Harry sat on his bed, holding a picture in his hand. It was a picture that had been sent to him by an unknown source. It was brought to him with only a note that said simply, "I thought you might want this." He studied the picture with mixed feelings. It was one of his parents, Lily Evans and James Potter, dancing together outside. By the looks of it, it was probably about fall. They both looked so genuinely happy. Harry at last could see the good in James, but at the same time…how could he have hurt his Mother so much? If she was so obviously in love, why did he have to go and be so…so pureblooded? Harry sighed and set the picture down. He was going to crack from all of this one day, he just knew it. He shook his head and slid off of the bed—he should get ready for class. He had his three lessons with Professor Potter and he didn't want to be late.
It had been two weeks since the 'incident' with Professor Potter. Harry had since then had six lessons with Professor Potter, yet he still wasn't sure if he liked the man or not. He was truly kind, Harry had to admit. Not only that, but he was quite funny and a great mischief maker. Harry found him to be beyond amusing. Yet, on the other hand he simply couldn't forget how he had treated his Mother. He couldn't comprehend why he hadn't just gone against his parent's wishes for love. Harry was still on this thought, still trying desperately to wrap his head around it, when he arrived at his and Professor Potter's special lesson room. Harry took a seat. It wasn't but a couple of minutes later that Professor Potter came out—surprisingly with nothing but a chess board.
"What are we going to do with that?" Harry asked. He hoped that he wasn't going to have to enlarge it like McGonagall had done to a chess set in his first year. Professor Potter set the board down on Harry's desk and pulled up a chair, sitting on it backwards and facing Harry.
"Dumbledore wants to improve your strategy, so we are going to play it," James replied simply, setting up the pieces. Harry quickly joined in.
"He wants to improve my battle strategy, you mean," Harry said. James nodded hesitantly.
"Yes, I suppose so. You go first—you're the white pieces after all," he said. Harry made his first move, and James quickly retaliated. "So, how has school been?" Harry shrugged, picking up a piece and moving it to take one of James' pawns.
"It's been ok, I guess. Nothing unusual," he said. James nodded.
"Well that's good," he said. There was a silence while James contemplated his next move. Finally he began to move his piece. Harry spoke up.
"Why didn't you just disobey your parents?" Harry asked. James looked up, startled.
"What?" he asked stupidly.
"Why didn't you just go against your parent's will and marry my mother if you loved her?" Harry asked, then moved his piece. "Check, by the way." James hurriedly moved his King out of check. Then he sighed. He thought for a moment as Harry moved his Knight. James picked up his pawn, twirled it around in his hand for a little while.
"Well, Harry," James said slowly. "Would you be so willing to go against your guardian's orders?" James was shocked when Harry nodded.
"Of course. I don't care what they think," Harry said. James just stared at him for a moment then shook his head.
"Perhaps that was a bad example, then? Alright, let's try this one. Would you be so willing to go against your Mother's wishes?" he asked. That struck a chord with Harry. He though about it for a moment, and suddenly he felt guilt wash over him—he now knew what a tough decision his father had had to make.
"No," Harry replied. James put the pawn back on the board.
"Checkmate," he said. "Well. There you go, then." They cleared the board and set it back up again. They played silently for a few moves, then it was James who asked a question.
"Don't you like your guardians?" James asked tentatively. Harry shook his head, staring intensely at the pieces on the board.
"No. It's a mutual hatred," Harry said. James was slightly alarmed, but he smiled nonetheless.
"Oh, surely you don't hate them, and most certainly they don't hate you," James said. Harry looked at him, perhaps in annoyance.
"Sure," he said, and moved his Queen. "Checkmate." There was a silence. For James, it was an awkward one—he knew he had made a mistake in saying that he must be wrong. He knew he must have made Harry put up a wall of defense. He sighed, cleared the board and set it up again. James simply could not comprehend parents hating their children or guardians hating their charges. It simply didn't make sense to James. Why, he'd only known Harry for a few weeks and already he could love him as a son—if only Harry would have him. James knew, however, that that was asking just a little too much at this point. He moved his pawn forward.
"They really hate you, then?" James asked quietly. Harry did not respond, only moved his own piece forward. He sat back once he was done.
"What does it matter?" Harry challenged. James was surprised by the question. What did it matter? What did it matter? It mattered a whole lot! It really mattered a lot, especially to James. How had his poor son been treated all of his life?
"It matters a lot to me, Harry," James said softly. Harry looked as if he didn't believe him, which, James thought, he probably didn't.
"Well it doesn't matter to me," said Harry in a very closed-off voice that obviously meant it mattered a lot to him as well, but he wasn't going to let James know that. He moved his rook. "Checkmate."
Harry was finished with his lesson about five minutes later. James had surrendered. He gathered up his things and went down the eerily silent hallway. A slight flicker of movement caught Harry's eye. He saw a little girl—a first year, perhaps—standing silently in the corridor. When she caught sight of Harry she looked frightened and dropped the potions scales that she had been carrying. Harry sighed.
"Here, let me help you pick that up," Harry said in slight annoyance. The little girl just squeaked, shook her head no and ran off in some other direction. Harry shook his head and walked on. If she was going to act stupid, then why should he help her? He went back to the Gryffindor common room. To his surprise, he was not the only one in there. A tall man with black hair was standing by the fire. Harry cocked his head and then realized it was Professor Black. "Er, Professor?" Harry asked tentatively. Professor Black turned around, startled.
"Oh, it's you, Mr. Evans," he said. "What do you need?"
"Nothing," Harry said. "I was just wondering why you were in here." Professor Black looked at him blankly for a moment, as if he hadn't understood the question and then sighed.
"That's a good question, Mr. Evans. I'm not really sure why," he said. He looked around the room fondly. "I was a Gryffindor in my days here, too. I guess I kind of missed it." Harry nodded. He could understand that. Harry himself couldn't comprehend leaving Hogwarts. It had been his life for so long. What would he do? Where would he go? It wasn't like he had any family left—then he remembered; he did have family, just family that he'd rather stay far from.
"Oh," Harry said, sitting down. He took out his books and other homework—he realized that Professor Black was definitely not leaving. He sat down as well.
"Harry?" Professor Black asked. Harry turned to look at him. For all he had a youthful face, his eyes held more wisdom and pain than there should be in a lifetime. Harry's heart went out to him—he knew it would be difficult to be an Auror in these dark days.
"Yeah?" Harry asked.
"Are you happy?" That one simple question took Harry aback. He thought for a moment. He had great friends, loved Quidditch, did well in school. Of course he should be happy—but he wasn't. Too much had happened to him. He knew that after his last year at Hogwarts he would have to break contact with everyone he loved. He would hurl himself into seclusion. His only purpose in life was, after all, to defeat Voldemort. Harry felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He now knew why people didn't usually know what their purpose in life was—because once they found out, they'd feel an emptiness and that would be all they would do. Then what would happen once the deed was done? Did they just die? Did they just drop off the planet? Harry didn't know, and didn't want to know. He felt hollow. He had a set purpose in life, a reason for being born. He should be happy, but he wasn't, because that purpose meant he wasn't allowed happiness. That purpose meant he was only allowed pain. That purpose was what made him answer Sirius' question.
"No," he said, and continued to work on his homework.