Author's Note: Sorry for the late update and my absence. Here in Nepal, we've been celebrating Dashain—the biggest festival of the country for ages. It's so huge, even protestors went home saying, "Alright, see you after Dashain, my gang." Joking aside, it's a festival celebrating the triumph of good over evil, like Rama defeating Ravana or Durga taking down the demon no man could kill.
The whole festival has been going on for a week, which is why updates have been delayed. But don't worry—I haven't gone cold yet.
............................................
I found myself hunched over on a weathered park bench, my head buried in both hands with my chin pressed against my chest, knees drawn up as I curled into the smallest possible position. The position was instinctive, a defensive posture that offered the illusion of protection against the emotional turmoil churning through my system as if I could curl into a ball and vanish. The iron slats of the seat are cold through my jeans, biting at my skin even through the fabric.
The only saving grace was that the dead of night provided natural privacy for my breakdown. The solitary electric streetlamp several yards to my right cast a weak circle of yellowish light that barely reached my location, leaving me shrouded in comfortable shadows. Beyond it, the clipped hedgerows became vague shapes, and every gust made them ripple like black water.
The nocturnal chorus of crickets and other insects created a steady background hum, though thankfully I couldn't detect any actual creepy crawlers in my immediate vicinity.
Slowly, I untangled myself and looked at the full moon above. Its silver glow washed over the park and over me, and my raging emotions started to ebb, the tide pulling back from the shore.
I don't regret my decision—what happened before was inevitable—but I do believe my execution was way off. I hadn't fought them just because I wanted to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow, or simply because they'd restricted my desire to go where I pleased, especially when I'd been reasonable about it.
I mean, for weeks, I'd listened to them, and they kept escalating, expecting me to go along because they were really starting to believe I was their child and they got to decide what was best for me, just as they had for Rose.
They had completely ignored the fact that we had known each other for less than a month. Hell, I hadn't even called them 'mother' or 'father' once during that entire period unless I was being deliberately sarcastic arsehole, which should have been a fairly obvious clue about my emotional distance. How had James and Lily failed to recognize such clear signals?
However, I suppose I'm not entirely blameless either. I complied with their requests and accepted grounding punishment. Because I'm naturally introverted, it wasn't much of a punishment at all. But my curiosity about the wizarding world is greater than my introverted nature, so when that bigger part of me was denied, I lashed out. I should have handled that better.
"Well, regretting past decisions isn't going to help." I sighed and lit a ribbon of fire from my right hand. It came out of my palm like a flamethrower dialled down to its lowest setting, orange tongues flickering and coiling like restless snakes. How interesting that I can't generate any flame from my left side at all. The quirk was literal—Half Hot, Half Cold.
I sighed again. I wasn't even in the mood to fawn over my new ability. Usually I'd be ecstatic about this kind of thing, but this sour mood dampened my excitement.
Suddenly, with a wet thump, Rose was spat out onto the grass a few feet away, wincing as she landed hard on her knees. The magic she used left a faint smell like ozone and crushed herbs. I cracked up in laughter despite my mood; it was so funny, like watching someone, especially your twin, trip on a banana peel. The absurdity punctured my gloom for a moment.
"Stop laughing, that actually hurt," Rose glared at me while struggling to her feet, hopping alternately on each leg as she checked for injuries or simply tried to shake off the pain. Her hair caught the lamplight, copper flames around a pale, annoyed face.
"That's what you get for following me," I said, but my mind immediately supplied a few inconvenient facts. Rose couldn't teleport like me. And I didn't misspeak: what I do is really teleportation rather than Apparition. When I do it, there's no pop sound, no being yanked through a tube, no wrenching through my navel.
I admit it's likely a sub-branch of Apparition. Teleportation is something I learned trying to replicate how I accidentally Apparated myself onto the school roof when Dudley and his gang chased me—back when we weren't friends yet.
So instead of learning Apparition the usual way, I'd sacrificed some food and my own personal treasures to Hermes, asking for his help while trying to Apparate. Since he's the god of travelling, among many domains too numerous to count, he gave me something better: seamless teleportation without complications.
