For some of my favourite fictional dads on Father's Day.

Harry loved the post-dinner lull of Sunday afternoons. The day became very still, almost as if time itself was recovering from Molly Weasley's famously excellent roast, and the ever-growing Weasley clan, rubbing their stomachs and groaning, dispersed around the house and garden. Some lounged in the living room, the radio on, often tuned to Quidditch, some wandered off for a nap - though most people first offered to help Molly clear up the debris of almost twenty people devouring dinner and pudding. Though the early years had seen her shooing everyone away, there was enough mess made now that she couldn't turn down the help, and it was usually an excuse for exchanging gossip while doing the washing up.

On this particular Sunday afternoon, the washing up had been, for the moment, forgotten, as members of the family crowded around Ginny, peppering her with questions, well-wishes and advice following the big announcement she and Harry had made before dinner. Ginny, from what Harry could see of her through his excited sisters-in-law, seemed pleased, if a little overwhelmed, by the flood of information and tips she was receiving. He had already heard Fleur reeling off a list of specialist French potions and creams for easing the pains of pregnancy, followed by: "Zey will tell you do not drink wine, zis is nonsense, in France zey understand zat a woman must 'ave wine always, eet ees 'ealthy. Do not listen to ze Eenglish 'ealers, zey know nuzink, and zey are very badly dressed."

He himself had received slaps on the back and hearty congratulations from Ginny's brothers; Percy had added that he would be delighted to offer advice on the subject of fatherhood, to which Harry had felt the only response was to smile politely and quickly talk about something else. But he could not help the slight uneasiness he felt as he realised that Percy, Bill and George had all had someone to turn to as they became fathers, and not only that, but that person had always been there as a role model. They knew how to be a good father; they had seen one in action their entire lives.

He had been utterly ecstatic about expecting a baby since the moment he'd found out, but until now it had not seemed quite real; the only people who had known were Ron, Hermione and Hagrid (Harry, visiting him, had not been able to resist); but announcing it to the Weasleys made it suddenly very real indeed. He was going to be a father.

And he had no idea how to do it properly.

Not for a long time had he craved his own father's presence in his life so desperately; wished with all his might that James Potter was there to offer sage advice and put him at ease. If Harry had grown up with his dad, surely he would feel better about becoming one himself: it would be instinctual. What had he had? Uncle Vernon, who would likely sooner utter the word 'wizard' than give Harry advice.

A wave of panic hit him. In six months, his child would be born, and he would be responsible for ensuring they were well-rounded and happy and much less drawn to trouble than he himself had been, though he supposed that the Dark wizard hell-bent on his destruction had contributed somewhat to the latter.

He was caught up in his thoughts that he did not hear someone approach the place where he stood, and jumped violently when they spoke directly to him.

"Everything all right?"

Arthur was smiling at him kindly.

"Wh-? Oh – yeah," Harry managed. "Fine."

"Certain?"

"Mmhm."

"Well, good." Arthur's eyes remained on him; he looked thoughtful for a moment, then said abruptly:

"I'm popping out to the shed to check on a few things. I wouldn't mind some company, if you're at a loose end."

"Er – sure," said Harry, surprised.

He let Arthur lead the way into the garden, down to the stone outhouse where the Weasley children had stored their brooms. It now appeared to house a hoard of Muggle gadgetry, both working and not; as Arthur gestured for him to take a seat on a rickety old stool, Harry noticed at least three toasters, one (worryingly) with a knife jammed into it, four unplugged telephones, and several large boxes full of batteries.

"I've got some marvellous new things in here," Arthur told him enthusiastically, gesturing at the laden, lopsided shelves. "The Muggles just keep coming up with new inventions … it's really quite impressive." He pointed at a large, silver rectangular device with many buttons. "Now that is something I've been trying to get my hands on for a while. I've yet to take it apart to see how it all works, but … you'll know what it is, I suppose?"

Harry squinted.

"Erm …"

"No? Aha!" Arthur looked quite delighted to be the one in the know. "That, Harry, is a duvudee player."

"What does it do?"

"Well, it ... I mean, as far as I can see, it … actually, to tell you the truth, I'm not quite sure," he confessed. "But I'm told they're very popular amongst Muggles. I believe it has something to do with the television. I've got six of those," he added proudly.

