and love, and for the first time in a while, Matthew felt a sense of peace.
As they sat in silence, enjoying each other’s presence, a loud rumble echoed from Matthew’s stomach, breaking the tranquility. He let out a sheepish laugh, feeling a mix of embarrassment and hunger.
Remus chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with affection. “Are you hungry, Matthew?”
“Um, I guess I am a bit hungry,” he admitted, his cheeks warming.
Remus chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with affection. “Well, let’s fix that.” He carefully extricated himself from the bed, his movements gentle as he reached down to grab his shoes from the floor. He slipped them on and turned back to Matthew, a playful smile on his face. “How about I make some sandwiches quickly? And after lunch, if you’d like, I can show you some pictures of your mum.”
Matthew’s eyes lit up at the mention of the pictures, and a smile spread across his face. “I would really like that, Dad.”
Alright, I’ll let you know when the sandwiches are ready,” Remus said, giving Matthew a warm smile before heading out of the room.
As soon as his father left, Matthew sank back into the pillows, his thoughts swirling like leaves caught in a gust of wind. The stories Remus had shared about his family echoed in his mind, each word weaving a tapestry of love and loss. He thought of his great-grandfather Matthew, the farmer with a gentle heart, and his great-grandmother Ellen, the sassy spirit who had filled their home with laughter. He thought of his mum who he would never know outside of pictures. He knew his dad was telling him those stories to try and distract him from what happened at the bank. But Matthew would not forget or forgive.
Simply hating James wasn’t enough. Matthew’s mind began to churn with a fierce determination. He wanted more than revenge; he wanted to destroy James Potter's legacy. He wanted everyone in the wizarding world to see James for what he truly was—a child thief who had stolen from his best friend.
With a swift motion, Matthew swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, his resolve hardening. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the confrontation that lay ahead. He wouldn’t allow himself to be consumed by his anger, but he also wouldn’t let it go unchallenged.
In that moment, he vowed to carve a path through the lies, to dismantle the facade, and to make sure that the name James Potter would be spoken not in reverence, but in the disdain it so rightly deserved.