At the same time Elisabeth was falling asleep in Hogwarts, Harry
rolled over and sat up in his bed. He went downstairs to where he kept the
trunk with his old school things in it. He fumbled with his key ring and
unlocked the heavy wooden chest. He knelt and lifted the lid. On one side
were his worn books, Transfiguration and Charms, Flying With The Cannons
and almost half a dozen more. Next to them was his cauldron, his
collapsible scales and dried Potions ingredients. And next to those were
his pictures. Susan had given him a camera for his sixteenth birthday and
he rarely put it down. He hadn't looked at these pictures for almost a
decade. He traced his finger over the fancy gold writing on the second
album. Our Wedding. It had been an impromptu wedding but Harry remembered
everything about that night and the night he proposed. He and Susan had
been sitting out in her parent's back yard, it was warm and there wasn't a
cloud in the sky. He had pulled the ring box out of his pocket and tossed
it to Susan. "I suppose you'll be wanting this."
She had opened it and gasped. He turned and grinned at her and put the ring on her finger. "I asked for a romantic and what do I get?" But she was smiling widely.
They married a month later, a week after Ron and Hermione, a week before Lavender and Neville.
He opened the book. Susan had been pregnant then but you could barely notice. Hannah Abott had been her maid of honour and Hermione and Lavender had been her only bridesmaids. There was one picture, the best picture of the evening. The entire wedding party, Hermione, Neville, Lavender, Viktor, Ron, Hannah and of course, him and Susan, were sitting at the head table. They were all laughing and joking. No ne could have guessed that there would be no honeymoon. No one could have guessed that Hannah's fiancée, Dean Thomas, and their infant son would be killed less than two weeks later. No one could have guessed that out of the three hundred people at the wedding less than half of them would survive till the couples first anniversary.
The next book was Our Baby. Harry remembered when Susan's mother had brought over half a dozen photo albums that said things like "Our Anniversary" and "Our House". "You know mother," Susie had said, "we could always just open the albums. It isn't as though we'll forget whether these are pictures of the baby or pictures of our wedding."
Mary Bones had sniffed. "You might."
Harry opened the book. He had gone trigger happy with the camera when Elisabeth was born, snapping pictures left and right. It didn't matter whether she was crying or laughing he would snap a picture. "It's a wonder that you can find the time to snap pictures but you can't find time to change nappies."
Harry shrugged and took another picture. How did I manage? He thought. He spent more than ninety hours a week out on the field, fighting yet he had pictures of almost every day in the two years leading up to Susan's death. After she died he spent nearly 120 hours a week on the field. He left Lavender to take care of Elisabeth, he just didn't care anymore. He barely saw his daughter, choosing to stay as close to the fighting as possible at all times. When the war finally ended, exactly a year after Susan died he took Elisabeth, who hardly remembered him, and moved to London. He went into business with Rosco Marianbaum, a stocky man with a huge mustache and a huger heart. Harry had no idea what he would have done without Rosco. He had absolutely no idea how to raise a small child, let alone a girl. He seemed to think that if you feed a toddler occasionally and maybe bathed it once and a while it would be looking after itself in no time. "I wish a meal and a bath would make you grow up." Rosco had said one day after Harry had returned from a week on the lam. "You can't just leave a wee yin behind."
Harry shrugged. "You were there."
"What if I wasn't Harry? You canna expect me to pick up after ye everytime yeh run off." His accent grew thicker the angrier he got. "And jaysus Harry, she's not an infant anymore, she's starting to figure out what's goin' on. And so am I."
"Oh yeah? What's going on Rosco? Huh? What's going on?"
"You meet a woman in a bar, you fool around for a week or so, then you get tired of each other and go home."
He had grabbed his sleeping daughter and stormed out of Rosco's house, infuriated that the man had dared accuse him of such promiscuity. Infuriated that he was right. Elisabeth was almost five by then, and starting school.
Harry hadn't talked to Rosco for a week after that run-in, making excuses for himself. Friday night, though, Rosco had come over with a movie and popcorn for Elisabeth. He and Harry went into the kitchen and sat quietly for a while. Harry got up and grabbed a bottle of Perrier from the fridge, Rosco had looked at him questioningly. "Water." Harry said, shaking the bottle. "Just water. Can't get drunk off that."
"Harry, look. I know it's tough, but you really need to quit drinking, you need to quit running off somewhere every time it gets too tough. You don't want to end up like me." Rosco had been married once, and he had a grown daughter who didn't speak to him.
Harry had collapsed into tears. "It's so hard. God it's so damn hard." Rosco said he understood but nobody could really understand. Nobody he wanted to talk to, at least.
He had never eally quit drinking, although he had quit going to bars and only got piss drunk one or two times after that. He had stopped going on dates as well, afraid that they would turn as disastrous as his previous flings with women he barely knew.
And now there was Ginny. He wondered what he should do about it. Was it really wise to go out with her? Or should he go out with Cho? That would cause fireworks, he thought, chuckling softly. He and Cho had broken up in Harry's sixth year. She had gotten pregnant somehow and dropped out. She sent Harry half a dozen letters, claiming baby Cedric was his, then she had met Olof Svigtswiler and Cedric became his. As far as everybody knew.
