Ink stained hands and questionable morals @4lilyofthevalley4 - Tumblr Blog

Aug 2

Harry Potter and the Parents Who Lived

Happy Birthday Harry! What if your parents survived to send you off to Hogwarts? Wordcount: ~10,000 AO3

July 31, 1991

Harry Potter woke on the morning of his eleventh birthday to the smell of bacon wafting up the stairs. He lay in his bed, one leg sticking out from the covers bunched at his waist, and stared at the ceiling for a long, lazy while since he knew he would be getting his wake-up call shortly.

He had a lot to think about, anyway. Today was a big day. A life-altering day. Today, not only was he eleven, but he was receiving his Hogwarts acceptance letter.

His parents had told him all about Hogwarts, of course, and Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick. He couldn’t remember any of the other professors they had named, but it didn’t matter. He remembered the castle, and the lake, the grounds, the many enchanted staircases. He couldn’t wait to go.

When he heard the stairs creak, he quickly closed his eyes and pretended he was still asleep.

He heard the door open quietly, heard it catch on the rug as it always did, heard the hushed voices and the nimble stomping as Bramble sprinted through the door to jump on his bed. He tried not to laugh as his father cursed the cat.

“James,” his mother admonished softly. “Hush, you’ll wake him.”

“Isn’t that the point?” his father replied in a carrying whisper. “Besides, I think he’s already awake.”

“No, I’m not,” Harry whispered. “You’re doing a great job surprising me.”

“Oh, Harry!” his mother laughed, and she ran her fingers through his hair in that gentle way of hers that Harry definitely didn’t cherish and would in no way miss when he left for Scotland in a month.

He went back to pretending he was asleep. His parents took long enough to break the silence again that he suspected they were doing that thing they did, where they looked at one another and smiled and had a whole silent conversation. They swore it wasn’t magic, but love. Harry was pretty sure it was magic.

Then his father sighed. “I guess we’ll have to return that letter to Albus if Harry simply won’t wake up.”

He shot upright, nearly crashing his head into his mother’s chin as she leaned over him. Luckily, she had plenty of experience dodging sudden movements. Between Harry and his father, she’d had loads of near-misses. She managed to pull back just in time to spare them both injury.

His father laughed as Harry leapt out of bed. Bramble hissed and jumped to the floor to hide under the bed.

“My letter!” Harry shouted, and bolted for the door in his bare feet.

His father, always a step ahead, caught him by the shoulder and held him back. “No, sir. Not without your birthday cuddles.”

“Dad!” Harry protested as his father wrapped his arms around him and lifted him into the air. Harry felt weightless for one brief moment before he was swiftly dropped back down onto his mattress. He tried to fight it, but before long he was giggling like a little boy as his parents fell on him smothering him in hugs and kisses.

“Stop it! Stop it!” He finally squealed through the laughter.

It took a while, and several wet, teasing kisses on his cheeks before they did stop it. It took him several moments longer still to work up the willpower to force himself up from between his parents on his narrow little bed. He stood over them on top of his mattress, hands on hips.

“I’m not a child anymore! You can’t just do that!” he insisted, but the words sounded weak to his own ears.

“Sorry, sorry,” his father said, sounding very insincere as he gained his feet. “I forget you’re practically a grown man now.”

Sitting up on his bed, his mother sniffled.

“Oh no,” Harry groaned and dropped down to his knees in front of her. “Don’t do it, Mum. Don’t cry. I can still be your little boy. For today.”

He crawled into her arms, let her hug him. Her arms were tight around him when she said, “Get him, James!”

His father snatched him and threw him over his shoulder. Harry screamed and kicked with laughter as his father tickled his ribs.

“Ow!” his father moaned when one of Harry’s swinging feet connected with his abdomen. Harry could see his mother’s feet padding along behind them as his father manhandled him all the way down the stairs.

Harry was gasping for breath when his father set him on his feet in the kitchen. Tears of laughter streamed down his overheated face as the blood suddenly stopped rushing to his head.

“That… was dirty,” he told his mother with what was meant to be a harsh glare.

She smiled and kissed his forehead as she squeezed past him, so he knew it wasn’t convincing. The feeling of betrayal was short-lived, however, as she soon presented him with a simple letter addressed to:

Mr. Harry James Potter

Potter Manor

Stinchcombe Village, Gloucestershire

He had never seen a letter so officially meant for him. His uncle Sirius – his godfather, really – wrote him sometimes when he was away for work, but his letters looked nothing like this one. He grinned and snatched it from her hand. He ignored his father’s scolding not to snatch things from his mother, and tore the envelope open.

“Dear Mr. Harry James Potter,” he read aloud. He was so excited he skipped whole phrases and ended up mostly paraphrasing. It didn’t matter. His parents knew what to do. “We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed your school list. You may acquire supplies in Diagon Alley, London. The Hogwarts Express is due to depart from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King’s Cross Station at eleven o’clock in the morning on September the first. We look forward to your attendance. And it’s signed by Dumbledore and McGonagall!”

He waved the papers in his mother’s face. She smiled and took them from him. “Yes, it is.”

“Can we go to Diagon Alley today?” he asked, turning from his mother, who was reading the whole letter, to his father, who was transferring a mountain of bacon from the fry pan to a platter. “Please?”

“We thought you might say that,” his father said, and Harry could tell by the sound of his voice he was smiling as he worked. “We already had the whole day planned around it.”

“Yes!” Harry hissed, pumping his fist in the air victoriously as he jumped and spun back to his mother. “Can we stop at Fortescue’s and get an ice cream while we’re there?”

His mother smiled without looking up from his supply list. “Yes, baby. Of course we can.”

Harry was so happy he didn’t even grumble about being called baby.

“Dad!” Harry exclaimed, and bounded over as his father set the platter of bacon on the breakfast table. “Can I get a new broomstick? A real one. A racing one.”

His father opened his mouth to answer, but his mother was quicker. “No.”

“Mum!” Harry complained. His father looked nearly as disappointed. “Come on!”

“You can’t bring a broomstick to school this year, Harry. It explicitly says that in your letter,” his mother said sternly. “You must have missed that part.”

“Did I?” Harry said dejectedly.