"How did you even find me here?" I asked suspiciously, fixing Rose with an accusatory stare as the light from the streetlamp behind me illuminated her distinctive red hair. "Please don't tell me you put some kind of tracking charm or Portkey on me."
"Okay, then I won't say that," she replied with deliberate evasiveness, slowly getting to her feet while rubbing her bruised knee. Her other hand carried two wands, one obviously hers and the other clearly mine.
"I am very cross with you right now, Rose," I said, allowing my irritation to color my voice as I glared at her. "And discovering that you've been violating my privacy without my knowledge doesn't help the situation in the slightest."
She looked down with such a genuinely sad expression that my chest immediately twisted with guilt. Damn it.
"I'm sorry, it's actually a bad habit of mine," she admitted softly, carefully removing a small pin from my sweater before immediately reattaching it. "I put tracking charms on everyone I love, so that if there's ever an emergency, I can come to the rescue."
"Why would I need rescuing?" I asked, my tone softening as I focused on the cold aspect of my Half Hot Half Cold ability to help regulate my emotional temperature.
"I don't know exactly," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just thought that if you were ever in real danger, you might appreciate having someone at your back, appearing out of nowhere like... poof."
She demonstrated by making the pin flash briefly before it returned to its normal appearance.
I didn't resist her reattachment of the tracking device, mainly because her behavior suggested some kind of underlying trauma. What had happened to Rose that made her feel the need for such elaborate backup systems?
"But that still doesn't make it right," I said gently, not wanting to shout or rage anymore. The emotional exhaustion was beginning to set in, and I could feel my anger transforming into something closer to resigned sadness. "You can't just make unilateral decisions about me, or trick me into accepting things I haven't agreed to. Not you, and not your parents either."
Looking around, I realized that my random teleportation had brought me to the small park near Privet Drive, practically within sight of Number 4. Why had my subconscious chosen this particular location?
"Our parents," Rose corrected automatically.
"No, your parents." I shot right back. "I grew up thinking they died. Suddenly, they come right back and expect me to be their son? I didn't ask for this. Children need parents; I'm way past that. Besides, look from my point of view: the only reason we were separated was because I was a Squib. Now I'm a mage, I'm suddenly their son?" The words spilled out of me, all the things that had been eating at me for weeks.
"Tell me how that's any different from parents throwing their child away because they're born crippled?" I asked, my voice rough.
"The difference is, Harry, you turned out fine—unlike me, who lived with them," she replied after a few minutes of silence. Her tone lost its edge, and her eyes flicked to mine. "I've been exposed to danger more than you can imagine, and the only reason we all survived the things we did was because of magic. What would you do in their place? Go to the battlefield with a crippled child or take that child out of the battlefield?"
"But I'm not crippled… Squib. I'm a wizard. We could have been living together all this time instead of this drama. Now I don't know how I feel about two strangers trying to boss me around," I said, my voice low but steady.
"Well, it's going to sound like an excuse, but they didn't know that." She sighed before looking back at me. "So why are you so nice to me if you see all of us as strangers, not family?"
"I don't know. With you, it just clicks. Don't get me wrong, I didn't know what it was like to have a twin. So I've been sort of seeing you like a friend I made more than anything," I admitted.
We both sat on the bench, looking at the stars. The lamp's light left our faces in shadow, and for a long moment, the only sound was the hum of the electric pole and the quiet, restless shifting of the hedges.
Finally, Rose stood up, brushing the dirt from her knees, and with a flick of her wrist, she began to wave her hand through the air. From nowhere scraps of paper flew into her grasp, fluttering like startled birds before settling obediently in her palm. I didn't say anything at first, just watched as she raised her wand. Even in the half-light, I saw the paper shifting under her spell. The dull white surface bled into detail, lines becoming sharper until I realised it wasn't just a photograph—it was a mask. A photographic mask.
"What the hell are you doing?" I asked, leaning forward to get a better view as she turned toward me with obvious pride, showing off her creation.
It was James' face in remarkable detail, and I immediately scowled in instinctive reaction as fresh memories of our explosive confrontation just minutes earlier came flooding back.
