Right now, will be a oneshot, but I may continue if it's wanted!


If Only

Harry Potter sat beside his mother, her hand in his, watching as she took slow, laborious breaths. She was watching him tiredly, a smile on her face.

"I'm so proud of you, Harry," She whispered. "You've been so good. So good." She reached out a hand and cupped it around his chin. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes. "You're such a good brother, and I know you'll take care of them when I'm gone."

Harry shook his head, tears falling freely down his face. "No, you don't have to go, the treatment could work," He begged his mother, but she only smiled.

"I'm sorry, honey," She whispered. Harry shook his head again in denial.

"No! They have all sorts of medicine now, they-they can fix it!" He knew he was grasping at straws now and sounded quite hysteric, but he couldn't stop himself. "No, you can get better!"

She was crying too, and she let out a small whimper. "I'm so sorry, Harry, I'm so sorry. I never wanted this to happen." She took both his hands, squeezing them as hard as she could, but it was feather light to Harry, his mother weak from her illness. "But it is, honey, it is happening, and I'm sorry." Harry leaned his forehead on hers and he felt her wrap bony arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly.

"I don't want you to go," He whispered, his voice trembling and she nodded.

"I don't either. And I'm angry about that too, I'm so angry that I have to leave you and your brother and sister," She whispered, pulling back to kiss him on the forehead. "It's okay that you're angry too. I want you to know that that's okay. You feel what you feel, just know that I love you."

Harry nodded. "I love you too." His mother smiled, kissing him again on the forehead.

"I will love you forever, Harry," She murmured, and Harry hugged her tightly.

"I'm so sorry, Ms. Evans, but visiting hours are over," A nurse interrupted them quietly and Harry and his mum shared one last squeeze before parting. His mother glanced over at the nurse with a sad smile.

"Thank you, Drew." She turned to Harry again, who had stood up. She kissed his hand. "I love you, my sweet boy."

"I love you too," Harry said one last time before following the nurse out of the room. "Bye, mum."

"Bye, Harry," His mother said, her voice soft but strong and Harry finally turned away, heading out of the hospital.


"Otis, stand still for a second longer," Harry said, grabbing his younger brother's arms in an attempt to keep him from fidgeting. "I'm almost done." Harry finished tying the boy's tie, who immediately pulled on it with a pout.

"Harry, it's too tight! Why do I need to wear it?" He whined and Harry took a deep breath, counting down from 10. Once he was calm, he helped the boy loosen it. "I don't want to wear it!"

"You'll wear it, Otis, so stop complaining," Calla, their sister, snapped as she came into the room. She gave Harry a long-suffering look before glaring at their brother. "All men have to wear ties at funerals."

Otis scowled. "I'm not a man," He said. Calla rolled her eyes.

"No, you're a whiny 7-year-old boy, clearly not a man," She retorted, and Otis started to tear up, opening his mouth to protest. Harry cut him off before he could.

"Calla, that's enough. Don't be mean to him," Harry chastised. "You're wearing that tie, Otis." Otis only grumbled and Harry sighed before turning to his sister. The 11-year-old didn't look too abashed, but she apologized anyways.

"Sorry, Otie," She murmured, and Otis sniffled but nodded. Harry sighed and grabbed their hands before guiding them out of the church and to their waiting relatives.

Their great-aunt immediately grabbed Otis and Calla, hugging them tightly. "Oh, sweeties, I'm so sorry," She wailed, and Otis and Calla looked over at Harry, both wide-eyed and leaning away from her as much as they could. Harry took their great-aunt's hand and pulled her away.

"Thank you for coming, Aunt Phyllis," He said, and she nodded, latching onto him now. She sobbed into his shoulder, and he extricated himself carefully. "We need to go greet the others now." His aunt smiled softly, cupping his face in her hands. He stiffened, trying not to react when his heart fluttered. It was barely similar to how his mother used to hold them, but the pain still seared through him anyways.

"16 years old is too young for this. Taking care of your siblings, losing your mother," Aunt Phyllis whispered. Harry averted his eyes, blinking quickly. "I'm so sorry, dear boy." Harry nodded and she let him go, moving on.

