"Tell me about Mum," eight year old Harry requested with a yawn as James tucked him in. A half smile showed on the older man's face, the light dimming in his eyes. The little boy's mother had been the one great love of his life, and her passing had been particularly painful for him. Especially since her son was so like her. Not in looks, of course. But his character was so much like Lily's. James swallowed and tucked the covers around the small child's body, and tickled the little boy so he laughed and the same sound echoed in James. And then the woeful look returned, "Please?" the little voice sounded as he took the older man's hand.
James let out a deep breath and steadied himself for what was next. "Your Mum- your Mum loved you," James started, his voice low in the hopes that he could hide the wavering in his voice. Seven years gone and just thinking of her passing set him close to tears. But he had to be strong, for the little boy he loved so much. He swallowed and closed his eyes, picturing her in her youth, picturing her when she loved him, picturing her with Harry in her arms. "Your Mum had beautiful red hair, but hated it when we called it that. She wanted it to be called auburn. Despised the nickname Red," this all came out of him in a rush.
Jame licked his lips and regained his composure by taking a ragged breath. He squeezed his eye lids shut and continued, "She was a brilliant witch. Absolutely brilliant, Harry. Strong and vibrant and intelligent and charming." He looked down at the little boy and cleared his throat again, "You're so much like your mother, Harry. She was feisty, too. She gave our potions professor a hard time because he was so surprised a muggle born could be so talented. And she was talented. She was a favorite among her professors, her employers. Everyone loved your mother. She had a way of seeing people for what was good about them. You take after her, buddy." He opened his eyes and looked down at the little boy he loved so much.
Harry smiled and nodded his head. He loved hearing about how much he was like his Mumma. He couldn't remember her, but he had seen pictures. And he knew he didn't look like her. "But I look like my Dad," he said with a soft smile, waiting for confirmation.
James nodded his head, "Yeah," he answered, his tone gruffer than he meant, "But your Mum loved you. That was her one weakness, her ability to love. But it was her greatest strength, too, buddy." James swallowed again and smoothed the boy's hair down, "Her favorite subject was charms. She was a Gryffindor, like me. And your Dad- your Dad was a good man," his tone went down another octave and James took a deep breath. He hated telling this part, hated what it did to him even now. But he did, and he did it well.
"Charles Baddock was a good man, and he loved you and he loved your mother. You were the light of his world, Harry," James informed the eight year old, "You and your mother both. The day he married her was the happiest of his life." And the second worst for James. He looked away from the boy he loved as his own son, away from the light blonde hair and chubby cheeks and pointed chin so like Charles' Baddocks, away from the green, almond shaped eyes so like Lily's. James could feel Harry slip his other hand on top of James' larger one.
"Did you love my Mum?" Harry asked in a soft voice, and the question knocked James square in the chest. The little boy could sense the tension in the older man and waited patiently for an answer.
James struggled to breathe for a moment and tightened his hand on Harry's, "Yes," he answered, his voice breaking just enough for them to both hear. He swallowed in an attempt to keep it together and looked down to see the little boy paying rapt attention to him, "But I love you most, Harry."