Warning(s): violence, descriptions of illness and injuries*/blood, death (*brief mention of self inflicted injuries)
Chapter 12 - Warm Hearths
On Monday morning, Pomfrey gave Remus and Harry one final check up after breakfast before releasing them into the care of their friends. Sirius, James, and Peter had gone ahead and packed their trunks for them so that all the boys needed to do in the morning was make their way down to the train. They left immediately as 'the human crutch' was not exactly known for its speed and it was all the same to them whether they were hanging out on the train or in the castle. They were the first ones on the train, so the boys got their pick of the compartments. Naturally, they picked the very first one by the door.
As they settled in, Harry was getting increasingly nervous. He still hadn't really wrapped his head around going to spend Christmas with the Potters. It was unreal. A proper family Christmas was one of those silly things that Harry had dreamed about as a little kid, locked in his cupboard. He fought desperately not to get his hopes up and firmly reminded himself that Harry Doe meant absolutely nothing to these people- they were not his long-lost family and they had no obligation towards him. Not that familial obligation had ever gotten him very far with the Dursleys, but what little Harry had been told about the Potters led him to believe that had they still been alive when he was growing up, they would have embraced fulfilling the 'grandparent' role in his life with open arms. It was overwhelmingly kind of them to invite him into their home over the holidays just as some tag-along friend of their son. Particularly given how useless he was going to be the whole break. At least before, when James had first pitched the idea, Harry had figured he could maybe earn his keep by helping out with the cooking or something, but now, he just felt like a leech who was going to bring the whole Christmas mood down.
Harry leaned his aching head against the cool glass of the train car window. His slightly throbbing headache was still ever present and Harry was starting to worry that it might be more than just lack of sleep that was causing it. While the pain wasn't as sharp or stabbing as Harry was used to when his scar hurt, this still shared the same lingering quality with the occasional crescendos and peaks that he'd come to associate with Voldemort being nearby or being extremely happy or pissed about something. After the attack on Saturday, it had felt like his head had been put in a vice, slowly crushing down on his scar. Laying there in the hospital wing, Harry had felt the odd flashes of satisfaction and glee that most definitely had not aligned with his present situation- that had really been the nail on the coffin of his 'scar' theory. Thinking back, he'd had a similar headache after his dreams that had featured the current day Tom Riddle and the realization turned his stomach. He had really hoped to have ditched that particular connection and left it back in the future. Harry wanted absolutely nothing to do with the evil bastard in any time, but there was just something about this connection that felt different- wrong. Maybe it was because Harry wasn't actually supposed to be here or maybe it was because the Voldmort here was just reaching his peak of power, but it was as though his brain were reacting to there just being too much Voldemort. The snakey creep back in his own time had already taken up residence in Harry's head and now it seemed as though there was just no more room, but that didn't stop young Tommy from elbowing his way in and it just made Harry's head teeter on the edge of exploding under the pressure.
"Are you okay, mate?" Sirius, who had taken the spot across from Harry, leaned forward to ask with a concerned expression.
Harry opened his eyes and met the other boy's worried gaze. "Yeah," he sighed. "I'm just tired and have a bit of a headache." In truth, Harry was kind of exhausted. It had been a very long walk from the castle down to the station and he could only imagine that James was even more spent than he was, having been the one basically carrying him the whole way.
"Well, you can take a nap if you want. It'll be hours before we are anywhere near London. And we can scoot if you wanna lay down," James offered from next to him.
"That's okay," Harry said, quite content with his current positioning where he could use the window as a makeshift ice pack.
"Okay- just, let us know if you change your mind," James told him, shooting Harry a sideways glance. The kid looked pretty beat.
Harry soon fell asleep as the others chatted quietly around him.
Glancing over at Harry and with a jerk of his head, Sirius told the others, "I think he's out."
"Good," James said, shifting in his seat to get a better look at Harry. "Kid could use all the sleep he can get."
"I think he's still really nervous about coming along for the break. Your parents do know about him, right?" Sirius asked, giving James a meaningful look.
He nodded soberly. "As much as I could really put in a letter. I'm not sure how much describing him really does the 'Harry experience' justice, but they know about his story and the amnesia and that he has a few… eccentricities. And I'm sure Pomfrey gave them an earful when she paid them a visit yesterday too, so they should be at least somewhat prepared," James assured him before cracking a smile and adding, "Besides, you know my family has a thing for taking in strays. We still have the kitten my mum pulled out of a bramble bush when I was nine and just last summer we took in the mangiest mutt… We have to do a lot more washing around the house now, but I don't think they regret it," he said thoughtfully.
Sirius kicked James in the shin who then let out a yelp. Remus flashed them both with a threatening look before drawing his eyes meaningfully towards Harry's sleeping form. Both boys looked slightly cowed, though they continued to glare playfully at one another. Soon enough, Peter pulled out a deck of cards and the four boys were quickly caught up in a quiet game of Find the Niffler.
Harry awoke a couple of hours later when the trolley came by, looking a little better. He blinked a couple of times to bring the world back into focus, rolling out his shoulders and neck that had become quite stiff from the awkward position leaning against the window. As he sat up straighter, Harry suddenly jumped back as someone's chocolate frog got away from them and launched itself at him. Instinctively, Harry reached up to try and catch the flying object, but unfortunately, he had brought up his right hand that wasn't exactly working at the moment. So while his aim was spot on and the frog connected with his outstretched hand instead of his face, his fingers merely twitched rather than closing around the object and Harry let out a hiss as pain shot up his arm.
"Shite! Sorry Harry!" Peter yelped, scrambling to recapture the charmed frog as it fell to the floor and renewed its escape effort.
"'S okay," Harry said, through slightly gritted teeth.
"Are you okay?" James asked, hovering once again.
"Yeah," Harry said, relaxing a little as the pain ebbed. "I just gotta remember that I'm left handed for now. Easier said than done. Just- maybe don't throw anything at me until I'm fully awake for a bit, yeah?" He said, throwing a teasing look at Peter, who was still crawling around on the compartment floor.
"Sorry," Peter mumbled, blushing, but finally managing to trap his rouge snack.
As he stood up and made his way back to his spot on the other side of James, Harry asked, "Do you know how much longer we have on the train?"
Looking at his watch, Remus answered, "Probably another two hours. I'd guess we're about half way there."
Harry nodded in thanks and declined the Cauldron Cake Sirius offered him. "So, um, where do you guys actually live?" He asked curiously. It was kind of odd to think about where people you only ever saw at school spent the rest of their time. Like the idea of professors having families and whole lives outside of the walls of Hogwarts- it was something that Harry just hadn't bothered to put any time into thinking about.
"My family lives in a small muggle village a little ways outside of Bristol now, but we moved around a lot when I was a kid," Remus told him with a hint of embarrassment.
"And my mum and I live in a little town on the coast near Norwich, to the east," Peter said.
"Potter Manor is just outside of Dover," James smiled. "Any idea if you've ever been any of those places?" He asked eagerly.
