A Prolonged Encounter: Chapter Two
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Velcome back. Please step through these dreary gates, and say hi to me story. Oh - side note - dun get used to daily update cuz - er - vell, after dis chapter, I'm still writing, finished planning, but yeah, still writing. And 'm a bloody perfectionist so . . .
Good morning!
She tightened her embrace for a moment before pulling away, and with a jolt, James could see that her eyes were somewhat teary, "You're welcome, sweetheart. Now go on, and good luck. And be sure to give him a lecture for me, will you?"
James opened the back door to the kitchen and turned towards her with a trademark grin, "I will." With one last wave, James stepped outside and greeted the outdoors.
As soon as he stepped outside, he noticed that – like the Burrow – the Potter manor had a vast outdoors, albeit a bit neater. He chuckled as he thought – of course, with two Quidditch fanatics, and one of them being James Potter the first, he could imagine that Harry and his father would occasionally thrive in the space. He supposed that the father and son moments happened here, as both seemed to crave the fresh air.
However, there was nothing fresh about it now.
The grounds were – in respect to winter – permeated with cotton clouds. Every corner of the yard was stuffed with snow. The sky was raining softly with snowflakes and snow, wary of overwhelming the area with its presence. There was nothing dreary about its presence; in fact, the snow enhanced the boy's excitement. Days like these, James and his cousins would be outdoors, quarreling in a snowball fight. The space virtually demanded it, but James had a goal to obtain. And so, he cast the thought aside, blew out an expected breath, and began his journey starting from the fringe of a forest situated at the back of the house.
He honestly didn't know where he was going, but he could faultlessly insinuate that Lily had meant that he should place utmost confidence in himself. He supposed – from his area of experience – that it was somewhat akin to how a deluminator functioned.
He knew that all he currently desired was to meet his father, at last.
However, there was a slight situation as James adjusted his winter robes with obvious irritation. He was far too small. He hadn't been entirely in tune with his body when he had first arrived, but now, he noticed that his fingers were far too tiny, and his frame far too thin. He even attempted to stride to speed up the time but could only stretch his legs a fourth of what he could as an adult.
He had been too entangled with his emotions to even begin to think about anything else when he had first arrived, for the first person to greet him was his mother and she had looked so young. He immediately recognized her due to her trademark red hair and blazing eyes. They were his, after all. And thanks to her, he was then introduced to almost the entire family, the ones he had already known, the ones he had missed, and the ones he didn't know.
But he had to admit, the most interesting person was his own namesake: James Potter.
James had felt like he was looking at his twin when his grandfather had burst in with a mischievous grin and apparent excitement. He had just returned from (dubbed by him) "the prank of the century" when James had met him. He was a bundle of energy, but James could swiftly spot the difference between himself and his grandfather. His granddad seemed a bit formidable with his speech and stance. He also seemed (if one was looking) a natural charmer and his marriage seemed to have placed a balm on his arrogance that was still ever-present. However, James was aware that it was primarily used for humor purposes.
However, with guilt, James admitted, that he had not greeted them wholeheartedly at all. He had well-mannerly shaken the men's hands and embraced the women with only half a heart, for his eyes had been frequently darting to every corner of the manor for the one person that James had yearned for the most.
He wanted to know more than that his father was famous. He wanted to know more than that Albus eerily resembled his father. He wanted to know more than what his professors accolade his father as a brave and casual person. Everyone would emphasize how Harry had longed for a normal life and how there was nothing that anyone would label as abnormally extraordinary about him. He was simply normal, they would say.
But James thought otherwise.
James thought his father was extraordinary because – however much the world, Voldemort, the students, and teachers had tried to change him – he had still remained his true self and didn't let anything affect him, not his past, not the people. His father had proved that goodness comes from self-determination, and James knew that that had been what had distinguished his father from Voldemort. They had both experienced the same rough past, yet one had emerged good, and the other merely evil. That was why Harry had emerged victorious, and James elicited a small smile and grew ever-eager to meet his dad.
And so, he treaded over fallen branches, stumbled on some, and ducked under others as he continued. The trees reminded him of the Forbidden Forest, and he irresistibly wondered if he was heading towards Hogwarts. After all, there were various activities for his father to explore. James furrowed his eyebrows and cursed his tiny frame once more; he was getting slowed down. But how old was he, anyway? He must be around five or six.
