Disclaimer: I haven't done one of these in ages so I thought I should let everyone know once again that I'm a nobody (sobs) and JK Rowling owns the characters and everything Harry Potter.
Sirius walked into the kitchen to see Harry sweeping the floor, silent tears streaming down his face which was white with fear.
"You're not having a great morning are you?" Sirius said and Harry turned suddenly, eyes wide.
"Siri!" Harry cried, dropping the broom and racing forward. "Are we in danger? Is someone attacking us?"
Sirius sighed and picked up Harry under the arms. He put him down on the kitchen counter and turned to give him another serious talk. He hated having these talks with Harry. It was James' job, not his. And twice in one day was more than enough.
"No one's attacking us," Sirius assured Harry. "Remmie was referring to something else. He didn't mean to say attack."
Harry sniffed. "Then what was he referring to?" he asked.
Sirius racked his brain for an answer to this question. Usually he was pretty good at making stuff up, but this got him stumped.
"Uh, never mind that," Sirius said. "That's grown-up stuff."
Harry nodded tearfully, then brought his face up to meet Sirius'. "Dad doesn't like me does he?" he asked.
Sirius was shocked by this sudden question. "What?" was all he managed to get out.
"Dad doesn't like me," this time it was a statement not a question.
Sirius put both hands on the table, one on either side of Harry and looked at him face to face.
"Your father loves you Harry," he said firmly.
"I know that he loves me," Harry said thoughtfully. "Because he has to, doesn't he? But does he like me? I mean if I wasn't his son and I was his friend, he wouldn't like me."
Sirius' jaw dropped as he heard the small boy speak. "That's not true Harry," Sirius objected. "I have never met a man that loves his own child as much as your dad loves you."
"But we don't seem to get along," Harry said as though searching for a reason to back up his claim.
Sirius sighed. He knew it was time for a bit of father-son bonding.
oOoOoOoOoOo
"What the hell was that about?" Sirius demanded of James as he walked into the lounge room after he had helped Harry clear out the kitchen. Remus had left and James had gone back to playing with the TV.
"Well, Remus thinks that the werewolves are in ca-"
"I don't care about the flippin' werewolves," Sirius snapped. "What about Harry? What the hell happened there?"
James put down the remote to turn and look at Sirius. "I told him to sweep the floor," James said, eyeing Sirius closely. "I do have a right to do that, right?"
"Remus, whatever possessed him to do so, came in here screaming about attacks," Sirius said, practically glowering. "Your six year old son was scared out of his wits and you told him to sweep? There's something wrong about that."
James raised an eyebrow and stood up from his kneeling position on the floor. "What are you saying Sirius?" he asked in a what should have been a threatening voice. "Are you saying that I'm a bad father?"
"Did I say that?" Sirius shot back. "All I'm saying is that you ignored your son when he was frightened."
"You know what, Padfoot?" James said, his voice unusually high. "It's none of your business."
Sirius' eyebrows shot up so fast and high that they disappeared behind his dark hair. "You're acting like a prat, you know that?" he said, calmly. "Harry's my godson."
James seemed to deflate a bit and his face showed signs of shame. He sat back down on the floor and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes.
"I do love him," he said. "He's my baby and he's the reason I get up in the morning. If he wasn't around I don't think I could handle it…but lately…lately it's like I need something more." He looked up at Sirius as if begging him to understand. "I didn't really have anything to do with the case involving Lily's murder and I just feel that I need some closure over it."
"You don't need to find Pettigrew for closure if that's what you're thinking," Sirius said. "He will get caught, but you're not the right person to do any of the catching. You have Harry. What would happen if you were to die?"
"He would have you and Remus," James stated.
"But we are no substitute for you," Sirius objected. "I'm sorry, but you said to me before that I have to grow up…you're the father…have you always shunned Harry away like that? Do you always threaten him with a broom?"
James stood up quickly, his eyes showing a mixture of emotion. Hurt, confused, anger, sadness.
"No," he said defiantly. "That is the first and, of course, last time that has happened. Harry knows I love him."
Sirius cocked an eyebrow in a fashion that, if he had still been in school, the girls would have fainted.
"Does he?"
