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Assistant: Title: Letters From The Dead
        Author: stravage_wanderer stravage_wanderer 
        Chapter: 5/13 
        Summary: As Harry enters his first year, unsure and uncertain, he receives a surprise letter at the start of the year.In which James and Lily Potter enchant howlers to reach their son at all his monumental life moments.And in doing so, everything changes.
        Contents: Chapter 5: Quidditch Team
    

    

        
          
          
            In which Harry receives his 5th letter- this time for something close to his father’s heart
          
        

      
        
          Thank you all so much for the immense love shown on this fic! It means the world to me- truly!As always, I am not JKR and this is just a silly little fanfiction stemming from an idea I had in 2015, wrote down in a notebook amongst other prompts and decided to write 9-10 years later!
            
            (See the end of the chapter for  more notes.)
            
      
  

  
  
    
    
  The Great Hall was alive with the usual chatter of students and the clatter of plates, the air filled with the scents of fresh-baked bread and the tang of sweet jams and marmalades. The long tables were alive with laughter, gossip, and the hum of energy, a typical Hogwarts morning.

  As Harry sat amidst Ron and the other first years at the Gryffindor table, his gaze drifted far beyond the flickering candlelight and the bustling chatter around him. His thoughts, like wisps of smoke, hovered in a realm of dreams and distant memories. A quiet storm of anticipation churned within him, the weight of his longing for that next letter pressing on his heart with unrelenting force. Not even the thrill of joining the Gryffindor Quidditch team could tear him from the orbit of his thoughts. No, it wasn't just a letter he sought- it was a lifeline, a key to unraveling a mystery that consumed him. He needed it, more than anything else in that moment.
 
  The soft murmur of the Hall was suddenly interrupted. A low, unearthly hum vibrated through the air, like the distant echo of a bell ringing from far beyond the walls of Hogwarts. The noise was faint but unmistakeable, enough to stop the conversation in its tracks. Heads turned instinctively toward the sound, eyes darting toward the source. And then, it appeared.
 
  The letter floated down from the ceiling, dropped by the owl carrying it, delicate and ethereal, its red paper gleaming against the stone walls of the Great Hall. The yellow ribbon that tied it was a soft, shimmering thread, catching the morning light as it spun gently in the air. Time seemed to slow, the hum of the magic surrounding the letter growing louder in Harry’s ears. It drifted gracefully, suspended in midair for a moment, before coming to rest before Harry, hovering gently just above his plate, its warm glow contrasting against the grey stone of the Hall.
 
  
    Mr Harry James Potter 
  

  
    On the authority of Gringotts Wizarding Bank 
  

  
    Posthumous: JFP and LJP (29th of June 1981)
  

  
    Vault 687
  

  
     
  

  
    To be delivered on the day magic ordains
  
 
  Harry’s breath caught in his throat as his heart skipped a beat. There was no mistaking it: the letters from his parents had become a part of his life, showing up at moments of great significance, a quiet, magical presence always ready to remind him of the love that still clung to him, even after all these years. But this one was different. There was something almost palpable in the air, a weight to the moment that sent a chill down his spine. The letter was pulsing, humming with energy, as though alive.
 
  His hands trembled as he reached out to untie the ribbon, the familiar softness of the silk slipping through his fingers. The students around him had fallen silent, the usual clatter of forks and knives gone. The room had grown still, as if the very castle itself was holding its breath in respect for the letter that was unfolding before them.
 
  Even Malfoy, who often revelled in tormenting Harry, sat motionless, his eyes wide, his usual sneer absent from his face. Snape, who had long mastered the art of hiding his emotions, seemed unnerved, his face pale, his eyes fixed on the letter with a concentration that betrayed something far deeper than mere curiosity. At the head of the table, Dumbledore leaned forward, his blue eyes twinkling, though his expression was one of somber understanding.
 
  Harry’s pulse quickened, his hands shaking as he carefully untied the ribbon, his fingers brushing against the smooth paper. The letter was so much more than just a piece of parchment- it was a connection to something lost, something so precious. He could feel the magic humming through it, almost as if his parents were right there with him, reaching out across time.
 
  The Hall held its breath.
 
  "Go on, Harry," Ron whispered softly beside him, his voice hushed. “If you want I can tell everyone else here to bog off.” 
 