"Oh, brilliant. You just had to show me his face," I said, deliberately looking away while throwing her a distinctly unimpressed stink eye. "That's not remotely funny right now."
"You know when I'm sad or angry, what do you think I do? What do you think I want to do first?" she asked, grabbing my chin and turning my head so we were face-to-face. Her eyes were fierce and unflinching, like she was daring me to look away.
"I don't know, you draw a picture of whoever pissed you off?" I replied, attempting sarcasm to deflect from both her questions and her unnervingly intense proximity. Then realization began to dawn on me as I processed the implications of what she had created.
"Oh my god. We have James' face. Are we going to light candles over it? Sacrifice some goat or virgins to curse him?" I asked, my tone mock-enthusiastic, and to my own surprise, I felt an odd flicker of bloodlust. Normally, someone had to do something far more malicious than parental overreach to invoke genuine negative reactions from my psyche.
Like what Marge did.
"Nooo." Rose shook her head, laughing at my suggestion. Her laugh was light, but her eyes carried steel. "To be completely honest, my first reaction when someone makes me angry is usually to punch them square in their bloody nose." Her smile carried a sharp edge that made it clear she wasn't joking about the violence. "But when it's someone I can't physically punch, hex, curse, or otherwise retaliate against, I create these masks and put them on mannequins or practice dummies. Then I start shouting at them, letting everything out until I feel better, and finally burn the whole thing to ash."
That didn't fill me with confidence. Rose… you mean to tell me when I was annoying you all week, there was a nonzero chance I could've been decked in the face?
"That doesn't sound particularly healthy, sis," I observed with growing concern.
"Oh, and brooding alone in a dark park like some wannabe goth boy is somehow better?" she laughed before sliding the mask over her features. The poorly drawn representation of James's face stared back at me with an unsettling effect.
It looked deeply weird and slightly disturbing.
"Besides, you should give it a try," she continued, her voice slightly muffled by the mask. "You're my twin, after all. If this technique works for me, it should work for you too."
"But what am I supposed to say?" I asked, feeling uncertain about the entire concept. There were millions of things I wanted to shout and scream about, but not a single coherent phrase would come to my lips when I tried to focus.
"Just don't think too much about it," Rose advised, looking at me through the mask's eyeholes. "Look at the face, forget about everything and everyone else around you, and just focus on letting out whatever emotions are bottled up inside."
Rose positioned herself beside the nearest tree while I followed her lead, walking behind her until she turned to face me with arms crossed in silent expectation.
"This feels absolutely stupid," I muttered to myself, experiencing a massive wave of secondhand embarrassment at the entire situation.
"It is stupid," Rose nodded in agreement. "But if something works effectively, don't waste time looking for alternatives. Besides, this gives you the chance to say everything you didn't get to express earlier. I won't judge, criticize, or try to hurt you, so let it all out."
Following her instructions, I focused intently on James's face, and for a moment the illusion became complete. I no longer saw Rose wearing a mask, but rather the man himself, who had grown far too comfortable with me far too quickly, demanding my respect, love, and attention without doing anything to earn such responses beyond the biological accident that is my birth…or rebirth.
I hadn't even asked to be born, so I would never respect anyone based solely on that reason.
Looking directly into James's eyes, I faced him without fear or hesitation.
I stared into James' eyes, and for once I didn't flinch. "Just because you're an adult, or my father, doesn't mean I have to respect you," I said to James (Rose), pointing straight at his (her) chest.
"Well, son, back in my day people used to—" James (Rose) started, her voice deepened into a mocking parody of masculine pomp. The sound grated on my nerves.
"Ah, ah, uh." I tsked, shaking my head with exaggerated disapproval. "Oh brother… I don't give a fuck what they did back in your day." I cut him (her) off mid-sentence. "No, seriously—look at my face. Look at my face. Does it look like I give a single fuck?"
The profanity felt strangely liberating as it rolled off my tongue.
I grabbed James's shoulders, pulling him into uncomfortably close proximity for maximum impact.
