Chapter 1
The dimly lit room was filled with the lingering scent of firewhisky as Sirius stumbled across the floor towards Harry. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on the walls, creating a somewhat eerie atmosphere. Harry, sitting on the worn-out sofa, watched as his godfather approached with a mix of amusement and concern.
"You have your mother's eyes," he slurred, his words carrying the weight of both nostalgia and regret. He reached out, his movements slightly uncoordinated, cupping Harry's face with unsteady hands. His gray eyes, glazed from the effects of alcohol, held an unusual blend of infinite sadness and an undeniable fondness.
Harry responded with a soft chuckle, his own eyes carrying a warmth that contrasted with Sirius's intoxicated gaze. Gently pushing Sirius's hands away, he rose from the sofa. "You're not the first to say that, I've been told I'm the spitting image of my dad, except for the eyes, of course."
A grin played on Sirius's lips as he attempted to stand upright, swaying dangerously. Quick to react, Harry awkwardly draped an arm around his godfather's shoulders, providing the support he sorely needed. "James Potter, eh?" Sirius said with a playful lilt, their journey to the stairs marked by a mix of laughter and slurred reminiscences.
As they ascended the creaky staircase, Sirius insisted, his words stumbling out in a drunken symphony. "No, no. Not Lily's eyes. Yours are chocolate, just like hers."
Finally reaching Sirius's childhood room, Harry helped the inebriated wizard onto the bed. With a wave of his wand, Harry transformed Sirius's disheveled appearance into comfortable pajamas. Just as Harry reached to tuck him in, Sirius's hand shot out, grabbing his wrist.
"Your parents loved you so much, Harry. Especially your mother," Sirius spoke earnestly, his gaze piercing through the haze of alcohol, leaving Harry with a sense of vulnerability.
A bittersweet smile played on the teen's lips. His parents were a subject that brought both warmth and pain. Remus and Sirius had shared countless stories about James, but his mother remained a more elusive figure in his mind. His parents' love was a memory overshadowed by the war that claimed their lives.
Suddenly, Sirius's composure crumbled, and he sobbed uncontrollably. Harry, snapping out of his reverie, patted him on the back in a comforting gesture. "You can take off your mask when you talk to me, you know? You don't have to be strong all the time."
Wiping away tears, Sirius gave Harry a searching look. "What, you, what—what did you just say to me?"
"They're not my words, they're Mione's words," Harry admitted, a blush tinting his cheeks, "I'm horrible at these things. Cheering and stuff, you know. Hermione's the expert."
"Wise words from Kitten," Sirius smiled wistfully. "Take good care of her. She is an amazing girl."
"I think it's kind of the other way around," Harry chuckled, making Sirius raise an eyebrow. "Mione often acts like a mother would with Ron and me. We'd most likely be dead without her. Do you think... Do you think my parents would have liked her?"
For the first time, Harry saw Sirius smile genuinely, a knowing gleam in his eyes. "I think they would have loved her."
The next morning brought a groggy awakening for Harry as he stirred in his temporary room at Grimmauld Place. The soft morning light filtered through moth-eaten curtains, casting a subdued glow on the faded wallpaper. With a yawn, Harry rubbed his eyes, attempting to shake off the remnants of sleep that clung to him like a persistent shadow.
Dragging himself to a stand, he shuffled towards the dusty mirror that adorned the dresser. He scrutinized his reflection with a careful gaze, taking note of the familiar features that countless people had pointed out—the untidy black hair, the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, and the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Yet, the focus inevitably shifted to his eyes, a shade of deep chocolate that seemed to hold a myriad of untold stories.
The world had always insisted on drawing parallels between him and his father, James Potter. But the eyes, those belonged to his mother. And that, Harry couldn't fathom, especially when Remus and Sirius persistently claimed he had his mother's eyes, despite Lily's being a striking shade of green.
Shaking off his contemplative thoughts, Harry descended the creaky stairs of Grimmauld Place and made his way to the kitchen Remus, seated at the worn kitchen table, was engrossed in the Daily Prophet, a steaming cup of tea cradled in his hands.
"Good morning, Harry," Remus greeted, folding the newspaper and setting it aside. "You look like you haven't slept."
Harry yawned in agreement as he raided the kitchen for a quick breakfast, opting for a bowl of cereal and a carton of milk. "Uncle Pads got drunk last night, and I had to play the responsible adult," he admitted with a mischievous smile, the glint in his eyes reminiscent of the mischief that once danced in the gaze of his late best friend.