  But Harry couldn’t tear his gaze from the glowing envelope or find the words to answer Ron. A thousand thoughts swirled in his mind, none of them quite making sense. Every inch of him wanted to rip it open, to read the words that could once again bridge the gap between him and the parents he never truly knew. But in that moment, his hands hesitated, the weight of the letter too heavy to bear all at once.
 
  It was a moment suspended in time, one that no one would soon forget. The stillness of the Hall, the respect for the past, the pulsing magic of the letter- it was all wrapped up in this one fragile moment. Harry took a deep breath, feeling the eyes of the entire school on him, and, with a soft but steady hand, began to open the letter.
 
  The voice that echoed across the Great Hall was so loud, so unexpected, that it sent a ripple of shock through every person in the room.
 
  “HARRY POTTER!”
 
  The words rang out like a command, bouncing off the walls, shaking the air. Harry’s eyes snapped up, heart hammering in his chest, and he saw the immediate reaction from the staff. Snape's face went ashen, paler than Harry had ever seen him- paler than humanly possible- his mouth opening as though to protest but finding no words. His usual cold fury was gone, replaced by something akin to horror. Rather similar to his initial reaction to the letters. 
 
  Professor McGonagall, sitting nearby, gasped, her hand flying instinctively to her chest as though she might be struck with sudden grief. Her eyes were wide with disbelief, and she looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry, overwhelmed by the unexpected surge of emotion. Despite having seen these letters before, it appeared it still had the same overwhelming effect of it being seen the first time. 
 
  At the centre of the high table, Dumbledore's eyes widened, much wider than Harry had ever seen them, his warm twinkle dimming, replaced by a deep, solemn understanding. The usually cheerful Headmaster leaned forward in his seat, a rare seriousness overtaking his kindly features.
 
  And then, Harry heard it.
 
  Hagrid, the large, gentle half-giant, let out a choked sob. It was a sound so full of raw emotion, Harry couldn’t help but look over at him. Hagrid's giant hands were pressed to his face, trembling with tears as he struggled to contain his overwhelming emotion. He had a deep, painful smile on his face, as though a part of him could hardly bear the joy of hearing that voice again.
 
  But it was the voice itself that hit Harry hardest, the clarity of it, the unmistakeable excitement. It was so familiar- so comforting. A flood of warmth rushed through him, even as the voice boomed with infectious energy. And Harry knee without a shadow of a doubt who the voice belonged to. 
 
  “THIS IS YOUR FATHER! The James Potter, at your service! Merlin, you’ve made me so proud!” 
 
  Harry’s heart skipped a beat, a rush of emotion flooding through him. The unmistakeable enthusiasm, the wild, carefree joy in the voice- it was his father’s voice, alive and vibrant, echoing in a way that made his chest tighten with longing. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, and all Harry could feel was the overwhelming warmth of a love he never thought he'd get to experience.
 
  ‘
  Magic truly is wonderful,’
   Harry thought, his heart swelling with awe. The air around him seemed to shimmer with possibility, as though the very world itself was alive with endless wonder, and for a fleeting moment, everything felt impossibly perfect.
 
  The voice continued, loud and unabashed, with that same rush of emotion Harry had felt on those rare, fleeting moments when he’d felt his father’s presence through the letters.
 
  “HARRY JAMES POTTER! I am so bl@@dy proud of you! You absolutely wonderful boy! I am so d@mn proud!” 
 
  The words spilled out in a wild, breathless rush, so vibrant and full of life that they seemed to tremble in the very air around him. There was a joy in them, a warmth that seemed almost unreal, as if it could fill the emptiness Harry so desperately tried to ignore. For a fleeting moment, Harry could almost see his father’s face before him- grinning, eyes alight with mischief, as if he might reach out, wrap his arms around him in a hug that could erase the years of absence. But the moment slipped through his fingers, like a dream fading into the morning light- alive, but gone, leaving only a painful ache in its wake. The longing for someone he knew, but could never have. 
 
  Then came a sudden, almost comical interruption, the undeniable sound of someone in the background muttering in shock.
 
