The sun was setting over the vast grounds of Potter Manor when Hermione stepped through the Floo into the familiar, cosy sitting room. Effie Potter greeted her warmly, pulling her into a hug, while Monty gave a cheerful wave from his armchair. James, who had gone ahead of her to prepare the way, was already sprawled on the couch, looking far too pleased with himself. Even though it was well into July, so far whenever Hermione stopped by the Manor briefly his parents had been out so they hadn't gotten around to officially sharing their news yet.

"About time you arrived," James teased, sitting up to make room for her. "Thought you'd gotten cold feet."

Hermione rolled her eyes, smoothing her skirt as she sat beside him. "Not likely. I just wanted to make sure Percy was settled before I left."

Effie smiled, her eyes twinkling as she took the seat opposite them. "It's so lovely to have you here, Hermione. You know you're always welcome."

Monty chimed in, setting down his newspaper. "Though something tells me this visit isn't just about pleasantries."

James grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Well, since you brought it up…"

Hermione shot him a look but couldn't help smiling as she reached for his hand. "We do have some news."

Effie's gaze flicked between them, a knowing smile already forming on her lips. "This sounds exciting."

James puffed out his chest theatrically. "Mum, Dad… we're engaged."

Effie's smile widened, and Monty sat up straighter. "Well, it's about time," Effie said with a laugh, reaching over to squeeze Hermione's hand. "Honestly, we were starting to wonder what was taking you so long."

"Not surprised at all," Monty added with a grin. "Especially since you had dragged me to Gringotts to fetch that ring last summer. Congratulations, both of you."

Hermione blinked in surprise, looking between them. "Wait… you knew?"

Effie raised an eyebrow. "Darling, he's been in love with you since practically the moment he met you. And he's terrible at keeping secrets. You should have seen him fussing about that ring."

James groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, alright. So it wasn't exactly a surprise. But we've got more news."

"Oh?" Effie said, leaning forward. "Do tell."

Hermione took over this time, her voice steady. "We're also going to be Head Boy and Head Girl this year."

Effie clapped her hands together. "Oh, that's wonderful! Congratulations again. Both of you in the same role… Dumbledore must have quite a bit of faith in you."

James smirked. "Or he just wants to keep us busy so we don't get into trouble."

Monty chuckled. "He's probably onto something there."

Effie tilted her head thoughtfully. "Are they still doing that whole separate Head Student dormitory arrangement at Hogwarts? With the shared common room?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, though since we're both in Gryffindor, we'll be in the same one at Gryffindor tower."

Effie's lips twitched into a teasing smile. "Well, if you need any refreshers on contraceptive charms, just let me know."

James turned bright red, spluttering. "Mum!"

Monty laughed outright, clearly enjoying his son's discomfort. "Don't worry, son. We won't pry. Too much."

Hermione, though her cheeks were pink, managed to smile. "Thank you, Mrs Potter. But I think we'll manage."

"Effie, please," Effie corrected with a wink. "And I'm just teasing. Mostly."

James groaned, burying his face in his hands. "This is not how I imagined this conversation going."

Effie reached over to pat his knee. "Oh, James, you should know by now—you can't control everything. But really, we're so happy for you both. You're a perfect match."

Hermione glanced at James, who gave her a soft smile. Despite the teasing, there was warmth and pride in his parents' words, and she felt a rush of gratitude.

"Thank you," Hermione said sincerely. "It means a lot."

"Now," Effie said, standing. "Since this is such a momentous occasion, I believe we should celebrate. I'll call Tilly to prepare something special for dessert. And maybe some champagne. I assume you ate at the Burrow?"

"Yes, Mum, though there's always room for more," James replied cheekily.

Monty nodded. "And maybe James can take Hermione out to the orchard before sunset. It's beautiful this time of year."

James perked up at that, standing and offering his hand to Hermione. "Come on, Kitten. Let's take a walk."

As they left the sitting room, Effie's voice floated after them. "Just remember—no funny business in those Head Student quarters!"

James groaned again, but Hermione only laughed, leaning into him as they stepped outside into the warm summer evening.

The early morning sunlight spilled into the Potter library a few days later, illuminating the polished oak table where James and Hermione sat side by side. Hermione's brow was furrowed in concentration, her quill scratching furiously against parchment as she jotted down notes in her precise handwriting. Across from her, James leaned back in his chair, tossing a Golden Snitch into the air and catching it with practised ease, the faint hum of its wings breaking the otherwise quiet room.

"So," James began, his tone casual but curious, "how exactly do we explain going to a Muggle orphanage to dig up dirt on Voldemort's past?"