“There’s always next year, son,” his father consoled him, jostling him as he passed, and giving him a conspiratorial wink when their eyes met.

“I saw that,” his mother said.

“Your back’s turned,” his father replied.

“How many times do I have to remind you I can see out of the back of my head?”

His father scoffed. “Alright, Mad-Eye. If you say so.”

Harry didn’t understand the joke, but his mother apparently did. She looked up, met his father’s eyes, and snorted.

Harry didn’t bother asking. It happened sometimes, where one of his parents would make a strange reference to something or someone in their past. They didn’t usually like to explain these references to Harry. They were painful sometimes, his father had told him. They would explain when the time came, his mother assured him.

He knew it had something to do with a dark wizard. He’d gotten that much out of Uncle Remus and Uncle Sirius a few years ago when they’d been over for dinner. Uncle Sirius had mentioned someone called Marlene, and his mother had immediately started sobbing. His father had taken her upstairs to soothe her, and left their best friends to hang out with Harry.

Whoever Mad-Eye was, the story behind them must not be very sad, since his mother returned to reading his list without so much as a sniffle.

“You can bring a pet,” she said. “A cat, or an owl, or a toad.”

“Definitely not a toad,” his father said.

“Really?” Harry asked. “I can get a cat or an owl?”

“You can,” his mother told him. “But you have to choose one or the other. Don’t even try to convince your father to get you both. It says right here. You may bring one.”

His father made a small sound of protest as he continued carrying platters to the table.

“What should I get?” Harry asked.

“Well, that’s up to you, mate,” his father said. “It’ll be your responsibility, and it’ll be your companion for years to come. You’ll have to care for it if you want it to care for you.”

Harry frowned as he considered. He loved Bramble. She was grumpy sometimes, but that was what made it so special when she decided to curl up on his chest when he was lying on the sofa, or when she snuck into his room and jumped up onto his bed when she heard him wake in the morning. But their owl was great, too. And he was actually useful. If he got an owl, he wouldn’t have to wait for his parents to write him before he sent them a letter. He could just write them whenever he felt like. If he felt like.

“What did you both bring?”

“I had an owl,” his father said.

“Hermes?” Harry asked, thinking of his current owl.

“No, a different owl. Monty. He was great. Very fast, very reliable.” His father tugged gently at the end of his mother’s hair as he passed her again. “He carried my first ever love letter to your mother.”

She smiled as she looked up at him. “He was a sweet boy.”

“Your mother thought he was hers,” his father teased.

“He practically was,” she insisted. “Once we started dating, he was with me as often as he was with you.”

“Yes, because we were always together,” his father laughed. “And when we weren’t, I was sending him off to deliver you love letters!”

“Are you going to keep flirting, or can we get back to my birthday?” Harry asked, making his parents laugh. “Mum, did you bring a pet to school?”

His mother shook her head. “No. My father was allergic to cats, and my parents were Muggles. It wouldn't do to have an owl flying around the house during holidays.”

“Sounds like there was one flying around anyway,” Harry pointed out.

His mother ruffled his hair. “Only during seventh year.”

Harry thought about it as he sat down at his usual seat at the table. “Can I choose when we’re there? After I look at all the animals? I just can’t decide.”

“Of course you can, baby,” his mother said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as she bent over his chair. “You don’t even have to decide today. We have a month.”

He almost argued that he did have to decide today since it was his birthday. But his father’s words about choosing carefully made him hesitate. The last thing he wanted was to regret his decision.

His mother reached over him and placed a jug of fresh pumpkin juice in the center of the table. He realized then what he hadn’t before. There was enough food to feed an army.

The platter of bacon hadn’t registered as strange because Harry loved bacon and could easily put away a pound of it on his own. But there was also a mountain of toast and a pile of sausages. There was a large bowl of fresh-cut fruit, and a plate of hashbrowns.

He was surprised the table wasn’t sagging under the weight of it all.

Suspicious, he looked up at his father, who was still cooking. Frying eggs. “Why is there so much food?”

His father grinned as he looked up from the stove. “I was wondering how long it would take you to notice.”

“No.”

“What?”

“You’re lying.”

“We haven’t said anything.”

“He said he couldn’t make it!”

“Who might you be referring to?”

“Uncle Sirius!” Harry shouted.

“Oh, you mean your godfather, who has never missed a birthday and loves a good surprise?” his mother asked dryly.

Suddenly the fireplace roared to life. Harry jumped up and raced into the sitting room. “No way! No way! NO WAY!”

His godfather – his third favourite person in the whole entire world – stepped out of the fire and onto the mat his mother had charmed to catch all the ash from their travelling cloaks.

“Harry!” Uncle Sirius grinned at him and held his arms open. “Happy birthday, Haz!”

Harry flew at him and let his godfather lift him off his feet. “I didn’t know you were even coming!”

“Not too old to let Sirius baby you, I see,” his mother observed as she followed him into the room.

“Who’s babying? We are men showing affection. There’s nothing childish about that,” Uncle Sirius teased. “Isn’t that right, Harry?”

“Right!” Harry said firmly.

“Sure,” his mother said. She kissed Sirius’s cheek when he released Harry and swept her into a hug. “Hello, Sirius.”

“Hey, Lils,” Uncle Sirius said, “Where’s your uglier half?”

“Hey!” Harry protested, offended. He had been told just about every day of his life that he was his father’s clone, except for his eyes which were the only thing he got from his mother.

“He’s in the kitchen,” his mother laughed, squeezing Harry’s shoulder as he pouted.

“Did you catch any new dark wizards?” Harry asked, following at Uncle Sirius’s heels as he walked with his mother into the kitchen.

“Oh, loads,” Uncle Sirius said. He was probably joking, but Harry hoped he’d caught at least one.

Uncle Sirius was an Auror, which was pretty much the coolest job ever. He hunted dark wizards for a living.

Harry’s parents had done something like that too. A long time ago before Harry was born. He wasn’t sure what. He knew there was a dark wizard. He knew there was a war. He knew his parents had been important, and that a lot of people hadn’t made it home. Beyond that, the details got fuzzy. Sometimes his dad and Uncle Sirius and Uncle Remus would start talking about the old days. His mum would give them a look and they’d stop immediately.