"Here, come close, come really close, you ancient fucking relic," I continued with gathering momentum. "If you're not going to respect me, my boundaries, my privacy, or my personal wishes, then I'm absolutely not going to respect you in return. Respect has to be fucking earned these days. That shit isn't handed out anymore. It's not the bloody nineties. So don't waltz in, provoke me, trample over me, and act shocked when I throw your disrespect right back in your face. Because you've earned it, buddy."
I stopped, panting. My chest heaved, lungs burning. I hadn't realised I'd been holding my breath, or how many words I'd let spill unchecked. The illusion shattered like glass, and I saw Rose again, not James.
My twin and I locked eyes as she slowly removed the mask. Our green eyes, matching and sharp, met in silence. Neither of us spoke, just waiting for the other to break first.
Then it cracked.
We burst into laughter.
"Hahahaha," Rose giggled while I dissolved into full-throated laughter that seemed to come from somewhere deep in my chest. We laughed and laughed until our legs gave out, collapsing onto the grass while grabbing onto each other for support, unable to stop the cathartic release.
"Oh, Merlin's beard," Rose managed between gasps. "You're like a little kid, you know that? Just because you know how to use the F-word doesn't automatically make you look cool or mature. Hahaha."
"I wasn't trying to look cool," I wheezed back, still struggling to catch my breath.
"Sure, sure," she replied with obvious disbelief, which only set off another round of shared laughter.
As we lay side by side on the cool grass, I felt hundreds of times lighter than I had just minutes before. The weight of anger and frustration that had been crushing my chest had somehow evaporated completely, leaving me feeling genuinely relaxed and at peace for the first time in hours.
Maybe I really was her twin after all, if her coping mechanisms worked so effectively for me as well.
...........................................
After last night, nothing happened. James and Lily didn't bust my door open for another round of drama, so I actually slept in peace. Breakfast this morning was awkward, one of those stiff, quiet affairs where everyone pretends the air isn't thick enough to choke on. I finished fast and retreated to my room, determined to stay there all morning.
Rose wouldn't stop bothering me, of course. Fair's fair. I'd done the same to her days ago. Still, she hovered, watching me like I might teleport out again. At least that was her excuse, because I'm still wearing her Portkey pin on me, so I already figured that was not the real reason.
Looks like I'd broken straight through the house's anti-apparition wards, which were supposed to be impossible even for James and Lily or wizards on their level. That rattled them. Lily's expertise in charms meant the damaged wards were easily repaired. The fact that I had accomplished something they considered impossible for even experienced adult wizards had clearly shaken them considerably.
I wasn't particularly surprised that conventional magical protections like these wards couldn't constrain Hermes's gifts, but I probably shouldn't test that theory in places like Hogwarts, where the consequences might be more severe. Despite having received divine favor, I'm still a very squishy mortal with all the vulnerabilities that came with being human.
While my wandless magical abilities did stem from godly patronage and blessings, that didn't mean I possessed their literal strength or invulnerability. After all, why would any deity spoil mortals to such an extent?
I was absolutely sure that the gods maintained constant scrutiny over their chosen champions, including me, watching carefully for any sign of hubris or arrogance that would justify bringing them crashing back down to earth. The immortals and gods loved few things more than helping mortals achieve greatness, only to orchestrate their dramatic downfall when they became too comfortable with their elevated status. One need only look at figures like Odysseus or Karna to see how quickly divine favor could transform into divine retribution.
And despite their heroism, I do not want the fate of Odysseus, Karna, Achilles, Cú Chulainn, or Diarmuid Ua Duibhne. Especially the Diarmuid, bro got the NTR mole that became his downfall.
Receiving attention from gods is essentially a double-edged sword, though since I had never actually met any of them directly, I had to maintain genuine faith for the relationship to function properly. There was no point in questioning their existence when the evidence of their influence was so clearly manifest in my abilities.
"So is that supposed to look like that?" Rose asked, pointing toward one of the small statues arranged on my bedroom shelf.
The piece in question was a carved statue of Hestia that I had purchased from a street vendor several years ago. It depicted the Hellenic religious version of the goddess rather than the classical Greek mythology, though the distinction didn't particularly matter to me. Hestia is Hestia, regardless of the cultural lens used to view her divine nature.
What mattered was that the statue now displayed a prominent crack running directly through its center.