"Erh- I'm not sure, but they don't sound very familiar… I mean, I could spot them on a map and all, but…" Harry trailed off.
"Well, based on your accent, I'd guess you've at least spent some time in the south country," Sirius said, giving Harry an appraising look. "I grew up in London and you sound a lot like James and I- though less pretentious than Prongsy," he grinned.
"Oi! I do not sound pretentious!" James huffed, but the way he stuck his nose up in the air in protest really undercut his point and Harry stifled a small laugh. The Queen's English had been hammered into him from a young age, so Harry was happy to hear that he'd managed to shake the posh-sounding edge that his aunt Petunia had always insisted was the 'proper' way to speak. Harry was pretty sure, given the right circumstances, that he could probably out-pretentious James in a heartbeat if need be. He figured he had Ron to thank for the desensitization and unprogramming on that front.
The boys spent the rest of the journey chatting casually about anything other than school and the events of that weekend- they were leaving all of that behind and were determined to enjoy their break. Spend time with family- given or chosen- rest, and relax. It was exactly what all of the boys needed.
As the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, Harry's anxiety was at an all time high. He was pretty sure he was actually shaking slightly and he really needed to get a grip on himself before someone noticed. He was being stupid. But how was he supposed to act? How was he supposed to talk to them? The only place he'd ever really been besides number 4 Privet Drive was Ron's house- or maybe Grimmauld Place, but Harry was not willing to think about that right now. The Burrow was wonderful- really, maybe Harry's favorite place on earth besides Hogwarts- but that didn't mean that he didn't also feel constantly in the way while he was there. Sometimes he wished he could just blend in with the furniture and not be any more trouble for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Harry knew James was an only child- besides Sirius, of course- so that the Potter's house was likely going to be less chaotic, but that just meant even more uncharted territory and it all just made his gut clench uncomfortably. Harry didn't like unclear expectations- it was far too easy to accidentally miss the mark.
The boys waited for the Express to mostly clear out before hauling themselves up and negotiating their way off the train. Harry was surprised to find the boys' families all waiting for them down on the now mostly empty platform. When he returned from school, Harry was lucky if uncle Vernon slowed down long enough for him to heave his trunk into the boot and climb in before tearing out of the lot most summers, so it hadn't really occurred to him that they might come and actually meet them. It also likely had to do with the fact that all of his friend's families were magical rather than muggles. His relatives likely couldn't have gotten onto the platform even if they'd been so inclined.
But as Peter led the way for their group, climbing down the couple of stairs to the platform, Harry heard him call out, "Mum!" Leaning over a little, Harry was able to catch sight of a short, slightly plump witch waiting with open arms for her son. She shared his pointy nose and stocky build, but she had a rounder, kinder face than her son and long, straw-colored hair pinned up messily atop her head. Harry couldn't help but smile as Peter eagerly hugged his mother. No matter what Harry thought about the Peter of the future, the boy before him on the platform was just that- a boy, happy to be home and embrace his mum.
Remus disembarked next and was greeted by a tall, thin couple- even his mother was likely approaching six feet in height. Both had graying hair and slightly pinched faces, but gentle smiles warmed their features as their son joined them. Remus gave his mum a small hug as his dad clapped him on the back. When he pulled back, his mum's hand stayed lingering on his face as she took in the damage done with sad eyes.
Sirius went ahead in front of Jame and Harry, since they knew it was going to take them the longest to get down, and as he cleared the last step, Harry got his first real look at Mr. and Mrs. Potter. The initial thought that jumped into Harry's mind as he looked at them was that Mr. and Mrs. Potter were the exact opposite of his uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia. Mr. Potter was tall and lean and very much resembled James, but with messy hair that was more gray than black. He wore an expensive looking deep blue trench coat and burgundy dress pants along with a pair of sleek, wing tipped shoes. It was the kind of outfit that displayed a mastery of blending in just enough in the muggle world to not be called out. Had Harry seen him in a shop, he would assume Mr. Potter to be a rich eccentric, not some loony like most wizards come across as when they venture out into the muggle world. Mrs. Potter, on the other hand, was a small woman who actually sort of reminded Harry of Professor Fortin, but with kinder eyes that served to soften the rest of her face. Her face was lined with age, but she seemed to have embraced it rather than resenting it. Much like her husband, Mrs. Potter was dressed elegantly, yet boldly in a pair of dark orange, broad-legged pants that just screamed '70s to Harry and a wool sweater on top underneath a sort of half cloak/cape item that matched her pants. Her dark gray hair fell around her face and past her shoulders in soft waves. It struck Harry that the Potters actually did look quite the part of 'grandparent', even though their son was only sixteen.
Harry only realized that he was staring when James gave him a little nudge and asked if he was ready. Coming back to himself, Harry gave a small nod and the boys made their way carefully down the steps to the platform. Bright smiles lit up Mr. and Mrs. Potters' faces as they moved to come over and meet the last three boys.
"It's so good to see you boys!" Mr. Potter said warmly as he reached out to give James a sideways hug while Mrs. Potter enveloped Sirius in one of her own. "And it's very nice to meet you, Harry. It's alway fun to have company over the holidays. Our stuffy old house can get right boring most of the time, so the more, the merrier!" He smiled down at the small boy.
"Erh-" Harry swallowed nervously. "It's lovely to meet you too. Thank you so much for allowing me to come and stay with you," he said as politely as he could manage. Harry was slightly glad both of his hands were currently occupied so that he didn't have to fight the urge to reach up and rub nervously at the back of his neck as he spoke.
"Of course, dear," Mrs. Potter said, turning her smile on Harry. "We are glad to have you." Her gaze swept over him quickly, taking everything in. She made sure not to let her smile falter or the sadness reach her eyes as saw the state he was in. If she hadn't known from James that the boy before her was the same age as her son, she never would have believed it. And if Poppy hadn't stopped by the previous night to warn her and her husband about his injuries, she very well may have taken the boy directly to St. Mungo's. As a mother, he hurt her soul to look at, but at the same time, she was grateful to be in a position and given the opportunity to help him at least a little.
"We best be off- we have a bit of a drive ahead of us still. I already grabbed your trunks. Do you boys need any help?" Mr. Potter asked, eyeing James and Harry in particular.
"Nah, we've got it," James assured him. After all, they had practiced and made it all the way down to the train together, so the kinks had mostly been worked out for them and James also knew how uncomfortable Harry would be with getting help from his dad.
"Alright then," Mr. Potter accepted and then wished the Lupins and the Pettigrews a happy holidays before turning to lead the way off the platform. The boys all said a quick goodbye to one another with a lot of 'feel better soon' and 'get some rest' in the mix. Then Sirius, James, and Harry made to follow after Mr. Potter, who was now waiting patiently over by the barrier, with Mrs. Potter taking up the rear of their small group.
As they were walking away, Harry could just hear Mrs. Lupin quietly say, "Oh, that poor boy."
"He saved our lives, Ma. It's not his fault a Hellhound tried to eat him for his troubles," Remus told her.
"I know, baby. And I'm just glad you boys are all safe and home now," and she pulled him in for another tight hug.