Hermione didn't look up, her quill pausing mid-stroke. "Simple," she replied matter-of-factly. "We don't. We claim it's about me."

James frowned, lowering the Snitch and leaning forward slightly. "What do you mean, about you?"

"I'll say I'm looking for information on my father's past," Hermione explained, finally meeting his gaze. Her expression was calm but calculating. "The cover story is that he grew up in Wool's Orphanage, and I'm trying to piece together family history. It's believable, and it doesn't involve magic—well, not much. I'll create a fake ID with magic and use a glamour charm on us. Heaven forbid Voldemort ever investigates, I don't want anyone to connect us to our real identities."

James raised an eyebrow, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips. "And the name?"

"Daisy Riddle," Hermione said after a beat, as if daring him to question it.

"Who's Daisy Riddle?" came a voice from the doorway. Sirius sauntered in, biting into an apple, and flopped into the armchair beside them. He propped his feet up on the nearest stack of books, earning a pointed glare from Hermione. "Sounds like a bad character from one of those Muggle novels you love."

"It's the fake name I'm going to use to dig into Voldemort's past," Hermione said flatly.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face. "How's that going to help?"

"You remember the diadem, right?" Hermione prompted, her voice steady but carrying an edge of exasperation.

Sirius shivered dramatically, rubbing his arms. "Hard to forget. Still gives me the creeps just thinking about it."

"Well," Hermione continued, "it showed me that Voldemort's real name is Tom Riddle. So we're going on a little reconnaissance mission to the orphanage he grew up in."

Sirius blinked, his chewing slowing dramatically as the words sank in. "Wait… Voldemort was a Riddle? That's… honestly a bit underwhelming for the big bad dark wizard of the century. I mean, Riddle? Sounds like a bloke who runs a pub down the street. 'Tom Riddle's Tavern,' maybe?"

Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yes, Sirius, his name doesn't exactly scream 'dark overlord.' That's probably why he changed it. That and its obvious Muggle origins. Now, can we focus?"

Sirius, entirely unfazed, leaned back in his chair with a smirk. "Still, it's a bit rich, isn't it? The self-proclaimed king of all things pureblood, and he's... Half-Blood at best. Hilarious."

"Kind of ironic, really," James added, tossing a crumpled scrap of parchment at Sirius. "Pureblood supremacist, terrified of his own roots."

"Bet it's unresolved childhood trauma," Sirius said lightly, tossing the ball of parchment right back at James. "From being dumped in a Muggle orphanage. Probably got his hand slapped for nicking biscuits or something. Explains a lot."

"You think you're joking," Hermione cut in, her tone sharper, "but you're probably not that far off. Many Muggle serial killers have had traumatic childhoods—abandonment, abuse, neglect. The psychological research is fascinating, actually—"

James reached over and squeezed her hand gently, cutting her off with a knowing grin. "I'm sure it is, darling. But maybe save that lecture for after we've figured out the whole evil-dark-lord-conquering-the-world thing?"

Hermione huffed but let it go, though the look in her eyes made it clear she'd bring it up again later.

Sirius smirked, twirling the Snitch between his fingers he just snatched away from James. "So, we're digging into his past? What are we expecting to find? Skeletons in the cupboard?"

Hermione sighed, setting her quill down. "Maybe. But more likely, patterns of behaviour. Any clues about where he might have hidden his Horcruxes or why he became the way he did. It's not just about what we find; it's about understanding how he thinks."

Sirius tilted his head, clearly intrigued. "And you're going as Daisy Riddle? Clever. Though isn't it a bit obvious?"

"That's the point," Hermione said, folding her arms. "I'll claim to be his daughter, researching family history."

Sirius leaned forward, suddenly interested. "And what about me?" Sirius asked, grinning. "What's my role in this little caper?"

"No one said you have to come," Hermione shot back, raising an eyebrow.

Sirius clutched his chest dramatically, staggering back as though mortally wounded. "You wound me, Kitten! I'm the life of this operation. Besides, what's a dangerous mission without a little Sirius Black flair?"

James smirked, not looking up from the Snitch he was still tossing. "She's got a point, Padfoot. You're not exactly known for subtlety."

Sirius ignored him, leaning closer to Hermione. "Come on, admit it. You need me. Who else is going to keep the Muggles distracted while you two snoop around?"

Hermione sighed, clearly unimpressed by his theatrics. "Fine. You can come. But only if you promise not to draw attention to yourself. This isn't some prank, Sirius."

He straightened up, his expression suddenly serious. "I know, Hermione. And I want to help. This isn't just about Voldemort—it's about keeping all of us safe. I've got your back."

