Chapter Text
**Chapter 1: The Potter Family Tradition**
Lord and Lady Potter were proud to say they were a very loving and happy family. A part of the Ancient and Noble Houses of Wixen England, a lineage that had endured for centuries, the current Lord and Lady Potter, Fleamont and Euphemia carried the weight of their family’s legacy with both pride and humility. Their estate in Godric’s Hollow was a testament to their heritage, a grand manor filled with history, warmth, and the echoes of many generations.
For many years, the Potter line had seemed on the brink of ending. Fleamont and Euphemia, despite their deep love and unwavering commitment to each other, struggled to conceive. It wasn’t until later in life that they were blessed with children—their miracle firstborn, Hermione, and James, who came decided to surprise them a few years later. The children were blessings from Mother Magic to them, and they poured every ounce of their love and devotion into raising them.
Hermione Potter was the star of the family—brilliant, determined, and fiercely protective of her little brother, James. From the moment she could hold a wand, it was clear that Hermione was something special. She possessed an innate talent for magic that left her parents in awe and a sense of duty that drove her to excel at everything she did.
James, on the other hand, was the spark of mischief from the minute he was born. Where Hermione was disciplined and focused, James was adventurous and full of curiosity. He idolized his sister, always chasing after her, trying to keep up with her brilliance.
The Potter estate was not just a manor, but a home full of joy and laughter, filled with the rich smells of Euphemia’s cooking, the warmth of crackling fires, and the constant hum of conversations about Quidditch, ancient magic, and the family’s storied history. Fleamont Potter, a distinguished potion master and Wizengamot member, made sure that his children knew the importance of truth, loyalty, and above all, the bonds of family—values that had been passed down through generations of Potters.
Many evenings were past in the main living room, beneath the grand portraits of their ancestors, where the Potters often sat together, discussing the latest news from the wizarding world or in Hermione's case sharing stories from Hogwarts as she had just completed her 2nd year. James would sit cross legged, listening intently, dreaming of the day he would join his sister at school.
“Tell me about your sorting again!” James would often beg, especially now the closer his time came to embark on his own journey to Hogwarts, his eyes wide with excitement.
Hermione would smile, her eyes twinkling with the memories. “It was incredible, Jamie. The moment I walked into the Great Hall and saw the ceiling—oh, you’re going to love it! Then the Sorting Hat sang this amazing song, and placed me in Gryffindor. Galleons to pumpkin pasties it'll put you there too!”
James would puff out his chest with pride, imagining himself donning the Gryffindor colors, winning Quidditch matches, and making friends who would stick by his side through thick and thin. But there was always that nagging fear that he might not live up to Hermione’s legacy.
“Hey, don’t worry so much,” Hermione would say, noticing the look of doubt on his face. “You’ll make your own mark, Jamie. You’re a Potter, after all.”
As the summer before James’s first year at Hogwarts came to an end, the Potter household was abuzz with excitement. The house, always lively, seemed even more so as Euphemia created a parade of school items and clothes around the room into her son's trunk, checking off her list ensuring James had everything he needed for school.
“Do you have your wand?” Euphemia asked for the umpteenth time, her eyes twinkling with both excitement and a touch of sadness. Her youngest was finally heading off to Hogwarts, and the house would just feel so much emptier without her children there.
“Yes, Mum,” James replied, grinning as he patted the pocket where his brand-new wand rested. “And I’ve got my robes, my books, and even that ridiculous hat Aunt Dorea sent me.”
Hermione snorted from where she was sitting, flipping through *Advanced Transfiguration.* “That hat’s not ridiculous, Jamie. It’s enchanted to keep you warm even in the coldest weather.”
“Yeah, but does it have to be bright yellow?” James complained, his nose wrinkling in distaste.
Euphemia laughed, ruffling James’s hair. “You’ll be grateful for it when the wind’s howling through the Quidditch stands.”
“Speaking of Quidditch,” Fleamont said, walking in with a grin on his face, “I’ve got something for you, James.”
James’s eyes lit up as his father handed him a long, wrapped package. Tearing it open with the enthusiasm only a young boy could muster, James gasped as he revealed a gleaming broomstick—the latest model of the Nimbus series.
“A Nimbus 1700!” James exclaimed, his hands trembling as he touched the polished wood. “Dad, this is amazing!”
Fleamont chuckled softly, but his smile faded a bit as he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Yes and as much as I’d love for you to fly this broom at school, first-year students aren’t allowed to have their own brooms. I will keep it safe until you come home. I'm sorry dear boy I just couldn't keep the secret any longer.”
James’s face fell, the excitement draining from him in an instant. “What? But… but I thought—”
“I know,” Fleamont said gently, his eyes full of understanding. “I know how much you were looking forward to it. But rules are rules, and we have to follow them." Hermione coughed slightly at that and winked at James, with a knowing smirk he didn't quite understand.
"However…” Fleamont countined, he exchanged a glance with Euphemia, who nodded gracefully with a soft smile. Fleamont then reached into his robes and pulled out folded piece of fabric.
James looked at it curiously. “What’s that?”
Fleamont snapped the fabric open with a flourish, revealing a shimmering, silvery cloak that seemed to ripple like liquid as it caught the light.
“This,” Fleamont said, his voice filled with reverence, “is the Potter family Invisibility Cloak. It’s been passed down Father to Son since the time of the Hogwarts of founder, and now, it is your turn.”
James’s eyes widened as he reached out to touch the cloak, feeling the smooth, cool fabric beneath his fingers. “An Invisibility Cloak? Really?”
“Really,” Fleamont confirmed with a nod. “But with great power comes great responsibility. You’re only to use it in times of need, and always with caution.”
“Thanks, Dad,” James said, his voice filled with awe as he carefully folded the cloak and placed it in his trunk. “I’ll take good care of it.”
Hermione watched the exchange with a smile, feeling a mixture of pride and nostalgia. She knew how much the Invisibility Cloak meant to their family, having received her own heirloom upon her first year and seeing her little brother inherit it was a momentous occasion.
Later that evening, as the family gathered around the dinner table for one last meal before James’s departure, the atmosphere was a mix of excitement and nostalgia. Euphemia had prepared all of James’s favorite dishes—a Sunday roast dinner and treacle tart for dessert.
“To James, our newest and last first year,” Fleamont said, raising his goblet of pumpkin juice in a toast. “May your time at Hogwarts be filled with adventure, friendship, and—”
“Mischief!” Hermione interjected with a grin, raising her own goblet.
“—and a healthy dose of mischief,” Fleamont finished, chuckling as he clinked his goblet with Hermione’s.
James beamed, his heart swelling with pride as his family toasted to his future. Beneath the excitement though, was also a knot of nervousness. He had heard so much about Hogwarts from Hermione—about the Great Hall, the classes, the professors, and, of course, the Sorting Hat. What if he wasn’t worthy of being a Gryffindor? What if he ended up in another house and disappointed his family?
As if sensing his unease, Hermione leaned over and squeezed his hand. “You’re going to be brilliant, Jamie. No matter what house you’re sorted into, you’re still a Potter. And Potters do their best, no matter what.”
James looked into his sister’s eyes and felt a surge of confidence. If Hermione believed in him, then maybe he could believe in himself too.