“No, no, I’m not alright. I’m definitely not alright.” (azkabanslegacy)
“Oh, Mini-Morsel.” He scoops his daughter up, trying not to let the pain and the fear in her eyes affect him; trying to not let her see that he’s hurting, too. That he’s scared, too.
That every bit as much as she doesn’t know what to do in a world where her mother no longer walks and walks and dances and laughs and scolds and loves, he knows even less.
His job, the only job that’s important and the only thing that matters in the world, is that he never lets Morgan see that he’s just as lost as she is without her.
He strokes her hair, and even now there’s still that part of him that’s amazed by her, the miracle of her, at how strongly and ferociously he loves her and how completely his world changed the first moment he laid eyes on her, her fingers grabbing his finger, so tiny and perfect. He couldn’t imagine then how it felt to love another person like this, to know that the world is a better place because your child’s come into it, and to know deep to your bones that there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to make it better and better for her, every day, to protect her and keep her safe.
And even then, he thinks, heart breaking over again as he presses a soft kiss to the top of her silky dark hair, there are things you can’t protect them from. Can’t stop. Can’t – can’t fix.
“Let’s leave bedtime off for a little bit,” he says, pulling back so he can look down at Morgan’s face, doing his best to keep his smile light and loving and let none of his own pain leak through. Doing his best to be the father his little girl needs, now that her mother is gone. “I know I could do with a midnight ice cream, and if I could I know you could, too.”