Hermione blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his sincerity, before nodding. "Alright then. Just… try to remember that subtlety isn't a joke this time."

Sirius grinned again, the moment of gravity passing as quickly as it came. "Subtle as a shadow, I promise."

"More like a shadow wearing neon," James quipped, earning a laugh from Sirius and a long-suffering sigh from Hermione.

"This is going to be a long day," she muttered, gathering her notes.

The orphanage loomed before them, its imposing brick façade a patchwork of soot stains and ivy creeping up the sides, giving the building an air of dreary neglect. The faint smell of damp stone lingered in the air, and despite the summer sun above, a chill seemed to hang around the place, as though the walls absorbed and held onto every ounce of misery they'd ever witnessed.

Hermione adjusted the strap of her leather satchel, her nerves hidden behind a composed façade. She wore a modest, practical outfit—a neatly pressed blouse and a knee-length skirt—that made her look like a young historian or researcher. Sirius walked just behind her, looking far more polished than usual in a tailored jacket that James strongly suspected had come from Monty Potter's wardrobe. James himself was a study in casual confidence, though his pressed slacks and button-up shirt made him blend perfectly into their surroundings.

The trio stepped into the orphanage's reception area, where time seemed to have stood still. A faint smell of disinfectant lingered, mingling with the mustiness of old carpets and furniture. Behind the front desk sat a middle-aged woman with greying hair pulled into a tight bun. Her sharp eyes flicked up from a ledger, scanning the trio with practised efficiency.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice clipped but polite.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione said, stepping forward with a confident smile. "I'm researching my family history. My father, Tom Riddle, grew up here."

The woman's eyes narrowed slightly, and she straightened in her chair. "Tom Riddle, you say?" Her tone held a faint note of recognition, though she masked it well. "Do you have any identification?"

"Of course." Hermione reached into her satchel, pulling out the fake ID she had prepared that morning—a carefully charmed document that named her as Daisy Riddle, complete with a believable photograph of her glamoured appearance. She handed it over with practised ease.

The woman inspected the ID closely, her gaze flicking between the photo and Hermione's face. After a tense moment, she nodded. "Alright, Miss Riddle. And these two?" Her eyes darted toward Sirius and James.

Hermione glanced back at them, her expression calm. "My fiancé," she said, gesturing to James, "and my cousin. They're here to help with the research."

The woman's lips pursed slightly, her eyes lingering on Sirius, who gave her his most disarming smile. "Family projects, you know how it is," Sirius added lightly, his charm in full force.

The woman didn't smile back but seemed satisfied. She stood, pulling a large book from a nearby shelf. "The records are kept here," she said, placing the hefty tome on the desk. "I'll leave you to it. But do keep your voices down. The children are napping."

"Of course," Hermione said warmly. "Thank you."

As the woman disappeared down a hallway, Sirius let out a low whistle. "Your fiancé and cousin, huh? Didn't know I was demoted to relative status."

Hermione shot him a look as she opened the record book. "You're lucky I didn't introduce you as the family dog."

James snorted, leaning over to peer at the pages as Hermione flipped through them. "Let's see what we can find," he said, his tone turning serious.

It didn't take long before Hermione's finger landed on the name they were looking for—Tom Marvolo Riddle. The sparse entry listed his date of birth, December 31, 1926, and parentage: Mother: Merope Gaunt. Father: Tom Riddle Sr. Hermione's eyes lingered on the words, her mind racing.

"Gaunt," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "That confirms it. His mother was from the Slytherin line. Died here in the orphanage right after giving birth to him."

James frowned. "Anything about the father?"

"Nothing beyond the name," Hermione said, scanning further. "But look at this… incidents reported." She pointed to a section beneath the record. 'A rabbit found strangled in its hutch. Tom denied involvement but displayed no remorse.' And here—'Other children reported feeling terrorised by Tom during a seaside trip. He led them to a cave and refused to let them leave.'"

"Charming kid," Sirius muttered, leaning closer to read. "And we thought we were trouble."

Hermione flipped to another page, her eyes narrowing. "He was reported as 'unusually self-sufficient and manipulative.' The matron at the time noted he had an unsettling air about him, even as a young boy."

"This doesn't tell us much about the Horcruxes, though," James said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Hermione nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. "No, but it confirmed some things. His mother, Merope Gaunt, and father, Tom Riddle Sr., match what we suspected. And those incidents? They show his tendencies started young."

James ran a hand through his hair. "The seaside cave... Maybe that's important?"

"Maybe," Hermione agreed. "But for now, we keep digging."