He cleared his throat, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes briefly before turning back to his siblings. "Right. Let's continue on then."

He took their hands and pulled them around. Harry could barely comprehend what anyone was saying to him and practically floated through the service, hardly able to hear or understand what anyone was saying. He didn't even know how he got through his speech. But he did, and after the service, he was exhausted.

He left his siblings with their great uncle and another great aunt and walked away, heading down the path and deeper into the cemetery. Once he was away from the crowd and behind a tree where no one could see him, he finally let the strong, stoic façade he had put up in an effort to protect his siblings fall and he sunk to the ground, crying.

"Harry," A soft voice interrupted him, and he stiffened, looking up.

Other than a few grey hairs and a couple more wrinkles, the man looked no different than how he did all those years ago when Harry had seen him last. Harry stood up immediately, his blood boiling with anger.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He hissed, and the man winced, looking away.

"I came to say goodbye to your mother," He said quietly. Harry laughed humourlessly, shaking his head.

"You already said goodbye 8 years ago, when you ran out on us!" He shouted, taking a step towards the man. His father was a couple inches taller than him, and he stared down at Harry, his expression pained. Harry didn't give a shit about how the man was feeling, didn't give a shit about his guilt, or his grief. All he wanted was for the man to hurt, like he hurt when he was 8 years old and didn't understand why his father never came home.

"I know, I know, and I'm sorry," James whispered. "I shouldn't have left you like that."

Harry scoffed, deflating, too tired to feel anything anymore. "No shit." The man didn't say anything in response, staring back towards where his mother was buried. Harry sighed, turning his head towards his father but he didn't fully face him. He didn't think he could just yet. "Did you ever love us?" His father let out a sound that could've been a whimper, a sigh, or a cry. Harry didn't know for sure and he didn't care enough to ask or provide any reassurance or comfort for the man.

"I loved you. So much," James said quietly. "But I was young, and I-I was frustrated, I didn't like where I was in my life, so I ran." Harry finally managed to face his father, and he stared the man in the eyes, his own glittering with angry tears. He didn't let them fall. He cried over this man so many times when he was a child and he wasn't going to cry because of him today, not when his mother was in the ground.

"Bull fucking shit."

His father sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry."

Harry didn't acknowledge the man's apology, shaking his head instead. "Why're you here?"

"You and your siblings, you-" The man paused, coughing to clear his throat. Harry felt the dread immediately, like ice cold water got dumped on his head.

"No," He said lowly.

The man winced but continued. "You will be-"

"Don't you fucking say it."

"-you'll be coming to stay with me and my family," His father finished, and Harry gritted his teeth, turning away sharply. They were silent for a long, tense moment.

"Fuck you," Harry whispered, his hands shaking. He curled them into fists.

"I know. I'm sorry," His father said quietly, and Harry ran a tired hand down his face.

"Stop fucking saying sorry," He growled. His father nodded, glancing at Harry pityingly. Harry fought the urge to punch the man in the face. He only refrained out of respect for his mother, who he figured would be upset if he punched his father in the face. "Why now?" His father didn't respond, turning away. Harry only laughed. "Oh, because you were forced to, huh? Wouldn't come back out of your own free will, only when the courts ordered you to?" Harry laughed again because if he didn't, he thought he'd start crying, and there was no way in hell he was going to cry in front of his father. "Fuck you."

James was silent and Harry turned away, walking back to his mother's grave. He stood over it, staring at the ground, trying to figure out if she knew that this was going to happen when she died. Did she know that they'd be given back to their father? The man that left all of them without a backwards glance? Harry gritted his teeth, turning around and heading into the church for the reception. He joined his siblings, who were sitting at a table as relatives after relatives came by to issue their condolences.

"Harry!" Otis said when he saw Harry, rushing over to the older boy and clinging to him. Harry picked up his brother and the younger boy buried his face into Harry's neck. "Can we go home yet?"

"Not yet, Otie," He said. He made his way back to their sister and sat down. "Alright, Cal?"

"Yeah, I'm alright," She said quietly, taking a sip from her cup. Harry studied her carefully, but Calla kept a tight lid on her emotions, and Harry gave up trying to read her. "What were you doing?"