Remus chuckled, a fondness in his eyes as he looked at the young man before him. "Seems like some things never change. Your father would have been proud of you, Harry, taking care of Padfoot like that."
Harry's grin widened, a blend of pride and nostalgia coloring his expression. "I guess some things are just in the blood, huh?"
Remus leaned back in his chair, amusement dancing in his eyes. "So, was it a drunken conversation reminiscing about the Marauders, or did Sirius surprise us all with a deep, introspective drunken chat? Not very Padfoot-like, is it?"
Harry, spoon halfway to his mouth, paused and looked at Remus. "Definitely the second type," he confessed, his expression carrying a mix of solemnity and curiosity. "We talked about my mother."
Remus visibly tensed, his shoulders stiffening for a moment before he managed a nervous smile. "He did, did he? What... What did he tell you?"
Harry took a spoonful of cereal and shrugged. "The usual, I guess. That I have her eyes." He said it with a casual air, as if it was a statement he had heard countless times before, and indeed, he had.
Remus relaxed a bit, letting out a relieved breath. "Ah, right. Her eyes. Sirius, don’t mind him. He just misses her. She was the only person he listened to, you know?" He ran a hand through his graying hair, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Your mother was quite special, Harry."
Harry nodded. "I've gathered that much. Gryffindor, married my dad right after Hogwarts, and then everything changed with the war. But it's strange. Mum, Lily had green eyes. I don't understand why they keep insisting on the chocolate thing."
Remus nodded, a shadow passing over his features. "Don’t worry about that. Your parents were brave, both of them. And they would’ve been immensely proud of the man you’re becoming."
Finishing his cereal, Harry looked up at Remus. "I know. It's just... I wish I knew more about her. Sirius seemed like he wanted to tell me more last night, but then he got all emotional."
Remus sighed, a mixture of emotions flickering in his eyes. "I'll have a talk with him. Maybe we can share some memories with you."
Harry nodded appreciatively, his curiosity about his mother piqued once again. "I'd like that, Uncle Moony. Thanks. Oh my! I need to get ready. Mione will be here any minute now."
"You have a tattoo?" Harry's eyes widened, genuinely shocked. His gaze was fixed on Hermione, who, after a few moments of playful hesitation, pulled up her shirt, revealing a small tattoo nestled on her hip. "How naughty of you, Miss Granger. Have you turned to the dark side now?"
"It appeared out of nowhere this summer," she confessed with a slightly embarrassed smile, giving her best friend a gentle shove. "Stop laughing, Harry. If my parents find out, they are going to kill me."
The room filled with Harry's laughter, a sound that echoed against the faded wallpaper. He couldn't help but tease her, "Why a snitch? Is it because I'm a Seeker? Anything you want to confess to me, Miss Granger?" He playfully batted his eyelashes and put on a goofy smile. "Someone call the Witch Weekly."
"Harry, shut up or I'll put you in a jar too," she threatened, her tone laced with humor, making Harry raise his hands in surrender. Hermione was indeed scary when she got angry.
“I mean, you do have a penchant for Quidditch players, mostly Gryffindors. Ollie, Vicky, me."
"My crush on Oliver was only in our first year," Hermione protested, scandalized. "And about Viktor, is it so difficult for you to call him by his name?"
"A lie, and you know it," Harry retorted, an accusing finger pointed at her. "You told me yourself you liked him until the end of our second year. And about Vicky, I like to teasing you, and that's why I call Viktor, Vicky.'"
"The only thing I'm grateful for is that I have the snitch on my hip. It's easier to cover it," Hermione commented lightly.
"PRONGSLET! KITTEN!" Sirius bellowed, his entrance marked by the swinging tray of lemonades. "Your favorite person has arrived—me!"
"Harry is my favorite person," Hermione argued jokingly, her playful banter causing Sirius's smile to disappear dramatically.
With theatrical flair, Sirius put the tray on the table and approached Hermione, putting on a mock hurt expression. "Don't you love me, kitten?" He placed a hand dramatically on his chest and looked at her with wide eyes. "I thought we had something special."
"Harry is my favorite person," Hermione smirked and winked at Harry. You're just in the top five."
"Top five? TOP FIVE !?" Sirius shriecked, scandalized, pretending to be deeply hurt. "I can't believe this betrayal! After all the snacks I've provided, the advice I've given, and the impeccable charm I bring to this household. MOONY! Come here and listen to this."
Remus stuck his head out of the dining room door and entered, sitting next to Harry. "What's wrong? You scream louder than your dear mother, Padfoot."
