James Sirius Potter walked into to the sitting room and flopped onto the sofa next to his father. He let out a big sigh.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"I'm sick of hearing people saying the same thing every time they meet me" James complained.

Harry looked up from the Prophet, perplexed. "What do they say, Jamie?"

James made his voice high-pitched and waved his hands in a bad imitation of almost every adult he had ever met.

"You look exactly like your father, except for your eyes. You have-"

"-your mother's eyes." Harry finished, chuckling. "Tell me about it."