"What happened to this?" I asked, carefully lifting the wooden carving from its place. The piece had been painted with a cement-colored finish and featured the easily recognizable artistic style of ancient Greek craftsmanship.
The damage shouldn't have been possible. Why was a wooden statue displaying cracks as if it had been carved from actual stone? Which made no sense. It was wood. Wood doesn't split like stone.
I scanned the others—Athena, Apollo, Artemis, Krishna, Shiva, Thor, Loki, Crucified Jesus. Some stone, some plastic, some clay. All untouched. Only Hestia.
None of the others showed any signs of damage or disturbance, making the incident deeply concerning. It was targeted. Why?
I could definitely rule out James and Lily as potential culprits for this damage. It doesn't feel like it's something they would do, despite what happened last night.
"You know repairing charms, right?" I asked, turning to Rose. I hadn't yet mastered conventional wand style repairing charms, and while I could attempt repairs using my own methods developed during my time with the Dursleys, such techniques were considerably more time-consuming and less effective. It takes time.
"Sure," Rose replied, drawing her wand and performing a precise swishing motion. "Reparo."
The statue restored itself before our eyes, the crack sealing seamlessly as if it had never existed. I breathed a sigh of relief at the apparently successful repair.
Crack!
We both jumped at the sharp sound as the fissure reappeared exactly where it had been moments before.
"What's going on?" Rose asked, her voice carrying obvious confusion mixed with growing unease as I carefully returned the statue to its shelf position.
The carved eyes seemed to follow my movements with unsettling intensity, creating the same effect as those 3D pictures that appeared to shift perspective based on the viewer's position.
"Nothing you need to worry about," I replied, though internally I recognized this as something requiring my personal attention and concern. "Why don't you let me handle this situation? I'm used to fixing things using my own methods without wand magic."
While I love to use wand magic too, as it doesn't require the blessings anymore, I don't have many spells in my repertoire.
"Isn't that just using a different type of magic?" she asked reasonably.
"I could try mundane repair methods as well," I said, offering her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "Let me worry about this problem. Why don't you go get ready for today's plans? We're still supposed to meet Edgar and Susan, right? Or have plans changed?"
"Oh," Rose's expression brightened with apparent relief. "Mum and Dad actually gave us permission to go. Apparently, if they had known from the beginning that we were planning to hang out with Susan and Edgar, they would have allowed the trip without any problems. The whole argument and quarrel were completely pointless."
"Not entirely," I shook my head with mild disagreement. "At least now they understand not to push their supposed authority too much. How would you feel if some adults you had just recently met started punishing you and going against your will?"
"That's literally how schools and teachers function," Rose pointed out. "Didn't you ever get punished by teachers during your education?"
"I did get punished," I replied cheerfully, "but after the responsible teacher mysteriously found their hair dyed unusual colors, or insects began targeting them specifically during lessons, they typically decided not to repeat, biologically hazardous that."
"You're such a child," Rose huffed with obvious exasperation. "That kind of stubborn pride is going to cause serious trouble for you eventually. I can feel it coming."
I had to acknowledge that my adult memories were largely responsible for this attitude. If I possessed the typical mindset of a normal child, I would have accepted punishments from teachers and my parents without much resistance. But because of my retained memories and ego, I consistently felt superior to other children, and sometimes even to adults in positions of supposed authority.
I just see them as equal, even when I shouldn't, as I'm still a kid. Yet my emotional brain insists I'm an adult and I should be treated as one. Which was basically acting like a child, too. Quite the contradiction, I know.
This explained why I had such difficulty accepting direction from adult figures. While I couldn't claim this was entirely beneficial, good, or positive, it is what it is.
"Alright, Miss Philosopher, that's enough analysis for today," I said with mock severity. "Go on, get out of here."
After diplomatically encouraging Rose to leave my room, I began pacing in circles while processing the implications of recent events.
The situation felt ominously significant, far too convenient to be merely a coincidence. What were the chances of something happening specifically to Hestia's statue, when she represented the goddess of hearth, home, family, and household unity, immediately following my explosive confrontation with my parents?
