Hands
By: Amilia Padfoot
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this Fic only the idea for the story.
Summary: Hands can say a lot about a person. Some believe they can tell your future, but for Harry, they tell his past - and when his son asks why his are different, questions must be answered. NextGen
A/N: Fourth fan Fic! Only a one-shot. Sorry to those who are waiting for 'Why aren't you talking to him?' but I'm taking a bit of a break from it and I've been looking relentlessly for a beta. Thank you so much to DramionePerfected for beta-ing this! Anyway on with what you actually came here to read.
"Weeeee!" little Albus Severus Potter cried as his legs left the ground for a second, then landed back on the pavement again. "Again! Again!" he cheered. His father chuckled beside him.
"Okay, okay, but only one more time, yeah? Me and your mum's arms are getting tired."
"Yes, and we really need to get going." His mother added gently. "You want to get home for dinner, don't you?" Albus looked up at his mother and nodded enthusiastically - it seemed although he was Potter through and through, the Weasley stomach gene had managed to creep its way in. He stayed silent for a second before cocking his head to one side and widening his eyes as he pierced his mum with his best pleading look. His innocent face and huge emerald eyes, so like those of his fathers, were enough to make her heart melt as he asked,
"Can we go really high this time?"
"Okay, okay!" She conceded, laughing slightly as she accepted defeat. "But hang on tight to our hands, okay?" He nodded and gripping their hands tight, his mum on his right and his dad on his left, took a few steps back, and clung on as his parents swung him high into the air.
"Weeeee!" he cried again, the gentle spring breeze in his hair. All too soon his feet were back on the pavement. He looked up at his dad and saw him grinning at him. He returned the grin and continued walking with his parents, feeling completely content. It wasn't often that he got to spend time alone with his parents, as they were both very busy. Harry, being Head Auror, was always at work and when he was at home he seemed to spend hours in his study, submerged in paperwork. Albus tried hard not to be resentful. He knows what his dad does is important. His mum had told him that his dad fought to keep them safe, to keep the Wizarding world safe, and he admired his dad for it. Truly. He only wished he could spend a bit more time with him. He did get to spend more time with his mum though, as she could stay at home to do her writing, but she seemed to be preoccupied with little Lily now, and it just wasn't the same as being with his dad.
But today was different, Albus reminded himself. His father had finally gotten a break in the big case he had been working relentlessly on, James was away at Hogwarts and Lily had been spending quantity time with her Godmother, Luna, who had came back from trying to spot the 'Lock-Ness Monster', as Muggles called it, up in Scotland. Albus had had his parents all to himself for the whole day and he couldn't have been happier.
Albus closed his eyes contently, tired after the days adventures, and he felt his mum squeeze his hand gently. He loved to touch his mum's hands. They were soft and tender, like white velvet. His dad's weren't as soft as his mothers. They were firmer and stronger than his mum's daintily hands and yet they still gave him the same comforting effect. He could never fail to feel safe within them.
Albus suddenly felt himself being tugged back slightly as his dad stopped abruptly. He looked back at him, wondering why he had suddenly stopped and saw him looking up at a sign on the wall beside them.
"What is it Harry?" His mother asked, obviously wondering why they had stopped too.
"Silver Street" He read, and then turned to his mum. "Wasn't the park in Silver Street?"
"Yes… it is," she confirmed, sounding as confused as Albus felt.
"Didn't we just come from the park?" His dad let go of his hand and turned towards the other side of the street. Sure enough the gates to Wilmock Park stood visibly on the other side.
"How did that happen?" Ginny asked, genuinely surprised, but amused none the less.
"Must have made a wrong turning somewhere," His dad chucked. "Aren't your parents silly, Albus?"
Albus grinned cheekily and nodded while Ginny cleared her throat.
"Excuse me. Parents? You're the one who was supposed to know the way!"
"Oh, so your blaming me, are you?" Harry retorted - and they were off, bickering as they walked. Albus smiled at his parents, knowing they were not really arguing, tuning out of the banter as he took his parents hands again, this time walking with them in the right direction. He let his mind wonder as he looked up at the nearly cloudless sky. Spotting a wisp of cloud floating among the blue, he wondered wistfully what it would be like to touch a cloud. It would be really soft and fluffy, he imagined - but definitely not as soft as his mother's hands. As if to prove it, he brushed his thumb across his mother's hand, marvelling at the softness. He did the same with his father's, knowing it wouldn't be as soft - but he didn't care. It was then that he felt something he hadn't expected. His dad's left hand felt different to his right. It had a slightly bumpier texture to it; the skin slightly stretched and puckered. Albus frowned, wondering why this was.