Harry opened his mouth but couldn't answer, unsure of how to even explain to his siblings what was going to happen to them when neither of them even remembered or even knew their father. He was not looking forward to the fall out that would occur once they knew, and he gritted his teeth. Let his father explain. He deserved that.

"I just needed a second," He said instead. Calla studied him carefully and he tried to school his expression. She nodded.

"Alright," She said, her voice deadpan, and Harry felt another flash of worry. He should really get her someone she could talk to, he doubted this was healthy. But he didn't say anything and only nodded.

Looking at his sister and how tense she was, trying so hard to keep every emotion contained with her stoic expression and clenched fists, he felt the grief like a stab through the heart. He pulled her into a hug, and he felt her melt in his arms, her entire body trembling. He knew she was crying and he let her cry into his chest, allowing her to hide her tears so she could keep some of the control she desperately needed.

"It'll be okay. We're going to be okay," He murmured into her hair, reaching out a hand and squeezing Otis' shoulder. The younger boy whimpered and wrapped his arms around Harry and Calla.

"How do you know that?" Calla whispered; her voice thick with tears. Harry held on tighter.

"We're going to be okay," He repeated, not wanting to promise anything. Calla didn't respond after that, and he kissed her on the head. "We're going to be together."


"Thanks, Aunt Sarah," Harry said quietly, taking the casserole from her. She smiled, patting his cheeks gently before leaving. He sighed, the last guest finally gone, and shut the door. Calla and Otis were upstairs, asleep already. Otis tired himself out crying all day and had fallen asleep rather quickly. Calla, other than the moment in his arms, didn't cry, but she got quieter and edgier as the night went on, and Harry knew that her emotions were going to explode the longer she spent around the crowd of relatives that none of them really knew.

So, he sent her to bed with Otis and took on the responsibility of interacting with the guests on his own. Now, he was ready to go upstairs and fall asleep and forget this entire awful day. Of course, what he wanted wouldn't be. There was a knock at the door, and he gritted his teeth, turning around.

"What?" He snarled, not bothering to control himself as he whipped the door open. His mood soured even more at the sight of the person at the door. "Go away." He tried to slam the door, but his father blocked it with his foot before he could.

"Harry, please," The man said quietly. "Can I come in?"

Harry glared at his father angrily, his fingers clenching the door tightly. The urge to scream at the man and push him away before slamming the door in his annoying face was strong. So strong, in fact, that Harry didn't answer the man for a few seconds. His father, to his credit, didn't even blink, looking at Harry with so much guilt, longing, and pity that Harry felt like crying again. He blinked quickly, looking away and taking in a deep breath in an effort to control himself.

"Fine, but don't wake the others up," He snapped, opening the door. He didn't bother waiting for the man to come in, walking away and into the kitchen. He heard his father following and he turned after placing the kettle on the stove. "What do you want?"

James only watched him, the pained expression still on his face, and Harry scowled. "I just wanted to talk to you, before you and your siblings move in with me," James said, and Harry gritted his teeth.

"Fine, then. Talk," Harry hissed. James sighed.

"Harry-"

"What? You're the one here that wants this. I don't." Harry scoffed, shaking his head as he sneered. "In fact, I would've been fine not seeing you ever again!" James winced, nodding his head, and Harry paused to inhale slowly after realizing he had raised his voice. He was telling the truth; he didn't want to wake his siblings.

"Do they know?" James asked, his eyes darting to the ceiling and Harry only shook his head.

"No," He muttered. "You're the one who left, you can be the one to tell them." He turned towards the stove, removing the kettle from the heat when it started whistling. "Besides, they don't even remember you."

James didn't bother defending himself, nodding instead as he took a seat at the table. He muttered a thanks when Harry placed a mug in front of him. Harry sat down across from the man, a mug in front of himself as well.

"I know." He ducked his head. "Otis-he was-"

"He was born 6 months after you left. April 24th, 1989." Harry didn't look at the man, tapping his fingers on the table.

"So, he'd be seven, then," James said breathily, and Harry nodded. "A-And Calla would be-would be 11, and you-you're 16." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Yep, and you're 33. Are we done listing our ages now?" Harry asked and the man nodded distractedly. Harry rolled his eyes again before sighing. "Why'd you even agree to take us?"

