Title: Fathers (For lack of a better title --;;)
Summary: A short look at Harry's Father's Day at Grimmauld. One-shot.
Note: Just sort of a tribute to my dad (who isn't EVER going to read this, but whatever). Inspired whilst I was writing him a Father's Day card. Go figure. After 'Order of the Phoenix'.
Rain drummed against the window. Harry glanced towards the drenched outer pane bleakly, even pressed his hand to the cold glass. It was certainly a bit more than the average summer shower.
Silently, he couldn't help but wonder what the hell he was doing here. What did they want him back here, at Grimmauld, for? For once in his life, Harry just wanted to go back to Privet Drive. For once, there was a place with worse memories than in Little Whinging.
Hands in his pockets, Harry wandered throughout the halls and corridors aimlessly, not particularly minding any unforeseen consequences. So what if he startled half the house by awaking the portraits? At this point, Harry could really care less.
Body curving around a corner, Harry peered into one of the numerous rooms occupied by one of the members of the Order. A witch was fumbling through her sock drawer, muttering to herself, but didn't take any notice. Harry, unperturbed, edged further in.
It was an ordinary room, just like all the others in the house – a bit dim, a bit dusty, but it was only to be expected. It seemed as 'though the witch was really trying to make the best out of a bad thing: crayon doodles, probably from her kid or younger relative, were splayed across the walls. A mirror, among many other finishing touches, hung above the vanity; 'though it hardly served any purpose, it being full of photographs, taped to the reflective surface.
A calendar. Harry glanced at the picture for the month of June. Caerphilly Catapults. It was at this point that he remembered – the eighteenth was circled in red. Harry trudged back towards the door.
"Oh, hullo, Harry," said the witch, finally rising from her dresser. Her smile was artificial, as 'though she could scarcely overcome a sadness within, but managed to grin just for Harry's sake. "What can I do for..." She trailed off as Harry disappeared down the corridor.
Indignant rage pulsed through Harry's mind. Why was he here? Didn't they realise at ALL what day it was? That he really had more pressing things at hand than to wander pointlessly through this decrepit old ruin of a house? He kicked idly at a corner as the hall took a steep turn left.
He didn't want to be here. Not after Sirius had –
Harry's temples pounded with fury. What were they on about? The simple wish to return to the Dursleys's, where no one would bother him, was positively horrible. For all those years, he wanted nothing but to leave, and now he wanted to go back... "Anywhere's better than here," Harry muttered to himself.
Oddly, Harry found himself returned to his own room. With a deep exhale, he grasped the doorknob and ventured inside, immediately casting himself on top of his bed. He inhaled, closing his eyes to the ceiling above, not even bothering to take off his glasses. Sleep. Just beautiful, wonderful, loss of memory in unconsciousness...
It was no use. Harry returned to a sitting position, letting his feet swing over the side of his bed. Even if he could get to sleep, he was still there. His dad was everywhere he turned, anyways.
Harry glanced to the side, where his nightstand sat. James and Lily twirled in the snow, every once in a while turning and waving towards their son through the picture frame. Anger slipped away. Misery returned.
"Harry? May I come in?"
A rapping of knuckles against his door. Harry turned towards the door. In his unwariness, he'd apparently slammed the door in his wake. "Yeah," Harry answered hoarsely. "Yeah, come in."
Slowly, the door creaked open, and Lupin stepped inside. A weak smile was cast about his scarred features. There was a rumble – the already bad summer storm was worsening.
"Are you all right, Harry?" Lupin asked quietly, hands in his pockets as he observed the youth with his chin tucked in questioningly.
"Yeah –" Harry began begrudgingly, but stopped. "No. No, I'm not all right." He was staring intently at his sneakers as they swayed near the floor. His shoelaces were untied.
Lupin nodded understandingly. "What's the matter, then?" he questioned in an acknowledging voice.
"I –" Harry searched his mind. What WAS the matter? "I – it's just –" He sighed heavily. "I don't know." He clasped his hands together and set them on his lap in contemplation.
Lupin nodded again and sat down next to Harry. "Do you think it has anything to do with Sirius?" he offered. The wizard's voice was strained, as 'though to prevent his voice was cracking. Lupin swallowed. Harry glanced at him: the werewolf was having just as hard a time as he was.
"I think..." Harry paused. "I think that's part of it." He returned his gaze to his hands, which wrung themselves unconsciously.
"Or perhaps you're wondering," said Lupin, "why you were asked to come here, today of all days." He looked fondly at the picture on Harry's nightstand. "Correct?"
"Yeah," replied Harry. "Yeah, I guess so." To be entirely honest, that had been EXACTLY what he had been thinking.
The weak smile on Lupin's face became drearier. "Yes," said the lycanthrope somewhat faintly. "This is a difficult day for nearly all of us here."
Harry glanced at Lupin, not without a touch of surprise on his features. The smile strengthened a little. "My father died some time ago, Harry," his former teacher continued. "I was very young at the time... As I recall, Alastor showed you a picture of the original Order, correct?" Harry nodded, not bothering to ask how Lupin knew that. Lupin nodded. "Yes. Nearly everyone..." Lupin shook his head mournfully.
"My father wasn't part of the Order, but Neville Longbottom's was." Harry could help but shake away a shiver. "That woman who you rather frightened down the corridor? Her father was part of the Order, too. He passed away, as well." Harry looked at Lupin sharply, but Lupin was only smiling softly.
"You see, Harry, everyone here knows the risks. And for those of us who have lost someone..." He laid a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "As for why you're here today... Well, I thought it would be better if we were all here, handling it together." His smile was wane, and terribly sombre. "That's why you're here, Harry." Lupin nodded and rose. "That's why you're here."
Harry thought about Lupin's words in his room as he gazed blankly towards his parents's picture. James waved merrily towards his son, unaware of the horrible death he faced. Lily smiled and laughed silently.
Harry wanted his dad. More than anything else in the world, he wanted his father back.
He took a deep, shuddering sigh. There wasn't anything that could bring James Potter back. When Harry thought he had someone, someone who had been close to his dad, who had loved him, helped to fill the void – he was taken away, too. A tear slid down Harry's cheek.
"For those of us who have lost someone – I thought it would be better if we were all here, handling it together."
Lupin's words echoed in his mind. Neville, whose parents were both driven to insanity, had never really known his father, either. That witch, whose father had died because of the Order, too, was robbed of her dad. Lupin's dad had passed away when he was just a kid, too. Probably even more, Harry realised. There were probably loads of people in this same house who had lost their dads.
He wasn't the only one who spent the sleepless nights missing his dad. Harry wasn't the sole person who had to endure Father's Day like a curse.
"Need any help?"
The witch from before glanced up from the kitchen sink, where she was peeling potatoes by hand. Lupin looked up from his cup of tea at the table, surprised that Harry had left his room so early. "Eh? Oh – hi, Harry. Feeling better?" She disregarded his first offer of aid.
"Yeah," replied Harry with a smile. "Need help?" he repeated.
The witch looked down at her hands, where she held a half-peeled potato. "Er – yeah. Sure." She grinned and handed him a potato. Harry glanced back at Lupin, who had returned to his newspaper and tea, but a ghost of a smile had appeared on his scarred visage.
Note: .. This fic is so depressing. -Sighs- Not quite so bad as that 'Tears in the Dark', but – DAMN. This is sad. oo; Ack. Well, I just wanted to say – I'm not sure if the witch is Charlotte or not. -Shrug- Whatever. If you want to substitute another witch, then go right ahead.