  “
  
    James
  
  ! Honestly!”
   A voice, scandalised and flustered, cut through the laughter in the background, and Harry knew immediately it was his mother- Lily Potter, her voice as gentle and caring as it had always been in the letters he’d heard prior. His chest twisted painfully at the sound of their voices. 
 James’ voice returned, louder, as if nothing could contain the rush of pride spilling from him.“You made it onto the Quidditch team! I always knew this day would come, I always knew you’d do it! You’ve got it in your blood, Harry! Just like I did! I’m bl@@dy well bursting with pride, I am! I told your mum this letter would be essential because how could you not be on the Quidditch team?” 
  Every word from the letter wrapped around Harry like a warm embrace. He could hear the grin in his father's voice, the way it almost seemed to bounce off the walls of the Hall. The letter wasn’t just a memory of the past- it was his father’s voice, so alive, so present, that Harry could almost see him standing there, filled the same pride and love Harry could only hear through his words.
 The Hall was silent, save for the booming laughter of a voice long gone, yet somehow very much alive in that very moment. Harry’s hands were trembling, not from fear, but from the sheer overwhelming force of emotion rushing through him. His father’s excitement was infectious, and for the first time, Harry could almost see it- his parents, alive, standing there with him, celebrating every little victory, every milestone. 
  And then, as the echoes of James Potter's laughter faded, the Great Hall remained still, wrapped in an awe-stricken silence, each student and professor caught in the magic of the moment, the presence of a love that transcended time itself.
 
  The echo of James' voice lingered in the air, a swirl of joy and pride that seemed to vibrate through every corner of the Hall. Harry's heart was racing, the weight of it all settling heavily in his chest. He hadn’t expected this- 
  
    this
  
   much emotion, 
  
    this
  
   much life, to pour from a simple letter. But then, there was a soft shift in the air, the unmistakeable voice of his mother slipping in, smooth and rich with warmth.
 
  “James,”
   Lily Potter’s voice cut through with a softness that felt like a gentle caress, but it was clear, certain, and undeniably full of love. 
  “You always were the loud one, weren’t you?”
   There was a faint trace of amusement in her tone, like she had said this many times before, with an exasperated fondness.
 
  The Hall seemed to breathe again, the stillness broken by the calm of her words. Harry could almost see her now, though he couldn’t quite picture the details- her face, the curve of her lips, the way her eyes might have sparkled when she smiled. But he imagined it- her head tilting just slightly, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips, the kind of smile that would have shone with pride, so full that it seemed to spill from her like a river. He couldn’t truly know what it looked like, but he could feel the warmth of it, a phantom presence that made his heart ache with the hope of a moment he would never have.
 
  And then, her voice shifted again, carrying with it a depth of emotion that made Harry’s throat tighten. 
  “Harry, darling... I am so, so proud of you.”
 
  Her words hung in the air, clear and strong, each one wrapping around him like a protective hug. The sincerity, the purity in her voice struck Harry deep within, in the place where he’d always felt the ache of loss, and for the briefest moment, that ache softened, quieted by the weight of her pride.
 
  “You’ve most certainly grown into such a remarkable young man. I knew you would, I always knew you would, but to think of everything you would have accomplished... I can hardly believe it sometimes.”
   A soft, fragile breath escaped her, one taken in an effort to steady herself, to hold her emotions at bay, afraid they might spill over like a flood. Harry could almost see her there, standing before him, her bright green eyes, a mirror of his own, looking down with a depth of love that seemed to stretch beyond the stars. In his mind, her eyes were always filled with that same fierce, proud joy, the kind that only a mother could carry in her heart. It was the love Harry had once known, once felt, but would never remember- forever slipping just out of reach, like a dream fading with the morning light.
 
  "You made the Quidditch team, Harry," she said, her voice a soft, loving echo, as though the words were meant just for him, even now. "I always knew you would. You've got your dad’s fire, his passion, his heart- his talent. And I’m so proud of you, Harry, more than I could ever say. I can feel it in you, even from here. Every time you smile, every time you face the world with that innocent strength of yours, I know it’s him in you, and it fills me with love. I might not be there to see you like I once would have, but I see you, Harry. I see everything you do, and in all of it, I see him, too. And that’s something I’ll carry with me always. Even if I’m not there to say it in person. But I also see a part of me in you, too- in the way you giggle, the way you want to cuddle when you’re sleepy.“
 
  Lily’s words lingered in the stillness, soft yet overwhelming, a fragile thread reaching across the vastness of time. They were heavy with love and loss, each syllable a breath of her soul, as though she were reaching for him from a place where touch was impossible. In that moment, she poured every ounce of herself into the delicate hope that, somehow, through the distance, through the silence, he might feel the depth of her love, and know that, even now, she was with him.
 
