Chapter 2: The Marauders
The following day, Harry raced through his chores, largely ignored by his relatives, who preferred him to stay out of sight—a situation that suited him just fine. Now, he stood in the middle of his room, staring at the ordinary-looking cardboard box. It seemed so normal, so unremarkable. Glancing toward the door, Harry listened carefully. His aunt had left for the store with Dudley, and Uncle Vernon was at work, leaving him alone in the house.
Summoning his courage, Harry opened the flaps of the box. He peered into the dark interior, half-expecting that he had imagined the entire experience from the day before. But as he reached in, his hand found no bottom. Feeling around for the ladder he had climbed, his fingers soon touched the familiar rung, and with a deep breath, he descended once more into the box.
The moment his feet touched the floor at the bottom of the ladder, the room illuminated with a soft ambient glow. Harry's green eyes swept the hidden chamber, taking in its details more thoroughly than his hasty visit the previous day had allowed.
The room was the size of a large bedroom, and it was furnished as one. There was a bunk bed against one wall, a desk, chair, and bookshelf along another. Moving toward the shelf, Harry noticed various books, including an entire section devoted to something called Quidditch. He reached for one when a voice suddenly spoke, "That one's my favorite."
Harry jumped, whirling around in surprise, his eyes scanning the room for the speaker. It was empty. His heart raced as he cautiously backed toward the ladder, his gaze darting from corner to corner.
"Stop it, Prongs. You're scaring him," said a second voice from directly behind him. This time, Harry saw it: a painting leaning against the wall. The painting depicted a cozy room, decorated in red and gold. A fire crackled warmly in a large stone fireplace, with several chairs and sofas arranged in front of it. Seated in those chairs were four young men, each watching him with curiosity.
Harry's mouth hung open in disbelief. One of the men, with glasses and messy dark hair much like Harry's own, smiled up at him from his seat on the floor.
"Hi, Harry," the man said cheerfully. "Surprised?"
Surprised didn't even begin to describe how Harry felt. The very idea that magic was real was still new to him, and now he was faced with people in a painting talking to him. Slowly, he approached the frame and peeked behind it, half-expecting to find wires or some sort of trick. But there were no cords, no signs of technology.
Sinking to his knees in front of the painting, Harry stared at its four occupants, who watched him just as intently. He recognized the Hogwarts robes they wore, with red and gold ties matching the banner of a golden lion above the fireplace.
"Who are you?" Harry finally asked, his voice small.
The four figures exchanged confused and concerned glances. "You don't recognize us?" asked one of them, a boy with shoulder-length black hair, sitting up from his lounging position on a sofa. He turned to the messy-haired boy. "Why doesn't he know us, Prongs?"
Another boy, looking more serious, spoke next. "Hi, Harry. I'm Moony. You are Harry, right?"
"Of course he's Harry, Moony," said the messy-haired boy. "Who else could he be? He's got Lil's eyes"—he pointed emphatically at Harry—"and my good looks."
Harry blinked, feeling a surge of hope. "Dad?" he whispered, hardly daring to believe it.
The one called Prongs nodded with a grin. "See? He does know me, Padfoot!" He gave the long-haired boy a playful punch on the arm. "Stop being such a prat."
But Moony was still watching Harry closely, his expression cautious. "I don't think he does, Prongs," he murmured. All four boys were silent now, their gazes heavy on Harry.
Clearing his throat, Harry finally explained, "I've never seen any pictures." His voice was quiet. Aunt Petunia had rarely spoken of his parents, and when she had, it was only lies—like the story that they'd died in a car crash.
The four figures looked stunned. "What do you mean, Harry?" Moony asked gently.
Harry squirmed. "Aunt Petunia said you died in a car crash. I only found out the truth yesterday."
The long-haired boy, Padfoot, barked out a laugh. "You're joking, right?" Harry shook his head.
"And your mum, Lily?" Harry's dad asked, his voice softer now.
"She's gone too," Harry muttered, glancing up from under his messy hair to see his dad staring back at him in shock.
"Gone too? You mean... we're both dead?" James' voice wavered with disbelief.
Harry flinched but nodded. "Yes... I'm sorry." The absurdity of the conversation wasn't lost on him. Part of him still wondered if he was dreaming.
Reluctantly, Harry recounted what he'd learned from Hagrid the day before—about Voldemort, the attack, and how Harry had somehow survived with only a scar to show for it. The Marauders listened intently, their expressions shifting from sadness to anger as they asked him questions he couldn't answer.
One of the boys, who had remained silent throughout the conversation, intrigued Harry. Summoning the courage, he asked, "So, you're all friends?"
James answered with a grin. "Like brothers. We met in our first year at Hogwarts. We were all sorted into Gryffindor together and became known as the Marauders. I'm James Potter—Prongs—and I'm your dad." He flashed a proud smile, which Harry returned. "This here is Sirius Black, also known as Padfoot, and this is Remus Lupin, or Moony. You used to call him 'Unca Mooey.'" They all chuckled.
Harry shook his head, feeling a pang of regret. "I never met any of you."
James frowned at his friends. "Why not?" he demanded.
Remus sighed. "I wasn't allowed. You know why."
Harry, curious, wasn't sure what Remus was referring to. Before he could ask, James turned to Sirius. "But Padfoot—he must know you, right? You helped raise him, didn't you?"
Harry shook his head again. "No... sorry."
James glared at Sirius. "You'd better hope you're dead too, Pads. You're his godfather!"
Harry looked at Sirius with new interest. His godfather?
Sirius raised his hands in surrender. "Don't worry, Prongs. I'm probably dead. That'd explain why he doesn't know me."
Moony nodded. "What about Wormtail?" All three looked toward the smallest boy, who still hadn't spoken. He merely smiled absently, as if unaware of their stares.
"Is he okay?" Harry asked.
James sighed. "He never gave me the memories to animate his portrait. Figured he'd get around to it, but I guess he didn't."
Most of the explanation went over Harry's head, but he was fascinated by the way they moved and talked within the frame. James's gaze lingered on Harry, concern darkening his features. His son looked much younger than his eleven years, his clothes far too big and shabby, his glasses held together with tape, and his hair unkempt. He looked hungry—starved for affection.
"So, who are you living with now, Harry?" James asked.
"Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon," Harry answered dully. "And my cousin, Dudley." The disgusted face he pulled set James off.
"What? You're joking, right? We specifically forbade that in our will!" James fumed. "What's the point of a will, Moony, if no one follows it?"
Remus sighed. "I wasn't allowed near him because... you know."
"Still," Sirius growled, "they're clearly not treating him right."
As Harry reluctantly prepared to leave, he promised he'd return after dinner. The Marauders exchanged worried glances as he climbed back out of the box.
After Harry had gone, the three friends sat in heavy silence. Moony was the first to speak. "It's a good thing you insisted on this portrait, Prongs. But... what happened?"
James shook his head, his voice full of sorrow. "My worst fears... and Lily's too. But just because I'm dead doesn't mean I'm helpless. We've got to help him, somehow."
Sirius nodded. "He's not being fed properly."
"We need to get more information," Remus said. "Maybe have him contact Dumbledore?"
"No," James said firmly. "Dumbledore's the reason he's with the Dursleys. We'll have to figure something else out."
Sirius grinned. "Then let's get Harry to write to us. We'll help him however we can. Operation Save Pronglet starts now."
AN: This chapter has been edited as of September 2024. All feedback is appreciated. Hope you are enjoying the story. I will be editing all the chapters of this story in the coming weeks. Thank you!