Sirius sighed dramatically while Hermione was trying to look through the other books they weren't offered to peruse to find out where that seaside trip could have been to. "Next time, can we investigate somewhere less dreary? Like, I don't know, a magical villa in Italy?"

James smirked. "If Voldemort happened to vacation there, we'll let you know."

"Please do," Sirius muttered.

There was noise from down the hallway, and James straightened, his gaze turning toward the noise. "Well, let's lament on better research locations outside. That woman is going to check on us eventually, and I'd rather not explain why we're snooping through the orphanage's darkest history."

Hermione snapped the accounting ledger shut, where she had found a receipt for a lodging near Dover, writing the address down in her notebook, and tucking the ledger neatly back into place along with the records book. She hoped the orphanage didn't change up their trip destinations too much in the last forty years or so. "Agreed. Let's get out of here."

As they made their way back toward the entrance, Sirius glanced back at the book with a thoughtful expression. "You know," he said, his voice low, "this guy didn't just go bad. He was always like this. Even as a kid."

James nodded grimly, his hazel eyes dark with thought. "And now we know where it all started."

Hermione glanced at him, her brow furrowed. "I wonder if there are any Muggle public records on the Riddle family. Birth certificates, land deeds… anything that might give us more context."

James smirked faintly, the tension in his expression easing just a bit. "I feel like the Potter Detective Agency is really coming to life."

"Oh, come on," Sirius chimed in, throwing an arm around James's shoulders. "What am I, chopped liver? It's Black-Potter Detective Agency at the very least. Or maybe Black-Potter-Prewett Investigations if we're being inclusive."

Hermione let out a laugh, shaking her head. "Fine, but only if you're prepared to handle your fair share of the paperwork."

Sirius grinned, unbothered. "I'll charm the papers to sort themselves. Brilliant, isn't it?"

"Except when it all backfires," James added with a grin. "And let's be honest, Padfoot—it always backfires."

Hermione rolled her eyes fondly, tucking the fake ID back into her satchel. "You two are impossible. Come on, let's get back to the real world before anyone starts asking too many questions."

As they stepped outside into the sunlight, James slipped his hand into Hermione's, squeezing it gently. "You know," he said lightly, "this whole detective thing might actually suit us."

Hermione smirked, glancing between him and Sirius. "Only if I'm the one calling the shots."

"Obviously," Sirius said with a mock bow, holding the door open for her. "Who else could keep us out of Azkaban?"

"Not you," James quipped, laughing as they headed down the orphanage's steps. The warmth of their banter lingered, a sharp contrast to the chilling discoveries they had just made.

The sun streamed through the windows of Potter Manor's cosy sitting room, casting a warm glow on the comfortably sprawled figures of James and Hermione. James had his feet up on the ottoman, a Quidditch magazine in hand, while Hermione leaned against him, absentmindedly flipping through one of her notebooks. Sirius was out back tinkering with his bike, completely absorbed in the task, so they had a quiet moment to themselves.

Suddenly, Hermione's head shot up, her eyes narrowing as if she were calculating something in her mind. Her fingers twitched, and then a slow, amused smile spread across her face, followed by a soft laugh.

James looked up from his magazine, puzzled. "What's so funny, love?"

Hermione's lips curved into a sly smile as a soft laugh bubbled out of her. "I think your competition has just been conceived."

James blinked, utterly baffled. "My what now?"

"The Weasley twins," Hermione said, her grin widening. "Born April 1st, 1978. Do the maths."

James blinked, setting the magazine down as he mentally counted back. His expression morphed into one of dawning understanding, followed by a laugh. "The infamous April Fools' twins? You're serious?"

"Quite," Hermione said with a nod, still chuckling. "Mid-July conception, if we're being precise. Right on schedule."

James leaned his head back against the sofa, shaking it in disbelief. "Are you sure you haven't somehow messed that up by coming back in time? Who's to say history hasn't changed?"

Hermione waved a hand dismissively. "Percy arrived right on schedule, didn't he? Why would anything go wrong with this? If anything," she added with a smirk, "my presence gave Molly and Arthur more opportunity to procreate, seeing as they've had a readily available babysitter every summer."

James sat up straighter, his face twisting in mock horror. "I did not need that imagery in my mind, thank you very much."

Hermione burst out laughing, leaning into his shoulder. "Oh, come on. You think Quidditch plays all day; I think family timelines of the people I knew. It's just how my brain works."

"Sure, but now all I can think about is Molly and Arthur having a very productive summer holiday." James groaned, covering his face with his hands.

Hermione laughed, clearly amused by his reaction, but her triumph was short-lived as James sat up straighter, his face taking on a mischievous expression. "You do realise twins are usually born a bit prematurely, don't you?" he asked, his hazel eyes glinting. "I bet it's another month at least until they're conceived. When were you planning on babysitting duties in August exactly?"

