It takes a village to raise a child – and it's not Harry's fault that his family was apparently the only one born with common sense.
The Houses Competition (or THC) Round 6: Just Keep Swimming
House: Slytherin
Class: Muggle Studies
Category: Standard: 1000-3000 words, worth up to 15 points.
Prompts, choose two prompts: [Emotion] Fear; [Word] Waterfall
Word Count: 2,998
Disclaimers/triggers: Canon based character death
One sentences taken from HP 7, "The Forest Again"
Beta Love: StoryPlease, Charlie9646, and Ginger Dream - Thanks to my teammates for looking over my story!
Warning: AU! Takes place at the end of HP7; it plays with the contradictory idea of either Dorea and Charlus or Fleamont and Euphemia being James' parents - as well as the extra son who existed if we go with what Rowling said.
… … …
IT TAKES A VILLAGE
… … …
Fear clouded Harry's thoughts while the truth was hammering away inside his skull.
Harry was a Horcrux.
He had to die to end Voldemort once and for all.
The revelations kept spinning in his head. Harry stumbled down one of the corridors leading to the entrance of Hogwarts – his right hand stabilizing him against the wall until his fingers ghosted over a velvety tapestry of midnight blue. It felt soft, like a waterfall and Harry stopped to caress the tapestry, his thoughts calming for a second.
It reminded him of family. His eyes travelled over the midnight blue of the tapestry, but instead of finding the pearly silver threads he was looking for, the tapestry turned out to be one of a night scene.
Harry removed his hand from the tapestry and shivered, the trepidation returning the moment he lost his focus on the velvety waterfall of midnight blue he had believed to be touching before recognizing the tapestry for what it was. He gulped; his heartbeat quickened.
He walked out of the castle, his feet leading him over the familiar Hogwarts' grounds while his thoughts tumbled from one happenstance of his life to another.
The quest for the philosopher's stone…
Following the spiders into the forest…
The Dementors.
Sirius.
The last thought hurt the most. Harry remembered what it was like, finally finding out that someone wanted him – just to get that someone killed barely two years later. It hurt. It hurt and Harry wondered if his godfather would even talk to him after Harry would meet him again… after Harry was dead.
The last thought was haunting and made him shiver in fear.
He ripped his thoughts away from his impending death and instead, turned them to that one summer he actually had with Sirius. He remembered Sirius' animosity towards his own family for their deeds.
Would he feel like that for Harry, too, now that Harry got him killed?
Just because Harry was James' son didn't mean that Sirius would forgive him for what he did, after all – especially since Sirius had never cared for most of his relations.
"You're related to the Potters." The voice of his past self suddenly emerged from the depth of his mind, sucking Harry into a memory he hadn't thought of since the end of fifth year.
"Through Charlus and Dorea Potter, oh yes," the Sirius of Harry's memories agreed, his voice suddenly lighter and amused. He was clearly far happier to be related to them than to anybody else on the tapestry in front of them. "Those two were a hell of a pair." Sirius' lips twitched. "I actually saw Altaïr and James trying to literally sink through the floor to escape Dorea's wrath. Really, their mother had them well in line."
Harry blinked.
"Altaïr?" he asked, surprised. He had never heard that name before. But then, he hadn't known that his grandmother was a Black as well…
"Altaïr Fleamont Potter," Sirius said, amused. "James' brother."
Harry's eyes widened. "I had an uncle?" 'Had' because it was clear that Altaïr must have died as well since Harry had never met him.
Sirius actually stopped and stared at Harry in confusion at that.
"No," he said with a frown. "Well, except if you count me and Remus."
Harry raised an eyebrow at his godfather in disbelief. "Didn't you just tell me that Dad had a brother?" he asked, making a point of the obvious. "That would mean that I had an uncle."
"James always said that it takes a village to raise a child and that it's not the Potters' fault that they are the only ones who have enough common sense to get that," Sirius said, clearly not really grasping Harry's question and when Harry frowned, Sirius sighed and rolled his eyes at him before stating matter-of-factly. "Altaïr was your father."