While I could continue arguing that my anger had been justified, that I had been morally correct, that the entire conflict had been James and Lily's fault, what would be the practical purpose of such self-justification?
Hestia had far more complicated family dynamics than ours; everyone was just one bad day away from doing some horrible shit like floods, plague, earthquake, storm or causing situations that constantly threatened to explode the Earth like powder kegs, yet she's still the most chill goddess there is.
Not because she's morally superior or angelic. There were no questions about who was right or wrong for her. The only answer was: family always comes first, and it must not break. At least from her myths and stories, and what I know about Hestia from my own knowledge.
Looking at the statue again, I realized this was likely intended as a warning rather than an omen of future disaster. If I were going to continue using divine blessings and patronage, I needed to respect and abide by the fundamental principles of their respective domains.
Even if it conflicted with my choices. Unless of course I was about to talk shit to goddess and get myself killed of course.
"Why does my life have to be so ridiculously complicated?" I muttered, collapsing backward onto my bed while staring at the ceiling in frustration.
Never in either of my lifetimes had I anticipated that Hestia, of all the possible deities, would be the first one to express displeasure with my behavior.
I shook my head firmly, recognizing that continued brooding wouldn't change what had already happened. Instead, I should focus on preparing for our planned visit to Diagon Alley. Since Susan would also be there, this could almost be considered a date, even if we have Edgar and Rose as third wheel.
Ok, brain, let's not get ahead of ourselves here.
Admittedly, we were planning to see a magical version of UFC, but it still counts as a social event which can be considered a date if it's not you who was inside the cage.
I hummed to myself with returning good spirits and headed toward the bathroom. There were definitely preparations to be made.
............................................
James Potter sat hunched over his drink at the Leaky Cauldron, shoulders bowed, hair sticking out worse than usual. The worn wooden table beneath his arms was tacky with decades of spilled butterbeer and firewhiskey, the kind of grime that never really washed away. The pub was quiet for a weekday afternoon. A few cloaked figures nursed drinks in the shadows, the sunlight leaking weakly through grimy panes, catching dust motes in its sluggish beams. Somewhere in the back, Tom clattered dishes like a man at war with his own crockery.
Sirius Black dropped into the seat opposite him with the same careless grace he'd always had, already halfway through his butterbeer before his backside touched the chair. His grey eyes glittered with amusement as he studied James's expression.
"Merlin's beard, you look like someone hexed your broom collection," Sirius drawled. He took another long swig, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "What's got you looking like a kicked puppy?"
James groaned, dragging his hand through his hair, though it did nothing except make it worse. "Harry. That's what."
"Ah." Sirius's grin widened like a man handed fresh gossip. "Funny you should mention him. Edgar hasn't shut up since yesterday. Apparently, your son can do wandless magic like it's nothing, pulls out spells nobody taught him, and walks around with this mysterious brooding aura that has eleven-year-olds practically swooning. Edgar thinks he's brilliant."
"Brilliant," James muttered into his butterbeer. "Just brilliant."
"So what happened?" Sirius leaned forward, his expression shifting from amusement to genuine curiosity. "And don't give me the sanitized version. I want the full disaster."
James took a deep swallow, then let the words tumble out, frustration climbing with each sentence. "He wanted to go to Diagon Alley. With Edgar and Susan, though we didn't know it at the time. But he's grounded—for flying out past the wards straight over the bloody sea where anyone could've seen him. Could've landed himself in Azkaban."
"So Lily tells him no, reminds him about the rules and consequences. And Harry just... explodes." James's hands moved animatedly as he spoke, nearly knocking over his drink. "Started going on about how we're not his parents, just some adults who took him in like the Dursleys did. Can you believe that? The Dursleys, Sirius. As if we—after everything—"
Sirius winced but let him continue.
"Then he starts doing accidental magic, except it's not really accidental, is it? Windows slamming, everything getting cold and frozen like Dementors were in the room, frost on the walls. Rose's fingers went numb. Then fire, Sirius. Real fire across the dining room."James's voice had risen slightly, drawing glances from the other patrons. He lowered it again, leaning closer. "I tried to calm things down, told him to apologize to his mother so we could all just finish dinner and talk about it rationally."