Hermione froze, her smug expression slipping as she recalculated in her head. "Wait, what?"

James leaned back, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "Twins are born early, love. If they're due to be born on April 1st, there's no guarantee they were conceived nine months to the day before. You've probably got some time before Molly and Arthur start their… well, procreating."

Hermione turned a deep shade of pink, tossing a pillow at him. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, James!"

"What?" he said, catching the pillow with ease, his grin only widening. "You started it. And I'm just being practical. Babysitting duties might require some… careful scheduling, don't you think? We wouldn't want to interrupt anything important."

Hermione groaned, covering her face with her hands. "You're impossible."

"Impossibly brilliant, you mean," James quipped, leaning over to press a quick kiss to her cheek. "Though I'm going to need to brace myself for the day Fred and George meet Sirius. Imagine the chaos."

Hermione laughed, her earlier irritation fading into amusement. "You think Sirius is bad? Wait until Fred and George get their hands on the Marauder's Map."

James's grin froze mid-smirk. "Oh no." He sat up straighter, running a hand through his already messy hair. "This is bad. Really bad. We need a plan—a foolproof plan to keep that out of their hands. No way am I letting anyone out-Marauder the Marauders."

Hermione leaned into him, her laugh muffled against his shoulder. "Good luck with that, Mr Potter. You'll need it, because fun fact—in the future I know, Fred and George do end up with the Map."

James stared at her, eyes wide in disbelief. "What? No. How does that even happen?"

"Apparently," Hermione said, her grin widening, "they nicked it from Filch's office."

James blinked at her, completely dumbfounded. "Filch had the Map? Filch? How?"

Hermione shrugged, her tone almost too innocent. "One of you must've lost it."

James groaned, flopping back against the cushions. "Lost it? Who loses something like that? That's like losing a baby dragon!"

"Maybe it was during one of your legendary escapades," Hermione teased, poking his arm. "You know, the ones where you say everything went perfectly but forget to mention the small details. Like, oh, I don't know, losing your greatest invention."

James groaned again, covering his face with his hands. "This is the most tragic thing I've ever heard. Filch. Had. The Map. And the twins kicked it from his office? I can't even be mad at them."

"You'd be proud," Hermione assured him, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "They made good use of it for a few years before handing it down to Harry in third year."

James peeked at her through his fingers. "Harry? Harry had the Map?"

She nodded, her smile softening. "He kept it safe, and he used it just like you lot did. Mischief and all."

James sat up, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Well, that's something. At least our legacy is in good hands. But seriously, we're making a pact right now: we are not losing it on my watch. Not to Filch, not to anyone."

Hermione smirked. "Better keep a close eye on it, then, Potter. You've got one year left to prove you're not the one who lets it slip."

James narrowed his eyes playfully, leaning closer. "Oh, I'll prove it, Kitten. Fred and George may have had it in your timeline, but in this one, it stays firmly in Marauder hands."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Good luck with that."

"Luck?" James teased, throwing an arm around her. "When have I ever needed luck? I've got brilliance, charm, and you."

"Keep telling yourself that," Hermione quipped, but her laugh was warm as she leaned against him. "This should be fun to watch."

One warm August evening in 1977, not long after the second full moon of the summer, Hermione and Remus were comfortably settled in the Potter Manor library, surrounded by towering shelves filled with ancient volumes. The two of them had been blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding in the outside world, content to spend a quiet evening reading. Hermione was immersed in a particularly dense book on advanced defensive charms when the door burst open, and in strode James and Sirius, looking utterly exhilarated, dishevelled, and a bit scraped up.

"Guess what we just did," James announced, his grin wide as he plopped down on the couch across from Hermione, who lowered her book with a bemused look.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, eyeing the streaks of dirt on their clothes and the wild glint in their eyes. "Given the state you're both in… I'm guessing it wasn't a quiet night out."

Sirius let out a bark of laughter, dropping into an armchair beside her. "Understatement of the century, Kitten. Let me tell you, that bike of mine? Absolute brilliance."

Remus, who had been reading quietly beside her, looked over the top of his book, frowning. "The bike?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Sirius, please tell me you didn't just take that thing out on Muggle roads."

James's grin only widened. "Oh, we didn't just take it out. We gave it the full run. Flew like a dream—until we had some unexpected visitors."

Hermione's expression shifted to one of alarm. "Visitors? Who?" She glanced nervously at James, whose casual demeanour didn't ease her concerns in the slightest.

