Harry was in a particularly sour mood the next morning. He wasn't really sure how to respond to this new information, so he simply decided to bite Ron and Hermione's heads off. They had been concerned about him for the entire summer, what with Tonks being killed and all. Now they just mistook his anger for grief and said nothing about Harry lashing out at them. Harry did have a guilty sort of happiness however, as he had no defense classes on this particular day. He had Care of the Magical Creatures first (along with Hermione and Ron, and Ron kept complaining about having to go outside first thing in the morning when it was really cold out—Harry tended to agree, though Hermione told them both to quit their whining) and then later on in the day he had Herbology and Transfiguration. He could live with this day as long as he had no Snape or Potter to deal with.
Harry, Ron and Hermione trudged down to Hagrid's hut in silence. He supposed he should apologize to them, but he really didn't know how. He wasn't ready to explain to them the situation, though he knew already that Hermione had guessed; Ron was a little dafter. They reached Hagrid's hut to find Hagrid bringing in some beautiful winged horses and the new Professor, Professor Lupin, was giving him a hand. This new teacher didn't look so terrible—he had hair that was graying, but looked like it had at one time been blonde, gray eyes and a kind smile. Once the entire class had arrived, he smiled at them all.
"Good morning sixth years, and welcome to Care of the Magical Creatures. You all have been in this class for three years, so I assume that I need not explain to you the details of this course. I am Professor Lupin, for those of you that do not pay attention during Dumbledore's Beginning-of-the-Year speech, and Hagrid will be my assistant this year. The creatures he is bringing in are called, very simply, Winged Horses. There are four types of Winged Horses, the Abraxan, which is a very powerful palomino," Professor Lupin was saying, and showed them a palomino horse with wings. "The Aethonan, which is the most common here," he said, gesturing to a chestnut horse, "the Granian," at this he moved on to a gray horse, "and finally, the Thestral, which I believe you all studied last year and so, I did not think it necessary to bring in an example." It seemed as though Professor Lupin would just go on lecturing, but he surprised them all with what he said next.
"These creatures are becoming widely popular to be kept as pets, and their flying capabilities have made them more popular in America, where the broom has failed to achieve recognition. In Canada they even have invented a game, which they often play with the United States and Mexico, which is very much like the muggle sport of Lacrosse, only on horseback in the air. The sport is considered highly dangerous—even more so than Quidditch, they say, but highly exhilarating as well. I myself have played the game and find it quite enjoyable. This week you will each have a winged horse that you will learn how to care for, and then we will practice flying and eventually play the game of Flying Lacrosse." Professor Lupin said. He then handed them a book on the care of Winged Horses and a rulebook about Flying Lacrosse. Malfoy had a few things to say about this game.
"This stupid Professor's no better than the half-breed! He wants to put us on a bloody flying horse and bang each other with metal sticks with baskets on the end? He'll murder us!" Malfoy said. Harry wanted to stick up for the new professor, but everything that he said—besides the remark about Hagrid being a half-breed—Harry agreed with. He'd ridden Buckbeak only twice, but he knew from that that riding a winged horse was not going to be exactly easy. Not only that, but controlling it enough to play a game and be able to get a good enough grip on it to repel any people that wanted to hit you with a stick without getting knocked off and killed as well as keeping a ball the size of a fist in a little basket? It just seemed like Professor Lupin was asking a bit too much. Nevertheless, they were assigned their horses. Hermione got a noble-looking Abraxan, Ron obtained a skinny Aethonan, and Harry was left with an anxious Granian. Harry was greatful to have gotten the fastest and swiftest of the three breeds, but this horse did not seem like it was going to be under control any time soon. Harry was attempting to groom it, but it wasn't having any of it.
"Please calm down your horse, Mr. Evans," Professor Lupin said calmly. When he saw that Harry was struggling he came over and scratched the creature behind its ears. Gradually the horse—which Harry later learned was named Static—calmed down. "Just scratch this one behind the ears and wings and he'll love you forever. He'll do anything just for a little pat, poor lonely fellow. Otherwise he's anxious, nervous." Professor Lupin explained. Harry nodded, taking over the job of patting the horse. Professor Lupin smiled. "You're on the Quidditch team as a Seeker, yes? Good. You'll do well at this game. All people who play Quidditch generally enjoy and succeed at this game—Seekers and beaters especially."
"Why beaters?" Harry asked stupidly. Professor Lupin just gave a laugh.