"I resent that comment, Moony. You take that back," Sirius stomped the floor like a child, making the other three laugh. "I'm the most abused member of this house. I'll have you all know that I am a refined and sophisticated individual."
Remus raised an eyebrow, an amused glint in his eyes. "Refined and sophisticated? You, Padfoot? I think I missed that part of your personality."
Harry laughed, "I think I missed it too, and I've been living here for weeks." Then turning to his uncle he added, “Hermione told Pads that I’m her favorite person and that he is only in his top five favorite people."
"I wonder where I’ve heard that before," Remus commented, looking at Sirius with a look that seemed like only they understood.
"Well, just so you know, Harry, I was your mother's favorite person. After your father, of course." Sirius dropped into another chair, crossing his arms, pouting. “I'm hurt. Deeply hurt."
"Bullshit," Remus exclaimed, pointing at his best friend. "I was his favorite person even above James." The werewolf stuck out his tongue at the gray-eyed man. "You're not fooling anyone, Sirius."
"You were only the favorite because people thought you were a saint, but you were worse than Prongs and me," Sirius argued, getting up from the couch. "Alright, enough of this. I'm going to reclaim my title as the favorite person. How about a round of Butterbeer pong?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Sirius, it's not even noon."
"Details, details," Sirius dismissed, waving his hand. "Butterbeer pong is an all-day activity. It’s summer. Got anything better to do, Kitten or are you afraid you’ll lose?"
“Oh, you’re so on now. Give me that fucking ball.”
The atmosphere in Grimmauld Place buzzed with celebration as Harry's birthday party unfolded. The Weasley family, some members of the Order, and friends like Neville and Luna filled the room with laughter and clinking glasses. Decorations adorned the walls, and the air was thick with the scent of homemade treats, sharing stories, raising toasts, and celebrating the young wizard who had faced so much and come so far.
Amidst the lively crowd, Remus and Sirius stood in a quiet corner, observing the festivities. Their eyes followed the joyful chaos that surrounded Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The trio, inseparable as ever, had become the heart of the party. Harry's infectious laughter mingled with the boisterous voices of the Weasleys and the occasional burst of magic from the twins.
An indignant scream erupted from Hermione as Ron and Harry teamed up to spray her with champagne. The girl, drenched and clearly unamused, turned to scold them, while Ron and Harry, sporting identical sad puppy faces, tried to persuade her not to curse them in retaliation.
"Some things never change, do they?" Remus mused, watching the scene with a twinkle in his eye that held unshed tears as he watched a familiar dynamic he knew all too well play out. “Harry told me about your little conversation. We agreed that we would be more careful with those comments," he scolded his friend gently.
"I miss them, okay?" The shaggy-haired wizard grumbled, his eyes fixed on the trio. "You can't blame me for that. Especially today. She doesn't realize what she's doing, and I know we agreed not to say anything, but you just have to watch how she behaves with him. It's like seeing them again. Give me a fucking break"
Remus sighed, a mixture of understanding and sadness in his eyes. "We made an unbreakable vow, Sirius. All of us. We promised not to interfere. He deserves this, even if it hurts us to watch. It's what they would have wanted."
Sirius ran a hand through his disheveled hair, frustration evident in his demeanor. "I know, Moony, I know. But it's not easy. You feel it too, don't you? The ache of watching him living a life they never got to see. Seeing him happy is both a blessing and a bittersweet reminder of what we lost. Of what he lost."
Remus nodded, a somber acknowledgment passing between them. "Of course, I feel it. But we made a vow for a reason—to protect him and let him have the life he deserves. It's Harry's birthday. Let's focus on celebrating him and the happiness we can bring him today."
“What are you reading?”
Hermione's eyes darted around the library but she saw no one. Bracing herself, she went back to her book, thinking it might have been a figment of her imagination.
"Oh, come on, dolcezza, don't leave me like this," the voice spoke again, a playful tone that sent shivers down Hermione's spine.
Hermione's heart raced as she heard the disembodied voice, her eyes scanning the library in search of the mysterious speaker. With her wand drawn, she cautiously asked, "Who's there?"
"It hurts me that you don't remember me, dolcezza," the voice persisted, and this time Hermione whirled around, her eyes widening in shock. Hanging on the wall was a portrait of James Potter, her best friend's father. He was clad in a Quidditch sweater and jeans, showcasing an athletic build and tanned skin. His face, adorned with thick black rectangular glasses, held a more pronounced jaw than Harry's, and hazel eyes sparkled mischievously.
"If you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to blush," James commented with an arrogant smile.