Sirius leaned back, a glint of mischief in his eye. "Let's just say that three Death Eaters thought they'd join the fun. Couldn't resist the sight of a couple of reckless teenagers on a flying motorcycle, I suppose."

"Death Eaters?" Remus sat up straighter, his voice laced with worry. "And you're just now telling us this?"

"Relax, Moony, we handled it," Sirius said, brushing off his concern. "It's a fantastic story, actually. We were out on the open road, just us, the bike, and the wind." He gestured grandly as he spoke, clearly enjoying the retelling. "James here clinging on for dear life—"

"Clinging?" James scoffed, nudging Sirius with an elbow. "I was the one keeping you steady! Anyway," he continued, turning to Hermione and Remus, "we were minding our own business, speeding through a quiet patch of road when we saw them: three Death Eaters on broomsticks, swooping down toward us. Figured they'd ruin the evening."

Hermione's eyes widened, her heart pounding just imagining it. "What did you do?"

Sirius's grin turned feral. "What do you think we did? We took off, of course! I twisted that throttle and tore down the road. We dodged every curse they threw at us like we were born to do it. And Prongs here was firing spells back at them the whole time."

"It was honestly brilliant," James added, clearly proud of the chaos they'd caused. "They didn't know what hit them. We lost them after a bit, but just when we thought we were in the clear, a couple of Muggle policemen picked up the chase instead."

Hermione covered her mouth, trying to hold back a mix of horror and laughter. "You… you were chased by Muggle police?"

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling in exasperation. "Sirius, James, do you have any idea what kind of mess you could have caused?"

"Moony, you're missing the point," Sirius said, waving a hand dismissively. "It was brilliant! The Muggle police thought they'd caught us when we took a turn into this dead-end alley. We were cornered, right? But we made the most of it. As soon as those poor blokes got out of the car, all grumpy and red-faced, we gave them the best introduction to wizardry they'll ever have."

James chuckled, eyes gleaming. "They asked for names, so we gave them Wilberforce, Bathsheba and Elvendork."

"Unisex names," Sirius chimed in, with a mock-serious nod.

Hermione burst into laughter, half-disbelieving. "Oh no. And then?"

"And then," Sirius continued, clearly enjoying every second of the story, "we gave the Death Eaters a nice surprise. They hadn't realised we'd led them straight into the Muggle police. One of the officers was actually speechless as they tried to piece together what was happening when those Death Eaters crashed into the car we just levitated to intercept them."

James leaned in, his voice lower. "We distracted the Death Eaters long enough for the Muggle police to get a good look. By the time we were done, the Death Eaters were scattered, their brooms in pieces, and Sirius's bike was revving for another ride. We shot off into the sky, just like that, leaving the poor Muggle officers gaping after us."

"Wait," Hermione interrupted, her eyes dancing with mirth and disbelief, "you just… took off? In front of the Muggle police?"

"Oh, absolutely," James replied, clearly relishing the memory. "One of them looked like he'd fainted on the spot. Last thing they saw was us zooming into the night sky."

Sirius stretched out his legs, sighing contentedly. "I mean, if you're going to sneak out of Potter Manor, might as well make it memorable, right?"

Remus shook his head, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Only you two could turn a simple night out into a full-blown adventure with Muggle police and Death Eaters."

Hermione, still smiling, rolled her eyes but reached over to give James's hand a squeeze. "I'm just glad you both made it back in one piece."

Sirius grinned, watching their joined hands with a mock pout. "See that, Prongs? I risked my life to give you a wild night out, and all you get is a hand squeeze."

James laughed, nudging Sirius's shoulder. "I think we'll both survive. And hey," he added, glancing at Hermione with a soft smile, "at least we've got a story to tell."

Hermione shook her head, sighing as she tried to imagine the chaos they'd left behind. "Somehow, with you two, I'm starting to expect these sorts of things."

"Good," Sirius said, still grinning. "Because this is only the beginning, Kitten."

As Hermione finished laughing at their wild tale, a thoughtful frown replaced her smile. "You do realise that using magic in front of Muggles is a serious violation, right? You both could get into heaps of trouble with the Improper Use of Magic Office. You were in front of Muggles, and using magic—that goes against everything in the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy."

James shrugged, brushing off her concern with a wave of his hand. "We were defending ourselves, love. I doubt the Ministry's going to go after two students for that. Besides, it's not like we were showing off magic just for the heck of it. We didn't exactly have a choice."

Sirius smirked, crossing his arms. "Exactly! And honestly, Kitten, I'd do it all over again. What were we supposed to do, let the Death Eaters attack us without fighting back?"

Hermione sighed, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm just saying you might want to prepare an excuse or two if the Ministry actually does find out about this."