Sometimes, Uncle Sirius would mention someone called Peter, and his dad would get a dark, scary look about him and his mum would go all teary. He never got any sort of explanation about this Peter, that was for sure.

All Harry really knew for sure was that now, his parents mostly worked from home.

His mum invented potions in her work room and his dad mostly hung out with him, but sometimes he went off to Hogwarts to fill in when one of the professors needed to take time off. Harry kind of hoped he’d end up helping out at some point this coming year. Maybe Mum would come with him since she wouldn’t have to stay home to look after Harry.

Just in case they missed him too much.

“Hiya, Prongs,” Uncle Sirius said brightly, striding across the kitchen to slap his father on the back.

“Hey, Padfoot,” his dad said, smiling over at him. “Safe travels?”

“Safe enough. I made it in one piece, anyway,” Uncle Sirius replied. “Heard from Moony yet?”

Harry tried to shove jealously between them. It was his birthday. So, they’d been best friends their whole lives. So, they hadn’t seen each other in over a month. What did that matter? Harry hadn’t seen Uncle Sirius in over a month either!

“His owl came early this morning.” Ignoring the way Harry shoved at him, his father glanced at the clock. “He should be here soon, too.”

Harry froze. “Uncle Remus is coming?”

“You still can’t keep a secret, Prongsy,” Uncle Sirius said, shaking his head in disappointment.

Harry’s father looked offended. “You brought him up!”

“When will he be here?” Harry demanded, already dropping his arms from his father’s side and circling back to sprint into the sitting room.

“Soon!” his father called after him. “Harry, you can wait in the kitchen!”

But he didn’t. Harry sat himself on the floor in front of the fireplace, staring unblinking at the empty grate. He could hear the murmur of voices as his parents continued to talk with Uncle Sirius in the kitchen.

After what felt like eternity, the fireplace came to light again. Harry jumped to his feet with a delighted whoop and ran circles around Uncle Remus as he stepped onto the ash mat.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Uncle Remus laughed. He looked tired. He usually did. Harry knew better by now than to ask if he was feeling ill. He wasn’t. He was just a werewolf. It took a toll, his mother said. “I see you were expecting me.”

“Yeah. Uncle Sirius got here a few minutes ago, and Dad said you were on your way. Uncle Sirius said he can’t keep secrets!” Harry said. “Hey, Uncle Remus, guess what! I got my Hogwarts letter! And we’re gonna have a huge breakfast and then go to Diagon Alley to get all my supplies! Mum and Dad said I can get an ice cream and a pet.”

“That is very exciting, Harry,” Uncle Remus said, smiling as Harry grabbed his arm and began to pull him to the kitchen.

“Do you think I should get an owl, or a cat to bring to school? Mum and Dad said it’s up to me, but it’s a big decision,” Harry continued.

Uncle Remus hummed thoughtfully. “Well, do you want a more constant companion, or do you want a more reliable one?”

Harry sighed. “I dunno. Which is better?”

“I think that’s up to you, Harry,” Uncle Remus said, squeezing his shoulder. “You’ll have to decide for yourself.”

Harry didn’t know what he’d expected. Uncle Remus was brilliant and all, but he didn’t usually give away answers. Mostly he guided Harry to finding the answers on his own.

Then, Harry brightened. “Hey, maybe you and Uncle Sirius can come to Diagon Alley with us today! And you can all help me choose.”

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, Harry,” Uncle Remus said with a small, amused smile.

His mother laughed and stepped forward to hug Uncle Remus. His father, Uncle Sirius, and Uncle Remus all exchanged claps on the back.

“Hey,” Harry said suspiciously. “Was that the plan all along, or did I come up with it?”

“Two things can be true at once, Haz,” Sirius said as his father steered him towards his seat and sat him down at the table.

“Breakfast is served,” his father announced as all the adults sat as well. Then, he waved a hand at the spread before them. “Or… I’ve cooked it, anyway. Serve yourselves.”

His mother shook her head at his father, smiling as she reached for Harry’s plate and began serving him. He let her, even as the other men filled their own plates. It was nice, sometimes, to let her take care of him. It made her feel like he was still little.

And it made him feel all warm and cosy.

They were in Madam Malkins’ Robes for All Occasions when Uncle Remus did something really strange.

He got fitted for his own set of new robes.

“What are they for?” Harry asked, frowning as he sat with Uncle Sirius watching the witch poke and prod at Uncle Remus. His mum and dad were paying for his set of school robes at the front of the shop.

Uncle Sirius got that amused glint in his eyes that he often had. “You’ll soon find out.”

“Oh, come on!”

“Honestly, I’m surprised Prongs hasn’t already spilled,” he added with a careless smirk.

Harry looked over his shoulder. His mum and dad had finished paying and were on their way back hand-in-hand. Mum looked like she was trying to ease Dad’s mind about something while he kept looking around warily.

“Sirius, you’re the one who’s going to ruin the surprise,” Uncle Remus said blandly.

Harry whipped his head back around to Uncle Remus just as the witch told him she was all done. “It’s another surprise? For me?”

“In a way,” Uncle Remus said mysteriously as he removed the new robes and handed them back to the witch. He stepped down to join them just as Harry felt his father’s hands on his shoulders.

He tipped his head back to look up. His father was smiling down at him, but his eyes were tight like they sometimes got whenever he brought Harry out. It didn’t matter what they were doing. They could be out at a Muggle market buying food for dinner and Dad would be looking around like he was worried someone might jump out and snatch Harry away.

“Ready to pick up your school books?” Dad asked.

“Okay,” Harry said, less than enthusiastic as he stood. School books seemed pretty boring. He eyed his dad hopefully. “Hey, the Quidditch shop is near the book shop, isn’t it?”

“No broomstick this year, Harry,” Mum said firmly.

“Just to look!” Harry pleaded. “Mum, I promise! I won’t ask for one! I just want to have a look!”

She tried to look stern, but eventually, her mouth curved up as he pouted up at her. She sighed. “Fine. You can look.”

He convinced Mum to let Dad and Uncle Sirius take him down to Quality Quidditch Supplies while she and Uncle Remus picked up all his school books. She didn’t really want to stare at broomsticks for an hour, anyway, and Dad and Uncle Sirius were always for it.