Before he could ponder this anymore he realised they had stopped again. Looking up he understood that they were home. His mother let go of his hand as she opened the gate to let them through.
"Um, Al? I'm gonna need that back." Albus looked up, startled. He had been so lost in thought he hadn't even realised they had gone inside. How long had he been standing in the hallway holding his father's hand? "Al, are you okay?" his dad asked, eyes full of concern. Albus decided he was probably being silly but still, to put his mind at rest, he held his dad's hand up to see and noticed the reason for the change in texture. There was a faded scar that ran along the outside of his father's hand.
"Dad? What's that?" he enquired, now holding up the hand for his dad to see.
"Nothing Al. Just a scar." He replied quickly, off-handed, but at those words Albus could have sworn he saw his dad's eyes darken as he looked down at his scarred hand. He smiled reassuringly at his son, a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes, and made to walk into the kitchen. Albus hung on to his hand, refusing to let go as a sickening realisation struck him. He had noticed how the scar was not a straight line but had spaces in it, almost a sentence. 'No,' he thought, horrified. It was a sentence.
"But it's words dad. Words! How can you get hurt in a way that leaves words on your hand?" His dad turned back towards him, his expression unreadable, face clouded over.
"Look Al, it's nothing really. I got it ages ago - it doesn't hurt or anything!" he explained hurriedly, hoping to put his sons mind at rest.
"But why do you have it?" he peered down at his dad's hand again, this time looking more closely. The words were faded, barely visible but there none the less. I must not tell lies. "You're not a liar!" Albus shouted suddenly and passionately, he looked up at his dad, his eyes blazing furiously, as if daring anyone to contradict him.
"Shh, Albus, I know I'm not," Harry soothed him, taking a step closer to his son. His tone only calmed Albus a little.
"Then why does it say that on your hand?" The words rang through his head. I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies. "Did you put it there?" he demanded.
"In a way I guess-" his father began.
"Why? Why would you want to?" he demanded again. He needed to know. He needed to understand. He couldn't even begin to comprehend why his dad, of all people, would put such a thing on his hand. It scared him slightly. Surely his dad knew he wasn't a liar. He had just said he did, hadn't he?
"I didn't want to" He replied, and Albus felt a slight prickle of understanding. He felt slightly ashamed that he even thought his dad would want to put such a thing on his own skin, to brand himself with such a statement. However, the shame was greatly over shadowed by fierce anger.
"Did someone make you do it?"
"In a sense, yes," his dad rubbed his eyes blearily with his free hand, just as he always did when trying to explain a complicated matter.
"What do you mean?" Albus was beginning to feel impatient. Why couldn't his father give him a straight answer? Said father sighed exasperatedly. It was obvious that he didn't want to talk about it but right now, but Albus needed answers.
"She didn't physically force me, as such, but she did demand that I did it."
"She?" Albus was puzzled.
"Yes. Her name was Dolores. Dolores Umbridge." Albus didn't miss the loathing in which his father said her name "She was my DADA teacher in fifth year."
"She was a teacher?" Albus couldn't understand this at all. Weren't teachers supposed to protect their students?
"If you could call her that. She didn't teach us much," His bitter tone betrayed that it was an understatement.
"So she made you put I must not tell lies on your hand?" He said slowly, trying to understand. His dad just nodded slightly. Albus looked down again at his dad's hand, anger still flickering in his eyes. "It's your handwriting" he stated hollowly.
"I wrote it."
"It won't come of?" Albus asked, looking up at his dad once more, hoping vainly that he was wrong.
"No, Al" He sighed. "It won't. Trust me, I've tried."
"But you must of used ink-" he began, but his dad shook his head,
"She made me use a special quill, one called a blood-quill. I wrote the lines on paper, just like you would in any normal detention, and they came out-" he trailed off, noticing the horrified look on his son's face.