Harry's eyes widened as Sirius turned his world upside-down with those four simple words. His heartbeat quickened. Sweat soaked his neck at the sudden adrenaline rush that coursed through his body.
"But… I thought that Da… I mean, James was my father," he asked, feeling suddenly as if he was swimming, one of the pillars he had based his identity on slowly eroding away. It had been a fact. Lily and James were Harry's parents. They had loved him. They had died for him.
Until a moment ago, Harry had never heard anybody mention Altaïr. They all had told Harry that he looked like his father… like James… or had they meant Altaïr? Had Harry misunderstood? No. He couldn't. James was… but Sirius had said right now…
Sirius' brow furrowed. "I told you the Potter's went with the saying that it takes a village to raise a child." And when Harry's panic didn't lessen, he added "James was your dad."
Harry goggled. His thoughts crashed. "But… What about Altaïr? I mean, didn't you just say that he's the one who fathered me?" His own confusion was mirrored by a surprisingly wide-eyed, startled Sirius.
"Er… maybe? I always thought that James was the one who fathered you, but…" Sirius trailed off before he finally shrugged and continued. "I mean, you're a Potter so who knows?"
Harry gawked. His thoughts came to an abrupt stop.
Incomprehension tangled with confusion.
"What has my family to do with that?" he squawked.
Sirius shrugged again and looked at the Black family tree where Charlus and Dorea Potter were shown to have just one, nameless son.
"Your family is a bit odd," Sirius finally said. "I mean, when I ran away and stayed with James… Well, your dad usually turned to Charlus and called him father, just to turn around to Fleamont and call him dad the next second. He did the same with Dorea and Euphemia. I have actually no idea who of those four people birthed or fathered your dad."
Harry blinked. "But… aren't there birth announcements?" he finally asked, confused.
"From a Potter?" Sirius snorted. "You're lucky if you know that they spawned before their kid turns up at Hogwarts bright-eyed and bushy-tailed." He shook his head. "Hell! I wonder if I would have known about you if I wasn't your godfather and if it hadn't been for the war. Merlin knows, nobody else got to see you – or your mum Lily while she was pregnant – before that one Hallowe'en night. Most people didn't even know there was another Potter child until after Voldemort went after your family."
Sirius stared sightlessly into the distance. "Yeah, I doubt I'd have seen you before Hogwarts. Remus certainly didn't and even Wormtail and Dumbledore just knew you existed…" He snorted. "But I guess that's the Potters for you. For all we know, Altaïr and Lily might have spawned you, or whatever–"
"What do you mean, for all you know Altaïr and Mum could have had me?" Harry interrupted him wide eyed. "I thought Mum married Dad!"
"Yeah, she did," Sirius agreed immediately. "But the Potters always only seemed to care about generations, not how they were actually related. I mean, Fleamont and Charlus were the same generation, so James called them both and their wives by a parental title – no matter how they were actually related. Altaïr was James' brother because they were of the same generation, even though they might have been cousins by blood. Which means for you, James and Altaïr were your fathers – no matter who of the two actually fathered you."
He stopped and hummed thoughtfully. "As for why I think that Altaïr and Lily could have been your genetic parents just as well as any other combination?" he shrugged. "Well… that's because the Potters think the whole generation has to agree to a relationship."
"What?" Harry's head was swimming.
Sirius on the other hand seemed to have resigned himself to Potter-family-madness long ago. He waved it off. "Yeah," he said. "Marriage is weird with your bunch, what with James asking Altaïr before he even proposed to Lily."
He laughed. "And good luck figuring out the Potter family structure – even if it's just something like who the current Head of House or heir of House Potter is! Merlin! The authors of the Pure-Blood Directory went so far to exclude the Potters from the Sacred Twenty-Eight because nobody could figure out the Potter family tree!"
Sirius shook his head in amusement.
"I have a family tree?" Harry asked, startled, even while his mind created what he thought a family tree of his family would look like.
