I like this interlude.
Interlude: Son of Mine
February 22nd, 1995
Dear Harry:
It's quiet here. I don't think I've ever realized how quiet. Snow is melting from the fall we had last night, and I can hear the drops of water coasting down the sides of the house in between my own heartbeats.
I could liven up the silence, but I find I don't want to. I sit and look out the windows for at least half an hour each morning, using the sight to relax me and fortify my mind for the day. Even in the winter, Lux Aeterna is beautiful: a stern place, of stone and sere grass, but shining like a mountain. I almost don't want to look away from the sight of the courtyards and the yew trees all draped in snow.
Then I go up to the study, and write any letters I need to, and begin reading. I've ordered books on modern Auror training and the history of the last ten years from Flourish and Blotts. I said once that I wanted to become an Auror again, join the fight against Voldemort, but it's painfully obvious that I can't do that until I know what they do differently now. Ten years of ignoring the outside world left me woefully behind, and the official Ministry pamphlets are no help at all. (They never were. They trick trainees in by promising them a life of fame and respect without mentioning all the hard work. Half the wizards and witches I trained with never made it past the first two months).
It's fascinating work, though hard. I practice the dueling spells by myself, and it's a good thing that some of my study includes healing spells. Not only are they useful in the field, they help me when I'm recovering from a hex bounced off one of my own shields.
Precisely at noon, the brownies serve me a light lunch; this never varies. Then I go flying outside. It's the active equivalent of the staring I do in the morning, I think. It suspends me in chill air above the grounds, which are all white and silver metal laid out below me. February changes this country more than any other month. I find it hard to hold on to any discouraging thoughts that might have crept in during my morning study, like ones mocking my hope of becoming an Auror again at all.
Then I return to my study, though usually I spend more time with history in the afternoon. A light tea comes at two, and dinner at five'o'clock. Then I write until I go to bed.
I'm not sure I should tell you what I'm writing yet. It might sound wrong. But this is a description of my daily routine, which I wrote because I didn't know what else to write.
Sincerely,
James Potter.
February 24th, 1995
Dear James:
Thank you for the description of your day. This is the kind of thing I want to know about you: simple, seemingly nonsensical things that will give me a glimpse into who you are when you're not trying to just be a father to Connor and me.
I could try to give you the same courtesy, but it would be silly because my days are so varied. I wake up at almost the same time every day, eat breakfast, go to class, eat lunch, go to more classes, and eat dinner. Those are usually the only things that are remotely the same. Oh, and Draco's always with me. That's the same, too.
Sometimes I study. Sometimes I teach lessons. Sometimes I have tense conversations that usually teach me more about the other person than they learn about me by the time they're done. Sometimes I free magical creatures. Lately it seems I've spent a lot of time listening to people complain about their love lives. Connor complains to me about his girlfriend, and Blaise moans that his girlfriend is too temperamental—she's a Weasley, and she stands up to him as well as her brothers—and Hermione rattles on at me about her jealous boyfriend. I offer advice that they never take. Of course, perhaps I'm not in the best position to be offering advice, but they act as if they want it. Mine mostly consists of being honest, which is too hard for most of them, and, Merlin knows, nearly too hard for me most of the time.
I want to know what you write every evening after dinner.
Sincerely,
Harry.
March 1st, 1995
Dear Harry:
I'm sorry for the delay in responding. I found myself nervous, and hesitated for a long time before I wrote anything at all. That's a joke, considering how much I write every day anyway, until my hand cramps, but it's the truth.
I write about you and Connor. I want to put down all the memories I have of you. Sometimes I just make lists: what I remember you doing on your birthdays, how fast you two could run, how many books were in your room at Godric's Hollow. Sometimes I try to cast the memories into a story, so that someone looking over my shoulder could read it as if it happened very far away and long ago. (The longest, and the one I'm proudest of, is a retelling of a wizarding legend with the two of you as the heroes).
Sometimes I think about everything I've forgotten, and then try to remember it. Those entries are the messiest, and they degenerate into a scrawl quickly. I usually give up on them and go to bed early on those nights.
Is it all right to ask how you feel about the newspaper articles? I know the Daily Prophet won't stop yammering about you.
Sincerely,
James Potter.
March 4th, 1995
Dear James:
Thank you for telling me. I don't know if you would like to show me the book that you've written those memories in, or even if I would like to read it, but it helps to know that someone is writing down the memories of our childhoods.
Yes, the newspaper articles are annoying, but I'm bearing up under them. Really, they're more tiresome than anything else. The Howlers are worse, but even they are more tiresome than not. People have a perfect right to object to me, and who could stop them? I can see why some people think I'm taking the glory away from Connor.
Connor doesn't think I'm taking anything away, though. He scowls when most people mention the Tournament, so they shut up. Or perhaps that's pity for him having been laid up in the hospital wing for so long. I don't know for certain. Perhaps I shall mention that possibility to him and see where it leads.
Fewer people speak to me about their love lives, now. Connor is still dancing around Parvati Patil, but Zacharias and Hermione had an argument that ended with her slapping him, and Ginny Weasley hexed Blaise for one remark too many about her brothers. Finally, some peace!
What do you dream about?
Sincerely,
Harry.
March 8th, 1995
Dear Harry:
I dream about a lot of things.