They waved her off, exchanging confident grins as they continued reliving their escapade. Hermione only shook her head, muttering something about their arrogance as she returned to her reading.

But the next morning, their nonchalance was abruptly shattered. Just as the family was gathering around the breakfast table, two official-looking owls swooped into Potter Manor, each dropping a letter with the Ministry of Magic seal in front of James and Sirius.

Sirius blinked, picking up his letter with mild surprise, while James shot Hermione a sheepish glance before breaking the seal. The silence around the table grew tense as they read their letters, their expressions morphing from casual amusement to disbelief.

"Oh, look who's got mail," she said, feigning ignorance as she plucked a piece of toast from a plate and arched an eyebrow. "Don't tell me… Ministry letters, perhaps?"

Sirius groaned, clutching his letter as though it were a personal affront. "We got a summons. A hearing. Apparently, someone from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement thinks we 'may have' breached the Statute of Secrecy."

James, looking sheepish, gave Hermione an apologetic smile. "Er… you may have been onto something, love."

"I told you," Hermione said, though there was more amusement than scolding in her tone. "So was it the brooms they found?"

"No, even worse," James admitted, grimacing. "Turns out we… may have told the Muggle policemen our actual names after the whole Elvendork nonsense."

"You told the Muggles your names?" Hermione repeated, her voice a mix of horror and barely-contained laughter. "What on earth were you thinking?"

Sirius gave an exaggerated sigh, glancing between her and Remus. "In our defence, it seemed funny at the time. But… yeah, the Obliviators only got to them after they'd described 'two cheeky wizards named James Potter and Sirius Black' to the Aurors."

Remus snorted into his tea, lifting his cup in a mock toast. "To the heroes of wizardry—leaving their names with the Muggle police, as if it were a calling card."

Sirius cast an eye-roll toward Hermione, though he looked more amused than annoyed. "Fine, Kitten, I'll admit it… you might have had a point. But it's still a fantastic story, isn't it?"

Hermione tried to look stern, though she couldn't hide her smile. "Perhaps. But from now on, if you're going to get into trouble, at least try not to leave a full confession. I mean, do you really need to see me say 'I told you so' every other week?"

"Maybe," James teased, nudging her playfully. "It's kind of… endearing?"

Remus shook his head, chuckling. "Here's hoping this hearing buys us at least a few days of peace."

Sirius, grinning as though none of it fazed him, raised his cup toward Hermione. "To Kitten, our wise—and frustratingly right—voice of reason."

They all clinked their glasses together, and Hermione rolled her eyes, though she felt warmth swell in her chest. With these boys, she knew, it was only a matter of time before the next adventure—or, knowing them, the next catastrophe.

The hearing had been tense, to say the least, but as the trio stepped out of the Ministry of Magic's grand courtroom, the weight of the potential consequences had been lifted. James let out a relieved breath, running a hand through his hair, while Sirius adjusted his leather jacket with an exaggerated air of indifference.

"Well," Sirius said, smirking, "that went better than expected. I was almost certain they'd haul us off to Azkaban, or at least make me sit through some kind of educational seminar on Muggle relations."

James rolled his eyes. "You're not off the hook entirely, Pads. A fine's no joke."

Sirius waved a dismissive hand. "Please. Pocket change. I'll have it paid off before dinner." He shot Hermione a sly grin. "What do you think, Kitten? Fancy sharing your 'I told you so' speech now, or saving it for dessert?"

Hermione crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing. "Oh, I'm saving it. You don't get to squirm your way out of this that easily."

"Squirm?" Sirius gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest. "I'll have you know I handled that hearing with charm and dignity!"

James snorted. "Sure, Pads. Charm and dignity. That's definitely how I'd describe blurting out, 'But we didn't even hex the Muggles!' before the Wizengamot even finished reading the charges."

Hermione shook her head, biting back a smile. "You're both lucky the Aurors corroborated your story about self-defence. Leaving the scene before they arrived wasn't your finest moment, though."

Sirius shrugged. "Not like we were going to stick around and explain flying motorcycles to Muggle law enforcement."

James chuckled, nudging her lightly with his elbow. "Admit it, Hermione—you were a little impressed with how we handled those Death Eaters."

Hermione gave him a long, considering look. "Impressed? Perhaps. Relieved you didn't get yourselves killed? Definitely. But I'm still questioning how you thought leaving your names behind was a good idea."

Sirius grinned, clearly unbothered. "What can I say? We've got memorable faces. And, apparently, memorable names."

James shook his head, looping an arm around her shoulders as they started down the Ministry corridor. "All things considered, it's a win. Slap on the wrist, a fine, and we're free to cause more trouble another day."

