Jily & co. Returns

The wish

It was just another day for a 60-year-old Harry Potter at Potter Manor. The grand house was quieter than it used to be, now that his children had moved on, each building lives of their own. But for once, Harry felt truly at peace. He had lived through battles, losses, and moments that had almost broken him, but looking around the cozy drawing room, he couldn't help but feel satisfied.

His kids were all married, settled, and happy. His grandchildren filled the manor with laughter whenever they visited. It was everything he had ever hoped for. Yet, deep down, there was a part of him that still ached. His parents. Sirius. Remus. Tonks. People who had shaped his life but never got to witness the peace he had fought so hard for.

A wistful smile touched his lips as he swirled the Firewhiskey in his hand, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace.

"Are you going to sit there all night, lost in your thoughts, or are you going to share?" came a familiar voice.

Harry turned, grinning as he saw Ron and Hermione sitting beside him, each with a glass of Firewhiskey of their own. The three of them had taken to these quiet evenings together, reminiscing about the old days and enjoying the peace they had earned.

"Oh, it's nothing," Harry waved off, though his voice held a trace of sadness.

Hermione, always perceptive, raised an eyebrow. "You've been thinking about them again, haven't you?"

Harry sighed, nodding. "Yeah. My parents. Sirius. Remus and Tonks. I just wish they could have seen all of this. The kids, the grandkids. They deserved to know that the fight was worth it."

Ron took a long sip from his glass, his eyes distant. "We all miss them, mate. Sometimes I think about Fred too, about how much he would've loved the madness of the next generation. Fred and George in the same room as Maverick and Lyra? Chaos."

They all chuckled softly at that. The next generation of Potters, Weasleys, and Scamanders had certainly inherited the spirit of mischief.

"But they're not really gone, are they?" Hermione said thoughtfully. "You still carry them with you. In your memories, in everything you've passed down to your children."

Harry nodded but fell silent again, his gaze back on the fire. He felt the weight of the Elder Wand in his pocket, an artifact he had sworn never to use again. Yet, a thought nagged at the back of his mind. What if...

"You know..." Harry started slowly, almost hesitantly. "There is a way they could meet their grandchildren."

Ron blinked. "What do you mean? You're not thinking of... are you?"

"I am the Master of Death," Harry said, his voice soft but steady. "I've never truly used the power that comes with it. But I wonder... could I bring them back, just for a little while?"

Hermione frowned, her voice firm. "Harry, you know how dangerous that could be. The Hallows were never meant to bring people back from the dead like that. You've read the stories—what happened to the Peverell brothers."

"I know," Harry admitted. "But it's different now. We're not in the middle of a war. I'm not looking to cheat death or live forever. I just... I want them to see what we've built. I want them to know it wasn't all for nothing."

Ron exchanged a glance with Hermione, then leaned forward, his expression serious. "Mate, I get it. I really do. But think about what you're risking. What if something goes wrong? What if they don't come back the way you remember them?"

Harry stared into the fire, the glow reflected in his glasses. "I've been thinking about this for years, Ron. I never used the Resurrection Stone after that night in the Forbidden Forest. But what if... just once?"

There was a long pause. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. Hermione's face softened as she placed a hand on Harry's arm.

"If this is really what you want," she said gently, "just... be careful. And be sure this is for the right reasons, not just because of the memories."

Harry nodded, feeling the weight of their words. But deep in his heart, he knew he had to try. For his parents. For Sirius. For Remus and Tonks. They had given everything so he could live in peace.

He stood up, his glass now empty, and walked towards the large bay window. Outside, the moon hung high in the sky, casting a soft silver glow over the grounds of Potter Manor. His hand slipped into his pocket, fingers brushing against the cold, smooth surface of the Elder Wand.

"Tomorrow," he whispered, his breath fogging up the glass. "Tomorrow, I'll bring them back... just for a little while." or "forever" he mumbled.