This is just a one-shot inspired by the Ben Folds song Still Fighting It.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter characters or the song Still Fighting It, by Ben Folds.

Please Review, I don't know if it's any good.


Harry Potter was extremely bored. He was sitting in an office in the legal department in the ministry of magic. He had got an owl the week before telling him an interview had been set up with a Mr. Collins. The letter had failed to specify just what the meeting was about. To make matters worse, it was his seventeenth birthday and he knew Mrs. Weasley had prepared a party for him at The Burrow.

"Thank you for coming today, Mr. Potter. We really appreciate it. This won't take too long. We just have to discuss the matter of your parents will."

Harry sat up at these words. He hadn't known his parents had a will. Why had they not told him before? When he voiced these thoughts Mr. Collins replied that he had to be of age to receive anything.

"Here is a list of it all. Everything from the house to your father's broomsticks and your mother's jewellery. Feel free to look through it. I'll go and get us some tea and then we can go through it together," he finished and left Harry alone in the small conference room with the folder.

Harry picked up the folder slowly. A small scroll of parchment fell out the bottom. He put the folder down carefully and picked up the scroll. On the outside, in neat handwriting was a name. His name. Harry.

With shaking hands Harry carefully unrolled the old parchment and read the letter inked on the inside in the neat handwriting.

My darling Harry,

If you're reading this I suppose I'm dead. So let's hope you never have to read it. But obviously you're reading it now so I am dead and you're all grown up.

I'm sitting next to your crib as I write this. You're asleep. You look so beautiful. Every night I sit here next to you and watch you sleep. I dare not touch you. You're so small you look as if you'd break. But then you wake up and scream like you're on fire and I know you're your mother's son. She yells at me too.

This was her idea, this letter. She said we had to be prepared for the worst. And I suppose, after we heard the prophesy, we knew what the worst would be. It was terrible, listening to the prophesy so soon after you were born. We had waited so long for you to arrive, and you were being taken away, in a manner of speaking. It was only after Voldemort came after us the first time that we decided to go into hiding.

It was the hardest decision of my life. You have no idea, or maybe you do, of the choice I had to make in choosing a secret keeper. I won't tell you our plan in case it's still in action but let me tell you, Harry, these are dark times, but we'll keep fighting, for you.

I hope that the world you're living in now is safe and peaceful. I would hate for you to grow up with an evil psycho killer on the loose. But just in case he is still around remember, son that you will always have someone to turn to. Your friends will always be there. We will always be there, watching your life unfold. I can't wait to see it.

I know that you will be successful in whatever you do. You'll be a great Quidditch player and fantastic at all your subjects. And then once you've grown up, you'll have a fabulous career. I can see it all, my son. You will have a wonderful life.

But I suppose I have to tell you. It does hurt, growing up. Sometimes you'll feel like nobody understands you and sometimes girls will reject you. But whenever you feel down or alone in the world, just remember that you are my son, and you will always have me, even if I'm not there anymore.

You are just like me, you know. Brave to the point of giving your mother a heart attack. Hair that will never stay down, no matter how little you have of it. But you have your mother's beautiful eyes. They started turning green a few weeks after we brought you home and she started crying. She thought you would be exactly like me. I must say it's a relief that you aren't exactly like me. But I think I have to say sorry about the hair. I promise you'll get used to it.

You know, I always dreamed that in twenty years or so we'd sit down in the garden with a glass of whiskey and I'd tell you about the day you were born. I picked you up for the first time and you just looked at me with big blue eyes and my life changed forever. But I guess now, if you're reading this, I never got the chance to tell you.

I want you to know that your mother and I will love you forever and beyond. You are our miracle, our light in the dark, our beacon of hope and we thank the heaven's everyday that we have you.

My baby, my son, my Harry,

I'm sorry.

With all the love in my heart,

Your father,

James

Harry sat at the small table with tears rolling down his cheeks and silent sobs racking his body. He cried for all that he had lost and all that could have been. He cried for his father and his shattered dreams. He knew, now more than ever, that he wanted to defeat Voldemort, and he would manage it, somehow. For his father, who he knew, in his heart, was still watching over him.