"That's … great," said Harry, trying to keep a straight face. "Y'know, I'm meeting up with my cousin in a few weeks' time," he went on, remembering suddenly. "I can ask him about the du- the thing."

"Oh, that would be fantastic!" exclaimed Arthur. "Goodness me, yes, I'd be very grateful, Harry. Now, how is that cousin of yours? Is he well?"

"I think so, he seems to be doing all right for himself … we don't talk much …"

"And your aunt and uncle? In good health, I hope?"

"As far as I know. I haven't seen them since everything settled down," Harry admitted. "I don't think they'd really want to see me."

Thinking about the Dursleys made his uncertainties intensify. He stared down at his hands, pulling at a loose thread on his robes. When he looked up again, he saw that Arthur was regarding him with an unreadable expression.

"It's wonderful news about the baby," he said. "Simply wonderful. Molly and I are over the moon. And you … you're all right, are you? It's a big step, of course, and it does take one some time to adjust … I remember …"

Harry's automatic instinct was to reply "no, I'm fine", but something stopped him. Arthur was still surveying him, almost as if he could tell that Harry was far from fine.

He would never have his own father; he could not get back that lost childhood. But who better to ask for help than the best father he knew?

"Actually – I'm a bit stressed about it all," he confided, and watched Arthur carefully for his reaction. His face broke into an easy smile.

"Well now, who wouldn't be?"

"I – I know probably everyone panics, but it's more than that," said Harry. "I've never … I didn't grow up with a dad. I don't know how you do it. I don't feel like I have any – instincts, or anything …"

"You've been young Teddy's guardian since you were seventeen," Arthur pointed out. "And you seem to have handled that very well indeed."

"Yeah, but that's different. At the end of the day, or the weekend or whatever, I can give Teddy back to his gran and it's not – I'm not the one who has the biggest impact on how he grows up, am I? With my kid, I will be." Harry stared gloomily at his hands. "I just … I don't think I have it in me to be a good father."

"Well, of course you do!"

"How do you –"

"Harry, I was younger than you when Bill was born," Arthur cut in. "Things were looking very uneasy and Molly and I were barely out of our teens. Terrified of bringing a child into that world. And terrified, in general, of becoming parents. I remember sitting up for nights as the months went on, just thinking of all the things that could go wrong … trying to imagine myself as a father, and failing." He pulled off his glasses as he spoke and cleaned them on his jumper, appearing to gather his thoughts before he continued. "Then Bill came along, and from the moment I held him … I knew that I would do everything in my power to keep him happy and healthy. I feared I wouldn't always manage, but I knew that for as long as I lived, I would always try."

"So after that … you weren't scared any more?" Harry asked tentatively.

Arthur snorted incredulously. "Not scared! Harry, I was petrified. But that fear keeps you doing your best. You tell yourself, I will not let this, or that, happen to my child. Sometimes you'll fail. Sometimes … you can't do anything about it."

His eyes clouded over, and Harry knew where his mind had gone. He let a silence fall, swallowing hard against the lump that formed in his own throat.

"You will never stop worrying about your children," Arthur said eventually, his voice slightly hoarse. "Even now, I still worry. Today I'm thinking, will Ginny be all right with giving up Quidditch to have the baby? Will you two manage with your work hours? Will your fame be a problem? But I'm also thinking about what I can do. Help you two out with childcare so Ginny might be able to go back to playing, for example. You see? It is instinctual, but I didn't know about those instincts up until the moment Bill was born. It changes something deep inside you … it's primal, almost. But you'll find that out for yourself … just how much you can love one small human being."

Leaning over, he laid a hand on Harry's arm.

"You were deprived of a great many things," he said gently. "Not least the constant presence of a parent. But that doesn't make you any less able to be one yourself. Don't you feel that you would do anything to keep your own child from experiencing what you did?"

"Of course," said Harry at once. "Yeah. I mean … I know I'd never let them be shut in a cupboard."

"Well, I can tell you that's a perfectly good place to start." Arthur slapped his knees as he sat back in his seat, smiling. "Harry, I assure you – you're going to be a wonderful dad. I can feel it in my bones." He winked. "Fatherly instinct."

"Thank you," said Harry sincerely. "For – everything."

"Don't mention it." Concern crossed Arthur's face. "Or – er – the duvudee player, if you wouldn't mind. Molly doesn't know I'm still collecting, you see …"