Hermione, her wand still gripped tightly, stammered, "Since when—what are you doing there? I didn't know there was a portrait of you here, in this place of all the places."
"A recent development," James waved off the question casually. "As for the place, it was my wife's favorite place, and there is no place I would rather be."
"A Potter who likes and is willingly surrounded by books?" Hermione laughed, oblivious to the adoring look the portrait was giving her. "If I look out, will the sky still be blue?"
"HA.HA.HA, you are so funny, dolcezza," James chuckled, thoroughly entertained. "I'm glad to know your sense of humor hasn't changed."
"I think you're wrong," Hermione retorted in a soft voice. "You're confusing me with someone else because it's impossible for you and me to know each other. Well, yes, I obviously know who you are, but you don't—Not as in personally knowing each other…"
James interrupted her rant with a laugh. "You look cute when you ramble."
"Are you trying to purposely flirt, or is it just part of your personality?" she shot back, a hint of annoyance in her voice.
"Part of my personality, dolcezza," the portrait winked. "Now, returning to my initial question, what are you reading?"
Hermione felt a warm blush creeping up her cheeks as she hesitated for a moment. With a shy smile, she turned the book in her hands, revealing the cover adorned with the classic title, "Romeo and Juliet."
"Ah, the timeless tale of love and tragedy," James remarked, his hazel eyes twinkling with amusement. "A bit cliché, don't you think? I would have expected you to be reading something more challenging."
Hermione bristled slightly at the teasing, but she couldn't help but smile. "Well, I’ll have you know I enjoy immersing myself in the classics."
James leaned casually against the frame of the portrait, adopting an exaggeratedly pensive expression. "You know, I've always been a fan of tragic love stories. They have a way of stirring the heart, making one appreciate the intensity of emotion."
Trying to deflect the conversation, Hermione retorted, "I doubt you were into Muggle literature during your time, Mr. Potter."
"Oh, you'd be surprised," James responded with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I may not have had access to Muggle books, but I had a fair share of romantic escapades during my Hogwarts years. My wife was quite the challenge, you know. And please, call me James."
Hermione couldn't help but chuckle at the playful banter. "I'm sure she kept you on your toes."
"She did indeed," James said with a nostalgic smile. "But enough about me. you've grown into quite a remarkable young witch, haven't you? I can see why Harry is so fond of you."
The compliment caught Hermione off guard, and she mumbled a modest "Thank you." Her mind was racing with a mix of curiosity and disbelief at the unexpected conversation she found herself in with the enchanted portrait of Harry's father.
"You know, I watched you the day of Harry’s birthday and that Weasley boy and my son seemed particularly eager to catch your attention."he remarked, a subtle hint of jealousy weaving through his words. However, the emotion seemed to go completely unnoticed by the oblivious girl.
Hermione chuckled, "More like they were trying to annoy me. Some things never change."
The portrait of James Potter let out a mock sigh. "Ah, young love. If only I could give those boys a bit of advice."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Advice? From the legendary James Potter, I assume?"
James gave her a sly grin. "Of course. I was a bit of an expert in my time, you know."
"Expert in what, precisely?" Hermione asked, her lips twitching with amusement.
"Oh, you know," James said with a wink, "mischief, Quidditch, and, of course, matters of the heart. I’ll have you know that this good looks and charming smile managed to swipe my wife off her feet. "
"You must have been quite the charmer," Hermione remarked, her eyes sparkling with genuine interest.
James shrugged modestly. "Well, I had my moments. She was a force to be reckoned with, though. She wasn't easily swayed by my antics, but I like to think my persistence paid off in the end."
Hermione leaned in, intrigued. "How did you manage to win her over, then?"
The portrait of James Potter adopted a thoughtful expression. "It took time, patience, and a willingness to change. She was drawn to sincerity and genuine kindness. Underneath the mischief and swagger, I had to show her the real me."
He continued with a chuckle, "And maybe a well-timed love potion prank gone wrong played a role too, but let's keep that between us."
Hermione laughed, finding herself captivated by the tales of James's past. "Love potion prank? That doesn't sound very romantic."
James grinned. "Ah, but it sparked a conversation, led to a moment of vulnerability, and, eventually, to a beautiful love story.”
"Do you ever regret sacrificing your life to save Harry?"
James's expression turned serious for a moment, his hazel eyes filled with a profound sense of purpose. "Not for a second. I would do it a thousand and one times if it meant Harry James's expression turned serious for a moment before he shook his head decisively. "Not for a second. I would do it a thousand times over if it meant Harry survived. My wife and I made a choice that day, one we knew would change everything. Sacrificing ourselves for our son, for his future—it was the only choice."
