"I was told my father was an Auror," Harry says into the silent room. The blond witch across from him gives him a small nod to let him know she'd heard his silent question.

"He was, for all of a week. Siri dragged him to training until their first mock battle. James couldn't handle it. Broke down and walked out. Siri graduated and became a personal investigator, claiming it made more money. Your father signed up for healer training the day he left the ministry. Healer Yale took him in, he owned a small office about an hour from London. He became a full healer just before he had to leave with you. Yale told him the practice was his if he ever wanted it, no matter who was running it after Yale retired." The witch explains evenly.

She'd been shocked to get an owl from Harry, though maybe, she shouldn't have been. James was smart, he knew he was being watched, and he had apparently put safetys in place at his honorary brothers home in case something had ever happened to him.

Her eyes wander involuntarily to the photo album on the table between them, along with a note that was yellowed in age. Still, James' looping cursive was all over it, edge to edge and it seemed to be several feet of ink covered parchment right down to the bottom. She wanted to flip it over just to see if he wrote on the backside as well. Knowing him, he probably had.

"What made you contact me, Harry?" she asks, looking up again. His bright green eyes were blown wide, and he was chewing on his bottom lip like he was a starving man. She wanted to chide him like she would her own son if he was caught doing that but reminded herself patiently that Harry was raised with muggles, not in her home.

No matter how wrong that entire sentence sounded.

"I… I was cleaning out an old room at Sirius' place. It looked used and we had been told to ignore it but… well, I don't listen to direct orders well. So on one of my sleepless nights, I went rummaging, Found a trunk that stuck my finger, and when the lid opened I found… this, among other things." he trails off vaguely and I wait. When he doesn't continue I raise an eyebrow.

"Forgive me, but that doesn't tell me why you contacted me."

"I didn't want to talk to your husband yet," he mutters back. He sounds petulant.

"Why don't you want to talk to him?"

"Because! My father said he was…" he trails off, making a face that I can't read. Then he seems to realize what he's said and looks at me, wide-eyed like I was going to strike him down.

"That he was his lover? I know. We both had lovers at the time. I still have mine. I've never actually shared my husband's bed." I relax, now that I know what this meeting is about. James must have written Harry a letter telling him what really happened. That would explain why it was so long-winded.

"So James told you he was actually your carrier." I muse. At the choked sound he makes I smile.

"We were pregnant at the same time. I quickly became a good friend of your fathers. You both lived at the manor with us until Dumbledore got suspicious. That was when your godmother became your 'mum' and you all went into hiding."

"Dumbledore?" he murmurs, to himself mostly. I nod but don't elaborate when he glances at the note he has on the table.

"May I?" I ask, moving a hand towards the photo album. He nods a bit jerkily and then he pushes the album to me himself. I flip it open carefully and have to grin at the first picture as James waves at me enthusiastically. My husbands' image rolls his eyes, but doesn't remove his hands from around his lover and ducks his head to press his face into James' hair. I still saw the grin he was hiding. I notice that his hands are resting on James' rounded stomach. The second picture on the first page was slightly larger, and I was surprised to see myself and my infant son in it. We were sitting on a couch, and my lover was standing next to the chair. James had his feet on my husbands' lap and his slight bump from the first picture was a mountain as he lays on his back, nearly nine months pregnant. My sister must have taken the picture because none of us are looking at the camera. It looks as if James fell asleep while having his feet rubbed.

Various other pictures are in the book. None of them in any real order. Some from our school days, some while James was pregnant, some while Harry was a small child. There was even a few from after they had gone into hiding from Dumbledore. Lily's bright red hair fanning out as she coos at her year-old godson was an image I hadn't expected.

"Dad says that Dumbledore is the one making all this happen. That if he died it was because Dumbledore had ordered Voldemort to do it."

"Yes."

"Why would Tom follow Dumbledore?" he mutters, probably to himself again.

"Not Tom, Harry. Tom is a good man, who wasn't even in the country until about a year ago. He'd been studying in Brazil for the past five years, and in America for at least seven before that. Voldemort is a guise that Dumbledore is using. We don't know who he is, or what Dumbledore plans for him." I correct him, not wanting him to mistake the Tom I had staying in my home with the thing that Dumbledore had created. He nods distractedly, staring off to my left slightly.

"Harry?" I call when he doesn't talk for a few minutes and I've finished the photo album.

"I don't know what Voldemort is, but he used the bones from Toms father to create himself." He murmurs, eyes snapping into focus at me. I want to rip Dumbledore apart at the look in Harry's eyes. He looked… dead.

"That's not possible, Harry. Toms father is very much alive. He lives in Greenland. He is a muggle, yes, but he never died." I correct again. A pained look crosses his face and he shakes his head but doesn't say anything else. There's another, long pause of silence.