James, Harry, Sirius, and Mrs. Potter waited on a bench out in front of the station while Mr. Potter went to pull the car around. Harry almost lost his composure when Mr. Potter pulled up in an honest-to-goodness station wagon with wood paneling on the sides. Talk about blending in. He didn't know it was even possible for a wizard to look quite as muggle as Mr. Potter did popping up from around the driver's side of the car and shouting, "Jameson, my boy! Over here!" with a wave of his arm. It was like a dad picking his son up from football practice and it was kind of adorable.
As they made their short way over to the car, Harry gave James a sideways look before asking, "Is your full name 'Jameson'?" Because if so, why had nobody ever bothered to tell him that.
"No," James replied flatly.
"But then why-"
Mr. Potter had come around to help load the luggage into the boot and had overheard the boys' conversation, so he jumped in to helpfully explain, "Because his name is James and he's me son!" He gave Harry a wink as James let out a groan.
"I must apologize for my husband's atrocious sense of humor, Harry," Mrs. Potter said, shaking her head. "I'm afraid we just haven't found his off switch quite yet." This earned a small smile from Harry.
While the Potter parents loaded up the luggage, the boys climbed into the backseat. Harry was able to convince James and Sirius that he really didn't mind sitting in the middle seat- it made the most sense since he was the smallest, after all- so they helped him get situated and then filled in on either side. They heard the boot close and soon Mr. and Mrs. Potter were getting in the front.
"Alrighty," Mr. Potter said as he turned around in his seat to face the back. "The drive is about two hours- do any of you boys need anything before we hit the road?" They all shook their heads.
Mrs. Potter chipped in, "Oh, we probably should have asked- Harry, have you ever traveled by automobile before? I know a lot of wizards haven't. It is kind of like a personal train car that we can choose where it goes," she tried to explain. "Do you have any questions? We want you to feel comfortable."
Harry's face flushed a little. "No, ma'am. I, uh, know what a car is." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "I just didn't think wizards knew how to drive," a little sheepishly.
"Most don't. But I thought it would be prudent to learn. We do live a bit out in the country surrendered by mostly muggle neighbors, so it is nice to have a way into town that blends in. Plus, it is rather fun once you get the hang of it!" Mr. Potter said happily. "I promised James and Sirius that I'd start teaching them this summer. You can get your driver's license as young as sixteen in the muggle world- isn't that something! You have to be seventeen in order to apparate. But then again, I guess we don't even bother putting an age limit on riding a broom as long as you are able to stay on it and steer..."
"That's very interesting, sir," Harry said. James and Sirius caught each other's eyes above Harry's head and traded confused looks. Between Harry's formality and the fact that he was sitting up ramrod straight in his seat, you'd think he was addressing an irritated Professor McGonagall rather than James' parents on holiday.
"Oh, no need for these 'sirs' and 'ma'ams' Harry- you can call us 'Fleamont' and 'Euphemia' or 'Monty' and 'Mia' as our given names are a bit of a mouthful," Mr. Potter told him kindly, but Harry just looked rather uncomfortable.
He gave a small, "Yes, sir," in response which just caused Mr. Potter to let out a chuckle and shake his head as he put the car in gear.
The drive through London and out to Dover cut through the east side of the city and then across the southeast of the countryside. Harry had never really been outside of Surrey before, save for his trips to Kings Cross, Hogwarts, the Burrow, and that one time when he was eleven and his uncle went a little mad dragging them across the country trying to outrun an owl, so he spent most of the drive eagerly looking out of the widows, taking in all of the sights, while the others chatted around him. This was another point for reinforcing his amnesiac character as no one in that car would have believed that he'd ever seen bridges and churches and rivers and fields before with how he greedily drank it all in.
As they finally pulled up to the Potter residence, Harry couldn't help but be firmly reminded of just how rich the Potters were. It was a hard thing for him to wrap his head around having grown up with Dudley's cast off his whole life. But looking up at the looming mansion, Harry couldn't help himself but be astounded by just how wealthy the people that lived in it must be. For it was not a house like he was so used to from Privet Drive. Nor was it even a home, like the Burrow. This place had well and truly earned the title of manor. As they came to a stop in the circle drive in front of the building, Harry half expected butlers and waitstaff to materialize like at the fancy hotels on the telly. But thankfully, no waitstaff appeared.
As James helped Harry out of the car, he couldn't help but stare, open mouthed at the manor. There were grand, sweeping lawns and gardens as far as the eye could see. The building itself was made out of gleaming white stones that seemed to sparkle in the evening light. The roof was rounded on either side and came to a large point in the center, high above the door. A handful of columns guarded the entrance and past them, the building itself seemed to bulge outwards, like bay windows on steroids, that glinted with intricate stained glass. It was breathtaking and beautiful and Harry could've stood there looking at it until the sun set and still not seen enough. Everywhere his eyes fell Harry noticed another small, special detail- like the griffin-shaped gargoyles perched on the roof or the eagle weathervane or the fact that the bushes on the front lawn were actually topiary.
James gave him another small nudge to get Harry moving again and slowly led him into the house. In the center of the entrance hall stood a giant Christmas tree worthy of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. It must've been nearly six meters tall, lavishly decorated with fairy lights and real icicles and fancy ribbons. Dual staircases arched around either side of it leading up to a landing above. All of the banisters were wreathed with garlands and ribbons and more subtle, shimmering lights. They proceed straight back into the next room which turned out to be a living room area complete with cozy looking sofas and chairs grouped around a large coffee table. Along the left wall there was a fireplace big enough for even a large wizard to step into, no problem. The mantle around it was made of the same shimmery, white stone as the exterior of the house. More garlands and icicles decorated the mantle along with a series of stockings hanging down. Harry counted six of them.
With a slightly furrowed brow, he asked James, "Who are the extra stockings for?" Wondering if maybe they were other people living in the house or coming over or something.
"Oh, we hang one for our house elf, Halsy. She's great," James said happily.
"But that still leaves an extra?" Harry pointed out.
James looked over at the mantle, examining the stockings before turning back to Harry. "No it doesn't." He began pointing as he spoke, "There's one each for my mum and dad- mum's is the blue one, she was a Ravenclaw back when she was in school. Then there's ones for me, you, and Sirius, and then the last one's for Halsy. That's six, mate."
"Oh," was all Harry could think to say. He'd never actually had a stocking before and he felt slightly overwhelmed but rather touched by the gesture. The Potters had never even met him.
James helped Harry over to one of the couches and both boys sat down as Sirius and Mrs. Potter followed them into the room. Sirius flopped down on another couch while Mrs. Potter walked by them, taking off her cape.
"I'm just going to go check on dinner. You boys make yourselves comfortable and let me know if you need any help getting your coats off or anything. Go ahead and rest here for now- we'll talk about sleeping arrangements later, okay?" She waited for their acknowledgements before moving on into what Harry assumed was the kitchen off of the far back right side of the room they were in.
