Chapter 15

Elle, despite her full stomach and tired limbs, could not fall asleep that night. The prospect of Christmas tomorrow was far too daunting. Last year, she could ignore the greater part of the traditions, the presents and the tree, in favour of exploring the school grounds with Isidre. There had been fewer gaping holes in front of her where her mother should be. There was a large part of her that felt that loss, and another large part of her that felt as if she were intruding on a morning where only family should be together.

Elle tossed and turned, until she began to worry that she would wake Rose who slept soundly beside her. She fingered the little locket the house elves had given her, and finally decided that it was no use – she would not sleep tonight. Sighing, Elle stood up, planning to grab a glass of water. It was jarring to walk through the narrow halls of the burrow this late in the night. The silence was so absolute, and so unusual, that she felt her ears straining for the slightest sound to hold on to. Elle gave a start when she felt something brush against her leg, but it was only Cat, come to investigate the disturbance to the night. Elle smiled, dropping a hand to scratch between Cat's ear's and the animal gave a purr.

But Cat was soon darting out in front of her and heading off. Disappointed, Elle followed her pet, trying to emulate her stealth as she navigated through the old wooden house. As her ears got used to the silence, the house seemed to come alive. She could hear the creaks and groans of the breathing structure, the slow and deep inhales of breath behind closed doors, and even distant snoring. Elle was so caught up in the noise, as well as in her pursuit of Cat, that she didn't notice the soft light pouring out of the open bathroom door until she was almost upon it.

Elle paused, her mind trying to decipher the impossible scene before her. Standing in the light of the bathroom, right in front of the mirror was a man she did not recognize. Elle watched at the man stood, examining his face. His hair was fine and thin, a mousy brown that was replicated and darkened only a few shades in his eyes. The man was tracing his finger over deep scars that lined his face, not completely unlike the scars Elle had seen on Louis' father's face, that she had been too frightened to ask about. The man in front of her was crying.

A small picture frame was propped up against the sink, and Elle started to piece together what was happening before her. Realizing that she was intruding on a very private and painful moment, Elle leaned back on her heels, hoping to creep away as softly as she had come. The house betrayed her however, and her heel found a creak in the wood it had not found before. Immediately, the strange man whipped around to the sound, his features morphing in real time to form the face of Teddy Lupin, tears still running in streams down his fuller, rosier cheeks.

Elle waiting until recognition flitted across Teddy's face before she approached him. Elle wasn't quite sure what to do, but she reached out to the picture, examining it for the first time. Elle found the man Teddy had been impersonating quickly enough, running the pad of her thumb across his face to wipe away a stray tear. "My Dad" Teddy said, his voice strange in its grief. "I don't look anything like him." Elle understood more than she thought Teddy anticipated in that statement. She remembered having a similar conversation herself, many years ago.

Elle was so young she was only just starting to form memories that would last her into her youth, and so the details were fuzzy around the edges. She had just started primary, and her mother was exhausted from pulling doubles at the pub to pay for her new books and uniform. Elle had been fresh out of the bath, her pajamas already three inches too short ("stop growing!" her mother used to say to her, at least once a week). Elle had been sitting cross legged on the bed, her mother brushing through her still-wet hair, which was brown in its water-logged state but would soon dry to blonde, even blonder than she was now.

It had been on her mind all day, and now, with her mother's hands in her hair, humming a nursery rhyme, Elle thought it as good as a time as any. Elle could feel the pulling of her hair as her mother gently undid the knots, but she could not remember the tune she hummed. Another moment lost to time. Her mother's face was there, but it was warped, not looking quite like her. Every time she recalled the face it was translated in her memory slightly differently, until soon it would be unrecognizable.

"Mum" Elle had asked "why don't I look like you?" Elle had known even then that the question had caught her mother off guard, by the way the deft fingers in her hair had fallen limp, the plait falling apart. "Who told you that?" her mother had asked, a strange choke in her voice. "The kids at school all look like their mums" Elle had replied. Elle's mum had taken her to the mirror then, and together they had traced her features. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, her eyes hazel and almond shaped. Her mouth was small, her expression always firm, and even that young, when cheeks were supposed to be full and cherub-like, Elle's face was all angles. Jessica William's face was round, her eyes large and dark, her hair a tangled mess of wild curls. "Where are we alike?" Elle's mother had asked, and tiny Elle had been stuck. "Nowhere" she had said, trying desperately to find any hint of her mother in her face. "Wrong" Elle's mother had said, her voice firm…

Elle remembered this conversation, and, in a stroke of inspiration, unclasped the necklace at her chest. She turned to Teddy, pressing the photo and the locket into his palms, and repeating, slightly altered, what her mother had said to her all those years ago.

"You have his heart."

Albus was in a foul mood. It was Christmas, and he had gotten some lovely presents (he especially enjoyed that Elle had prepped all his dry potions ingredients for the next month's curriculum), but all that had gone to shit when his mother had thrust a broom in his hand. All the kids were to go flying, since they almost had enough for a whole Quidditch team to scrimmage, in a small orchard near the burrow where muggle eyes could not pry. Not only was Albus being forced to fly, to his great embarrassment (his private lessons with Scorpius had been helping greatly, but he would never be coordinated enough to actually play a game, even against his much younger cousins), but he had just spotted his brother coming up the slope behind him.