  The words seemed to settle into Harry’s soul, each one like a stitch in the fabric of who he was. For so long, he had felt the absence of his parents’ love, but in these few sentences, it was as though they had wrapped themselves around him again, filling every gap, every hollow place in his heart. He could feel the warmth of his mother’s pride, her unwavering belief in him, and for the first time, the void that had always been there seemed a little smaller, a little less vast.
 
  The voice continued, steady and sure, but now, there was a trace of something else, something tender, almost wistful. 
  “I wish I could be there, Harry. I wish I could see you 
  in person
  . But know that no matter where I am, I will always be with you. My heart is with you. Forever and always.”
 
  The last words, so quiet and filled with love, hung in the air for a moment before they slowly began to fade, the magic of the letter carrying them away as gently as a whisper.
 
  Harry sat frozen, his hands still gripping the letter, his chest tight with emotion. The depth of emotion, the rawness, the tenderness in his mother’s voice took him completely by surprise. 
 
  It was more than he could have ever imagined.

  And in that moment, the Great Hall seemed to fade away as Harry held onto every word. He could feel her there, so present, so alive in that moment. Even though she was gone, her love was still surrounding him, still guiding him forward, still holding him steady in a world that had never felt quite as solid.
 
  The warmth of Lily’s words lingered in the air, a soft echo of love that wrapped around Harry’s heart. But before he could even catch his breath, James’ voice burst through again, brimming with that same uncontainable energy.
 
  “Hold on, hold on!”
   James’s voice shouted, a playful edge creeping into his tone. 
  “You must be in your third year now, Harry! Or… wait- no, no, no! I reckon you probably made the team in second year! 
  
    Second year
  
  ! You’ve always been destined for great things, Harry. And this will be no different!”
 
  There was a burst of laughter in the background, the sound of James completely unrestrained, as though nothing could stop his pride from bursting out at every chance. Harry’s heart skipped a beat as he imagined his father’s face, lit up with joy. But the faces blurred for Harry could not remember the details, couldn’t remember his eyes, his grin or even his hair.
 
  “But- no, no, scratch that- 
  as remarkable as you are
  , Harry, I wouldn’t be surprised if you defy all odds and made it in your first year! 
  
    First year
    !”
  
   James continued, his voice practically crackling with excitement. 
  “You’ve got it in you, I can see it! I knew it the moment you picked up my broom and threw it at me! There’s no stopping you, Harry. You’re a bl@@dy natural!”
 
  The energy in his father’s voice was impossible to ignore, flooding Harry with warmth and a heady rush of pride. It was as though James was right there in the room with him, standing beside him, grinning from ear to ear at his achievements.
 
  “Honestly, Harry, your mother and I always knew you had it in you,”
   James continued, the joy never fading. 
  “But to know it will all unfold like this, well... I’m just bursting with pride, son. You’ve got the whole world in front of you, and you’re taking it on with everything you’ve got. That’s my boy!”
 
  For a moment, Harry couldn’t help but laugh softly to himself, feeling the warmth of his father’s words settle in his chest, like a fire that would never go out. It was a moment of pure joy, a feeling that he never wanted to leave. James’ voice softened, just for a moment, before continuing with one last burst of that undeniable pride.
 
  “Keep it up, Harry. I don’t care if it’s 
  second
   year, 
  third
   year, or first, or even your final year- you’ve got the heart, the spirit, and the talent. And as long as you’ve got that, there’s nothing that can stop you. Nothing at all.”
 
  The letter’s magic seemed to hum with finality, the words lingering in the air long after they had been spoken. Harry’s hand was still shaking slightly, his heart pounding with a joy he could barely contain. His father’s excitement was so real, so alive in that moment, that it felt like nothing could ever tear it away.
 
  The soft hum of magic still lingered in the air, wrapping itself around the Hall, a reminder of the love and warmth that had just filled the room. The weight of everything that had just happened was still pressing on Harry's chest- his father’s voice, the overwhelming pride, his mother’s tenderness. But then, just as he thought the letter might have finally come to an end, there was a quiet shift in the atmosphere, and Lily’s voice returned.
 