"She made you write with your own blood?" He suddenly let go of his dad's hand as if scared of hurting him. "On-on your own hand?" His dad just nodded. "That's- that's sick! Why would someone do that? Why did she do that?"
"She wanted to punish me," his dad shrugged. Albus didn't know whether to be more disturbed that someone had wanted to do this to his father or the unconcerned way in which he was talking about it.
"What on earth for!" His dad rubbed his eyes again but quickly dropped his hand when he noticed his son's repulsed gaze.
"I gave her, well … a lot of cheek I suppose, in her lessons. So… she gave me detention," he explained, reluctantly.
"She made you carve words into your own hand for giving her cheek?" Albus spluttered incredulously. "What's that got to do with lying, anyway?"
"I told her -and the rest of the Gryffindor/Slytherin DADA class - that Voldemort was back"
"But- but he was! Right? I mean, you wouldn't lie about something like that."
"Yes. I was telling the truth, but no-one believed me back then, Al" his dad replied heavily.
"Why not?"
"Well, to tell the truth, nobody wanted to believe he was back. People didn't want to face the truth, Al. Voldemort did some terrible things; they didn't want to go through it all again. The Ministry in particular. They didn't want to accept he was back so they convinced themselves and everyone else that I was lying. That I was just stirring up trouble for the sake of it, to get attention."
"That's stupid!" Albus cried. How could anyone accuse his dad of being attention-seeking? He was the opposite in extreme. Harry smiled slightly at his son's indignation.
"It's not hard to convince people of something they want to believe. You see it's not really that stupid. If anyone told me now that he was back, Merlin forbid-"he shivered slightly at the thought. "-I wouldn't want to believe it either. I wouldn't want to accept it. Not after everything that happened, after everything we lost, I wouldn't- I don't want to go through it again. If I was then told that that person was a liar and that he was just stirring up trouble I might not believe them but Merlin, Al I'll tell you now I would want to believe it" Al nodded in understanding.
"So she believed the ministry then?" His dad gave a small humourless laugh at that.
"She was the ministry. Or part of it, anyway."
"Oh," Albus whispered as many things clicked into place. They stood there in silence for a while before Albus looked up at his dad, and said softly but vehemently,
"I hate her"
"I do too, Al, but it was a long time ago. It doesn't do well to hang on to hate. It'll just make you bitter and then they would have won anyway, see?"
"I still hate her" Albus muttered stubbornly. He couldn't stand the idea of someone hurting his dad (for surely it must have hurt), nor could he understand how someone could be so twisted and cruel. He got why people would not want to believe his dad, but to go as far as to punish him, just to - what? Keep him quiet? Punish him for speaking out for something he believed in? How can someone be so twisted? He wasn't naive. He knew there were bad people out there, people with bad intentions and people who were just pure evil, but this was a whole new kind of twisted. How could someone do that to a kid, no less? How old had his dad said he'd been? Fifteen? He looked up as his dad ruffled his hair affectionately and he tried to imagine him as a teenager. He couldn't. His eyes flickered up to his dad's legendary scar as he wondered how many other scars his dad had that had a story behind them. Why had he never asked before? He felt saddened that he had never noticed his father had I must not tell lies engraved in his own hand. His dad always noticed when he was hurt no matter how well he hid it. Even the tiniest of scratches. He couldn't help but question how well he really knew his dad.
"Al?" his dad's concerned voice broke his thoughts.
"What happened to her?" Albus asked suddenly, trying to shake of his gloomy thoughts. A task that became considerably easier as his dad's face broke into a grin.
"Oh, she got what she deserved." Albus saw the malicious glint in his father's eye and he almost felt sorry for her, but then he remembered what she had done to the man he loved the most in the world and he couldn't help but share the grin. She deserved everything she got.
"Are you two coming inside or what?" His mother's voice called impatiently from the kitchen.
"Coming love!" his dad called back before turning to him. "Coming?"
Albus nodded, then shook his head.
"I still don't get how anyone would think you were lying. You're, like, the most honest person ever!"
"Now Albus, even I lie sometimes"
Albus burst out in a grin, "See!"
Please review! I would love to know what you think. I've been reading a lot of next gen fics lately and I couldn't help but wonder, surely they would notice at some point that he had I must not tell lies written on his hand, so I wrote this. Hope you liked it.