James helped Harry shuck his coat- which he had thankfully been able to clean and repair on Sunday even though the spells took a few tries left handed- and then went over and helped Sirius too. He took all of their jackets and headed back into the entrance hall presumably to put them in a coat closet or something.
"You know you can relax, right Bambi?" Sirius' voice startled Harry and he gave a little jump, which just caused Sirius to snort. "The Potters are very nice people and no one's gonna get mad at you for sitting on the furniture like it was designed," he said with a nod over at Harry who was again, sitting with his back perfectly straight so that he was not making any more contact with the couch than absolutely necessary.
Harry looked over at Sirius and took in how the other boy was casually leaning across the sofa, like someone reclining in a renaissance painting, with his good arm sticking out and resting on the armrest, propping his head up while he spoke. Conceptually, Harry knew the words were true, but deep down, he also knew that regular rules didn't actually apply to him. When in his life had he ever been held to the same standards as everyone else? He was 'the freak' or 'Harry bloody Potter' wherever he went and those titles each carried their own sets of rules and expectations. But even as he sat there considering this, Harry remembered that he wasn't a Potter here. Maybe the regular rules did finally apply to him- at least as Harry Doe. Very hesitantly, Harry leaned back into the couch and allowed himself to relax a little. Until James and Mr. Potter walked in a moment later and he jerked back up into his upright position on instinct. Sirius rolled his eyes, sharing a look with James as Mr. Potter's brow furrowed slightly.
"I'm going to go help your mother," he told James before heading off in the same direction that Mrs. Potter had disappeared.
James rejoined Harry on the couch as the other boy made a point to try and relax once again.
"Do you like cats?" James asked randomly.
"Erh- I don't suppose I have anything against them. Better than dogs, I guess," Harry shrugged thinking of Ms. Figg's houseful of cats and Crookshanks and then his aunt Marge's awful dog Ripper. He watched James bite his lip, trying to keep a straight face and Harry followed his gaze over to a very put out looking Sirius. "Oh, I didn't mean it like that- Padfoot is great. I just- think I may have had a bad experience with a bulldog once…" Harry admitted in order to try and salvage the situation, making a point to screw up his face in mock concentration as if trying to pin down some blurry memory. "As long as you don't run me up a tree, I think we'll be just fine."
"What?! An animal that didn't like our Bambi?! Pads- can you even believe that such a thing exists?" James gasped.
"I think it was more the owner that didn't like me," Harry pointed out. "Not sure the thing had enough going on upstairs to process anything beyond simple commands, like 'attack'."
Sirius' expression looked less hurt now, but he still didn't look happy.
"Well, this here is Perdita," James said, scooping up a cat that had appeared at his feet. It looked like an extra fuzzy little wildcat. "Mum found her in the gardens when she was just a kitten- I used to call her my 'little sister' because mum would treat her as if she were a human baby rather than a cat. But because of that, she loves people and will likely invite herself onto your lap or into your bed unless you'd prefer her not to. Mum knows a charm that can keep her away if you'd like. At least she acknowledges that not everyone is as nutty as her about her 'precious little baby'."
"Nah, that's okay," Harry said, reaching across with his good arm for the cat to sniff. Soon she was butting her head into his hand for pets and wriggling to get out of James' hold. He let her go and she immediately went and settled into Harry's lap where he continued petting her.
"How did I know?" James asked sarcastically.
"Damn cat still doesn't like me," Sirius huffed.
"Wonder why?" Harry shot back. "It's almost like she can just- sense something about you," he said airily. Perdita turned and hissed at Sirius before putting her head back down on Harry's leg. "I like your cat," he told James seriously. "She has good taste."
"Okay boys- dinner's ready!" Mrs. Potter called from the back of the room.
James helped Harry up once again and along with Sirius the three of them made their way through to the kitchen and dining area. Given the massive size of the house, Harry assumed that there was a formal dining room somewhere- maybe off of the other side of the kitchen, but the meal had been set up on a table in a sort of dining nook in the kitchen itself. Looking around, Harry noted that that kitchen was huge. There were multiple ranges and ovens and a few cooking implements that Harry didn't even recognize. A granite island ran the length of the room, with stools tucked underneath it and a large sink cut into the center of it. A rack of shiny pots and pans hung over it like a mock chandelier and vast cabinets stretched all the way up to the ceiling. The table in the dining nook had enough chairs to seat eight, but was only set for five- three along one side and two on the other.
"If you want to take that spot on the end, Harry. We figured it would be good for you to prop your leg up on the chair," Mrs. Potter said, motioning them towards the table. Harry flushed a little again at her consideration- they really didn't need to go out of their way to accommodate him. He was quite capable of sitting in any old chair. It was just about all he was capable of at the moment, so he really didn't want them to make a fuss. But he also didn't want to come off as ungrateful, so he allowed James to lead him over and deposit him in the indicated chair. James took the seat next to him and Sirius went around to the other side. Mr. and Mrs. Potter took the spots on the end.
They had stew and fresh baked rolls and it was delicious. Harry gave a silent thank you that the meal was one that could be eaten one-handed with relative ease, though he still fumbled a bit being limited to using only his left hand. Much to Harry's embarrassment, at one point, when he reached over to snag another roll, his elbow knocked into the spoon leaning in his half finished stew and sent it flying across the kitchen where it splattered the wall with bits of meat and potatoes before clattering to the floor. Instinctively, Harry moved to go retrieve the implement and clean up the mess, but James' hand shot out, grabbing his shoulder and stopping him.
"It's alright mate- don't worry about it. Halsy's already got it. It's not a big deal," James tried to reassure Harry, nodding towards the little elf that had appeared. She wore a sack dress with a tiny apron tied around her waist and her bat-like ears seemed extra pointy. She snapped her fingers and the mess disappeared before turning towards Harry and handing him a clean spoon. Her over-large eyes were an almost starting shade of blue.
"Oh- thank you, ma'am," Harry stammered, looking down at the small elf and taking the offered spoon.
"Ooh! Young master is too polite! He should be calling me's Halsy," she said earnestly, looking over to the senior Potters.
Mrs. Potter jumped in to make the official introductions. "Halsy, you remember us mentioning that another one of James' friends would be joining us over break? This is Harry Doe. Harry, this is Halsy."
"It is very good to be's meeting another one of Master James's friends. Though I's hoping you's not be causing as much trouble as Master Siri," the elf warned, narrowing her eyes at Sirius.
Harry laughed a little at Sirius' expense before telling her, "I'll do my best to stay out of trouble- I promise. And I'm sorry about the mess."
She waved a little hand dismissively. "Mess is accidents is not trouble," she said firmly.
"Well, thank you all the same," Harry told her with a small smile which the elf returned in kind before disappearing.
"You really are the most polite teenage boy I have ever met," laughed Mr. Potter. Harry wasn't quite sure if he should say 'thank you' or apologize. "Though, I should warn you that she might start taking offense if you keep calling her ma'am. Us old folks don't like being reminded that we are old," he joked. Unsure how to respond, Harry just ducked his head.
After they had finished eating, Mrs. Potter served tea. It was a warm, spicy herbal blend that just smelled like Christmas. She also put out a tray of lovely biscuits.