The thought caused him to scowl as he recalled his reunion with Teddy, who was halfway through his teens, who had laughed and embraced him as he teased him for his somewhat "chubby" cheeks. James wrinkled his nose at the thought, but he had to admit, he had missed Teddy, for he was his older brother in all but blood. He had always been close to Teddy, who – much to James's envy – had been exceptionally close to Harry, and who had had a chance to remember him before Harry had passed away.
Harry James Potter had passed away a short while after his wife had given birth to their last child: Lily. Ginny had often asked James if he could remember anything – even a small blur – about his father, for James had been nearly four at the time, but James didn't have the best memory; consequently, he could not remember him, however much he forced himself to.
However, he would always, after a particularly tiresome day, crawl into bed and simply watch his father smile from a picture that his mother had graciously given him, with Ron and Hermione on either side. The sight would lull him to sleep after a particularly dreary day.
And speaking of sleep, James yawned as he approached a small circumference where the trees could not follow him. He could feel himself becoming dangerously drowsy, but he felt it was the least he could do compared to what James had heard his father had done. Camping out during a war. Honestly. Where was the food, the security, the protection?
Now, alone in an secluded area, James allowed a few tears free and wondered what he'll say when he finally met his father. He hoped his father was as laid-back as his parents or as funny as Ron. He hoped he wasn't as strict as Percy, instead, as gentle as Lily. Moreover, James was tired of predicting, he wanted solidity, he wanted –
Thump.
James collided into something tall. He rubbed his head after the collision, thinking he had ran into a tree. He impulsively wondered if Teddy's clumsiness was contagious until he heard a deep voice mutter excessive amount of apologizes, and James realized he had bumped into someone.
"Sorry, 'm sorry," the person – the man – apologized, sounding exceptionally genuine, "I was – er – distracted. Sorry."
James couldn't help but feel a bit amused. The man was virtually on his hands and knees, begging for his forgiveness, and James, with a slight crinkle at the edge of his eyes, peered up at the man, and the first thing he noticed was that the man was tall. James didn't know if he should be blaming it on his own height or the man was naturally tall. He concluded that it was the latter. The man looked a few inches shorter than James's uncle Ron.
The man was clearly a wizard, for he was wearing a comfortable set of black winter robes, clashing interestingly with his hair, which was as dark as coal. The man was bespectacled and had a bottle green scarf wrapped neatly around his neck, but he didn't give the impression that James's uncle Percy would. His uncle radiated an aura of austerity; this man, however, gave the impression of being extremely laid-back, and James supposed, bore an air of nervousness as well. Also, the man – much to James's amusement – was wearing a grey French hat that significantly shaded his eyes. He thought it looked a bit ridiculous, especially when the man's accent clearly screamed British.
But James could not help but notice that the man was thin. James wasn't an expert but the man leaned a bit towards the unhealthy side. Not to mention, the man's pale countenance blended queerly with the background perspective of the snow. His hat – James noticed – was sprinkled with snow, indicating that the man had been traveling for quite a while. He was currently rubbing the back of his head in shame at being so absentminded. He also noticed that the man was young; James inferred that he was somewhere in his early twenties, but James guessed that age didn't really matter in this life.
Using the back of a fist, James wiped the spare tears away from his face and felt his ears burn with embarrassment. Honestly, here he was weeping in front of a stranger – a man, who, despite his peculiarly thin frame, looked exceptionally strong.
"It's fine," James's voice wavered as he fought to explain; he really was a mess. Sniffing, he tried again, "I was just – " He shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts, and through his peripheral vision, he could see that the man had abruptly dropped his hand, causing James to peer up at him confusedly. He hoped that his eyes weren't bloodshot red.
But from under the man's hat, James noticed that his eyebrows furrowed worriedly, and akin to Lily, pinned with a studious look, as if he was desperately trying to find an answer to something, as he asked in a quiet tone. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"What? No!" James exclaimed convincingly, hastily shaking his head. How could he think James's tears was his fault? If anyone was to blame, it was his father, "'Course not. Why would you think that?"