“Don’t you dare buy him a broom,” Mum told Dad sternly as they parted ways.

“I won’t, I won’t,” Dad promised.

“That goes for you, too, Sirius!” she shouted after them.

“Damn,” Uncle Sirius muttered. “She always knows our plans.”

“Almost thirteen years of marriage will do that,” Dad said with a sigh. “Sorry, Harry. There really is next year.”

It was still fun to look at all the shiny, sleek new broomsticks. He spent nearly half their time in the shop staring at a brand new Nimbus 2000.

“I don’t need a new broomstick,” his father said, laughing when Harry helpfully pointed out that Mum hadn’t forbidden him from buying himself a new broom. “Mine still serves me well.”

“But it’s all nicked and scratched up,” Harry reminded him.

“Yes, I recall you are the reason for that.”

Almost a year ago now, Harry had snuck a flight out in the garden while his parents had been having a lie-in. He’d crashed into the shed. He had never seen his father so cross as when he’d come sprinting across the garden in nothing but his shorts, Mum still pulling her robes on behind him. Going off of his fond smile now, Harry knew he was forgiven.

Mum and Uncle Remus soon came to drag them away, and Harry pouted and dragged his feet as he was pulled from the shop.

“Do you remember Rita Skeeter?” Mum said carefully to Dad as they walked.

“Yes,” he said, glancing sideways at her. He didn’t look pleased by the name.

“We ran into her in Flourish and Blotts,” Mum told him. “She asked for an interview.”

His father stared at her. “You declined, right?”

“Of course I did,” Mum said, sounding shocked he would even ask. Then she sighed. “Of course, it doesn’t matter. She’s going to write it anyway.”

Behind them, Uncle Remus and Uncle Sirius were talking about this Rita lady as well.

“I can take care of it,” Uncle Sirius was saying darkly.

“You are an Auror,” Uncle Remus said. “You can’t take care of Rita Skeeter.”

Before Harry could ask what they were talking about – he was pretty sure they wouldn’t tell him anyway – his mother steered him into a shop for their next stop.

Harry wasn’t exactly put-out when it turned out to be Ollivander’s. He was getting to choose his first real wand!

When he announced this to the old man behind the counter, the man smiled and glanced at his parents. He seemed to know who they were, but that wasn’t exactly unusual.

“The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter,” the old wizard said.

Doubtful, he looked back at his family. Mum, Dad, and his uncles. None of them looked like they thought the old man was mad. They looked sentimental, like they’d heard this all before. Maybe they had. Maybe that was what Mr. Ollivander told all of the eleven-year-olds who walked into his shop.

It took forever. No, really. It took so long for him to find a wand that Harry was beginning to worry none would choose him.

Then, Mr. Ollivander eyed his parents. An odd look crossed his face.

“I wonder,” he said, and disappeared into the back room.

Harry flitted to his dad’s side, gripping his forearm anxiously. “What if I can’t find a wand?”

“Not to worry, love.” Mum stroked his hair. “Mr. Ollivander’s the best. He’ll find you one.”

His dad knelt down beside him. “Really, you’ll be fine, mate. Rejection is part of the process. We all had to go through it. Once you find the right wand, it’ll all be worth it.”

“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Prongs?” Uncle Sirius teased. His dad rolled his eyes, but didn’t look away from Harry.

“There are other wandmakers, too,” Uncle Remus said quietly. Harry had a feeling he didn’t want Mr. Ollivander to overhear him. “Most Hogwarts students just come here because it’s convenient.”

Mr. Ollivander returned, and Harry’s dad sent him back to the counter with a reassuring smile.

“Let’s give this one a try, then, shall we? Holly, eleven inches, phoenix feather core.” He slid a long, thin box across the glass display.

Harry opened the box cautiously and picked up the wand. A warm feeling coursed through him, and a breeze rustled through the shop. He flicked the wand, and bubbles streamed out to dance around the shop. He grinned and turned to his family.

His mother was crying again. His father looked misty-eyed as well. His uncles beamed back at him.

“Very curious,” Mr. Ollivander said as he boxed the wand up.

“What is?” his father asked, coming forward to pay.

Mr. Ollivander stared at Harry, then his father, then his mother. “The phoenix whose tail feather is in this wand gave one other feather. Just one. I sold that wand as well. And you –” his attention was on all of the adults in the shop now “– have faced its owner many times.”

Everyone had a very odd reaction to this news. His mother drew in a shaky breath behind him. His father’s grip on his shoulder tightened. Harry looked to see that his uncles had stopped smiling. In fact, Uncle Sirius had gone nearly as pale as Uncle Remus.

“What does that mean?” Harry asked.

But no one answered him. Silently, still gripping Harry’s shoulder, Dad finished exchanging coins. Mum’s smile when they joined her at the door didn’t exactly reach her eyes. They fell into step on either side of him and his uncles were more tense than he had ever seen as they walked slightly behind Harry and his parents.

Out on the street, his father cleared his throat. “Ice cream, then?”

“Yes,” his mother said with a slightly steadier smile. “You wanted to stop at Florean’s. And then we’ll go to Eyelops and the Magical Menagerie and you can see what speaks to you.”

“Okay,” Harry said, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it as he ate his chocolate chip ice cream they’d gotten for free because the wizard behind the counter recognised his parents.

He kept looking between all of the adults. They were trying to seem normal and excited again, but he couldn’t forget how unsettled they had all looked when he’d held his wand in the shop. It wasn’t until he stood in Eyelops holding a cage with his very own snowy owl that he truly felt like the day was back on the right track.

“Is there anything else you’d like to do before we head home?” Dad asked as they stepped back out into the heat.

He was too distracted by his owl to answer. She blinked solemnly at him as he held her cage up at eye-level. “I need to come up with a name for you.”

“We’ve got all his supplies, I think,” Mum said, pausing to rifle through the many pockets of her summer robes for her shopping list. “We can always come back if there’s anything we’ve missed.”

“Harry?” Dad said, playfully ruffling his hair.

Harry finally looked up. “What? Oh. No, I think I’ve got everything I could ever want.”