So far, James had avoided Albus (to his great annoyance and relief). But now, his older brother was fighting his way up the drifts of snow to get to the top of the hill the orchard sat on. Great winds had blown the icy snow up against the hill, so that the drifts were waist deep despite the rest of the countryside only having a light blanketing. Albus was already sweating and huffing, trying to keep up with Rose and Elle, who were both taller than he was. It was not helping his bad mood.

"Hey! Wait up!" James called, easily covering the ground between them with his longer legs, leisurely picking his way through to path the others had arduously created. "You weren't invited" Albus snapped. "Oh, come on Al. You have to talk to me sometime" James replied, but he couldn't mask the hurt in his voice. Albus did not feel like talking to him at all and chose to simply show him a rude hand gesture (Elle had taught him a few) and started plowing his way up the hill, seething. He was almost out of earshot when he heard James mutter "fine. Be that way." Albus grinned in triumph.

He was another meter farther up when he heard Elle spit her insult down at James. She hadn't been in an excellent mood this morning either, Albus had observed. She been rubbing her eyes tiredly and had looked like she wanted to cry when his nan had gifted her her very own Weasley sweater. "Coward." Elle shot to James' retreating form. Albus grinned cruelly to himself as he turned back up to the mountain. She was right.

It was another few minute's hard slog before Albus finally broke through the drifts and made his way to the circle of trees. He paused there, panting, waiting for the others to catch up. It wasn't Rose or Elle who made it up first however, and the younger ones had been way behind the older three. It was James who broke through the tree line, circling wildly around until he found Albus.

Albus just shook his head in disgust, turning away from his brother's face. "It's no use Albus" James said from behind him, moving into his eyeline again.

"We have to talk about this eventually, Albus."

"There's nothing to talk about. All the decisions were already made. Without me."

"Do you ever hear yourself when you talk? God, you sound so dramatic Albus. It's just a stinky old cloak."

"It is not, and you know it. Don't insult me."

"Okay, it's not. It's bloody useful. Happy?"

"Do you honestly expect me to be!"

"It's given to the first-born son. It's part of the tradition which means it's part of the magic. Dad had no choice and neither did I. Do you want me to apologize for being born now?"

"It would be a start" Albus shot back, but inside his mind was reeling. He hadn't known that it had to be the first-born son. It was the slightest comfort. "You still could have told me" Albus added, but his voice was softer.

"I'm sorry" James said.

"Don't apologize for being born. I was only joking."

"You know what I mean. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just… I didn't know how. And maybe I was a bit selfish too. If I told you, I'd have to share."

"So you will share?"

"Within reason"

"Prat"

"Brat"

Albus gave his brother a shove, and James gave one in return, and soon they were wrestling in the snow. It wasn't exactly how they wrestled before, when they were kids, now it was a bit rougher. There was a bit more feeling put into it. But Albus was still glad to be in the snow. He remembered what Scorpius had told him – 'most of the time, you're glad you're a Potter'. Scorpius was always right.

It was hard for Albus's father to find him alone during the holidays, but he finally managed it on the last day. "James told me you know about the cloak" he said as way of introduction, and Albus bit his lip. He dog-eared the page of the book he had been reading, having successfully escaped to the car from yet another Quidditch scrimmage. His father sat in the driver's seat, not looking over to the right to his son.

His father's conversations were always short and to the point, and often eloquent, as if they had been rehearsed. Albus was trying to emulate this and had practised what he wanted to say. "You don't understand me. I'm not going to be a Quidditch star, and I'm nowhere near top of my class for anything but potions, and… and… and I'm not a true Potter. Nobody likes me. You love James more." The last accusation had not been part of the speech. It had rushed out, and now Albus was staring at his hands, his eyes watering.

"Albus… no" his father said, and Albus realized for the first time just how exhausted he was. Harry Potter's eyes were haloed by the dark bruising of a sleepless night. Fine lines had started to radiate outwards from the corners of his mouth, and his hair, always messy, looked dishevelled. Albus had been vaguely aware that his father had been leaving at night to go to the ministry, but he hadn't noticed the toll it was taking on him. Harry Potter rubbed his eyes, learning over the steering wheel for a moment. Albus's accusation was starting to feel like the petulant tantrum of a small child, and he was ashamed he'd even voiced them.

"I don't love James more than you. I don't love any of you more than another. I know it can be hard to be James' brother sometimes, Al. I get that. But I'm very, very proud of you. The rest of them, the ones who try and tell you who a Potter should be, they can go fuck themselves." Albus flinched at the sound of his father swearing. He heard his mother drop curses all the time, especially when she was cooking, but his father seldom slipped up in front of his children. "I meant that" Harry said, running his hand through his hair "just don't tell your nan I said it." Albus nodded solemnly.

"And about the whole cloak business." Albus crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously, turning an inch away from his father. "I should have told you. I took the easy way out, because I didn't know what to say. It was the wrong choice. The coward's choice. I'm sorry Albus. You didn't deserve that, and your brother didn't deserve to take blame." Albus nodded again, not trusting himself to speak. "I don't think I can ever forgive you. Not fully." Albus said finally. A long silence followed, and Albus didn't dare look at his father.

"Forgiveness doesn't have to be absolute." Harry said at last. "Really?" Albus asked softly. Harry nodded firmly. "We just do the best we can do." "I'm trying" Albus said. "I am too" Harry replied, so quiet he could barely hear. Harry made as if to leave the car but paused right with his hand on the door. "And about being the top of the class… I never was either, you know." "Sure" Albus said. But he hadn't known. He'd always assumed his father was the best at everything he did.