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
James walked slowly down the hall, towards his son's room where he knew Harry would be. Harry's room was on the second floor, which James was grateful for, and as he neared Harry's room he suddenly got nervous.
Why am I so edgy? He thought. It's my son for Merlin's sake.
But as he drew level with the bedroom door, he realised with a sinking heart, that he had never really had a heart to heart with his son. Sure, James had played with Harry in a way only a father would. He had taught him not to talk to strangers, not to wander off by himself. He had fed him and clothed him and taught him how to tie his shoes. He had spoiled him rotten and had punished him for wrongdoings. But never has he had a heart to heart.
Have I even told him I loved him? James thought desperately as he placed a shaking hand on the doorknob. I must have. I am his father.
James hesitated, but only for a second, before turning the doorknob and opening the door. The room was no longer flashing different colours like the last time he was here, but instead it was red. The way James had intended it to be. He glanced around and only just noticed the small figure tucked in a corner, a little stuffed toy in his hand.
"Hey, shortie," James said cheerfully, striding into the room and sitting on the bed, facing the crouching Harry. "What are you doing in the corner?"
Harry tore his eyes away from the stuffed toy and looked up probingly at James and after a minute he shrugged.
"Uh, why don't you come over here," James said, patting the empty space on the bed for Harry to sit on.
Harry slowly got up and, never taking his eyes off James, edged his way towards the bed. By this time, James was feeling just slightly unnerved by his son's peculiar behaviour.
Harry sat down tentatively on the bed and looked up at James expectantly.
"Harry, before when Remus was over, I realise you were frightened by what he said," James started uncertainly, comprehending that maybe this was just a bit formal for a father-son conversation. Had it always been this difficult?
"But Siri said we weren't going to be attacked," Harry said slowly and carefully, as if what he might say would anger James.
"And he's right," James said quickly. "We're not under attack and we won't be under attack. I should have told you that. It should have been me that had talked to you…not Sirius. I didn't mean to reject you like that. I'm sorry."
He looked down at Harry imploringly.
"Daddy…do you…do you love me?" Harry asked, his eyes pleading with James.
James couldn't take it any more. Before he knew what he was doing, he had Harry on his lap and was squeezing him to the point where Harry was finding it difficult to breathe.
"Daddy?" Harry managed. "I can't breathe."
James let go of Harry hastily and looked him up and down while Harry was still seated on his lap.
"I love you so much, Harry," he said in barely a whisper, but loud enough for Harry to hear.
Harry grinned. He couldn't help it, but then he remembered his next question. "Do you like me?" he asked, looking down into his lap.
"What?" James spluttered. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't this.
"Do you like me?" Harry repeated, finally looking into his father's eyes. "I mean, I knew you loved me…but do you like me as a person?"
James smiled gently. "You, my dear son, are top quality."
"Top quality?" Harry questioned.
"Yes," James said nodding vigorously. "Nobody rivals you. You are simply the best person I've met as far."
"Better than Sirius and Remus?" Harry asked, a frown playing on his lips.
"Who?" James played, feeling like he was back on track.
"Sirius and Remus!" Harry repeated. "You know!"
"Oh, Sirius and Remus," James cried, grinning madly. "They come nowhere near as great as you."
Harry was now smiling broadly, but suddenly his smile died. "What about mummy?" he asked softly.
James swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "What about mummy?" he asked, trying very hard to sound casual.
"Is she top quality too?" Harry asked innocently.
"Yes, she was top quality," James said, smiling sadly.
"Did they catch her killer yet, daddy?" Harry asked curiously.
James shook his head slowly, gulping even though there was nothing to gulp.
"No," he said. "But one day, Harry, one day we will have him."
"Was she nice?" Harry asked, curling a strand of hair around his finger.
James sighed as he batted Harry's hand away from his hair. "Oh, yes," he said. "She had your future planned out for you, she did," James said matter-of-factly. "You were to go to the best school out there for you."
"Really?" Harry said, smiling.
"Oh yes," James said, nodding. "But she was very protective. There was this one time…"
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
Peter Pettigrew was not one for class. He was not one for pride and he was not one for dignity, which is why if you had decided to take a trip down a sewer you would find him there, rocking backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet. A sewer…the very same sewer he had proclaimed to the many rats that he would take vengeance on one James Potter. It had been this way, living in this one sewer, for five years, building hate and revenge. But also fear. For who was a rat…a Wormtail…without fear? Fear for his former allies and fear for his present foes.