  Her words were gentle, almost a whisper, but they were undeniably full of the deepest love.
  “Harry, darling,”
   Lily’s voice said, a little softer now, though the love was as powerful as ever. 
  “Please make sure to be careful in the sky- your father and godfather both had a knack for getting into the most bizarre accidents in Quidditch and I hope you wouldn’t have inherited that! We love you. So much. More than you can ever know.”
 
  The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Harry’s world seemed to stop. 
  
    We love you
  
  . 
  He had always known, or hoped he did, that his parents had loved him- but hearing it now, said before they could have even known who he would grow up to be, sent a tremor through him. It was as though the world had bent for just a moment, and he could feel their love, unwavering, surrounding him like a protective shield.
 
  But as he sat there, trying to steady himself, a small sound drifted through the magic- a soft giggle, high-pitched and innocent, like the tinkling of bells. Harry froze, his breath catching in his throat.
 
  It was a sound he knew, a sound that, for all the years he had spent without it, had always been a part of him. A sound that he knew because it came from him. It was the unmistakeable sound of a baby’s laughter.
 
  
    His
  
   laughter.
 
  A wave of emotion hit Harry so hard, it felt like his heart was being crushed in his chest. The giggle, so pure, so innocent, carried with it the memory of a time he’d never known- his infancy, his life before the tragedy. Before everything that had shaped him into the boy he was now. It was his own giggle, the sound of himself as a child, full of warmth and love- and yet, hearing it now, it cut into him with a painful, almost unbearable ache.
 
  
    They had been so happy. They had loved him, and they had been there, before it all fell apart.
  
 
  The image of a small child laughing, wrapped in warmth and love, washed over him, filling his heart with a longing so intense it felt as though it might break him. He could almost see them, his parents, holding him close, their laughter echoing in those early days- pure, untouched by the shadows of what would come. And then, just as swiftly, the sound began to fade, slipping away like the last tendrils of a fading dream. ‘
  They must have been so happy,’ 
  he thought, before everything unraveled, before their world had crumbled around them, leaving only the hollow remnants of what should have been.

  A gentle pressure on his shoulder brought him back to the present, grounding him in reality. He turned, his vision blurry with unshed tears, to see Ron standing beside him. Ron’s expression was unreadable, but his hand was firm, steady on Harry’s shoulder. The comfort in that touch was more than enough to anchor Harry in the moment, to remind him that, even though he had lost so much, he wasn’t truly alone.
 
  Ron’s eyes were soft, the kind of look that spoke volumes without a single word. His presence, as simple as it was, brought a sense of peace. Harry wasn’t sure how long they stayed there like that, but for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he was carrying the weight of everything on his own.
 
  The letter had been a flood of emotion, a tidal wave of memories and love, but now, as he stood there with Ron beside him, he realised that love wasn’t just something from the past. It was something that could be felt here, in the present, even in the midst of loss.
 
  The warmth of his mother's words still lingered in the air, wrapping around Harry like a protective embrace, but then James' voice rang out again, with that reckless mischievous tone Harry had come to recognise as his dad. 
 
  “And don’t you ever forget how much I love you, Harry! Honestly, I don’t think I could tell you nearly enough, but you 
  know
   how proud I am of you, right?”
   James’ voice was practically bursting with excitement, that same youthful energy Harry had heard whispers of- the kind of energy that could never sit still, always filled with a laugh, a joke, or a harmless prank.
 
  Then, without warning, there was a loud squeal, a giggle so light and innocent that it made Harry’s heart tighten all over again. The sound was so familiar, so fragile- 
  
    his
  
   laughter. The sound of a happy, carefree child, before the world had burdened him with too many responsibilities. He could almost see it: his father, picking him up and spinning him in the air, tickling him with glee. The image was so vivid, so perfect, that it was like Harry could feel the motion in his own body, the dizziness and joy of being held by someone who loved him. As if to confirm his thoughts, he heard James laugh, loud and free, a burst of infectious joy that carried across the Hall like a wave of energy. 
 
  “You’re my son, Harry! You’ve got all the best parts of your mum and me! I can’t believe how much I love you. You’re my special boy and nothing would ever change that.” 
 
  And then, just as Harry thought it couldn’t get any more overwhelming, he heard Lily’s laughter join in, clear and melodic, a sound so pure and sweet it felt like it could fill the entire world. It was the sound of two parents who adored their child, laughing together in a moment of perfect happiness. It was their laughter
  , alive and real, ringing through Harry’s heart.
 