James didn't answer right away, looking at Harry as he exhaled slowly. Unlike before, where there was really only pain and grief on the man's face, this time there were so many emotions all at once that Harry couldn't even begin to decipher them.

"I've had a lot of time to grow, Harry, and mature, and I've realized-" He swallowed thickly, closing his eyes- "I've realized that I shouldn't have left you. Not like that."

Harry mulled over his words carefully, looking away. "'Not like that'," He murmured. He turned to his father, his heart hammering painfully. "You mean you still would've left us even if you stayed, you would've found a different way."

James winced. "I-I-" James looked down at his hands. He didn't offer anything else, not agreeing but also not denying, and Harry watched his father, his eyes narrowed.

"You mentioned a family, right?"

James nodded. "Yes. My wife and our two daughters. They're 2 and 6 months."

Harry laughed humourlessly, getting up from the table. "Wow. So, you ditched us and made a new and improved family. What, they made you happier than we did?" James winced, looking up at Harry pleadingly.

"No, Harry, that's not-"

Harry shook his head, stopping his pacing and pointing angrily at his father. "Why the fuck are you even here? Why can't you just go back to your family and leave us alone?"

James stood up as well, moving over to Harry and reaching out but Harry flinched away from him. James let his hands drop. "Because you're my children too and I never stopped loving you!"

"No!" Harry shouted. "You don't get to do that! You don't get to leave us and then-and then come back when you have no other choice and expect us to run into your arms and play happy little family!" He shook his head, backing away some more. His father hadn't moved an inch since Harry had flinched away from him, but Harry needed distance, needed to get away from this man. "I won't let you hurt us anymore."

"Harry, I'm so sorry," His father whispered, his arms lifting up hesitantly, as if he wanted to grab Harry again, but he let them drop after Harry scowled at him. "I-I didn't want to hurt you, but-"

Harry threw his hands up in the air and started pacing again. "No! No more excuses!" He looked at his father, shaking his head with a bitter laugh. "You can't even admit that you fucked up! That you made a fucking mistake! You're just-you're just trying to make up excuses for yourself!" His father was silent, looking away.

"I can't, Harry," His father whispered, sounding torn, and Harry scoffed, not willing to ease that guilt for him. "I know you want to hear that from me. That I regret everything, that I shouldn't have left, but-" The man ran a hand through his hair- "my daughters wouldn't be here if I didn't leave, and I can't-I can't say that I regret them, because it wouldn't be true."

Harry let out a soft, pained laugh that was almost a whimper before he could control himself. "Wow. You really did upgrade, huh? Left your first kids but can't even admit that you fucked up because you're such a good fucking father now and don't want to hurt your new kids." He shook his head, half laughing, half sobbing. "Well, dad, you're in luck then. Go back to your new family and stop worrying about us. You can pretend that you never even had us, so you don't have to remember that you left us behind."

James was watching him, his eyes glistening with tears. "I can't do that, Harry."

Harry trembled angrily. "What's so hard about it? You did it the first time, you can do it again!"

"I can't do that," James repeated. Harry fought the urge to scream at him. Instead, he took a deep breath and turned his back on his father.

"I want you to leave," He said quietly and coldly. His father didn't say anything right away, so he turned and glared at the man. "Now."

"Harry-"

"Now, please." He wanted the words to come out strong and indifferent, but instead, his voice cracked and trembled with tears. He ducked his head and pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes. After a few seconds, he looked over at his father, blinking rapidly as he tried to get rid of the tears. "Please."

James nodded and took a few hesitant steps forward, reaching out to Harry. Harry froze, not moving, but he didn't flinch away from the man, so his father met his eyes and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. It was so light that Harry barely even noticed it and wouldn't have even felt it if every nerve in his body wasn't already on edge.

"I'm sorry, Harry," James whispered, his voice thick with emotion, as if he was trying to convey everything he was feeling to Harry in just those three words. Harry only nodded.

"Just go, please," Harry whispered, not trusting his voice not to crack if he said it any louder.

James nodded again and walked to the front door and Harry watched him leave all over again.

And then he was alone.