It was at this very thought that Pettigrew shoved off his current allies…the rats…from his back and chest and surged forward onto the opposite wall, clinging onto this slimy wall as though it could somehow give him a life he so desperately urged for. His long, yellow, grotesque fingernails digging into the crevices of the cement and he howled. Letting go of his anger and resentment. Anger for the one child that had caused him so much misery and resentment for his master for letting this child. And when he had finished, he let go of the wall and started to rip and tear at his old and worn clothes. Never taking minds that his fingernails were doing more damage to the skin beneath than his rags. When he had completely torn off his shirt, he looked down at his bloodied body and smirked.
"Figures," he spat out, looking down at the scurrying rats. "Figures…Figures that I'm the one stuck in a sewer for five damn years!" he noticed he was standing on a rat's tail, the rat desperately trying to get free. "Figures, doesn't it?" he muttered, as he bent down, lifted his foot and grabbed the rat before he had time to get away.
As he looked the rat in the eyes, he realised something. He knew this rat. He had spoken to this rat many times before. He wasn't a bad rat. This rat had killed many others just to save his own skin. He was a good rat. A rat that deserved admiration. A rat just like Pettigrew.
Pettigrew smiled down at it. A twisted smile that one would normally possess while serving a sentence in Azkaban. A smile that meant that the beholder meant no good.
"You know, we're alike," Pettigrew said conversationally to the rat. "We're both outcasts. We would kill to save our own skin and we would suck up just to get what we wanted…to be powerful. But have you wondered that maybe we didn't make the right decision?"
He stopped and looked at the rat, squirming in his grip. He didn't expect an answer…he wasn't mad…but he did watch the rat expectantly for some time, taking satisfaction in watching its discomfort.
"Figures," Pettigrew hissed, his voice rising dangerously high. "FIGURES THAT BLOODY JAMES POTTER HAS IT ALL! I'VE SUFFERED AND HE'S LIVING LUXURY!" he didn't realise until that minute that he had been squeezing the rat so tightly that it seemed that its eyes were popping out of its head. "Sorry about that," Pettigrew said, smiling again, regaining his composure and loosening his grip, which the rat seemed most grateful for. "Tough five years, you know."
He paced a few steps, the rat still in his grip, muttering to himself.
" 'Look, Peter, we have a beautiful baby boy,'" he said in a sing-song voice. "I'm sure he'll be just as beautiful dead," he said venomously.
The rat squeaked sharply and Pettigrew realised he was squeezing him again.
"You know what?" Pettigrew said, bringing his pacing to a halt and bringing the rat up to eye level again. "This is where it starts. The boy-who-lived will become the boy-who-died. The world will be rid of one snot nosed little brat. This time I give no mercy. This time I will conquer."
It seemed to the rat that this strange man had finally come to his decision on his future and the rat begged more than anything that this strange man would find it in his strange heart to let him go…he did have other affairs to attend to, you know. But the rat knew his future was ill fated, because that cruel smile had returned to this strange man's lips. If the rat wanted to get out safely, he knew he would have to put up a fight.
"Stop squirming, you," Pettigrew snapped. "Don't worry; I'll end your suffering as I will end mine."
The rat seemed to calm down a bit and Peter smiled. This rat wasn't bad. This rat was much like Pettigrew himself.
"But on different terms," Pettigrew snarled and without much of a thought, he threw the rat as hard as he could towards the opposite wall.
The rat hit the wall and Pettigrew heard one final squeak before it slid to the ground, lifeless with the other rats paying no sympathy and heading towards their newest meal. He smiled that twisted smile and sank back down on the sewer floor.
Peter Pettigrew was not one for class.
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
James lay, on his back, with Harry resting on his chest, sleeping deeply. James congratulated himself on choosing a comfortable bed for his son and then turned his thoughts to something much more troubling. Harry's future.
It never occurred to James that his son would never grow up knowing about his heritage. It pained James to know that Harry was oblivious to his legacy. And as he watched the small child's chest rise and fall, he realised that he had to do right by Lily. He had to do right by his son.