His parents beamed at him. His uncles laughed.

“Well, you’ll have to feign appreciation for a few more items, then,” Uncle Sirius said.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“Honestly, son.” Dad shook his head, still grinning down at him.

“With all the excitement of the morning, you didn’t even realise,” Mum teased.

“What? What have I forgotten?” Harry cried, trying to think back on the day.

It was Uncle Remus, surprisingly, who took pity on him, laughing. “You haven’t opened your presents, Harry.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. Presents. Obviously. He hadn’t even spared them a thought!

“Let’s go!” he said, and led the way back to the Floo grates.

August 31, 1991 11:39 pm

Harry couldn’t sleep. Hedwig, as he’d chosen to name his new owl, was out hunting and he was all alone. He’d been lying awake for hours trying to will himself to sleep. His mother always told him the quicker he fell asleep, the sooner whatever he was excitedly awaiting would arrive.

He tried to tell himself he was excited. And he was, mostly.

But after almost three hours of staring at his bedroom ceiling with the twinkling stars his father had charmed up there years ago, he could admit he was dreading it a bit, too. His throat ached, and his eyes burned, and his nose felt wet.

His parents had tucked him into bed just after nine o’clock. They had kissed his hair and told him they loved him and they were so, so proud of him. Just like they did every night.

He was only beginning to realise they weren’t going to do that tomorrow night. Or the next. Or for dozens of nights after. Not until December.

He wouldn’t be able to run to them when he was frightened, or worried, or sad. They wouldn’t be the ones to heal his injuries, or treat his illnesses. For the first time in his life, he would be away from them.

A single tear escaped his eye and trailed, burning hot, down his face to soak into his pillow.

He got out of bed and crept down the corridor to his parents’ bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. He could hear them speaking quietly.

“...first time in his life, we won’t be there to look after him,” his mother was saying in a very small, very sad voice. “We have to trust other people to keep him safe.”

“Those other people are Remus, Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall,” his father reminded her softly. “Lily, you and I both know he’ll be safer in that castle than he is here.”

“No he won’t be, James!” his mother cried. “How many broken bones did you suffer there? How many times did you wind up in the Hospital Wing?”

“That’s because I was an idiot,” his father reminded her. “You loved pointing that out to me at the time. Besides, no one is a better Healer than Poppy. She kept us all in one piece throughout the war.”

“How many awful insults did I have to bear?” his mother continued as if his father hadn’t spoken.

“It won’t be like that for him, love. You know it won’t,” his father said. “The whole reason we fought in that damned war was to ensure he wouldn’t have that experience.”

“Some of the Death Eaters who walked free had children, too, James,” his mother said shakily. “And some had children before they were captured. They’ll remember.”

His father took a moment to reply. He heard a rustling sound and could imagine his father pulling his mother securely into his arms.

“There are so few people who know what really happened that night,” his father said so quietly Harry almost couldn’t hear him.

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when Bramble brushed his leg and began to affectionately weave himself between Harry’s feet. Then, the cat meowed softly and pushed the door open wider to stalk into the room and jump up onto his parents’ bed.

“Harry!” Dad exclaimed when he saw him standing there.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Mum asked, wiping her face quickly.

Harry was not surprised to find them holding onto one another. They were standing next to the bed, his mother in a dark blue nightgown, his father in a pair of white pyjama pants.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said lamely. “I…”

He wasn’t sure what to say. Suddenly, he was embarrassed. He hadn’t tried to climb into his parents’ bed with them in years, except that one time he’d been so miserable with the flu last winter. The only thing that could have possibly soothed him then was to sleep between his mum and dad. Tonight felt a lot like that, only without the fever and the body aches.

“Come here, son,” Dad said, and held out an arm for Harry to join their embrace.

Harry did, padding across the soft rug in his bare feet until he could burrow himself between them. Maybe, if he wished hard enough, they could just stay like this forever.

His face was hot. He was crying. He buried his face in his mother’s nightgown to hide. Of course, she knew immediately. And so did his father. They both always knew everything about him.

“Harry,” Mum whispered, her voice soft. She pulled away from his dad, and made Harry sit on the edge of the bed as she knelt on the floor in front of him. “Harry, baby, what’s wrong?”

“Are you scared?” Dad asked softly, sitting beside him and wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

Harry shook his head. He wasn’t scared. Not really. But how did he tell his parents who were right in front of him that he was already missing them like mad? He felt so stupid sitting here crying about going to school. He wiped at his face.

“What if I don’t want to go?” he mumbled. “What if I just want to stay here with you guys forever?”

“Of course you do,” Mum said, smiling sadly back at him. “You’ve been excited about going to Hogwarts since you were five years old.”

He shook his head. “I want to stay here.”

“Are you going to miss us?” Dad whispered. He always managed to say exactly what Harry was struggling to put words to. He dropped his head to dad’s bare chest and cried. “We’re going to miss you more than you know.”

Harry didn’t say anything. His mum moved to sit on his other side and held him. He looked up at her.

“What if I don’t make any friends?” Harry asked. “Can I come home if I hate it?”

“Harry, you’ve already got a friend going,” Mum said. “Neville will be starting too, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Harry had nearly forgotten.

He and Neville had the same birthday, which was funny because their parents had known each other during the war. His mum and Neville’s mum had apparently had to stop fighting at the same time. Sometimes, they all got together so their parents could catch up while Harry and Neville ran around together.

“But what if I’m rubbish? What if I’m an embarrassment to the family?”

His father laughed. “Impossible, Harry. Even if you were a Squib, you wouldn’t be an embarrassment to us.”

“You say that now,” Harry mumbled. “But what if I’m really bad at it?”

“Bad at what, love?” Mum coaxed.

“All of it. School. Magic. Making friends. Being away from you,” he admitted.

His mum looked at his dad. Harry looked over to see that his dad was looking at his mum. Predictable.

“Harry,” Dad said in a very soft whisper. “Your mum and I went through this, too. So did Sirius and Remus. It’s normal to be nervous before such a big change. You’re going to be fine.”

He looked at his dad, pouted a bit. “What if I cry at night? Because I miss you?”

His dad smiled. “Harry, do you want to know a secret?”