"Because they have to resist hitting their opponents with that club for as long as they play, but in this game they finally get a chance to use a stick, even if it is a lot lighter," he said. Professor Lupin moved on to another group of students who were not brushing the animal right. Harry wasn't sure what to make of this new teacher, but at the moment he had more important things to think about. He picked up a brush and put it to the horse's body. Just because he had more important things to think about didn't mean he was going to think about them.
James had honestly no idea why the Headmaster had called him up to his office. Maybe it was due to the fact that James hadn't attended breakfast. Maybe it was because Sirius had told the Headmaster that he had left all of his classes for the day for Sirius to handle alone. Whatever the matter James resented being pulled out of his room like that. It hadn't been done in a very nice fashion either.
"JAMES!" Sirius had yelled, pounding on the door to his room. "JAMES, GET OUT! The Headmaster wants to speak with you!" Sirius was nearly breaking down the door, forcing James to get up and answer it. He said nothing to his old friend, who merely looked at him in concern when he retreated from his room with a resigned expression. Sirius had tried to speak, but James left the room before he could. He didn't want to talk to anyone right now, not Remus, not Sirius and most certainly not the Headmaster.
Yet there he was, standing on the escalator-like spiral steps that led to the Headmaster's office. When he arrived he knocked on the door. The Professor answered. "Ah James, do come in. I need to speak with you," he said.
"So I've heard," James muttered, taking a seat across from the Headmaster's desk while the Professor got out the lemon drops. Oh no. You could always tell that there was some bad news to be broken when Dumbledore brought out the Lemon Drops. "What is it now, Albus?" James asked, rubbing his temples as if he had a terrible headache, which, after all this news, he did. Dumbledore sighed, putting aside the lemon drops.
"Harry came to talk with me last night," he said reluctantly. When there seemed to be no more information forthcoming, James prompted him.
"Oh did he? What could he possibly want?" James asked.
"Well, it seems that there was an ah—slipup, last night. He informed me that you went into a, what must have been, form of shock and called him Mr. Potter. He wanted to know if you were just in shock, or if you were his father. I could not lie to him, James. He knows. I have been terribly unfair to him. It wasn't right of me to keep this information from the both of you. It wasn't right of me to let the boy go without the father he so desperately needs. James, now that he knows…I won't tell you anything. I think Harry will tell you when he deems it is the right time, but Harry has had…issues, I will say, with the family that raised him. He desperately needs you James, but he is too proud to let you in, and for now, he will be too angry to, anyway," Dumbledore stopped to sigh, and he looked older than James had ever seen him look. "I've made so many grave mistakes these past years. I fear that my decisions have completely ruined the poor child."
James just sat there. At least he did not have to tell Harry himself. That now, though, was the least of his worries. Family problems? What kind of Family Issues could Harry have had at such a young age? Also, what was Dumbledore so sad about? James didn't think he had ever seen the Headmaster looking so regretful. All James could think of to say was, "May I go now?" The Professor nodded, still looking downcast.
"Get to know him, James. He's the best lad I think we will see in a good many years. Get to know him, love him, and then earn the right to be proud of him," Professor Dumbledore said, and with that being said, James left the room. He was going to have to talk to Harry as soon as he could. As much as he dreaded the upcoming conversation he knew it was better to have happen sooner than later. As to the Headmaster, well, he would figure him out later.
Just before the end of Harry's Transfiguration class, his last class for the day, Professor McGonagall called him up to the front of the class while everyone else was packing up.
"Mr. Evans, I received this note so it could be passed on to you. It is from Professor Potter," Professor McGonagall said, eyeing him. She was obviously trying to see what Professor Potter wanted by the expression on Harry's face. Unfortunately for her, Harry kept his expression blank, even though a note from Professor Potter was perhaps the last thing he wanted.
"Right. Thanks, Professor," Harry said, taking the note from her. He read the short, but effective, note from his, well, his Professor.
"Mr. Evans," the note read, "Please come and see me following you Transfiguration class in the Defense classroom as I do believe we have some things that need to be discussed." Harry tucked the note away in his pocket. Hermione and Ron were looking at him curiously.
"Go to the common room without me, you two. I'll catch up later," Harry said, leaving the room.
"Harry," Hermione said with worry clear in her voice, face and eyes, but Harry was already gone.
It didn't take Harry long to get to the Defense classroom. There was Mr. Potter, behind his desk. Harry noticed that though the Professor was looking at him, he would not look him in the eye. Harry had no trouble returning the courtesy.