He had to tell Harry the truth.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Harry woke up instantly to the smell of aftershave. He found his pillow harder than he was used to and found this slightly unnerving. Had he been captured? Was he lying on a pile of rubble somewhere? Did his father abandon him?
But as he imagined these wild happenings, he realised that this couldn't be. Hadn't his father promised him that he was safe? That no one would harm him? Didn't his father say that he not only loved him, but liked him too? And then, he remembered. He remembered his father telling him stories about his mother and how much she loved him. And when the hours had passed and the storytelling was coming to a halt, Harry felt his eyes become heavy and his breathing become steady. James saw his son's sudden tiredness and together they slumped down on the bed.
Slowly Harry pried his eyes open, his glasses were removed. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he moved slightly around and immediately felt strong protective hands wrap themselves around him.
Harry looked up and, through his blurry vision, found his father sleeping peacefully with his head tilted on one side, his mouth partially open.
"Dad?" Harry shook his father, first slowly and gently, then roughly. "Dad? Wake up."
James stirred and for a minute Harry was convinced that he had to give his father another shake, but then one hazel eye blinked open and looked down at Harry, this one eye shining.
"Hey shortie," he said. "We slept the whole night away."
Harry grinned. "Where're my glasses?" he asked.
"On the bedside table," James said while Harry crawled off him and onto the bed. "Get me mine, will you?"
Harry reached over to the two pairs of glasses. He put one on and handed the other to James.
"Thanks," James said as he placed his on the bridge of his nose. "Harry…" he said slowly, sitting up and looking at his small son, making a grab for his stuffed toy again. "I need to speak to you about something."
Harry looked up from his toy and gave James a look that plainly said that he didn't do whatever James was about to accuse him of.
"Did I do something wrong?" Harry asked.
James laughed. "No, you haven't," he said, but his laughter died when he realised that what he had to say was not going to go so smoothly as he would have liked. "This is about before."
Harry seemed to have relaxed a little. "But we talked about that already," he said confusedly.
"Yes we have," James said hastily. "And it's not about that perse. It's more about the peculiar stuff that happens sometimes around us."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "You mean how stuff blow up?" he asked guiltily.
James sensed Harry's guilt and rushed forward to the opposite side of the bed where Harry was crouched still clutching the toy.
"That's not your fault, Harry," he said, looking down into those bright green orbs. "They're just accidents."
"Accidents?" Harry queried. "That's what you said before."
"Yes that's right," James nodded. "They're accidents."
"But it happens at school too," Harry said, paying mind not to mention anything about what the other kids say.
"And there's a very good explanation for that," James said slowly. "I just don't know how to tell you."
Harry patted James' arm comfortingly as though he were now the adult. "That's alright, daddy," he said.
James smiled, but his worry never left him. How was he meant to go about doing this? He never did have a plan. Dumbledore would never approve. But then again Dumbledore doesn't approve of a lot of things James did. And Sirius did have a lot of convincing arguments. Harry was going to find out and James wanted Harry to have some time to get used to it. This was the right time. It was, wasn't it?
James cleared his throat, suddenly aware that his palms were sweaty.
"Harry, do you remember Sirius and I talk about Dumbledore?" James asked.
"The shoe man-a-fact-er?" Harry said, looking up innocently at James.
"Yes, the shoe manufacturer," James nodded. "Well, he's not what he seems."
"You mean it's not the new craze?" Harry asked, and James noted that he looked generally heartbroken. "You mean Sirius lied to me?"
"Uh," James cleared his throat again. "Well the thing with that is…Sirius-"
"Because I wanted one for Christmas!" Harry interrupted James with mild indignation.
"We're still in April!" James exclaimed.
Harry smiled cheekily and shrugged. "Thinking ahead," he said.
James smiled. How this small, innocent boy could be cursed with such a horrible fate James would never know.
"Well, if you be good, I'm sure we can get you something much more exciting than a pair of old shoes, don't you think?" James grinned.
Harry's face lit up and he nodded enthusiastically. James smiled again before he realised he was not meant to talk about Christmas presents.