Harry nodded.

“My first night at Hogwarts, I cried.”

Harry stared at his father. “You did not.”

“I did. And not just the first night, either. I’d never been away from my parents before. I missed them so much. I was absolutely devastated,” Dad explained.

Harry looked at his mother.

“Well, I can’t vouch for him, seeing as I was in the girls’ dormitory,” Mum said on a little laugh. “But I wept every night for a week straight.”

“You did?” Harry asked. He looked back at his dad. “What about Uncle Sirius? And Uncle Remus?”

“Well, Sirius didn’t come from a warm and loving family. I don’t think he minded being away from them too much,” Dad said with a little shrug. “But Remus definitely cried. For more complicated reasons, maybe. But he still cried.”

“Every girl in my dormitory cried,” Mum added. “It’s normal. You’re growing up, but you’re facing a big change. Being afraid to go to Hogwarts doesn’t make you unworthy. It makes you eleven.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked in a very small voice.

On either side of him, his parents hugged him.

“Positive,” Dad murmured into his hair.

After a few minutes, his mum sat up straight. “Now, it’s getting late and we’ve got an early day. It’s time to go to sleep.”

Harry nodded and stood, then looked between his parents sheepishly. “Can I… can I sleep here tonight?”

For a moment, neither of his parents spoke. Then, his mother made a strange choking sound.

“Lily,” Dad warned softly.

She glared at him. “I’m fine, James.”

“I mean, it’s okay if –” Harry started, feeling nervous as he glanced between them.

“Of course you can sleep here,” Mum interrupted.

“Of course you can,” Dad agreed.

His parents both stood. His mother drew back the covers and gestured for Harry to climb in. He settled cosily in the middle of the bed and his mother slid in behind him. Together, they watched as his father walked around to the other side of the bed and carefully set his glasses on the table beside his pillow. He waved his wand and the dim lights went out. Then, he slid in on Harry’s other side.

Bramble walked across the bed and settled on Harry’s stomach, purring.

“Damn cat,” his father grumbled.

“James,” his mother chastised.

Harry giggled. His mother smoothed his hair and shushed him. His father curled protectively around him.

Eventually, the room fell silent. His every blink felt heavier.

Tomorrow, he would board a train. Tomorrow, he would go to Hogwarts. Tomorrow, everything would change.

But not tonight.

Tonight, snuggled securely between his parents, Harry’s eyes drifted shut and he fell asleep feeling peaceful.

September 1, 1991

4:45 AM

Harry woke when he felt the mattress shift as his parents left the bed. He rolled over into the warm space where his father had just been and blinked heavily. It was still dark out.

“It’s still early. Go back to sleep,” his father murmured, running his fingers through Harry’s messy hair.

Almost two hours later, his mother gently shook him awake. “Harry, breakfast is ready.”

Her eyes were rimmed in red and the tip of her nose was pink, but she was smiling as she leaned over him.

He stretched lazily and then lay there staring at the ceiling.

“Your trunk’s all packed?” his mother asked as she ran a brush through her hair.

He grunted.

“Words, Harry. You are not a caveman,” she said lightly.

“Yes, my trunk is packed,” Harry said.

“You’ve got all your books?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Your robes?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Your cauldron?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Your Potions ingredients?”

“Yes.”

“Your wand?”

Harry paused. His wand was sitting on his bedside table where he’d left it after trying to replicate his dad’s smoke trick.

“Harry?” his mother said. “Your father and I told you you’re not allowed to use it until you get to Hogwarts, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” Harry said. Actually, Mum had told him. Dad had just stood there agreeing with her. “Nothing bad happened, though!”

“Did it work?”

Harry rolled over to see his father leaning in the doorway. “What?”

“Whatever spell you tried to cast,” Dad said with a small smile. “Did it work?”

“Kind of.” Harry shrugged, even though he was very proud of himself. After almost an hour, he’d managed to make smoke appear. It wasn’t the neat little rings his dad could do, but it was smoke. And not the bad kind that came with fire, either.

“James, do not encourage him to break rules already!” Mum said, hands on hips as she shook her head at his dad. Harry couldn’t see her face, but he would bet anything that she was smiling, given the goofy look on his dad’s face.

“It runs in the family,” Dad said.

“Do I need to remind you that you were Head Boy, James?” Mum asked.

Dad smirked and shrugged as Mum reached him. He slid his arms around her and pulled her to him. “Yes, well, that was after I got all the rule-breaking out of my system.”

“I seem to recall you still broke a few rules that year,” Mum said.

“I seem to recall you were right there with me, Head Girl,” Dad grinned.

Harry retched and leapt out of bed to push past them.

“Porridge is ready for serving!” Dad called after him.

Harry paused on the stairs. “You’re not coming.”

“In a minute. I need to kiss my wife first.”

Harry retched again – loudly – and sprinted down the stairs to the kitchen while his parents laughed.

“Harry,” Dad said later, once he’d apparently finished kissing Mum and they’d joined him for breakfast. “There’s something we need to tell you.”

Looking between his parents, Harry frowned. They were leaving for the train station in just over an hour and this was the moment his parents chose to tell him something important?

“Okay,” he said warily.

“You belong at Hogwarts just as much as anyone else, Harry,” Dad began. “But you do not belong more than anyone else. Understand?”

Harry’s brow furrowed, but he nodded.

“You know about the war, right?” Mum asked gently. “The one your father and your uncles and I took part in?”

Suddenly very interested, Harry nodded and set his spoon down.

“Do you know what that war was about?” Dad asked.

Harry shrugged. “Good versus bad?”

His parents smiled sadly.

“Technically correct,” Dad said.

“It was about equality,” Mum said. “Do you know how my parents were Muggles?’

“Yes,” Harry said.

“And you know how mine weren’t Muggles?” Dad asked.

Harry nodded. He’d never met any of his grandparents. They had died before he was born. Harry remembered he had cried and cried and cried when he’d first learned this. He was just so sad that his mum and dad didn’t have their mum and dad anymore. But they talked about them often enough that Harry knew certain things. His dad had grown up around magic. His mum hadn’t. They had both had loving parents, and very different childhoods.