At night, I mostly dream nonsense. I always did. I know that some people have the most amazing, connected, story-like dreams, but that's not a gift I possess. The other night there were wooden gargoyles chasing me while I wielded a diamond sword. The night before that, I was trying desperately to find a box that would keep me from turning into a cat, and I know there were also dragons in there somewhere, but it's as much as I remember.
During the day, I concentrate on my ambitions of becoming an Auror again. The more I learn, the more it seems I have to learn. I'm studying law now. How many edicts did the Ministry pass in the last ten years, anyway? And do they really expect all their Aurors to be conversant with every single one of them? Sometimes it seems that way.
When writing, I dream about you and Connor.
Sweet dreams, Harry.
Sincerely,
James Potter.
March 15th, 1995
Dear James:
Now it's my turn to be nervous about writing you a letter, but I thought I owed you this much honesty for being so honest with me. I dream quite a lot, and I can't remember the last time I had a normal one. Or maybe I do have normal ones, and they just shred before I wake up.
I keep having visions of the Dark Lord. I see him—or, at least, I see the place where he's sitting—and his Death Eaters. So far, it's an advantage, because I can hear his plans, and he doesn't seem to notice me. But listening to his voice is disgusting. When I wake, my scar bleeds and my head hurts. It happens every single time, and I can't account for it. You'd think I'd get used to it at some point. At least I'm tolerating the headaches now. You should hear Draco fuss about them. It quite fulfils my quota of pointless fussing for the day.
Not that anyone else believes I've reached that quota. Blaise apologized to Ginny, and now they're happy again, so he complains about Ron almost hexing him in the corridors. Parvati said something cutting to Connor, so he mopes at me. The only really amusing romance is watching Zacharias try to take a seat at Hermione's table in the library without her noticing him. He waits until she's deep in a book and then sneaks over. She always notices him and moves. It's like a very slow game of musical chairs.
I'm not sure why I'm everyone's romantic woe repository. Perhaps because I listen well?
Is the landscape around Lux Aeterna changing now that there's less snow?
Sincerely,
Harry.
March 17th, 1995
Dear Harry:
Have you been to see Madam Pomfrey about your headache or your scar bleeding? I'm honored that you gave me your confidence about your visions, so I know that I have no right to press you, but if she could help you at all… I don't like to think of you suffering.
The landscape around Lux Aeterna looks oddly fragile right now. The first bits of grass are stirring, but they always get buried again by a faint snowfall or a frantic rain. The severe gray and silver grids are gone. The landscape wavers back and forth between mud and dirt. I remember loving this time of year when I was a boy. It made me think that spring was coming every day.
I changed into Prongs and ran today along the beach where we performed the Midsummer ritual. I'd forgotten how much I love running as a stag. The sheer song of the wind in my ears and the weight of antlers on my head and scent in my nostrils is something I should really always remember when I change back to human, but I don't.
Afraid I can't help you much on the romantic front! I was always the one who poured out his woes into other people's ears. Remus was the one who had to hear them.
Sincerely,
James Potter.
March 22nd, 1995
Dear James:
You've probably heard about my having a bunch of snakes come into the Great Hall and hiss at people by now. But they're free. Free, and I shattered the web on them! And it was a great day in other respects, too. Regulus came back! And something else happened that, well, it's important, but I think I'd rather hold the joy to myself for a while yet, because it still makes me nervous.
There's so much beauty in the world, Dad.
Did you perform a special Light ritual for the birth of spring?
Sincerely,
Harry.
March 27th, 1995
Dear Harry:
Thank you very much for your last letter, Harry. It means the world to me to know that you're happy.
For the birth of spring, there is a ritual, but it's one that each member of a Light family has to perform by himself. It's silence around the moment of sunset, when there's equal Light and Dark, day and night, for a single poised instant of time. For that moment, we remember the ancient time when Light and Dark didn't war with each other. We're dedicated to our Declared side the rest of the year, but we can pause and step outside the year just once.
I performed that ritual on the beach, too, and though it shouldn't have felt silent with the sea sighing and crashing all around me and gulls screaming in my ears, the absence of a single human voice really did matter.
I hope you continue happy.
Sincerely,
James Potter.
April 4th, 1995
Dear James:
I suppose you've heard about my article by now, and the attack on the Ministry prison. I dreamed about it, but I couldn't warn anyone in time to prevent it. I thought the article would be a good first step, but now I'm getting pelted by Howlers and Dungbombs.
I'm cleaning my own clothes and blankets now, because I thought it would set a good example to not have house elves serving me. (They're all up in arms about house elves—most of the people I've upset, I mean. I didn't foresee that). I haven't decided what to do about meals yet.
I never realized that I would upset everyone so much. That wasn't my intention. Some discomfort if they fought against me, sure, but I thought I could approach them on rational ground. Apparently not.
A few Slytherins are urging me to retract the article, but I won't. I do think I need a little time to recover, though. I'm so exhausted with dealing with everyone every day that I need a place where no one can come up to me and start a debate on the morals of freeing house elves. And being away from the romantic fits would be a fringe benefit.
Could I come to Lux Aeterna for Easter?
Sincerely,
Harry.
April 6th, 1995
Dear Harry:
You are more than welcome here. I am proud of you for standing up what you believe in, but I can understand the need to retreat for a few weeks and build up your tolerance for stupidity.
Connor has already written and told me he'd come, because he wants to give me a piece of his mind. Whether for that or any other reason, I am always happy to have you near me.
Sincerely,
James Potter.