He could literally see it. A velvety waterfall of midnight blue, sprinkled with pearly lines of silver like sunlight hitting some water drops, making them glow more than the rest. And twisted inside – far easier to understand and to follow than the branches of the family tree in front of Harry – the lines and names connected to the Potter family.
"There are rumours," Sirius said with a shrug, crashing Harry's hope and fantasy with his calm words. "But your family tree has been lost for centuries."
And now, Harry's family would be lost as well…
That thought pulled Harry out of his remembrance and back to reality. Harry swallowed. His heart beat faster.
He was a Horcrux. He had to die. He would die tonight.
His mind went to the family tree he had once imagined. A waterfall of midnight blue with silver threads. A connection to a family Harry would never meet. Traditions of family – parents and children with no one named aunt or uncle – and all hopes of returning to those traditions would be lost the moment Harry died.
That thought hurt.
Harry's hands shook. He didn't want it to end. He didn't want his life to end. There was so much he still hadn't experienced.
Harry wanted to know what it was like to have a family. Harry wanted to know what it was like to have children. More than one – raised the same way his dad and father had been raised.
He balled his fists to hide their shaking. His heart was stuttering in his chest while his dreams were crushed into dust all around him.
After tonight, there would be no tomorrow. Harry was about to close his eyes and never wake up again.
Tears rolled down his cheeks – two silent waterfalls, about to dry up forever.
After tonight, the midnight blue and silver of the Potter family would cease to exist. And with it, Harry's dreams of family would cease as well.
Harry's heart beat in his throat.
He wondered what it was like. What would it have been like if he had truly grown up a Potter? Would he have a brother? Would he have had a father and a dad, a mother and a mum? Would he have grown up without anybody ever hearing his name until he went to Hogwarts?
What was it like to actually be a Potter – not just in name, but in everything else?
Harry would never find out.
There would be no time to search his vault and the cottage in Godric's Hollow for everything that was left of his family. No time to find out if he could figure out where he truly came from. No time to find out what happened to his father Altaïr…
The last thought hurt the most.
Over the years, Harry had heard about James, he had heard about Lily – but nobody except Sirius had ever said just a single word about Harry's father Altaïr. Instead, they had all treated Harry as if he was just James and Lily Potter's son.
Harry couldn't help but wonder if his father would forgive him since Harry didn't feel close to him either.
"I don't even know what he looked like or how old he was." It was a bitter thought.
Harry wondered if he would soon share his father's fate. Forgotten by everyone. Not worth mentioning. Or maybe, he would share his dad's and mum's fate. Forgotten and barely remembered by a few.
It didn't matter.
Harry would die tonight – and with him, so would the Potter line.
There would be no one left to remember him. Maybe Ron and Hermione, but nobody else.
Harry's eyes found the night sky. Clouds hung in the sky, hiding the moon and the stars. Just here and there could be seen the midnight blue of the sky through the clouds.
"Like the velvety waterfall of my family tree," Harry thought bitterly. A family tree that had been lost and forgotten – just like his family soon would be. Just like Harry would be after tonight.
"I don't want to die."
But did it matter?
Harry doubted that Snape had wanted to die tonight. That Fred had… that Harry's parents had when they had been killed.
No. Nobody actually wanted to die – not when they still had something or someone to live for.
And yet, they all did.
"Death… death is a part of life," Harry whispered to himself. His voice shook. His words might have been brave, but inside, he was shaking.
His feet carried him over the grounds of Hogwarts.
The world around him was silent, as if it was already grieving the loss of Harry… or maybe the loss of the Potters.
What did it matter if the Potters were an ancient line? If the Blacks were? They all were human. They all died – and with the last of them, their ancient pure-blooded line would end as well.
Harry wondered if pure-bloods had ever thought of that?
"I wonder if they'd grieve the loss of the Potter line if I wasn't a half-blood," Harry said to himself. But then – was he? Was he Lily and James' child? Did Altaïr have someone? Maybe a pure-blood?
"I won't ever know," Harry said to himself, his eyes fixating on the forest in front of him. "Maybe he did. It's not as if anybody ever talked about the Potters with me."