The man shuffled on his feet – and James noticed that he was wearing black dragon-hide boots – as he responded. "Well – I –" and he averted his eyes for a moment before peering back at the boy, "You're crying." And James chuckled thickly at the blunt answer.
Wiping the remaining tears away using the sleeve of his robes, James convinced himself that the tears had exhausted, determined to stifle them from now on, and at last responded. "Sorry. I was – I was just – looking for my dad, and – I – " And he didn't even know why he was telling him this, but he did, anyway.
"You're not lost, are you? I can take you back if you'd like." James snapped his head up at the generous offer, despite his dismay being misinterpreted. He was surprised to find him so close, almost an arm's length, for the bespectacled man had knelt down on one knee to fully meet the boy's eyes, and James felt as if his heart would explode in his chest. He could hardly breathe.
He wondered if his heart was desperate to flee from its opaque prison, for James – for one fleeting second – had thought he was looking into the countenance of his brother Albus, but his rational side had reeled him back to reality, for there were a few errors in the features, but the distinct one being the black wire-rimmed, round glasses that were framing a pair of familiar almond-shaped green eyes, and they were peering at him with such concern.
He really did have his mother's eyes, and he did look eerily like his father. Now, James was confident that he was staring at Harry James Potter.
His father.
It was a shame, really, that the hat prevented James from seeing his full features. He also noticed – with poorly concealed delight – that his dad's hair was as untidy as his father's and sons'. With the greatest strength James could conjure, he prevented himself from jumping into his father's arms and ridding himself of any shame and embarrassment by finishing his tears. It hurt to see that he could do it right there and then, but he didn't think Harry knew that his son was standing directly in front of him, and James knew – from his father's expression and the hat – that his dad feared that he would be recognized as the famous Harry Potter, so James stomped on his feelings – for now.
He snapped out of his daze when he felt a firm hand grasp his left forearm, realizing – all too late – that he had been staring at his dad for far too long, causing his father to grow a bit uncomfortable. Consequently, James had forgotten to answer his question, but Harry had already spoken.
"I won't hurt you." And James elicited a small watery smile as Harry adopted an expression of determination that James would have trusted immediately had they really been strangers.
James nodded slowly, drew in a shaky breath, and with a valiant effort, whispered softly, "Alright." His young age made it harder to control his emotions, but Harry just looked so genuine and so eager to help that James finally found himself admiring his generosity.
He thought James was a stranger, and yet, he still seemed eager to smooth out his dilemmas. James knew it wasn't merely because he was a small boy. He intuited that his father was simply generous at heart, like Lily, and that was one of the things that James had yearned to see.
Harry returned the smile, and it was so comforting and familiar to the smile that lulled James to sleep during stressful times, that James had to bite his lip to stifle its trembling. He watched as his father pierced him with another studious look before standing up, catching James slightly off-guard.
"Right. So . . . " Harry began with a slight shift in his feet, looking oddly troubled for a moment. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts before holding out his hand towards the boy, and James looked up in surprise, "I'm Harry." He smiled nervously, and James couldn't stifle a half-sob and half-laugh at the sight.
He just looked so – timid. And after all the wars, all the Auror missions, and all the fame, he still had the grace to emerge normal, which greatly intrigued James. The smile on his countenance was never one that James had envisioned for his father. He had always had the suspicion that the fame might have affected him, because he believed that humans weren't all perfect, and his father was human, but seeing him now only increased James's admiration for him. He really was extraordinary.
"I'm – " and after an internal quarrel, he concluded that he wanted to test how good Harry was at piecing riddles together. Was he as good as Robards said he was? "Jaime." He reached out to shake his father's hand.
His hand – he noticed – virtually disappeared as his father enfolded his hand into his. The hand-shake was firm and swift, and James inexplicably remembered that his father had been a Seeker. James found himself comparing his mother's hand to his dad's.
"Alright, Jaime," Harry acknowledged by nodding his head, and James nodded back with a gleam in his eyes, "Care to tell me where you live?" He gently nudged the boy's back to begin walking, and James noticed that his father had his eyes fixed on the trail leading home. James struggled to listen to what he was saying, but he was too engrossed in the thought that he was having a full conversation with his father – unbeknownst to Harry.