“Well, there are some people who think people like your mother, Muggle-borns, don’t belong,” Dad said. “There are people who think the only people who belong in this world are the ones whose parents grew up in it. They throw around arbitrary terms like Pure-blood and Half-blood and…”

“James,” Mum said, cutting him off.

His father sighed. “There are people who think what matters most is blood status. Those people are wrong, Harry. It doesn’t matter that you grew up knowing all about magic. That doesn’t make you any more deserving of it than someone who just learned they’ve got it, right?”

“That’s what the war was about, Harry,” Mum continued. “We were fighting so that people like me could keep our place in this world. So that people like your father and me—who grew up so different from one another—could have the right to build a life and family together. So that we could prove that blood status doesn’t matter.”

“It’s important that you understand,” Dad said. “It’s important because you’re going to meet people at Hogwarts who still believe blood status is all that matters. And you’re going to meet people like your mum, who only just found out about Hogwarts, and who belong there just as much as anyone else. Do you understand?”

Harry looked between his parents, and settled his gaze on his mother. “People were mean to you? Because you grew up Muggle?”

“They were,” Mum said with a sad smile.

“Well that’s stupid,” Harry decided. “You’re brilliant and you’re brave and you beat them. Obviously you belong.”

“Quite right, Harry,” Dad said. “Now, the other thing is – and we really don’t know if it will be an issue, if it will affect you at all, but people know who your mother and I are.”

“I know,” Harry said simply, and picked up his spoon to resume eating his breakfast. His parents stared at him. “What? People know you everywhere we go. They give you things. Because of some dark wizard or something.”

His parents looked at one another again. His mum reached for his dad’s hand across the table.

“Harry, what do you know about this dark wizard?” Mum asked.

He shrugged again. “I know he was really bad, and he was in charge of the other side in the war. And I know you guys fought him, and you won.”

“That…is…the story,” Dad said very slowly. “What do you know about that fight?”

Mum made a small sound. It wasn’t the usual I’m about to cry choking sound that she sometimes made. Dad squeezed her hand.

Harry was confused. How would he know? What could he possibly know? “That’s all.”

“Harry, we don’t want to frighten you,” Dad said gently. “But do you know you were there?”

“I was…there?” Harry asked, shocked. “When you fought him?”

“Yes,” Mum whispered. “The last time we fought him.”

Harry had always assumed he had been born after the war was over. He hadn’t had any clue he’d been born in the middle of it. He stared at his parents, trying to imagine them fighting a war and coming home to snuggle him at night. “Wow.”

“I don’t think now is the time to get into the whole story,” Dad said before Harry could ask for more details. “You still need to shower, and we need to be on our way. But we didn’t want you to go into Hogwarts completely unaware.”

“Can I ask one question?” Harry said.

Mum and Dad looked at one another. Mum reached over and combed her finger through his hair.

“What is it?” she asked.

“What was his name?” Harry asked. Dad’s eyebrows rose a bit. “I mean, people are going to know, won’t they?”

Dad considered this, and then nodded. “Different people called him different things, Harry. Those who feared him called him You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. His followers called him the Dark Lord. He called himself Lord Voldemort. And he had another name, a real name once. We only learned it after he was gone. Tom Riddle.”

“Tom Riddle isn’t a scary name. No wonder he changed it if he wanted to be evil,” Harry observed casually.

Dad’s lips twitched. He and his mother exchanged yet another glance.

“Do you think being evil is a choice?” Mum asked.

It felt less like he’d said something wrong, and more like a test. Harry nodded. “You told me everything is a choice. To be respectful, to be responsible, to be kind, to be good.”

“That’s exactly right,” Dad said. “Everything is a choice, and that’s why we do our best to make good ones, don’t we?”

Harry nodded again, then cocked his head curiously. “But why do some people make bad choices?” He didn’t mean like failing to make the bed, or leaving his trainers on the living room floor. “Why do some people choose to be evil?”

“Well, Harry,” Mum said slowly. “Some people don’t grow up around good influences. Some people grow up with parents who say really awful things about other people, and they think that’s normal and right. And they go and make friends who think that way as well. Voldemort didn’t think he was evil, Harry. He believed he was right.”

“So, people with bad parents make bad decisions?” Harry said.

“It’s not so simple as that, mate,” Dad told him. “Take Sirius. You know how he’s one of the best people we know?”

Harry nodded. Dad shrugged.

“He grew up in a house that believed Voldemort had the right idea,” Mum said.

Harry stared at them. He’d known Uncle Sirius hadn’t had the kindest parents. He hadn’t known it had been like that. “How did he turn out so good, then?”

Mum laughed. “He chose not to believe them, Harry. He chose to be friends with your father. He chose to see me as a capable classmate rather than just a Muggle-born. He chose to stand against dark magic.”

“Harry, you’re going to make some bad choices, too. You need to know that. It’s really easy to look forward and think I’m a good person, so everything I do must be right. That isn’t the case. You’re going to make mistakes. What’s important is that you learn from them.”

“Like when I stole your broom and accidentally crashed it,” Harry said.

“Exactly,” Dad agreed.

“Or when I picked up your wand when I was little and the Christmas tree set on fire,” he said, looking at Mum.

She frowned. Dad made an odd sound like he was choking on a laugh.

“That was you?” Mum asked.

Harry felt his shoulders hunch inward. He shouldn’t have said that. He nodded anyway.

Mum sighed. “Maybe we should have had this conversation sooner.”

“Imagine how many mysteries we could solve if we had a few days to get confessions out of this one,” Dad told her, gesturing at Harry, who pouted.

“We didn’t even pry. He just offered it up!” Mum said, stunned.

“He didn’t offer it up when he nearly burned the house down, did he?” Dad pointed out.

The clock chimed. Mum gasped and jumped up from her seat.

“You need to get ready, or you’ll miss the train!” she said.

“He’s not going to miss the train,” Dad said soothingly as she hurried out of the room, probably to check his trunk again. He turned to Harry with a hushed voice when she was out of earshot. “Best get a move on, though, yeah?”

Harry nodded and quickly shoveled down the rest of his porridge.

“Dad?” he asked, mouth full of food.

“Remember how we just talked about making good choices?” His father’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Choose table manners. Swallow your food before you speak.”