Hermione sighed but leaned into him. "If you two ever plan another escapade like that, at least let me be there to supervise."

"Oh, don't worry," Sirius said with a wink. "Next time, you're coming along for the ride."

Hermione groaned. "That's what I was afraid of."

The three of them exited the Ministry, stepping into the bright afternoon sun. Despite her exasperation, Hermione couldn't help but smile as they made their way to the Leaky Cauldron. With these two, trouble was inevitable, but so was the fun—and, apparently, the occasional fine.

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows of Potter Manor at the near end of August as Hermione wandered through the quiet halls, looking for James. The east wing had always been a maze to her, with its forgotten rooms and unused corners. She didn't expect to stumble upon something so… whimsical.

The room was small but cosy, filled with shelves of half-finished sculptures, jars of paint, and stacks of sketchbooks. But the centrepiece was what caught her attention—a pottery wheel, tucked against the far wall, its surface streaked with dried clay. Hermione's brows knit together in curiosity as she stepped inside. She vaguely remembered James mentioning it and his quite on-the-nose hobby once, during their first real date, but that had been so long ago. Between Quidditch, their friends, and everything else that came with their lives, she supposed hobbies like this had taken a backseat even in the summer.

She didn't know how long she stood there, staring at the wheel, when a familiar voice broke her reverie.

"Caught you," James said, grinning as he leaned against the doorframe. His hazel eyes followed her gaze to the pottery wheel, and a spark of recognition lit his face. "Ah, the old wheel. Haven't touched it in ages."

Hermione turned, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I'd almost forgotten you mentioned it. Do you still use it?"

"Not much," James admitted, stepping into the room. "Haven't had the time. But…" He tilted his head, his grin widening. "Want me to teach you?"

Hermione hesitated, her practical side warring with her curiosity. "I've never done anything like this before."

James shrugged, already rolling up his sleeves. "That's the fun part. Come on, Kitten. You'll love it."

Before she could protest, he was pulling out a stool for her and gathering a lump of clay. He explained the basics—how to centre the clay, how to keep her hands steady—and she tried to follow his instructions, but it wasn't long before her fingers slipped, sending the lump wobbling precariously on the wheel.

James laughed, his voice warm and unbothered. "Alright, alright, scoot over. Let me show you."

He sat behind her, his arms around hers as he guided her hands on the clay. "Like this," he murmured, his voice low, his lips almost brushing her ear. Hermione felt her cheeks heat but focused on the spinning clay under her fingers. It was oddly soothing, the rhythm of the wheel and the sensation of the soft clay taking shape.

"See?" James said after a while, his hands still covering hers. "Not so hard."

Hermione smiled, glancing over her shoulder at him. "I'm still not convinced this isn't just an excuse for you to play with clay again."

"Caught me," he said with a wink, pulling back slightly. "But you're doing great."

The afternoon passed in laughter and mess. Hermione managed to shape something vaguely resembling a bowl, though James teased her endlessly for its lopsided edges. When it was his turn, he crafted a small, delicate vase, its edges smooth and symmetrical. As he set it aside to dry, he looked at her, his face softening.

"For you," he said simply.

Hermione reached out to touch the vase, her smile widening. "It's beautiful, James."

"So are you," he said, his voice quiet but sure.

By the time evening crept in, both of them were covered in streaks of clay, their hands and clothes a patchwork of dried grey smudges. Hermione was mid-laugh when the door burst open, revealing Sirius. His eyes widened as he took in the scene—the clay-covered couple, the messy room, the evidence of their laughter lingering in the air.

"What in Merlin's name happened here?" Sirius asked, his tone half-bewildered, half-exasperated. "You two know we've got to leave soon, right? Moony doesn't wait for pottery time."

James glanced at the clock, his expression shifting to mock alarm. "Oh no, Kitten, we're late for our werewolf date."

Hermione rolled her eyes, wiping her hands on a towel. "We'll clean up quickly."

Sirius shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. "Honestly, you two. Covered in clay and still managing to look smug."

James threw an arm around Hermione's shoulders as they headed for the door. "That's just our charm, Padfoot. But I don't know how you managed to find someone to tolerate you."

Sirius smirked, his eyes glinting with pride. "I'm very lovable, Prongs. Remus knows it, you know it, and deep down—so does Moony."

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head. "Let's just hope Moony's in a forgiving mood tonight. For all our sakes."

Sirius laughed, his voice echoing down the hall. "Oh, he will be. I'll make sure of it." He winked as he strode ahead, leaving James and Hermione exchanging amused glances as they followed.