  The emotion was almost too much. Harry’s chest tightened again, his breath caught as he stood frozen, holding the letter tightly. He could hear them- 
  hear 
  
    them
  
  . They were there, in that moment, as though they had never left. 
 
  But then, a sudden, harsh clang broke through the warmth of the moment. Harry’s head jerked toward the noise, and he saw Professor Snape, his pale face gone even whiter than usual, staring down at his now-spilled goblet of pumpkin juice, a look of utter shock on his face. The awkward silence that followed was palpable, a sharp contrast to the warmth that had filled the room only moments before. But the sound of the letter didn’t pause. It continued, undeterred by the interruption.
 
  Lily’s voice was warm and playful as she spoke again, but this time there was a hint of something knowing in her tone. 
  “I’m sure Moony will have his hands full now,”
   she said, her words carrying the weight of a fond memory. 
  “And Padfoot will be just as excited to spoil him rotten and buy him the best broom out there!” 
 
  Harry blinked, his heart skipping a beat. 
  
    Moony
    ? 
    Padfoot
    ?
  
   Again with those strange names that he couldn’t place, yet sounded so utterly familiar. They felt like echoes of something from a past he wasn’t a part of, something 
  important
  .
 
  James’ voice interrupted, bubbling with laughter once again. 
  “Don’t forget Wormtail!
   He always said Harry would be a menace in a broom!” he said with a teasing note, like it was a joke only they all understood.
 
  Harry’s brow furrowed, the confusion thickening as he tried to make sense of it all. 
  
    Wormtail
  
  ?
   Harry’s mind raced, trying to put it all together. 
  
    Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail…
  
   He didn’t know what any of it meant, but the mention of those names sent a strange shiver down his spine.
 
  Perhaps Moony and Padfoot were friends of his parents?
   Maybe they had been a part of his life before... but why didn’t he remember them? And what on earth was a Wormtail? The name 
  could
   be a joke, maybe, or a nickname... But the word sounded so strange, so foreign.
 ‘Maybe it was a potion ingredient?’ Harry mused, but even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew that didn’t feel right. The names and mentions sounded like people, not ingredients. The thought was like a puzzle with pieces scattered everywhere, none of them fitting. He couldn’t make sense of it, not yet. But he knew, deep down, that the answers were close- closer than he could have imagined. The letter continued to hum softly, its magic swirling around him like a soft breeze, but the questions that filled his mind now seemed louder than anything his parents had said. The curiosity gnawed at him. What was the connection? And, more importantly- who were these people? Moony? Padfoot? Wormtail? He felt a pull, like the answers were just beyond his reach, waiting for the right moment to reveal themselves. 
  The magical hum around the letter softened, the words flowing with a tenderness that wrapped around Harry’s heart like a familiar, comforting blanket. His parents’ voices were like an embrace, still alive in the air, their love for him more vivid and real than he had ever imagined.

  Lily’s voice, warm and soothing, filled the space again, soft but unshakeably strong. 
  “We love you so much, Harry. We always have, and always will. Even if we’re not there, we love you.”
 
  The simple, steadfast truth in her words sank deep into Harry’s chest. They loved him. No matter the distance. No matter the years. He could feel it. The love had never left him. It was always there, wrapped around him like an invisible force, and in that moment, Harry felt it more than ever.
 
  Before Harry could process it, James’ voice interrupted again, but this time, it was tinged with something different. A longing, a wistfulness that softened his usually bold tone.
 
  “I wish I could see you fly, Harry.”
   James’s voice was full of pride and regret, as though imagining the moment with both joy and sadness intertwined. 
  “I know you’d be excellent at it, just like everything else you do. You’re perfect, Harry. Absolutely perfect.”
 
  Harry’s chest tightened with the weight of his father’s words, and for a moment, he could almost see James there beside him- his father, beaming with pride, as if he were witnessing Harry’s every success in person. It was a vision Harry would hold in his heart forever, the idea of his father watching him, believing in him so fully. Then, without warning, James’ tone shifted, and Harry heard him laughing- 
  
    really
  
   laughing, in that carefree, wild way that could only belong to his father. 
  “I got brooms banned for first years, you know,”
   James said with a mischievous chuckle. 
  “After Padfoot and I—”
 
  But before he could finish, there was another delighted squeal of a baby’s laughter, and Harry’s heart lurched. It was his own. The sound of a child too young to even understand the weight of love, and yet so utterly surrounded by it.
 