He was too immersed in listening to his father's voice. He had never imagined that his voice would be so quiet and gentle, posing no threat despite his history with Voldemort. Of course, he had heard of his dad's infamous temper and had related it back to his voice, but it didn't seem to affect Harry in the slightest. His dad sounded calm but curious, possessing a touch of concern as well. James also noticed that his fixed attention to the road was possibly the result of being an Auror or being hunted down for his entire life. His voice was so soothing that James thought he could fall asleep just listening to him speaking.
"Er – " James – yet again – cursed his short attention span. He didn't want his father to think stupid of him because he kept forgetting to answer his questions, "Oh – Godric's Hallow." He said swiftly, after a moment. James felt the first genuine smile fighting to break free as he gave his father the first hint.
"Godric's Hallow?" Harry asked in surprise, finally tearing his eyes off the road to look towards the boy. James noticed that he was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and wonder, and if James was honest, he did look a bit troubled as well – confused for better diction. "Funny, that's where I'm headed, too." And he returned his attention to the road – James noticed with a mischievous gleam in his eyes – with a furrow in his eyebrows. He was probably in the middle of brainstorming.
James chuckled quietly. His dad really was an open book like Ginny said he was.
But as much as Harry was curious, James needed some confirmation. "Can I ask you a question?" And when Harry responded, James could tell that he was only half-listening.
"Sure."
James struggled to sugarcoat his words, in an attempt to make it less blunt, but failed miserably. "Are you – Harry?" he tilted his head to gain a better look at his dad's expression, "Harry Potter?"
Harry stopped so abruptly that James had to backtrack back to his father's side, biting his lip. He really hoped that Harry wouldn't abandon him in fear that someone had recognized for who he was, but his dad was merely standing with his head bowed towards the ground, and from under his hat, his shaded eyes were wide open. James had strain his ears to hear his murmuring. "If I tell you, you'll swear you won't tell a soul?"
"I swear," James said genuinely. Of course he won't rant on his dad; he desperately wanted his trust. He wanted his dad to know who he was, but simultaneously, he didn't – not now, anyway.
He watched amusedly as an agitated Harry ran a hand through his hair from under his hat, caught the hat with his other hand, and tilted it in a mock salute gesture, smiling grimly all the same. "Harry Potter, the one and only." He said sarcastically, causing James to grin and giggle slightly. His father really despised the spotlight.
Harry smiled grudgingly in return before slamming the hat back onto his head.
It was interesting to see another side of Harry he hadn't known about.
"I knew that," James shook his head at how stupid the question sounded, but was slightly taken aback as he spotted his father's frown. Oh, Merlin, what had he said wrong? "Been stalking me, have you? Don't think I've ever arrested you before."
James blinked dumbly as he spotted his dad's narrowed eyes but his lips were twitching, foreshadowing a smile, and it moment for James to realize that his father was being sarcastic again. Hence, the reference back to his job. But if his father wanted to play, then he'd play, too.
"I only recognized you because of the hat. It was a dead giveaway," James gestured to his head while Harry peeked up the subject in question, rendering him slightly cross-eyed, and James nearly laughed at the sight, "And your mum." James smirked, but he knew his heart was internally skipping with delight. His dad was better than he had imagined him to be.
However, he didn't think he'd get such a reaction out of his dad. His green eyes had widened dramatically and he was staring at James with a mixture of incredulity and admiration. Despite the ominous threat, he must've liked James's guts, "You've met my mum?"
James nodded and kicked some snow into the air in an effort to remain casual. "Yeah, she sent me looking for my dad," James glanced surreptitiously at his dad, hoping he didn't detect any foul-play, "She's nice." He added honestly, in an effort to assuage any suspicion. His father, however, was frowning again.
"Yeah, she is," Harry agreed quietly as they continued walking, sounding oddly distracted again and James hoped he could find some way to mitigate his worrying. But after a moment of internal quarrel from both father and son, Harry spoke again, "She's not . . . upset, is she? Do you know?"
James snapped his head up in surprise, a grin growing wide on his countenance as he noticed how much Lily's worrying upset Harry. Was his father a mother's boy as well? James decided he wanted to know.
