Chapter 8 - Year 2 ADV
Wouldn't you bloody well know it? Another birthday has come and I am once again inundated with trinkets and gifts from 'admiring fans' the world over.
I have come to a decision. If you really feel the need to send me a gift, do this instead. Find the gift, find out how much it costs, and then send the money to the following address:
Harry Potter Fund c/o Gringotts - Diagon Alley Branch London, England
The post will know where to send it. The money collected in the fund is used to help children who lost their families in the war, and other good deeds, as I am sure with the amount of money in there it will long surpass me.
Now, I am sure my critics are nay saying that I am using my name for ill-gotten gains. Fact of the matter is, I can't touch the money in there, even if I wanted to, and I don't. I have plenty to live opulently for the remainder of my days, and yet I still work a dirty job as an Auror, and draw a miserable pay for it.
Not because I like spending my days and nights chasing seriously evil wizards, but because someone has to, and Hermione is right, I do have a "saving other people thing". It feels right to me.
Molly told me on the eve of that massive PR event known as my wedding that I should do what I am good at.
Well, ok, here's how it REALLY happened.
I was sitting in Percy's old room, formal dress robes pressed and hanging before me, the dragon hide boots so shiny you could have shaved in them. I was looking at a photo taken of Ginny a year or so back, I don't remember really. In the photo she looked about sixteen or so, and it was obviously taken in the Burrow.
She was reclining across a chair, her legs hanging over one arm, her head resting on the opposite one, and a book was open in her lap. I believe it was a photo album, but that didn't matter. The sun was low in the sky, so it was nearing night time, and the rays were highlighting her hair. It was shimmering softly.
So here I was holding this photo wondering how I was going to support Ginny. I mean here I am barely twenty; I had plenty to make sure we never had to work a day in our lives, but my eyes kept looking up at the dress uniform robes, the MLE badge and rank. The silver piping on the shoulders and sleeves glittering in the early morning light.
How could I go on being an Auror knowing it put her in danger of not having a husband to come home to? How could I live with myself if anything happened to her because I was an Auror?
Then again, she was an Unspeakable, so the same questions came from that side. I was feeling sick and miserable when the door opened, and Molly walked in.
"Harry dear, is everything alright?" She had concern written all over her face. I studied her for a minute and her eyes caught the picture. "Worried about your future dear?"
She sat next to me on the bed, and placed a comforting arm around my shoulders. "God, I don't know what to do Mrs. Weasley. I - I have no one to ask, no one to talk to." I was staying in a house with damn near twenty people thundering about, and I felt lonely, and isolated.
"First off Harry James Potter, you must stop calling me Mrs. Weasley. You are family now, for real. Call me mum." Her eyes were shining with happiness. I'd seen that look several times, pride in one of her children. For the first time it sank into me that Molly really did care for me like one of her own children. Because I saw that look before when she was looking at me, it was fourth year, and she had come to see me knowing that no other family would. She was so proud of me then, and now.
I spilled my story to her. Once I started talking it all came out, the fear that something would happen, and that I'd make a lousy husband and father. She listened and then gave me a big motherly hug.
"Harry, you are a very special person. Not because of this." She brushed my hair away to reveal my scar. "But because of this." Her hand rested over my heart. "You are going to marry my little girl soon, and I could no be happier for both of you. You are both brave, true Gryffindors to the end. There is no doubt to your intelligence; you both have N.E.W.T.s to spare. You both also do what you love to do; you make a difference and help people. Though I really do wish all four of you would have chosen a less dangerous lifestyle, I do understand."
She stood up and turned to leave. "We love you very much Harry. You have always been a son to Arthur and me."
I looked up at her, and through a watery smile said, for the first time ever. "I love you too mum."
I heard her breath catch, and she turned to look at me, and she gave me a smile, even as the tear leaked down her face. Suddenly she started laughing, so hard she had to hold her sides.
I was confused, later she confessed that when I had called her mum it had reminded her of a saying Arthur had picked up from work, something about a red-headed step child.
It confused me, but Arthur seemed to find it quite funny as well. A few years later I learned the saying from an American in the CMA (Central Magic Administration) who was taking custody of an American wizard we had caught in Wales.
We had roughed him up a bit catching him, and the American, a delightful chap named Felix something said it looked like we had "beaten him like a red-headed step child". As soon as he had said that, the whole scene between myself and Molly suddenly became very funny.
I rally do think Felix things I am mental, but he was polite enough to The Boy Who Lived, but they took their leave quite rapidly. Faster than necessary actually. Ron and I offered to take him to the Three Broomsticks, but he declined stating he had deadlines.
I shrugged to Ron and he and I went home as it was late already. I flooed Arthur and Molly and told them that I didn't think the saying was horribly accurate, but that it was funny none the less. We wound up at the Burrow that night for dinner.
I believe I have come to the end of this book. Just a few months ago, I turned thirty, I realize the book isn't horribly long, and is actually quite condensed, considering the volumes already written about me. But this one is by me, and contains my thoughts and feelings.
Perhaps when I am old and doddering, I'll add a few more chapters. But for now, you'll have to be content with this, and the piles of manuscripts written about me.