  James’s laughter cut through the giggle, and Harry heard him say with complete joy, 
  “Got you!”
   as though he had just playfully lifted Harry’s baby self into the air.
 
  “You’re going to grow up so loved and so cared for,”
   James whispered, his voice gentle, almost reverent, as though he were speaking only to the baby Harry. But the words floated to Harry’s ears, carried by the magic of the letter, and they struck him like a gentle, unexpected breeze. 
  “Your mama and dada are always so proud of you.”
 
  For a moment, Harry couldn’t breathe. It was the promise of a future, a future that was never truly his to have, but that would live in his heart forever- 
  so loved, so cared for.
 
  And then, just as his thoughts swam with the weight of the words, Lily’s voice returned one last time, soft and full of love, a quiet refrain that echoed in the air.
 
  “We love you so much, Harry.”
 
  The simple truth was all she needed to say, and with that final declaration, the letter’s glow began to fade, the warmth of his parents’ voices lingering in the air, like a soft breeze. Harry sat there for a long moment, his chest heavy with emotions, his heart full of love, pride, and an aching longing for the parents he would never see again.
 
  But their love? That would never fade. It was with him, always.
 
  As the last of the voice faded, leaving only the lingering hum of magic in the air, Harry finally exhaled, the weight of his emotions crashing over him in a tidal wave. For the first time, he didn’t feel so alone. He didn’t feel like the pieces of his past were scattered across an impossible distance. He felt whole, filled with the love of two parents who, even in death, were still with him-  proud, steadfast, and unshakeable.
 
  The echoes of James’ laughter began to fade, leaving the Hall in a heavy silence, but the weight of the moment lingered, thick with emotion. Harry stood still, his hands trembling slightly as he clutched the letter, the proud words of his father still ringing in his ears. His heart felt full- too full, as if it might burst from the overwhelming joy and love that had just washed over him.
 
  He glanced around the Great Hall, and what he saw left him breathless.
 
  Professor McGonagall, usually so composed and stern, was standing near the staff table, her face flushed, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She was looking down at her hands, her lips pressed together in a thin line, as though struggling to maintain her usual rigid control. But it was clear- there was no hiding the emotion welling up in her. The tears were there, barely contained, shimmering in the corners of her eyes, betraying the depth of her feelings as she absorbed the voice of two people she had once known so well. The two lions she had mourned, and now, in this impossible moment, was hearing again.
 
  McGonagall wasn’t the only one affected. At the staff table, Hagrid’s large frame seemed to shake with a tremor that came from deep within. His giant hands were pressed to his face, but they did little to mask the loud sobs that escaped him. The sight was heart-wrenching. His face was hidden behind a colossal handkerchief, so large that it looked like a small blanket, but the unmistakeable sound of sniffles and the occasional soft hiccup told Harry all he needed to know. Hagrid was utterly undone, his emotions too much to contain, the tears flowing freely down his face.
 
  The rest of the students had fallen silent, the weight of the moment settling over them like a blanket. Even the usual mischief of Fred and George had dimmed, their faces solemn as they watched Harry, and the profound effect the enchanted letter had on the professors. What Harry did notice, however, was the slight confusion in their expression, calculating as though they were trying to fit together pieces that did not make sense.
 
  Dumbledore, who had never before shown such a visible sign of concern, leaned back in his seat, his fingers interlaced as he regarded Harry with a soft, knowing expression. It was as though, for a brief moment, the twinkle in his eyes had returned, though it was tempered with a quiet understanding. Harry could see that the Headmaster, too, was touched deeply by what had just unfolded.
 
  Harry’s own eyes shifted back to the letter, his chest tight with emotion as he looked at the glowing red envelope one last time. His parents’ voices had filled the Hall with such an unexpected vibrancy, such a strong, living presence, that even the hardest of hearts in that room had been moved.
 
  And in that silence, Harry realised something important- something that took him by surprise. The grief that had always followed him, the loneliness that had clung to his every step, was beginning to feel just a little lighter. His parents had found a way, against all odds, to reach him in a way he had never expected. They were here, in this moment, in the warmth of their love, their pride.
 
  And for the first time, Harry felt that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t so alone after all.

  
  

    
      
        
        
          Thank you for being here <3'
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