"I know I mentioned earlier that we needed to discuss sleeping arrangements," Mrs. Potter began as she settled back in her seat. "Now, of course, James and Sirius, you still have your rooms upstairs- which I promise have remained untouched since you left. I will do my best to never have a repeat of the Great Furniture Rearrangement Incident of '73," she said with a pointed look at James. "And we'd be more than happy for Harry to have a room too, but we figured, at least for now, that it might be easier for you to stay in the guest quarters down on the first floor so that you wouldn't have to be climbing the stairs so much." She gave Harry a kind smile before shooting a knowing look at James and Sirius. "I also know that despite having your own rooms, you boys more often than not still end up bunking together. So we figured we might as well give you the option to either sleep in your rooms or, if you boys would prefer, to all share the guest suite."
Sirius and James made brief eye contact before James said, "We'd rather stay down here, assuming Harry's okay with it."
"Oh, erh, sure," Harry stammered, a bit surprised that they would want to give up on the chance to sleep in their own beds.
"I thought that might be the case," Mrs. Potter smirked. "Halsy!" The little elf appeared. "Would you be so kind as to make up the guest quarters for the boys?"
"Of course, Mistress!" Halsy gave a low bow and then promptly vanished once again.
"Now that that's settled, was there anything in particular you boys were hoping to do over the break?" Mrs. Potter asked as she took a sip of tea.
"I don't think we really got so far as to make any plans yet…" Sirius said, looking thoughtful. "We can't exactly do our normal running around and snowball flights… But I like a challenge. I'm sure we can still find some trouble to get up to. Any suggestions Mia?" He asked innocently.
"Somehow I think you lot will make do just fine without my input. Though perhaps I can suggest the library? Quietly reading is a wonderful one-handed activity." Mrs. Potter said it with a perfectly straight face which just made Sirius' look of absolute disgust all the more hilarious.
Harry, however, perked up at the mention of a library- Hermione would be so proud- and addressed one of the senior Potters for the first time since he had arrived without being directly spoken to first. "You have a library?"
"Yes, dear. I'm sure the boys would be happy to show it to you tomorrow. Feel free to help yourself to any book not on the top shelves," Mrs. Potter told him.
James rolled his eyes. "Of course the first thing you'd want to see is the library. Mum- he reads textbooks for fun," he said with a note of disgust and a shiver.
Mrs. Potter tutted at him and Harry jabbed him with a bony elbow. "I don't read textbooks for fun. I read in order to not die of boredom and textbooks just so happen to be the only thing I have to read. I can attest that every last book in the Hogwarts library is either a textbook of some sort or written in such archaic language as to no longer be recognizable as English," Harry huffed. "And it really wouldn't kill either of you to crack open a book once in a while- they are meant to be read, you know?"
Mr. Potter snorted into his tea. "I like this one, James. He's a keeper."
"Fat lot of good your precious 'books' have done you in Potions," James muttered.
"Potions and I just fundamentally disagree," Harry brushed off. "And that textbook rubbish. I'm convinced half of the directions are wrong in that thing." Gripping the edge of his glasses frame, he gave them a wiggle, saying, "I'm blind, not illiterate. Almost no one in our entire class can actually make the potions turn out exactly how they are supposed to."
"You can keep your books- life's my teacher," Sirius said bracingly, puffing up his chest.
"Well, most life lessons are taught through painful experience, so I'll take what I can from books as I'm sure life will take it upon herself to fill in any gaps," Harry said mulishly, taking a harsh bite out of his biscuit.
"Well, it's hard to argue with that," James said as Sirius deflated. "Maybe we can compromise and at least find you some fiction to read- we are supposed to be on holiday, after all."
"Whatever," Harry muttered, causing Mr. and Mrs. Potter to smile, happy that Harry was actually talking of his own volition- even if his comments were a little sad when you considered them.
A little while later, Halsy reappeared and informed them that the guest quarters were ready. Mr. Potter led the way back through the living room and to the entrance hall where they went through a door on the right. This led to what Harry assumed was some kind of formal sitting room or parlor of sorts- one of those kinds of spaces only rich people can afford to have and only get used to impress company most likely. The room had a bit of a stuffy, unused quality to it that spoke of no one having entered it in quite some time- though Harry was sure by the state of everything that Halsy had been sure to keep up with the dusting. Beyond that room was the guest wing. Really, Harry felt that the 'guest room' could have very well stood alone as its own house and was likely larger and better equipped than most of the flats in London. It had its own living room- though it was much smaller than the main one they'd been in before dinner- and even a small kitchen and dining area. Through a door off of the living room was a large bedroom, currently outfitted with three beds even more lavish than the four posters in Gryffindor tower. There was also an en suite bathroom with a tub big enough to swim in and a shower that looked more like a beautiful waterfall than something out of a locker room. All-in-all, by the end of the brief tour, Harry found himself impressed that James had turned out so normally if this was what he was used to growing up. This was the kind of lifestyle he'd always imagined Draco Malfoy to have and he'd alway thought was a large part of why he turned into such an entitled little prick. Thank Merlin James wasn't like that- or at least, he didn't seem to be like that now.
"Okay, now, who wants which bed?" Mr. Potter asked, looking around at the boys.
"Dibs!" Yelled Sirius who flung himself at the closest of the two beds against the left wall, over by the door.
James just looked down at Harry who muttered, "I really don't care- you can pick." James just raised an eyebrow at him and with a sigh Harry said, "Just put me over there." He jerked his head back towards the nearest bed on the right side of the room where James helped him sit. With a wave of his wand, Mr. Potter sent their trunks to rest at the foot of their respective beds.
"Do you usually shower at night or in the morning, Harry?" Mrs. Potter came over and asked him.
"Erh, usually in the morning, ma'am," Harry said nervously, trying to surreptitiously sniff himself and praying that he didn't actually smell bad enough to warrant a question about his hygiene. He hadn't technically gotten the chance to properly shower in a few days since he'd been in the hospital wing.
Mrs. Potter let out a laugh when she saw him do that and quickly said, "Oh, no, dear- it's not that you smell or anything- don't worry. It's just that we need to change those bandages and I was just wondering if you'd prefer to shower first or if that's something you'd rather do in the morning."
Harry didn't like the way she said 'we', as if that were a group activity. "That's alright ma'am- I can take care of it. Madam Pomfrey was very detailed in her lecture- I mean, instructions."
"Nonsense! Poppy dropped by and taught us a few handy spells that will make it a quick task," she tried to reassure him, but it did little to temper the edgy look on Harry's face.
"I'll shower in the morning too," Sirius said from across the room, already starting to undo his shirt. "You can do mine first." Mrs. Potter gave him a smile and made her way over. Once Sirius had his shirt off, she vanished the old banagage, spelled clean the area, and then redressed the wound. She was done in less than a minute and Sirius hopped off the bed to rummage around in his trunk for his pajamas, calling out, "Your turn, Bambi!"