Harry James Potter Father, Son, Husband.
Wouldn't you bloody well know it? Another birthday has come and I am once again inundated with trinkets and gifts from 'admiring fans' the world over.
I have come to a decision. If you really feel the need to send me a gift, do this instead. Find the gift, find out how much it costs, and then send the money to the following address:
Harry Potter Fund c/o Gringotts - Diagon Alley Branch London, England
The post will know where to send it. The money collected in the fund is used to help children who lost their families in the war, and other good deeds, as I am sure with the amount of money in there it will long surpass me.
Now, I am sure my critics are nay saying that I am using my name for ill-gotten gains. Fact of the matter is, I can't touch the money in there, even if I wanted to, and I don't. I have plenty to live opulently for the remainder of my days, and yet I still work a dirty job as an Auror, and draw a miserable pay for it.
Not because I like spending my days and nights chasing seriously evil wizards, but because someone has to, and Hermione is right, I do have a "saving other people thing". It feels right to me.
Molly told me on the eve of that massive PR event known as my wedding that I should do what I am good at.
Well, ok, here's how it REALLY happened.
I was sitting in Percy's old room, formal dress robes pressed and hanging before me, the dragon hide boots so shiny you could have shaved in them. I was looking at a photo taken of Ginny a year or so back, I don't remember really. In the photo she looked about sixteen or so, and it was obviously taken in the Burrow.
She was reclining across a chair, her legs hanging over one arm, her head resting on the opposite one, and a book was open in her lap. I believe it was a photo album, but that didn't matter. The sun was low in the sky, so it was nearing night time, and the rays were highlighting her hair. It was shimmering softly.
So here I was holding this photo wondering how I was going to support Ginny. I mean here I am barely twenty; I had plenty to make sure we never had to work a day in our lives, but my eyes kept looking up at the dress uniform robes, the MLE badge and rank. The silver piping on the shoulders and sleeves glittering in the early morning light.
How could I go on being an Auror knowing it put her in danger of not having a husband to come home to? How could I live with myself if anything happened to her because I was an Auror?
Then again, she was an Unspeakable, so the same questions came from that side. I was feeling sick and miserable when the door opened, and Molly walked in.
"Harry dear, is everything alright?" She had concern written all over her face. I studied her for a minute and her eyes caught the picture. "Worried about your future dear?"
She sat next to me on the bed, and placed a comforting arm around my shoulders. "God, I don't know what to do Mrs. Weasley. I - I have no one to ask, no one to talk to." I was staying in a house with damn near twenty people thundering about, and I felt lonely, and isolated.
"First off Harry James Potter, you must stop calling me Mrs. Weasley. You are family now, for real. Call me mum." Her eyes were shining with happiness. I'd seen that look several times, pride in one of her children. For the first time it sank into me that Molly really did care for me like one of her own children. Because I saw that look before when she was looking at me, it was fourth year, and she had come to see me knowing that no other family would. She was so proud of me then, and now.
I spilled my story to her. Once I started talking it all came out, the fear that something would happen, and that I'd make a lousy husband and father. She listened and then gave me a big motherly hug.
"Harry, you are a very special person. Not because of this." She brushed my hair away to reveal my scar. "But because of this." Her hand rested over my heart. "You are going to marry my little girl soon, and I could no be happier for both of you. You are both brave, true Gryffindors to the end. There is no doubt to your intelligence; you both have N.E.W.T.s to spare. You both also do what you love to do; you make a difference and help people. Though I really do wish all four of you would have chosen a less dangerous lifestyle, I do understand."
She stood up and turned to leave. "We love you very much Harry. You have always been a son to Arthur and me."
I looked up at her, and through a watery smile said, for the first time ever. "I love you too mum."
I heard her breath catch, and she turned to look at me, and she gave me a smile, even as the tear leaked down her face. Suddenly she started laughing, so hard she had to hold her sides.
I was confused, later she confessed that when I had called her mum it had reminded her of a saying Arthur had picked up from work, something about a red-headed step child.
It confused me, but Arthur seemed to find it quite funny as well. A few years later I learned the saying from an American in the CMA (Central Magic Administration) who was taking custody of an American wizard we had caught in Wales.
We had roughed him up a bit catching him, and the American, a delightful chap named Felix something said it looked like we had "beaten him like a red-headed step child". As soon as he had said that, the whole scene between myself and Molly suddenly became very funny.
I rally do think Felix things I am mental, but he was polite enough to The Boy Who Lived, but they took their leave quite rapidly. Faster than necessary actually. Ron and I offered to take him to the Three Broomsticks, but he declined stating he had deadlines.
I shrugged to Ron and he and I went home as it was late already. I flooed Arthur and Molly and told them that I didn't think the saying was horribly accurate, but that it was funny none the less. We wound up at the Burrow that night for dinner.
I believe I have come to the end of this book. Just a few months ago, I turned thirty, I realize the book isn't horribly long, and is actually quite condensed, considering the volumes already written about me. But this one is by me, and contains my thoughts and feelings.
Perhaps when I am old and doddering, I'll add a few more chapters. But for now, you'll have to be content with this, and the piles of manuscripts written about me.
Harry James Potter Father, Son, Husband.