Harry sighed and put the albums back into the trunk. There was just one more picture. At the very bottom in a cheap wooden frame. It was him, Susan and Elisabeth but if you didn't know that you would have sworn it was Lily, James and a baby Harry Potter. He lifted the picture and hung it on the wall above the mantle. "Good enough." He said softly. "Good enough."
She had opened it and gasped. He turned and grinned at her and put the ring on her finger. "I asked for a romantic and what do I get?" But she was smiling widely.
They married a month later, a week after Ron and Hermione, a week before Lavender and Neville.
He opened the book. Susan had been pregnant then but you could barely notice. Hannah Abott had been her maid of honour and Hermione and Lavender had been her only bridesmaids. There was one picture, the best picture of the evening. The entire wedding party, Hermione, Neville, Lavender, Viktor, Ron, Hannah and of course, him and Susan, were sitting at the head table. They were all laughing and joking. No ne could have guessed that there would be no honeymoon. No one could have guessed that Hannah's fiancée, Dean Thomas, and their infant son would be killed less than two weeks later. No one could have guessed that out of the three hundred people at the wedding less than half of them would survive till the couples first anniversary.
The next book was Our Baby. Harry remembered when Susan's mother had brought over half a dozen photo albums that said things like "Our Anniversary" and "Our House". "You know mother," Susie had said, "we could always just open the albums. It isn't as though we'll forget whether these are pictures of the baby or pictures of our wedding."
Mary Bones had sniffed. "You might."
Harry opened the book. He had gone trigger happy with the camera when Elisabeth was born, snapping pictures left and right. It didn't matter whether she was crying or laughing he would snap a picture. "It's a wonder that you can find the time to snap pictures but you can't find time to change nappies."
Harry shrugged and took another picture. How did I manage? He thought. He spent more than ninety hours a week out on the field, fighting yet he had pictures of almost every day in the two years leading up to Susan's death. After she died he spent nearly 120 hours a week on the field. He left Lavender to take care of Elisabeth, he just didn't care anymore. He barely saw his daughter, choosing to stay as close to the fighting as possible at all times. When the war finally ended, exactly a year after Susan died he took Elisabeth, who hardly remembered him, and moved to London. He went into business with Rosco Marianbaum, a stocky man with a huge mustache and a huger heart. Harry had no idea what he would have done without Rosco. He had absolutely no idea how to raise a small child, let alone a girl. He seemed to think that if you feed a toddler occasionally and maybe bathed it once and a while it would be looking after itself in no time. "I wish a meal and a bath would make you grow up." Rosco had said one day after Harry had returned from a week on the lam. "You can't just leave a wee yin behind."
Harry shrugged. "You were there."
"What if I wasn't Harry? You canna expect me to pick up after ye everytime yeh run off." His accent grew thicker the angrier he got. "And jaysus Harry, she's not an infant anymore, she's starting to figure out what's goin' on. And so am I."
"Oh yeah? What's going on Rosco? Huh? What's going on?"
"You meet a woman in a bar, you fool around for a week or so, then you get tired of each other and go home."
He had grabbed his sleeping daughter and stormed out of Rosco's house, infuriated that the man had dared accuse him of such promiscuity. Infuriated that he was right. Elisabeth was almost five by then, and starting school.
Harry hadn't talked to Rosco for a week after that run-in, making excuses for himself. Friday night, though, Rosco had come over with a movie and popcorn for Elisabeth. He and Harry went into the kitchen and sat quietly for a while. Harry got up and grabbed a bottle of Perrier from the fridge, Rosco had looked at him questioningly. "Water." Harry said, shaking the bottle. "Just water. Can't get drunk off that."
"Harry, look. I know it's tough, but you really need to quit drinking, you need to quit running off somewhere every time it gets too tough. You don't want to end up like me." Rosco had been married once, and he had a grown daughter who didn't speak to him.
Harry had collapsed into tears. "It's so hard. God it's so damn hard." Rosco said he understood but nobody could really understand. Nobody he wanted to talk to, at least.
He had never eally quit drinking, although he had quit going to bars and only got piss drunk one or two times after that. He had stopped going on dates as well, afraid that they would turn as disastrous as his previous flings with women he barely knew.
And now there was Ginny. He wondered what he should do about it. Was it really wise to go out with her? Or should he go out with Cho? That would cause fireworks, he thought, chuckling softly. He and Cho had broken up in Harry's sixth year. She had gotten pregnant somehow and dropped out. She sent Harry half a dozen letters, claiming baby Cedric was his, then she had met Olof Svigtswiler and Cedric became his. As far as everybody knew.
Harry sighed and put the albums back into the trunk. There was just one more picture. At the very bottom in a cheap wooden frame. It was him, Susan and Elisabeth but if you didn't know that you would have sworn it was Lily, James and a baby Harry Potter. He lifted the picture and hung it on the wall above the mantle. "Good enough." He said softly. "Good enough."