"And that's when he really lost it?"
"That's when he really lost it," James confirmed bitterly. "Started screaming about how we have no authority over him, how just because we're his parents doesn't mean he has to respect us or listen to us. Then he just... vanished. Apparated straight through our anti-apparition wards like they weren't even there."
Sirius let out a slow whistle. "Through your Wards? That's not apparition, Prongs. That's something else entirely. Something only Dumbledore or You-Know-Who ever pulled off."
"I know that," James snapped, then immediately looked apologetic. "Sorry. I just... Harry was clearly at fault here, right? He's the one who lashed out, who refused to accept a reasonable punishment, who compared us to people who used him for his magic like he was a house elf. We're trying our best, and he throws it back in our faces."
Sirius was quiet for a long moment, studying his best friend with an unreadable expression. Then he reached across the table and smacked James firmly on the back, hard enough to make him cough.
"That's the thing about teenagers, mate," Sirius said, his voice carrying none of its earlier humor. "Of course they're going to fight. Of course, they will make the wrong decisions sometimes. They push us until we're ready to hex them ourselves. And one day they'll bring home a girl with a swollen belly, and we'll have to deal with that too. That's literally what being a teenager and being a father of a teenager is about.
"But—"
"No, listen to me." Sirius's tone was unusually serious, the same voice he used during actual Auror business rather than their typical banter. "You're Harry's father, yeah. Biologically, legally, all that. But you need to stop making assumptions about what your son is like when you have absolutely no idea how he was raised or what he's been through. You weren't there, James. For fourteen years, you weren't there."
The words hit harder than the physical blow had. James opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again.
"And even putting that aside," Sirius continued relentlessly, "you're not close enough for him to just blindly heed your words. You're essentially strangers who happen to share blood. That takes time to build, and you can't just demand respect and obedience because the calendar says you're his dad."
"He still shouldn't have—"
"Besides," Sirius interrupted, "I'm getting the distinct feeling that even among regular teenagers, Harry's got what you might call an explosive personality. Just like Lily's, actually, except in this case, you two are the ones on the receiving end instead of some poor Slytherin who insulted her potions work."
James couldn't help the slight twitch of his lips at that memory. Lily's legendary temper had been both terrifying and magnificent during their school years.
"So what am I supposed to do?" James asked, the frustration in his voice giving way to genuine confusion and a hint of desperation. "Just let him do whatever he wants? No rules, no consequences?"
"No, you git." Sirius shook his head. "You parent him. But you do it knowing that he's not going to respond like Rose does, because Rose grew up with you. Rose knows you love her, knows you have her best interests at heart, knows that when you set boundaries, it's coming from a place of caring. Harry doesn't know any of that yet. To him, you're just some bloke trying to boss him around."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, the ambient noise of the pub filling the space between them. Tom dropped something in the kitchen, followed by creative cursing that would have made a sailor blush.
"I invited him to call me Dad, you know," James said quietly. "Multiple times. He just looks at me like I've asked him to eat dragon dung."
"Give it time," Sirius replied, though his voice had softened considerably. "He'll come around. Or he won't, and you'll have to figure out what kind of relationship you can build with him anyway."
James drained the rest of his butterbeer in one long gulp, feeling the sweet liquid do absolutely nothing to settle his churning thoughts. The glass made a dull thunk as he set it back on the table with more force than necessary.
"Right then," Sirius said, his tone deliberately brightening as he clearly decided they'd wallowed in emotional turmoil long enough. "How about we do something to get your mind off all this family drama?"
"Like what?" James asked without much enthusiasm.
"Well, I've got to investigate this upcoming duel tonight. Some American blowhard calling himself 'One-Eyed Buster' versus the British Dueling Championship runner-up. Apparently, it's causing quite a stir in certain circles, and the DMLE wants eyes on it to make sure it doesn't turn into an illegal blood sport situation."
James raised an eyebrow. "And you want me to come along for official Auror business?"
"Technically, yes," Sirius grinned. "But also, we haven't had a proper night out in ages. Just you and me, like the good old days. We can watch some spectacular, magical violence, I can file whatever report Amelia needs, and you can stop brooding about teenage rebellion for a few hours. Win-win-win."
