A/N: My friend likes next-gen fics, my other friend just wanted me to post something, and a third friend likes to read my writing… Then I got mad at my mom, and was left in a car with nothing but a pen, some tissues, and the rain outside for an hour forty-five. This is how I imagine James finding out who his Dad is. I present: Not Just My Father. Please RnR.
"I hate you! I hate you, I hate Mum, I hate your secrecy, I hate being your son, and I hate the people who thank you on the streets. You care more about them than about me don't you?" I was met with silence. "I knew it! I knew you didn't love me!"
The last thing I heard before I slammed the door was the echoes of sobs and the anguished cry of 'James!' It wasn't until I felt my pillow getting wet that I was the one crying wet, desperate tears.
.o0O0o.
There was someone stroking my hair. It was nice. Peaceful, warm even. I was in a bed, my bed. I stirred and stretched, feeling the tell-tale stiffness of my cheeks signifying that I'd been crying. As the events of earlier started assaulting my mind I couldn't help but feel a strange mixture of guilt, at Dad's expression, and satisfaction at what I'd said. I opened my eyes and was met with Mum's.
"Hey," she whispered, resuming the stroking of my hair.
"Hey," I whispered, copying her statement.
"What was that about earlier? Why were you yelling at Daddy?" I met her gaze silently. "He's beside himself, wondering what he's done to deserve your actions." Damn her, Mum always knew what to say to bring back my guilt full force. I broke her gaze and stared at the ceiling instead.
"I think I know what this is about. It's about Daddy's fame isn't it? You want to know why his fans continuously thank him, because you don't see what's so important to be constantly grateful for." I stare in shock as Mum voiced exactly what I was feeling. She was just missing one thing.
"I got Dad's Chocolate Frog card." It was out of me before I could stop myself.
"Oh," said Mum, feigning indifference but clearly surprised. I wasn't fooled. "They're out way early, it was supposed to be another three months."
I gave her a look. Yes, that look. "I got it in one of those special release boxes." 'How else?' I thought sarcastically.
"Really? What did it say?" Still trying to be calm, but obviously affected by my revelation.
"His date of birth. His school house. His best Quidditch feats. His Auror career. Us." I took a deep breath. "Him defeating Voldemort."
"Oh honey, I'm so sorry you had to find out that way." The anguish on Mum's face was almost unbearable to look at.
"Why? Why didn't anyone tell me?" I noticed with mild dissatisfaction that I was crying again.
"For the same reason that you're going to a Muggle primary school. We didn't want you to be scared, or get arrogant, or treat us as anything but your parents. We were going to tell you and Albus when Al turned 9, a month before the cards were supposed to come out. We were going to wait with Lily another two years until she was 9, and hope that her preference of licorice wands and Every Flavor Beans held out."
"Can you tell me what really happened now? I don't believe the crap about Neville killing him anymore."
"It's Mr. Longbottom to you James." Mum said, cracking the first smile I'd seen on her face since before my outburst. "Sit tight, I need to get something real quick before I explain."
"Alright, just be back soon."
"Of course," she said and with that left, closing the door behind her
.o0O0o.
It wasn't much later, maybe fifteen minutes, when Mum walked back into my room carrying something.
"What's that?" I asked.
She placed the box-type-thing on my desk and turned it towards me, showing me its contents.
It was, to my horror, filled with seven increasingly-thick books.
"These books are written by Hermione, under a pseudonym JK Rowling. It's a first-person account based on Daddy's memories and other sources of fact such as myself. It's the only full account of Daddy's life without any lies." I gaped.
"So... You want me to read all of these books to learn all of what happened?" I was intrigued, but at the same time apprehensive. Books were not, under any circumstances, my thing.
"Yes." Mum's answer was blunt.
"Does- Does Dad know?" I didn't want to know what happened if he didn't know I was learning it. It seemed too intimate, too personal, to read without his consent.
Mum nodded her head. "Of course, James. He agreed with me that it was time for you to know. Just don't tell your Albus or Lily, okay?"
"Sure," I mumbled, skimming my fingers along the pages. I picked up the first book.
"Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone," I read. "Is that the stone from Nicholas Flamel?" I asked, turning to Mum who was leaving my room now. "What does that have to do with Dad?"
She smiled. "You'll see." The door shut behind her.
.o0O0o.
'Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much...'
.o0O0o.
Let's just say that the next time I saw Dad I was in hysterical tears, and this time not because I was mad. No, because I now knew more about Dad than any other son knew about theirs. And I knew exactly why my behavior had been so harsh towards him. He wasn't just Dad anymore. He was the Boy Who Lived, the boy from under the cupboard, the Chosen One, and the bravest man anyone had ever had the luck of having as a father.