Harry sat at his desk, toying with a small glass vial in his hand, not for the first time that week. He had replayed the image of his mother and father on the Gryffindor common room window ledge time and again, since he watched it in the Pensieve, courtesy of his father's memories. How often had he sat there with Ron and Hermione? How many times had he stared out of that window to Hagrid's cabin, or to the forest, wishing and wondering about the parents he never knew, only to discover they had kissed on that very spot over a decade earlier.

Harry waited three days before deciding to enter another of James' memories. He counted the vials, which meant he could go through them for a whole year at this pace. The last had been sad, so Harry decided to pick a memory in which he knew his father would be happier. He stood up from his desk and reached the Pensieve on the other side of his office. He affectionately fingered the 'R.B.W' initials carved into the edge of the basin, before uncorking the vial labelled "My Sorting" and emptying the contents into the misty pool.

Harry landed in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Four long tables of uniformed young witches and wizards filled the room. Candles floated between the students and the illusion of the night sky across the ceiling. Colours of red and gold, blue and white, yellow and black, and green and silver shone from flags above the corresponding tables. He glanced at the Teachers' Table once before his eyes rested on the magnificence of Albus Dumbledore, sat in his gold throne. He looked healthy, Harry thought, and happy. He could see the familiar twinkle in the aged wizard's eyes, but he stared beyond the first-years before him, as if he were distracted by his own thoughts, most likely of the war raging in the wizarding world beyond the safety of Hogwarts' castle walls.

Minerva McGonagall strode forward from the top table and shushed the youngsters in the front of the hall, acquiring silence instantly. Harry smiled at the memory of the woman's stern manner, and her occasional, timely wit.

Harry pleasurably watched the Sorting begin as vaguely familiar names cropped up, such as 'Abbott' (who went to Hufflepuff, as would eventually his niece Hannah) and 'Black' which Harry was unsurprised to see belonged to a lanky, handsome, long-haired, 11-year-old Sirius. Before long, 'Evans' was called, and a squirm of excitement conjured in Harry's stomach at seeing his mother again. He watched the back of her auburn head bob up the steps to the Sorting Hat, before she turned directly to face him, and the rest of the students.

Harry gasped as the girl and her piercing green eyes came into plain view. He had seen this memory before, portrayed by Severus Snape, but it had been over twenty years ago. Harry stared at his aged-11 mother, awestruck by the resemblance she bore to her own granddaughter. Harry felt a pang of sickness for his beautiful daughter, Lily Luna. She had just left for Hogwarts for the first time. Harry wanted to pause the memory, capture it in a photograph and run home to his wife with it. How perfect that his mother and his daughter should create such a mirror image of one another- with a few distinct differences, of course- two generations apart.

Harry watched Lily skip off the stool towards the Gryffindor table, amid cheers from her fellow housemates. She plopped down next to Sirius, and upon recognising him, promptly turned her back.

The Sorting continued, and Harry watched his cocky father wait for the Sorting Hat to be placed on his head. Barely a moment passed before it cried "GRYFFINDOR" and the red and gold table erupted once again.

Harry had not seen this part of the memory, Snape's of course had led to the Slytherin table. Harry felt slightly stupid about standing over the table of first-years, despite knowing full well he was invisible.

His young father was chatting enthusiastically to another boy, who Harry instantly recognised as Remus Lupin. Harry smiled, as the resemblance between the late werewolf and his son was stark. The kind eyes Remus had passed on to his boy were glancing periodically at Lily, despite his chat with James. They were noting her discomfort at being at opposite ends of the Hall to her only companion.

Remus finished his conversation and chirped up, "So, where are you from?" He looked at Lily, imploring her to respond. Harry acknowledged that this olive branch would probably have taken some courage to extend from the shy werewolf. He felt grateful to Lupin in that moment for his kindness to his overwhelmed mother.

"I'm from Surrey," said Lily, giving him a slightly apologetic look, suggesting there wasn't much else to say about the place. "Whereabouts are you-" but she was cut off by James, who had leapt into action when he saw the exchange going on between his new friend and this girl who had caught his attention on the train.

"I'm from London; my family live in a huge house in the middle of the city because we have to be close to the Ministry of Magic because my parents are both Aurors. In fact, my family is full of Aurors," boasted James. He waited for a response from Lily, who Harry saw was completely lost by his references to a 'Ministry', and 'Aurors'. Before James could continue, though, Sirius chipped in dryly, "Lucky you, my family's crawling with Death Eaters."

James clearly didn't appreciate the more interesting input from Sirius, nor Remus' beginning of an explanation to Lily of the Ministry of Magic. He fell silent and stared into his mashed potatoes, until a small, chubby, watery-eyed boy on his other side asked him, "So have your parents put people in Azkaban?"

Harry recognised the weasel Wormtail instantly. He looked up at James with admiration and awe, and Harry watched as his father basked in the attention, and proceeded to describe in detail various acts of bravery Harry's grandfather had performed throughout his career. Every so often, when James would mention a name of a particular witch or wizard, he would glance at Sirius, wondering if it was perhaps a relation. Sirius, however, was deep in conversation with a pretty blonde girl who Harry did not struggle notice seemed completely captivated by the handsome boy, despite looking like she was in at least third year.

Harry blinked as his surroundings began to blur. The memory was concluding; James had shown Harry the Marauders' First Supper. Harry smiled. The last vivid image he took with him before returning to his office: his young father showing off to the boy beside him, creating a friendship that would eventually lead to his doom.