Despite everything, James felt a genuine smile tugging at his lips. The prospect of spending an evening with his best mate, watching skilled wizards try to blast each other into next week, held definite appeal. It certainly beat sitting at home wondering how everything with Harry had gone so spectacularly wrong.
"The good old days, huh?" James said, already feeling some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. "Pretty sure in the good old days, we were the ones causing the chaos rather than investigating it."
"Exactly why we're so good at spotting trouble," Sirius replied smugly. "Takes one to know one and all that. So what do you say? Up for some Marauder-style reconnaissance?"
James considered for approximately three seconds. "When do we leave?"
"That's my Prongs," Sirius laughed, signaling Tom for two more butterbeers. "We've got a few hours before the event starts. Plenty of time to drink and reminisce about when our biggest problems were avoiding Filch and figuring out how to ask girls to Hogsmeade."
"Those were simpler times," James agreed, accepting the fresh bottle Tom slid across the bar toward him.
"Simpler, but not necessarily better," Sirius said, raising his butterbeer in a toast. "Too complicated present days and the hope that we don't completely cock up our children's lives."
"I'll drink to that," James replied, clinking his bottle against Sirius's.
As he took another drink, Sirius caught himself wondering if Harry, Edgar, Susan, and Rose might also be planning to attend that very same dueling event. The tickets had been difficult to acquire, but not impossible, and if his son had gotten his hands on some...
No. Surely not. Edgar wouldn't do something that reckless; they were not Marauders yet to pull that off, and Susan would talk sense into them even if he tried.
He pushed the thought aside and focused on telling his latest story about a botched Aurora training exercise to James, letting his best friend get distracted to bring him out of his funk and the pub's comfortable atmosphere work its magic on his frayed nerves.
But tonight, just for a few hours, James Potter was going to pretend he was twenty-one again and his biggest concern was whether Sirius would convince him to do something stupid that would get them both in trouble.
Some things, at least, never really changed.
End of the Prologue (Introduction Arc)
No rolls today gang, it will be on the next one.
Perks So far.
Active Slots: 3/5
1: Ragebaiter (Active)
Origin: Agatha All Along
You possess an exceptional talent for pushing people's emotional buttons and provoking intense anger. Whether through carefully chosen words or calculated actions, you excel at getting under others' skin, often sparking heated reactions or even outright violence. Your ability to incite fury is virtually unmatched, but beware—provoked individuals rarely hesitate to act on their rage. Ensure you're prepared to handle the consequences, as the wrath of your targets can be swift and utterly unforgiving.
2: Holy Water (Item)
Origin: Good Omens
The very last thing a demon should have, since it tends to melt demon-kind rather effectively. You now possess a bottomless thermos of genuine holy water. Do try to be careful with it. It looks rather ordinary, simple black metal except for the white Cross of Christ etched near the cap.
You have the ability to summon the thermos of holy water and have an inventory-like system that can only store this one thermos and nothing else.
3: Immune (Active)
[Epic Ability]
Complete immunity to all negative status effects. While active, the user cannot be poisoned, cursed, diseased, or subjected to any form of debuffing magic or mundane affliction.
4: Volition (Passive)
Elite Trait
Origin: Disco Elysium
You are unnaturally connected to your own inner morale. The voice that pushes you to move forward, your determination, and your will to keep going. Honing this sense can allow you not to lose your will even against extreme adversity and pull off feats of tremendous willpower with ease. But losing control over your volition can also lead to overconfidence.
5: The Beastmaster (Passive)
Origin: Harry Potter Movie Series
You have a way with nature so great that you can form deep and lasting friendships with animals both magical and mundane. Through this you can pacify violent animals, making them more friendly to you, even those that might normally see humans as nothing more than a snack.
6: Half Hot, Half Cold (Active)
Epic Ability
Origin: My Hero Academia
Allows the user to create and emit both ice and fire from either side of their body, also granting elemental resistance. With training, the two aspects may be combined into Frostflare.
If I mess something up, don't hesitate to comment and let me know. Likes and comments fuel my motivation, greedy as that may sound.