Harry did so. Painfully. “Dad, what were Voldemort’s followers called?”

His father’s eyes darkened. Not in the scary way they did when he was angry, but in the way they got when something painful came up. Harry didn’t really understand. They’d been talking about it and his parents had been mostly fine.

“Death Eaters,” his father said. “Why?”

Harry shrugged. “Just curious. Other people will know, won’t they?”

“Probably not,” Dad said. “They didn’t advertise themselves. People who still think Voldemort was on the right side of the war probably will.”

“Dad?” Harry asked again when his father carried his empty bowl to the sink.

“Yes?”

Harry hesitated. He remembered, now that his father had said Death Eaters again, the conversation he had overheard between his parents last night. His dad looked at him curiously over his shoulder.

“What really happened that night?” Harry asked. He could only guess now, after what they had already told him, that night was the last time they’d faced Voldemort. When they’d beaten him, and Harry had been there.

His father froze. After a moment, he turned to face Harry, soapy bowl still in hand. “What do you mean?”

“Last night I heard you and Mum talking and you said hardly anyone knows what happened that night,” Harry explained.

It took a while for his father to respond. He turned back to the sink and finished washing Harry’s porridge bowl. Harry understood he had brought up something he wasn’t supposed to know about. He didn’t take back the question, though. He wanted to know what his dad would say.

“A lot happened that night, Harry,” his father finally said very carefully, turning back to him after he’d dried his hands, and brushing his fingers through Harry’s fringe which mostly covered the odd little scar on his forehead. “Today isn’t the day for that particular tale, though.”

“But –” Harry protested.

“We will tell you,” his father interrupted firmly, but kindly. “One day. When you’re older and we’re not on a time crunch. Not today.”

“I hate that. When I’m older,” Harry pouted.

His father smiled. “I know. I’m sorry. It is what it is. Now go upstairs and shower quickly.”

Harry frowned and he dragged his feet and he stomped up the stairs, but he did as he was told.

Before he knew it, he was being herded towards the fireplace. His father went first, as he usually did, and took the large trunk and caged owl with him. Harry and his mother went together. Usually he would have begged to go on his own, but he was painfully aware again that he would not see his parents for a very long time.

The station was crowded. His father was looking around, taking stock of all of the new faces surrounding him. In her cage, Hedwig was squawking indignantly after travelling by Floo. Harry hurried forward and stuck a finger in her cage, trying to soothe her. She bit him, and he withdrew his finger quickly.

“Harry, look,” his mother said from behind him.

Harry turned and saw a very large, steaming, scarlet train. The words The Hogwarts Express stood out on its side in gleaming gold letters.

“Wow,” he breathed.

His father rested a hand on his shoulder. “Ready?”

Harry hesitated, then he nodded and dragged his trunk and Hedwig forward. His mother fretted about not being able to board the train and help him with his trunk. His father held her back.

“We can’t. You know how it is,” he heard his father say.

Harry found an empty compartment quickly. A couple of ginger-haired older students offered to help him load his trunk onto the overhead storage. When it was done, Harry turned to thank them, but they were already halfway down the corridor.

He made his way back onto the platform to his parents. His dad was smiling proudly. His mum was trying very hard not to cry.

Suddenly, surrounded by all his peers, Harry felt embarrassed by the urge to fling himself into their arms. The embarrassment soon passed, however, and he found himself in their warm embrace.

“Now, remember, be respectful and kind and do your homework and listen to Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall and all of your professors, really, and –” Mum rambled.

“Shower every day. Brush your teeth. And your hair, even though it’s hopeless,” Dad added. Harry rolled his eyes. “One day, you’ll appreciate having good personal hygiene, believe me, when you start noting how pretty girls are.”

“James,” his mother hissed.

“Am I wrong?” his father asked.

Mum rolled her eyes and kissed Harry’s forehead. “He’s not wrong.”

“Okay,” Harry groaned.

“Harry!”

Harry and his parents all turned to see Neville and his parents making their way towards them from the Floo grates.

“Hi, Neville!” Harry called.

“Hi!” Neville gasped as he reached them. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Potter!”

His parents smiled at Neville before they turned to greet Neville’s parents. Their fathers shook hands. Their mothers hugged.

“We’re running late. Mum thought we were going to miss the train. I couldn’t find Trevor,” Neville explained, showing Harry the toad he’d shoved into his pocket.

Looking at Trevor, Harry understood why his father had immediately vetoed a toad. Owls and cats were definitely cooler.

“That wouldn’t have been good,” Harry said diplomatically.

“Have you been on board yet, then?” Neville asked.

“Yeah.” Harry nodded. “I’ve got a compartment already. Should we sit together?”

“Yes! Please!” Neville said immediately.

Neville’s obvious nerves made Harry feel better about his own.

The train whistled loudly. Neville’s parents hugged and kissed him. Harry’s mum pulled him into another brief hug and his dad kissed him on the top of his head as the adults rushed the boys onto the train. His father slipped him a pouch full of coins for the Lunch Trolley.

Harry found his compartment again and helped Neville get his trunk loaded up. Harry and Neville threw open the window just as the train started rolling. They leaned out to wave to their parents. Harry’s mum was openly sobbing now as she waved goodbye. His dad was holding her with one arm, the other waving wildly to his son as a few tears slid down his face. Harry felt a little better about possibly crying himself to sleep tonight knowing his parents were probably going to be crying themselves to sleep as well.

He waved and waved until the train turned around a bend in the track and his parents disappeared from view. He and Neville looked at each other for a moment before Harry turned and closed the window. Just as they sat down, the door rolled open. A lanky boy with ginger hair stood there nervously.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked, fidgeting with the cracked handle of his trunk.

“Of course not,” Harry said, jumping up to help him drag the antique-looking trunk inside.

“First years?” the boy guessed as he sat down across from Harry and Neville, who both nodded. “Me, too. But I’ve got loads of brothers who’ve already been to Hogwarts. I’m Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley.”

“I’m Harry Potter,” Harry said. “This is Neville Longbottom.”

And as the three of them began chatting about what was ahead of them, Harry began to feel much more settled.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Ink stained hands and questionable morals