They all either expected him to know or seemed to believe that they knew his parents.
Was that normal?
Harry had never seen his birth certificate; he was actually pretty sure that he had none since his aunt had cursed and complained about missing identification when she tried to get him admitted to school…
Did wizards and witches just assume that Harry was Lily and James' child because they were the ones who died to protect him?
"Altaïr… Father must have been dead already by then," Harry concluded grimly. He doubted that if Altaïr Potter had been alive, he would have permitted Dumbledore to take Harry. The same was true for Harry's grandparents…
Harry reached Hagrid's hut.
It was dark. No light in the windows, no sound of Fang from indoors. Memories of his times in the hut pushed his thoughts about death and the dead away.
He stepped past it towards the Forbidden Forest where a swarm of Dementors were gliding through the trees. It took a moment until he remembered the one thing left to do.
He pulled out the Snitch and pressed it against his lips.
"I am about to die."
Because, no matter how much Harry was shaking, that was the truth.
Harry would die for the others to live.
He wasn't too surprised when he found the Resurrection Stone inside the Snitch.
Seeing the ghosts of Lily and James hurt – it hurt more than seeing Remus and Sirius. His eyes flickered from the face of his Mum to the one of his Dad.
"He's not coming, sweetie," his mother told him, sympathy in her eyes after he had finally given up and turned towards the forest to walk deeper.
Tears gathered in Harry's eyes.
"Is… is Father disappointed in me?" He could see the confusion in Remus' face, but his mum and dad just looked at him softly.
"Never," James told him warmly. "He's waiting for you on the other side."
Harry nodded stiffly, not looking at his parents or Remus and Sirius.
His heart beat in his throat. His hands shook, and yet, he stepped up and out towards Voldemort. He straightened his spine, looked his enemy in the eye – and when the killing curse finally hit him, he closed his eyes and let go.
Harry woke up in white mist with a figure crouching next to him. The man was wearing a cloak – velvety midnight blue which reminded Harry of a waterfall threaded with pearly silver stitches.
"Hello, Harry," the man greeted him softly. His eyes were an odd mix of silver and midnight blue but his hair was the same as Harry's. A hand reached towards Harry.
"You have a choice, son," he said and images of a conversation with Dumbledore and of returning and fighting and living flowed around them like droplets of water. Harry looked into midnight blue eyes.
He reached out and took the offered hand.
"Hello, Father," he greeted the man and Altaïr' eyes turned into a vortex of midnight blue and silver, full of pasts and futures yet unwritten.
Harry smiled. Behind Altaïr he could see the schemes of Dumbledore and the Horcrux waiting for him to come and make a choice, never knowing that Harry had made his choice the moment he found out that he didn't just have a dad, but a father as well.
Harry's hand tightened on his father's.
"Where do I have to go to make it right?"
"I'll show you," Altaïr promised, the waterfall of his cloak spreading towards Harry to clothe him just the same. Around them, the white mist twisted and turned until they were standing at the edge of a midnight blue waterfall with silver highlights.
Harry looked at it, then he looked at Altaïr.
"It takes a village to raise a child, Harry," Altaïr said amused. "It's definitely not our fault that nobody gets that but the Potters."
Harry frowned. "Will that be the end?" he wanted to know. His father smiled.
"The end or the beginning – does it matter?"
For a moment, Harry spared a thought on those he would leave behind. Then he looked at Dumbledore and the shade of Tom Riddle waiting for him before his eyes met his father's calm gaze.
"No," he decided and jumped.
No water had ever been so cool and welcoming as the midnight blue waterfall that carried Harry away.
... ... ...
The End
... ... ...
Well, that happens if you end up reading different fics that have James either as the son of one or the son of the other Potter couple - and then start to wonder what would happen if it wasn't one or the other, but both, somehow...
As for Altaïr (named after a star in the Aquila constellation): well, both couples had a son according to Rowling, so there had to be two boys, and one of them, I decided to give a name in the Black family tradition.
Over and out.
Ebenbild
