Through The Years
Summery: AU! It's been almost 20 years since Harry had gone to live in America with no intentions on ever coming back. Will his 17 year-old son be able to reunite his father with his old friends? How about his old lover? Eventually HP/DM SLASH! Mentions of HP/CC. HG/RW. OC

"Dad?" The seventeen year-old nervously cleared his throat. His father, Harry Evans, looked up at him from his book.

"Yes, Conner?" The older man asked gently, sensing his son's discomfort. Conner swallowed and looked over at his father's concerned face.

"Why...why didn't you ever start dating again after mom?" The teen quickly cast his eyes to the plush carpet beneath his feet. "I mean, it wasn't like she was irreplaceable or anything." Conner muttered bitterly. His father chuckled.

"Well, if I had known that you had disliked her that much, I would have gotten rid of her a long time before I did." Conner frowned, pondering his father's teasing words.

"Dad, you divorced her right after I was born!" The older Evans man smirked and elbowed his son, trying to ease the frown from the teen's face with a gentle jest.

"At least I got the better end of the deal!"

"Dad, you paid her alimony for giving birth to me and then paid her off so you could get permanent custody! This isn't a joke, Dad! How much did I cost?"

Guilt settled heavily in Conner's gut when his father sighed and set his book down. Even as the older man stood and nodded in the direction of the hallway, indicating that Conner should follow him; Conner could only think about how much he just screwed up by hurting the person he loved the most.

Conner followed, wallowing in the guilt he felt for questioning his dad on his past. The past was rarely mentioned and for a good reason. Conner knew that the older man had left England because things became to painful to bare and, as the man's son, Conner didn't question why. He respected his dad and knew; whatever the reason, that it had been necessary.

Before he knew it, the two of them were standing by the small door of the cupboard under the stairs. Since ever before Conner could remember the cupboard had always been locked. A thick, steel padlock was firmly in place, as were several wards that could keep even a troll out.

So imagine Conner's confusion when all his father had to do was wave his fingers and the heavy padlock snapped open and fell to the floor with a dull thud.

The thin door was next; it splintered open with its rusty hinges creaking, causing small pieces of dust, dirt, and rotting wood to fall to the carpeted floor. His dad squatted down and gently, as if he were drawing a small, terrified child out of the dark and into his arms, pulled four cardboard boxes free.

Harry must have stayed motionless, his fingertips barely skimming over the closed flaps of the nearest box, for thirty seconds before he stood again and Conner was stunned to see traces of tears glimmering in his green eyes. The teen laid a light hand on his father's shoulder, a gesture of what he hoped would be perceived as comfort.

"Dad?" Harry shook his head, clearing the unshed tears and walked past him.

Conner looked back down at the boxes that had caused such a reaction with the man he considered to be made of steel and wondered what could possibly be in them that could do so. He was startled out of his reverie when he heard his father's soft voice.

"I'm sorry, Conner. Everything in those boxes should answer your questions."

Conner nodded and looked back down at the seemingly innocent cardboard sitting next to him. When his father continued in that gently, soothing voice of his, Conner looked back up, seeing nothing but love and devotion pouring from the man in front of him.

"Conner...just so you know, I would have given the world for you."

Conner blinked back tears from his own hazel eyes and whispered, "I know, Dad, I know."

Harry nodded in a sad sort of acceptance and proceeded into the next room. Pots and pans clanged together and Conner knew that he'd eat well tonight.

Whenever his dad would get upset, or excited, or depressed, or couldn't sleep(nightmares stilled plagued his dreams), or whatever; he would cook. His concoctions were mouth-watering at their worst and it was amazing to see the recipes he had improved upon.

There were even several thick cook books that were written and corrected in every margin and Conner had been tempted many times to enter Harry in one of those Chef reality shows, just to get his cooking out there. His father had smiled at his son's enthusiasm, but had steadfastly declined, saying he didn't want what he enjoyed, becoming his job.

Conner was sort of glad that he had been talked out of that idea because if his father cooked all day, would he want to come home and cook? Conner doubted it and plus, that ever- present scent of baking and cooking was one of the things that made the Evans household warm and...well...home.

Conner shook his head to clear his mind and brought it back to focus on the boxes that held all of his father's secret past.