"Harry, what I'm trying to get to is-"
"There you guys are," James swivelled his head and saw Remus standing in the doorway, looking solemn but trying his best to keep a smile plastered on his face.
"Remmie!" Harry cried, jumping off the bed and lurching himself on Remus. "Remmie!"
"Hello, Harry," he said, placing a hand on top of Harry's head and giving off a genuine smile.
"Remmie, Sirius lied to me!" Harry cried, craning his neck to look up at the werewolf.
"What?" Remus said trying to sound surprised. "Never."
"Yes, he did," Harry nodded vigorously. "He said Dumbledore was a craze…but it's not."
Remus looked at Harry for a minute, authentic surprise etched on his face. Then he looked up James who was kneeling on the bed, barely holding in his laughter.
"What a scoundrel," Remus growled, now trying to suppress his own laughter.
Harry nodded again and let go of Remus.
"Hey, Harry, can I speak to your dad for a minute?" Remus asked gently.
"Uh, Harry, go downstairs and see if Mrs. Figg has arrived back from her one day vacation," James said.
Harry nodded obediently and left the room. James turned to Remus once Harry had closed the door behind him. Remus had returned to his sullen air. He walked over to the empty space that had been occupied by Harry previously.
"What happened, Remus?" James asked quickly.
Remus let out a small sad smile.
"I'm a suspect."
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Author's Notes: OMG…this is a fast update don't you think? I'm proud with myself I must say. Firstly I'd like to say that Harry was meant to be eight not six. I was too preoccupied with changing his age where it was mentioned than worry about all the other details. I meant to have Harry sound more like a child…which didn't happen. I also meant for James to order Harry to do something a six year old would be more likely to do…not sweeping the floor. I apologize for this mistake…I really should proofread my work, shouldn't I? I don't take what anyone says so far as a flame, because I understand everyone's point of view and I respect people for that! Please review and tell me whether I've redeemed myself or not! Thanks!
Thanks to Kittenlover2, Moni, kendrew, Bookworm-Air13 (I didn't, trust me…lolz), Jessica01, emma, CrimsonReality, Master Lupin 117:
DemolitionxLovers: Sirius is just a protective godfather. I was disappointed when JK didn't include more godfather-godson moments so I put them in myself…lolz…Thanks for the review and tell me what you think about James in this chapter.
IritIlan: OMG I feel bad now…don't think of Dumbledore like that…it's just a fic! James isn't really letting him feeling bad…Harry just doesn't confide in him that much. James does try to understand and comfort Harry! Thanks for the review!
Cynthia: I'm glad you like the story and I hope your footy team won the game (I'm a bit confused with American football so I won't continue). But with James…he's just a bit stressed. Like I said in my Author Notes I intended to edit a few things but I was just so mixed up in changing his age that it slipped my mind. And about the grammar…don't feel bad I'm a total grammar nazi! My work has to be perfect or I'll do it all again. I'm obsessed:P Thanks for the reviews!
Kay05: Grr…at this moment in time I am beating myself up over that…trust me! That line is going to haunt me! I regret writing that down! He was meant to be eight not six and I was supposed to change a few things around to suit the age change. I mean I don't know any six year old who sweeps. But that's just me! I'm sorry for putting that in! Honestly I am! Please tell me if I've redeemed myself in this chapter! Thanks!
Dweem-angel: You like Dumbledore being portrayed as a manipulative man? Alright! Someone who hasn't criticized me about it…trust me, there's been a few! I really hope you liked this chapter! Thanks for the review.
Mizuki39andrea: Well I updated…this is rather sooner than I expected but I thought I've been leaving it be for too long on too many occasions…if that makes sense… They do have a big manor, don't they? More room to move about, I suppose! Thanks for the review!
Anti-thule: You are the first reviewer yet to question where Harry and James have moved into! Congratulations, you have figured out that their house does have something to do with the plot! But it's not the Riddle mansion:( Dumbledore may be manipulative in this story, but he's not evil! He'd never harm James or Harry intentionally! Or at least I hope so… Thanks for the reviews!
Fenderbender505: I didn't take what you said as a flame or as anything but constructive criticism. Trust me, I totally agree with you, but I can't change it now. I've explained my reasons in the Author's notes. Thanks for the review:D