With a resigned sigh, Harry began to roll up his jumper and shirt sleeves as Mrs. Potter made her way back over. When she vanished the bandages there, Mrs. Potter had to maintain tight control of her face in order not to gasp at the frankenstein-like appearance of the arm. But she made quick work of redressing it too. Harry's leg was a little more awkward because he really needed to lay down in order for the wound to be accessible and he couldn't even roll up his own pant leg in such a position with only one working hand. So he was forced to lay there, face burning, as James' mum pushed up the leg of his trousers and rebandaged the wound.
As she pulled the fabric back down, she gently announced, "All done." And James helped Harry to sit back up.
"Thank you, ma'am," Harry said quietly.
"Really, Harry- please call me Mia," she insisted. When she got no response to that, she tried, "Or at the very least, Mrs. Potter." Harry gave her a small nod at the second one.
"Well," Mr. Potter said, clapping his hands, "we'll let you boys get ready for bed. I'd imagine you're all tired from a long day of travel and whatnot. James and Sirius know where our room is and you can also just call for Halsy if you need anything."
Sirius, having straightened up from where he'd been bent over his trunk and pulled on his sleep shirt, was standing there holding his pajama bottoms when he looked over at Harry, thoughtfully, and asked, "You lost your trousers again, didn't you?"
"Exactly how often are you losing your trousers around school, Harry?" Mr. Potter asked with a bemused, quirked eyebrow.
Harry flushed. "Erh- just twice, I think. But it's not like that-" Harry said hastily as Mr. Potter's brow rose even further at that admission. "Pomfrey just keeps vanishing them," he tried to explain.
"I've got extras upstairs-" James jumped in to rescue him before Harry actually combusted from the heat flooding his face . "Mum, could you come help me look?" It was a slightly odd request since James was more than capable of locating a pair of pajamas on his own, but Mrs. Potter followed him out of the room without batting an eye. As they walked back to the entrance hall and up the stairs, James told her, "Thanks. I- uh- was just wondering if maybe you kept any of my old clothes around? That we could give to Harry? He just owns like three shirts and I guess only uniform pants at this point and basically zero items of winter clothing. And he really doesn't like asking for things, but I figured maybe if the stuff was just there for him, he might be a little more willing to use it, you know?" James looked back at his mum, a little nervously.
"Of course, James- I'm sure we can find some stuff for him. I daresay, you've probably outgrown half of your closet at this point," she said, eyeing her son who seemed to be growing like a weed. After a slight pause, she continued, "And I see what you were trying to explain about him. No one has ever accused your father's rambling as being 'very interesting' before," she said with a bland look.
"He really is a nice guy. And smart. And funny. And can be a little terrifying despite being a pipsqueak. I think he's just super nervous for some reason. I mean- he doesn't even talk to the professors the way he's been talking to you and dad- and even Halsy."
"You have to remember that this is all probably new for him, James. He's been tossed into yet another unfamiliar environment and even though this may be a place that you and Sirius feel safe, that just may not be the case for him yet. Trust is earned, so we will all do our best to earn it, as I am sure you and your friends have been doing with him all year. Even tonight, there were moments when he came out of his shell a little and I'm sure once it's just you three again, he will be acting much more like himself. Just- give him time with the rest of it. Though, I know patience is not one of your strong suits," she teased him.
When they reached James' room, the two made quick work of finding some viable options to help expand Harry's wardrobe. "Do you think you could maybe shrink them? At least, to be a little closer to his size?" James asked his mum. She agreed, picturing the small boy in her head and made her best guess at his size, rounding up a little. Soon, they were making their way back down to the guest quarters. As they walked in, James said, "You're in luck Bambi- we hit the motherload." And he tossed the small pile of clothes on the bed next to Harry.
Harry picked out a pair of joggers and held up a long sleeve t-shirt to see how well it might fit. Sirius let out a low whistle. "What- are those clothes from when you were ten?" He asked James.
"Hey!" Harry protested- because the shirt actually did look to be his size. James flashed Sirius a look that clearly said 'shut up'.
"Okay," Mrs. Potter cut in. "This time we really will be going and letting you boys get on with it. Let us know if you need anything- goodnight!" She called as she pulled Mr. Potter out of the room.
Once the door was closed, Harry shucked his shirt as gracefully as he could manage and pulled on the new one. "Thanks," he told James sincerely.
"Don't worry about it," he replied and he turned to get changed himself.
Harry was already tired of not being able to do magic by the time he was finally ready for bed. Getting his trousers off had been a nightmare when he couldn't really stand and only had use of one hand. Even just undoing the button was a feat, let alone pulling them off and the new pair on. And he couldn't just use a charm to brush his teeth, so he had to have James help hold him up at the sink so that he could spit and rinse. Thank goodness Harry was able to convince them that he could manage going to the loo on his own once he was in there because that may have just been the final straw in all of this- though James did still have to come back in and help him to the sink to wash his hands.
Even though it wasn't that late, Harry was exhausted. It was hard to believe that just a week prior he'd just barely been starting to get sick, which meant that in the last seven days, Harry had basically almost died twice- no wonder his body hated him. At least he seemed to have finally shaken the last of that chest cold. Harry really did try and limit it to one or two potentially life-threatening injuries at a time if he could help it.
So as James helped him into bed, Harry quickly deposited his glasses on the side table and wished the other boys a good night as he tried to find a comfortable position to sleep in.
Harry dreamt that he was in Herbology. Not a very common dream for him, as Professor Sprout was not exactly a high-ranking figure in his life, but perhaps Professor Kerner's attitude was getting to him more than Harry had thought. He, James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter were standing around their usual table. Lily and her friends were at the next station over. They were working with some kind of creepy rose-vine hybrid that had long, thorny tendrils that were slithering their way across the table, reaching out for anything they could get their barbs into.
"Ahh," James sighed, throwing a wistful look over his shoulder. "A rose for my Lily?" He offered Lily a clipping.
"Leave me alone, Potter," she sneered at him. "I don't want your garbage you arrogant toerag," she spat. James' face crumpled.
As Sirius tried to comfort him, the sky outside the greenhouse suddenly went dark- like a thick thunderstorm had instantaneously descended upon the grounds. That prickly, tingling sensation that comes with a sudden change in atmospheric pressure swept over Harry as he felt a sickeningly familiar sharp, blinding pain in his forehead. He looked up to where Professor Kerner had stood just moments before, only to find that Voldemort now towered over the class. And this was the real Voldemort- red-eyed, slit-nosed, and snake-faced. He brandished his wand, almost lazily.
Harry was so distracted, staring at the Voldemort who should not be there, that didn't notice what was happening around him until he felt strong arms wrap around his chest.
"Lily, take Harry and go!" James yelled, hauling Harry around and shoving him towards Lily. "It's him! I'll hold him off!" James fumbled for his own wand, but he was struck down before he could even put up any semblance fight.
"Kill the spares!" Voldemort shrieked and two Hellhounds materialized out of the shadows cast by the storm clouds above. They tore across the greenhouse, claws digging into anything they touched, indiscriminately- be it plants or furniture or students. It seemed that in a matter of seconds, the class had been decimated. Blood flowed along the floor, down the drainage tract, and swirled languidly down the drain.