"What is it you wanted from me?" I decide on getting to the point of this midnight meeting.

"I wanted to know if that was true. Well, not if it was true but... if it was true, why is it that no one has ever tried to get me back to my father?"

"Oh, Harry, you think we didn't try?" I breathe out, lurching forward. The move seems to surprise him and I quickly sit back again.

"We tried every day for seven years to get you into our custody. Dumbledore blocked us at every chance. He sealed James' will and placed you with those muggles. My husband still hasn't given up finding a way to get you into his custody, but he's doing it quietly now and that's taking a lot longer. We told my son not to tell you. He doesn't remember you, but he knows that you're my husbands' son. I think, perhaps, that's why you don't get along all that well." I muse, getting a small smile out of the child. He was 14, had just fought for his life for over nine months and now he's learned that the people he was supposed to trust were trying to kill him.

"I don't know what I want. I want… I don't want to stay with you, I don't want to see… him. Not yet. But I don't want to keep staying with Sirius if he's lying to me."

"Sirius isn't lying to you. Neither is Remus. They took an unbreakable vow to keep you safe, to keep themselves from slipping up. They were never allowed to talk about your parents unless they knew that the person knew about them already. Since you didn't know…" I trail off as his whole posture relaxes.

"That's why I was able to leave without any difficulty tonight. And probably why the room was unlocked when he knew that I have had a habit of… wandering lately." he says, relief in his voice.

"You can talk to him now. But only when you know you're alone and I wouldn't do it anywhere you think Dumbledore could have something recording your conversation." I caution him. There's another long pause and I sigh.

"If that's all…"

"Three more things. Please." Harry cuts in quickly. I settle back into the chair and he's back to chewing on his lip again.

"Can I write you? If I have questions about my dad? Or my… father. Or just… I don't think I can talk about this with anyone else yet." he's pleading with me even as I'm nodding.

"Of course you can. Any time. What else?"

"Will you give this to your husband?" he asks, sliding a bundle towards me. I open it cautiously, seeing an old envelope with my husbands' name in James' script. Another, fresher looking envelope is also there, and an almost messy scrawl across it makes me realize it must be Harry's handwriting. A photo album similar in color to the one on the table in front of me is also in the bundle. I fold the paper around it again, nodding once, and waiting expectantly for the final thing. He huffs, and his face goes bright red.

"I need… can you do a check up on me? I know that dad said you were a healer as well…"

"A Checkup? Why?" I ask, alarmed. His face darkens and he shakes his head once.

"Just… a full checkup, please. If… after I read dads letter I realized… just, if I'm right, I'm going to need a checkup. Please." he pleads with me. I huff at the complete non-answer but agree and make him move to the bed in the small room. He lays back carefully and closes his eyes as my wand begins waving around him.

Slight dehydration, nothing a glass of water won't fix. Malnutrition, but I already knew that with his height. No bruising, no broken bones though his right hand must be painful to use with the way the bones reset. His eyes were several degrees worse then the prescription he was using. And…

"Oh, Harry!" I nearly drop my wand and he winces without opening his eyes.

"Damn."

"Harry James! You are 14!" I choke out, stumbling to sit on the edge of the bed. His eyes snap open and he watches me wearily.

"Fifteen now."

"Not the point young man!"

"It's the age of consent in the wizarding world," he mutters, though he's not looking at me when I send a glare his way.

"Seeing as how you turned 15 an hour ago and you're-" I pause and flick my wand impatiently here, waiting for the results-

"Twelve weeks pregnant! I don't see how that's consensual! Whose the father?" I demand, ready to rip into whoever had defiled the fourteen-year-old. His face falls immediately and tears spring to his eyes so fast that my anger deflates into bewilderment.

"Harry?"

"It doesn't matter anymore," he mutters, sniffling as he sits up.

"Harry, whoever got you pregnant needs to not only pay for it but support you! You can't just let him-"

"He's dead so there isn't much he can do to support me!" he snaps loudly, cutting off my rant. I stutter to a stop, wide-eyed as he flings his legs off of the bed and stands, going to pace the room. I watch him, eyeing his loose fitting shirt as my brain processes what it was he said. Dead? No one has died that recently, at least…

"Oh, Harry. Cedric?" I murmur, and his whole body cringes away from me, giving me a good idea that I'd guessed correctly. It's silent as I take that in and he stands facing away from me. His shoulders are shaking and I know he's crying. Finally, I stand and move behind him, unsure if he'd want any comfort from me of all people or not.

"Are you keeping the child?"

"Yes!" his furious, fast answer has me smiling despite the situation.

"Good. will you let me help you?"

He turns to look at me in surprise and I touch his shoulder gently.

"You don't think that they will let you keep the child, do you? No matter who the father is, you're the savior. You can't be anything but pure and light, you know that."

"So I, what? Runaway?"

"Yes."