The sincerity in James's voice resonated through the library, and Hermione couldn't help but feel a deep respect for the man who had made the ultimate sacrifice for the ones he loved.
However, the serious moment was quickly punctuated by James's trademark mischievous grin. "Although, if I had to pick something to regret, it might be leaving my wand on the couch. Pads and Moony keep reminding me about it every time we talk. You'd think even in the afterlife, they'd let me live that one down."
Hermione chuckled, a playful glint in her eyes. "Your wand on the couch?"
"Oh, yes," James continued with a dramatic sigh. "Left it there while I was checking the wards, and you'd think I'd committed a crime the way those two carry on about it."
Hermione opened her mouth, ready to respond to James's jest, but before she could utter a word, a familiar voice called her name from the side of the house. "Hermione! Hermione, where are you? I need your help! I have a date and I don’t know what to wear!"
Recognizing Harry's voice, she turned to the enchanted portrait and exchanged an amused glance with the eldest Potter before calling back, "I'm coming, Harry! Just give me a moment!"
She shot a playful look at James, offering a quick apologetic smile. "Duty calls. If I don’t help him, he’ll get all moody. Honestly, he’s worse than Remus during his time of the month "
"Don't let an old portrait keep you from helping my son."
Hermione nodded appreciatively. "We'll continue our conversation later, I promise."
She disappeared around the corner, leaving James alone in his enchanted frame. With a wink and a boyish smile that accentuated his dimples, he whispered to himself, "Take your time, cuore mio. We have all the time in the world."
"When are you going to tell her?"
Sirius's piercing gaze, a mixture of accusation and sadness etched across his rugged face bore into James, demanding an answer to a question that hung heavy in the air. The words dripped with a raw intensity that echoed the weight of years of secrecy.
"When am I going to tell her what?" he responded, though the weariness in his eyes betrayed that he understood the question all too well.
"You know perfectly well, James," Sirius shot back, closing the distance until he stood before the painted portrait.
"May I remind you that you made an unbreakable vow. You all did. I'm not going to put her in danger. I won't make the same mistake twice," James asserted with a stern gravity, his voice resonating through the room like a haunting melody, the darkness in his eyes deepening.
Sirius, undeterred, was quick to counter. "That's a shitty excuse, and you know it. The vow was broken the moment you both died. What a Gryffindor you are; you're afraid to face the truth. She's not a fragile girl. She's living the war for the second time even though she doesn't know it."
The intensity of their conversation hung in the air, the room itself seemingly holding its breath as the emotional tension swirled around them like an invisible storm. Shadows danced across the painted walls, mirroring the tumult within the wizards' hearts.
"Don't you dare call me a coward, Sirius. I won't allow it," James roared, the painted fire in his eyes mirroring the flame that once burned within him in life. "Do you think I wouldn't want to be there to protect them? How do you think I feel as a father, as a husband, to see that what she and I died for has risen and is trying to kill our son for the second time? How the hell do you think I feel trapped in this fucking portrait without being able to do anything?"
Sirius's gray eyes, tumultuous with frustration and a touch of desperation, held James's gaze unyieldingly. "Then tell her.” pleaded, his voice breaking through the heated exchange. “How do you think Moony and I feel every time Harry asks us about her? She's the smartest witch her age. She's the only one who can get you out of that portrait."
"It's black magic," James argued, his voice a low growl, the undercurrent of sorrow evident in his eyes as he faced the painful truth. "I'm not going to let it taint her. Once was enough."
"Oh, for the love of Godric, don't be a fucking hypocrite to me, Potter," Sirius spat angrily, his words cutting through the thick air like a knife. "You're trapped in a painting, and she's a 21-year-old woman trapped in the body of a 15-year-old girl. She’d do anything for you."
The room seemed to close in on them, the shadows casting a haunting backdrop to the heated exchange. The weight of years of friendship, sacrifice, and unspoken truths hung heavy in the air, leaving a bitter taste of regret and longing.
"Great, Sirius, fucking great" James mocked with a bitter applause, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What do you want me to say to her? 'Oh, I'm sorry Hermione, the last time we were talking, I forgot to leave out the insignificant detail that you're my wife and, oh, by the way, my son, your best friend, also happens to be your son, and that's why his eyes are chocolate and not green like Lily's.'”
Before James could continue speaking, a familiar voice interrupted them, freezing the air in the room. "What did you just say?"