"Come on, you can do better than that!" Sirius taunted, puffing his chest up as he faced down Voldemort and his hounds. But then Sirius fell- and then Remus fell- their blood mixing in with all of the rest.
Lily had dragged Harry down, underneath the table she'd been working at. She threw herself on top of him and was yelling, crying, pleading, "Not Harry! Please... Have mercy... Have mercy... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please-"
Harry heard the telltale deep intake of breath and screwed his eyes shut just before Voldemort hissed, "Avada kedavra," and Harry felt Lily's dead weight slump down on top of him as green light seared through his closed eyelids.
"Fetch me the boy," Voldemort said as if Harry were the newspaper, not a human being- not that Voldemort really cared or noted a difference.
Another hand grabbed him, sharp nails digging into his wrist and Harry was yanked, dragged out from underneath the table and Lily's body. Harry felt her roll off of him and heard the chilling thud as she landed on the floor. His wand- where was his wand?! Harry thought desperately as he pulled at his arm trapped in the ironclad grip. His frantically searching eyes came up and locked with Peter's as the boy lugged him towards Voldemort. Harry redoubled his efforts to get away.
"Stop fighting this!" Peter screamed at him, bringing up the dagger clutched in his other hand just to shove it in Harry's face threateningly. It didn't matter how much Harry fought, he couldn't break free.
"Kneel, boy," Voldemort spat. Harry refused, but then there was a burning pain in his leg, causing Harry to involuntarily collapse to his knees. "Good," Voldemort purred, reaching out a long, pale finger to stroke Harry's cheek. He was crying. Voldemort licked Harry's tear off of his finger with a smile. "Remember this, boy. This feeling. This is what your precious 'love' gets you."
And then Voldemort laughed. It started out low and soft, and then grew into a cackle that began to take on a desperate edge. And then the noise turned almost pleading. The sound began to fail and the world around Harry went fuzzy- almost like Harry was passing out.
And then his eyes snapped open. Unlike the last few times Harry had awoken from a particularly horrific nightmare, he did not move this time. There was no scrambling away or cowering or heavy breathing. Harry felt pinned to the mattress by the crushing weight of his dream- by the empty hole that had opened up inside his chest. Distantly, he knew he was still crying and somewhere around him he could hear voices, but none of that seemed to matter. Harry just didn't have the energy to move- or to care- right then.
He did jump when a hand settled on his shoulder and the start pulled Harry a little more into the present moment. His eyes struggled to focus on what he assumed to be James' face in front of him.
"Harry? Can you hear me, Harry?" He was asking. His tone implied that it was nowhere close to the first time he'd asked. Harry gave a small nod in response.
"Shit," Harry heard Sirius let out a heavy breath from somewhere behind James. The other boy found some comfort in that at least this time it didn't look like Harry had been tortured or anything. Wow- what a low fucking bar that is.
The longer he stared listlessly at James' blurry face, the more feeling seemed to bleed back into Harry's body and soon the embarrassment caught up with him too. "Sorry," Harry said in a quiet, slightly choked voice, bringing his sleeve up to scrub at his face.
"It's okay, mate. Are you okay?" Harry gave another nod as he took a slightly shuddering breath and moved to try and sit up. James helped him settle into a proper sitting position before taking up residence beside him on the bed.
"Didn't mean to wake you," Harry said softly.
"That's okay. We told you we don't mind," James said, pausing before asking, "Any chance you want to talk about it?" With a slight upturn in his voice at the end.
Harry shook his head. "It was stupid," he mumbled, resting his head on his knee.
"I highly doubt it was stupid," Sirius scoffed as he came a little closer. Then his face turned a little pained and- guilty? "You- uh- you were kind of begging for someone to stop something… And you kind of yelled out Remus' and, uh, my name…" He said, shuffling his feet and not looking at Harry. When he finally did look up, his eyes were so sincere as he said quickly, "I just- I hope you know that I would never hurt you- as Sirius or as Padfoot. And Remus never would either while he is in his proper state of mind."
Something twisted in Harry's gut. He could never be afraid of Sirius- or Remus for that matter. He was hardly even afraid of Moony- Harry considered it a healthy respect for the wolf, rather than outright fear. "No," Harry said hastily. "It wasn't anything like that. I, uh- It was just- you- you died," he finished in a small voice, turning away from Sirius. It just hurt too much to look at him right then. "You all died and it was my fault," he whispered, burying his head and fighting the strong urge to start crying once again.
"Oh," Sirius said, a bit taken aback by the unexpected admission. "Well, it goes the other way too," he said with a little more strength. "I know you would never hurt any of us either. It was just a dream."
Harry let out a small choking sound as green light flashed through his mind at those words. "Yeah, just a dream," he agreed unconvincingly.
"Harry-" Sirius hesitated. Thinking that Harry was still blaming himself for dragging them all to Hogsmeade that weekend, where he and Remus ended up getting hurt, he said, "You know that it wasn't your fault, right? We all made our own choices to be there and the rest was just shitty timing and Death Eaters. You couldn't have known what was going to happen and you can't keep blaming yourself for something that you had no control over."
Harry's shoulders shook slightly as he drew in a shuddering breath, his eyes clenching tightly in an effort to ward off the overwhelming grief that threatened to overtake him at hearing Sirius say those words.
Sirius looked to be at a bit of a loss at Harry's reaction, but moved to sit on his other side in an attempt to provide some level of comfort. As Sirius pulled himself onto the bed, his hand rested on a damp spot on the sheets. A little worried that Harry may have wet the bed or something, he surreptitiously brought his hand up under the pretense of straightening his collar and gave it a little sniff. To his relief, it didn't have the telltale acrid scent of urine. Perhaps it was just sweat or water or something. Sirius was about to shrug it off when he looked down and even in the near darkness of the moonlit room, he could tell that whatever was on his hand was definitely not clear.
Scooting forwards again, Sirius asked with concern, "Uh, Harry- are you bleeding?"
"What?" Harry's head shot up and then he looked quickly down at himself, squinting to try and see what Sirius was talking about.
"I think there's blood in your bed over here," Sirius told him, holding up his stained hand in evidence.
Harry pulled back the comforter and saw that there was indeed a dark smear on the sheets. Thankfully, it didn't look like a lot of blood or anything- nothing close to that night of the full moon. But he was definitely bleeding. "Shit," Harry cursed. "It's probably just my leg," he guessed.
James looked a little frightened as he too jumped off of the bed. "I'll get my mum," he said and then quickly left the room.
Harry huffed a sigh about how dramatic this was turning out to be. The last thing he wanted was to wake the Potters up in the middle of the night- or his friends for that matter. But the ball was already rolling and he could acknowledge that this situation was out of his hands. "Can you hand me my glasses?" Harry asked Sirius, who was still hovering at the edge of the bed. He quickly handed them over and Harry slid them on. Inspecting his leg as best he could in the dark room, Harry noted that it had bled through the bandage, particularly near the top. Recalling the pain he'd felt in his dream, Harry took a moment to wonder if that had actually been part of his dream becoming reality or part of reality incorporating itself into his dream.