Feigning a hum, James responded. "She might be." And that's all he offered.
James heard a loud scoff coming from his dad and he glanced towards him to find Harry staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and amusement. "Are you winding me up?"
"No! Why would I be?"
Harry merely raised an eyebrow. "I'm not getting any straight answers."
James sighed and decided to throw some coal into the flame. "Alright, she told me to lecture you."
His father lifted his hand up to run a hand through his hair which caused the hat to tip off slightly. Frustrated, it seemed, Harry abruptly removed it, at last exposing his full features. And Merlin, did Albus look so much like him, but Harry's muttering had interrupted James's thought process.
"I knew it." Harry stated, shaking his head and removing his glasses to rub at his eyes. He seemed to be muttering to himself, "I told her I was going to be late but – why are you laughing?" He placed the glasses back onto his nose and frowned at James, who was shaking with laughter.
"You're so upset!" James exclaimed and his giggles intensified as his father feigned a disgusted expression on his countenance. Yes, Harry was certainly a mother's boy.
"I'm not upset," Harry stated defensively, and for the first time since James had met him, a reluctant grin formed on his features, and with a jolt, James noticed that his dad had inherited his mother's smile. Lily's smile. And James's urge to run into his dad's protective embrace further intensified, but his pride seemed to overrule his judgment. He hoped his dad would recognize him soon.
"I don't even know why I brought you along," Harry said, shaking his head as if disappointed in himself while James's laughter significantly died down, but not entirely, "I should've just left you where I found you." He threw a mock-disapproving look at the mischievous boy.
James chuckled and decided to use his dad's words against him. "But I'm your stalker, remember? Wherever you go, I follow." And he tilted his head to the side to study his dad's expression, but Harry merely awarded him with an impressed look before shifting his attention back to the road, a smile tugging on his lips.
However, James – who had been blissfully buried in his thoughts – was oblivious to the hand that was slowly reaching towards him until it had tugged his head down slightly, and James couldn't help but laugh at the gesture as he waved it away.
It was such a typical father gesture that James irresistibly wondered if Harry had already caught on to his schemes, but chose to keep quiet, further frustrating the boy. He wondered if his dad was merely pranking the prankster, and James nearly snorted at the thought. If Harry really did know about his son then James would be so mad at him for not telling him sooner. The wait was at its highest peak, and James didn't know if could wait any longer. Nevertheless, James threw his father a mock-glare as Harry, in turn, smirked, looking eerily like his father, that James had to double back and remember who he was with.
However, with a sinking heart, James witnessed the smile fade from his father. Harry really had a knack of abrupt mood change – James noticed – but the atmosphere had been so light and carefree that James had wanted to envelop it in a secure area and never want to leave it again. Though, he noticed, that didn't seem to be the case, for his father had a slight furrow in his eyebrow. And for the first time since James had met him, a hard stare crossed his eyes, but thankfully, he wasn't directing it at James.
James instinctively knew he should stay silent until Harry finished mulling things over. He really didn't know what Harry was capable of when someone got on his bad side, and he decided, that he didn't want to find out, especially not when he first met him. James thought he would never have the courage to witness his dad's temper, not when it's directed at him. He thought – with shame – that he'd like to witness it directed at anyone else but him, and he felt like a coward at the thought.
But this was his dad, the person he had spent years yearning for. Of course he wouldn't want to get on his bad side. He didn't want his father leaving him. What son would?
Consequently, James vowed to stay silent, at least until he figured out what his father was truly capable of, despite his good humor. And until he figured out what caused Harry to look so troubled. James agreed to himself, that Harry simply cared too much. He inferred that he had been the cause of his father's hard stare.
A/N: Awww, my buddy Harry's back, and James is excited. Again, I dunno where dis story came from but please, please review, not even review, criticism is what I request. I vould like to know everything, starting from characterization, dialogue, to grammar and vocabulary. I'll crouch to my hands and knees if you like. (No I won't)
Vell, I have an exceptional attachment to dis story, unlike my others, and I hope that'll give me the motivation to keep writing. Oh, and happy Ramadan! :D Again . . .
Review. :)