"Please sit down, Mr. Evans," Professor Potter said formally. Harry took the proffered seat. "So. I'll get straight to the point I suppose—no use in beating around the bush. You know that I am you Father. It's just as new to me as it is to you, believe me." Harry just nodded curtly. There was a silence. Then, Harry asked a question that they had both been dreading.
"Why did you leave my Mother?" Harry asked. He was trying not to let the anger in his voice show, the despair. All of the emotions he had were rising to the surface, but he was fighting very hard to keep them down lest tears leak from his eyes. James sighed.
"I suppose I should've expected that question. Harry, I don't think it's necessary to give you all of the details. What I did to your Mother was stupid and unforgivable, and I have always regretted what I have done. I left your Mother because my parents, your grandparents who are now deceased, just so you know, asked me not to marry your Mother. They…they wished for me to marry a pureblood witch. In this my parents were no better than the Blacks or the Malfoys, though they were better people in most other areas. They pressured me, and I relented. Your Mother and I got into a fight one day when she wanted to discuss having children," James rubbed his forehead. He hated thinking about this. "I told her that my parents did not wish for me to marry her because she was a muggle-born. She rightfully got upset and fled. I never saw her or heard what happened to her again, until November first, about two years later. By then, as you know, it was too late for me, too late for her. I should have been there that night. I should have married your Mother, and I should have raised you. I should have died with her that night, but things don't always go as they should. I suppose that all I can say is I'm sorry."
Harry blinked. Once. Twice. Of all the emotions he was experiencing anger was the most prominent. Disappointment and a terrible longing and sadness that he did not understand were a close second. Harry closed his eyes and took a long breath, but it did no good. He heard something shatter. When he opened his eyes he saw it was a mirror, and he became even more angered—he hadn't done accidental magic since his third year, and he was even more upset for losing control of himself. James seemed startled by the burst of magic, but Harry didn't care.
"You're no better," Harry said in a deadly quiet voice, "than Snape. No better than a Malfoy. How could you do that to my Mother? She gave her life protecting me, and yet you couldn't even marry her after getting her pregnant because your precious mother and father told you not to? You're no better than all those gits and their stupid pureblood prejudices!" Harry ended up raising his voice with each statement, and by the end he hollered. A vase on James' desk exploded into a million pieces, cutting both James and himself, but Harry didn't care. He stormed out of the room, furious.
"Harry, wait!" James said, standing up, but Harry didn't listen to him. He kept right on going. He didn't know just exactly what he was going to do or where he was going, but he knew he had to leave. He went out the door, running right past and nearly knocking over a stunned Professor Black.
Harry marched up to Gryffindor tower and put on his invisibility cloak—though he was almost disgusted that he did now that he knew where it came from. He grabbed the Marauder's Map—thank God for the genius creators of said Map—and waited until past dinner. Once curfew had past Harry lit the tip of his wand, muttered, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good" and left through the portrait hole. If the students noticed that the portrait was opening on its own accord, they said nothing.
Harry wasn't really sure where he was going. Just on a walk about the castle, he supposed. He just didn't feel like talking to anyone, and if he stayed in Gryffindor Tower he would be pelted with questions from an upset Hermione and a hurt Ron. He just didn't want to deal with that at the moment. Harry headed towards the Room of Requirement. Maybe if he just passed by it three times with all of his frantic thoughts the room would automatically know what he needed—after all, the room didn't need you to be very specific.
Harry was just turning the corner into the corridor in the hall when he saw a very suspicious sight. Draco Malfoy was entering the room of requirement and Crabbe and Goyle were standing outside as—guards? Watchmen? Harry wasn't sure. Either way, Harry forgot everything he had been thinking of and immediately concentrated on his archenemy. He waited for a while until Malfoy came back out, looking satisfied. Anything that made Malfoy look pleased couldn't be good, Harry thought, and he watched as they walked right past him and back towards, where Harry guessed, was the Slytherin common room. Harry rushed to the door and walked back and forth three times, thinking 'I need to see where Malfoy was. I need to see where Malfoy was. I need to see where Malfoy was.' All this he did in vain, however, as the door remained tightly locked. With growing frustration, Harry looked at the map to see if Malfoy was up to more trouble, but alas no, he was in his Dormitory, presumably sleeping. Harry sighed with frustration. What was he up to? Harry heard a meow from not to far away, and with that he decided that his Midnight walk was over. He could harass Malfoy in the morning.