On that fateful Halloween night, Lily and James survived while Voldemort apparently 'marked' Harry Potter as his equal.
Aria Potter, twin sister of the boy-who-lived was proclaimed a squib, abandoned by her family and given to the care of the Dursl...
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"What the hell were you thinking, Harry?" James shouted.
The boy in question stood in the centre of the room, while James paced back and forth in front of him. The man had been just in time to save the trio before Moony tore them to shreds.
"Do you realise what could've happened to you and your friends out there?"
Harry's temper flared, the hurt and frustration that had been building inside him for weeks finally boiling over. "It's not like you care." He spat.
James stopped pacing, staring at Harry as if he'd been struck. For a moment, he couldn't find the words, his mind reeling from Harry's accusation. He shook his head, his frustration mounting. "What are you talking about? Of course, I care about you! You're my son, Harry."
"You sure don't act like it."" Harry shot back, his voice shaking with emotion. "You and Mum, you've been so wrapped up— in Aria, in everything she's doing, how to get her back— that you don't even notice me anymore. I could disappear tomorrow, and you wouldn't even care."
James opened his mouth to argue, to deny it, but something in Harry's words struck a chord. There had been a grain of truth in what he said, a realization that made James's anger falter. Yes, he'd been worried about his sister, but had they really been neglecting Harry?
"Harry, that's not true," James said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "I'm sorry if it felt that way, but you have to understand, your sister—"
"She's gone, Dad!" Harry interrupted, his voice breaking. "She's gone, and she chose to leave. But I'm still here, and you—you act like I don't matter anymore!"
She's gone. It felt like a stab to the heart. James might have been preoccupied these last few years , but that didn't mean he didn't care, didn't love his son with everything he had.
"Harry, listen to me," James said, taking a step forward, his voice urgent. "You matter. You always matter to me, to your mother— you know that." James felt a lump form in his throat as he watched his son, so young, so hurt, and he realized just how much he'd been failing him. Not since they've seen Aria in Diagon Alley, but since the very day Dumbledore took her.
James Potter had always prided himself on being a good father, but deep down, he knew there was a part of him that had never fully given itself to his son. It wasn't that he didn't love Harry—Merlin, he did, more than anything—but there was a piece of his heart that had been lost when Aria was taken from them. And it wasn't fair, not to Harry, not to anyone.
He'd tried, of course. He'd poured his love into Harry, done everything he could to protect him, to be the father he knew he needed to be.
It wasn't that James preferred one child over the other. It was never about favoritism. But the truth was, he couldn't fully love one without the other. They were twins, meant to grow up side by side, to share the joys and sorrows of life together.