Soon enough, James returned with a concerned looking Mrs. and Mr. Potter in tow. They were both in their nightclothes with robes hastily wrapped around themselves.
"I'm sorry to wake you," Harry said sheepishly as they approached his bed.
"Don't worry about it, dear," Mrs. Potter told him kindly before the concern took back over her face. "Can you tell us what happened?"
"I, uh- I think I was just moving around too much in my sleep and my leg started bleeding a little," Harry explained, his good hand sneaking up to rub at the back of his neck.
"Okay then. Do you mind if I have a little look?" Harry gave her a 'go ahead' nod. First, she flicked her wand and all of the lamps in the room lit, throwing the whole scene into the light. Her eyes swept from the bloody sheets, up to the slightly red and puffy eyes hidden behind Harry's glasses, and then finally down to his injured leg. With another wave the soiled bandages were gone and after one more, the extra blood was cleared away too. As she leaned down, it was easy enough to see that the top few stitches had come undone on two of the long cuts, which was the main source of the blood. She conjured up a soft, clean rag and warned Harry, "This might hurt a bit, but we need to stop the bleeding, okay?" Before she pressed it firmly to the back of his leg. Harry gritted his teeth a little, but made no other indication of his discomfort.
After a while, it finally stopped and Mrs. Potter vanished the bloody cloth. "I think it should be okay until morning, as long as it doesn't start bleeding again, and we can see if Poppy can stop by and take a look. Is that okay with you, Harry?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said.
She gave a little frown at the word 'ma'am', but decided that now was not the time to be fighting that particular battle with the boy. Over her shoulder, Mrs. Potter asked, "James, sweetie- is there another pair of trousers that Harry can change into?" Mr. Potter came over and helped Harry stand up so that Mrs. Potter could clean his bed while James found him something less bloody to sleep in. Once he was back on the bed, Mrs. Potter double checked that the movement hadn't restarted the bleeding or anything before rebandaging Harry's leg. James passed another pair of joggers to his mum and she asked, "Would you mind if I went ahead and switched the trousers for you magically? I just don't want you having to move around too much and making your leg any worse…" She looked genuinely worried that he might say no, but thankfully, Harry just gave her another resigned nod and she quickly spelled the fresh ones on and then banished the bloody ones to the laundry.
Straightening up, she gave Harry a comforting pat on the knee. "Is there anything else you boys need?" She asked, looking around at James and Sirius.
"Maybe just some water?" James said and Mr. Potter conjured up a pitcher and three glasses, filling each with his wand. "Thanks," he told his parents. As they made to leave and Mr. Potter raised his wand again near the door, James added, "And if you wouldn't mind leaving the lights on? We can, uh- put them out the old fashioned way." Mr. Potter gave him a brief look before nodding and exiting the room with his wife.
Harry flopped over and buried his head in his pillow and let out a groan.
"Are you okay?" James asked anxiously, rushing forwards while his eyes flit between Harry and the closed door his parents had just left through.
"That was so embarrassing," Harry whined as he rolled over onto his side, looking up at James' worried face.
Sirius barked out a laugh. "Of all the options- that's your top concern from tonight?" He asked a bit incredulously. Harry flushed and James chuckled.
"Well, we already knew he had a fucked up sense of humor and leg, why not add his arm and priorities to the official list?" James joked.
Harry grabbed his pillow and whacked James across the face with it. "One of them still works just fine," he warned.
Sirius let out a low whistle. "Damn Bambi- you sure you're not a lefty?"
"Why don't you come a little closer and find out?" Sirius took a step back, raising his good arm up in surrender.
"I'm guessing that you don't wanna go back to sleep?" James asked a little more seriously, turning back to Harry.
"Not really," he admitted. "But it's really fine if you guys do," he tried to insist, but his words fell on deaf ears.
"Well, then," Sirius said, hopping back onto the foot of Harry's bed, "it would seem that we have some time to kill…"
James gently shoved Harry over and reclaimed his spot where the pillow used to be. "So it would…" He agreed.
The boys ended up in a heated debate about what would be the best use of their free time over the break- particularly given the group's current physical limitations. After nearly an hour of back and forth on the topic, a consensus was finally reached that satisfied everyone- planning the next semester's worth of pranks. Now that Harry had been more or less accepted as an honorary member of their merry band of troublemakers (despite him not actually meaning to cause any trouble last term), it seemed only fitting to include him in this most sacred ritual. And Sirius had a feeling that Harry was going to be bringing a unique, surprisingly devilish voice to the conversation when he got a wicked gleam in his eye when they settled on the topic. Ooh, this was going to be very fun.
The next morning, Harry discovered that James and Sirius did not make very high functioning insomniacs. As they shuffled into the kitchen a little after sunrise, they both looked dead on their feet and slumped bonelessly into their chairs at the table.
"Good morning, Mrs. Potter," Harry greeted politely, with a smile.
"Good morning dears," she responded kindly with a sideways look at the other two boys. Sirius had actually fully given up once he was seated and had put his head down on the table. James was making slightly more of an effort, with his elbow propped up on the table, keeping his head at least somewhat upright. "How are you feeling this morning, Harry?"
"Oh, I'm alright. No more bleeding or anything- I promise. I'm sorry about last night," he added a little more quietly.
"Really dear- It is nothing to worry about. It was not the first time I've been woken up in the middle of the night and I am sure it will not be the last. It is one of those mother superpowers, you know, to be up in an instant and back asleep the next," she winked at him. "Now, what would you boys like for breakfast?" She asked the group at large.
Sirius just groaned while Harry said, "I'm not picky," and James's eyes lit up as he eagerly said, "Beans on toast!"
Mrs. Potter let out a laugh and said, "Okay- beans on toast it is if there aren't any objections? There's also always cereal or eggs if anyone would prefer that," she added, mostly for Harry's benefit.
As Sirius and James fought to stay awake, Harry watched Mrs. Potter cook. He'd always found it fascinating to watch Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen. It was one of the few times that Harry got to see such a casual use of magic. As Mrs. Potter moved about, ingredients floated around her, finding their own ways into the pots and pans- the beans stirred themselves and the toast seemed to flip of its own accord when ready. It was mesmerizing and reminded Harry that magic could be used for all sorts of things beyond what they strictly talked about in their classes at school. The only magic Harry ever used outside of class- beyond a simple repairing charm or cleaning charm- were defensive spells, so it was nice to have the reminder that there could be a more normal, casually magical life waiting for him if he survived long enough to reach it.
Harry was jarred out of his trance by a loud thump against the kitchen window. Everyone jumped and turned to look at the glass. There was a small smudge with one lone feather sticking out of it on the upper left pane.
"Was that an owl?" Asked Sirius, confused.
"Was anyone expecting a package?" James asked, looking around at his mum since he was pretty sure neither him nor either of his friends were.
Shaking her head 'no', Mrs. Potter told him, "James- go out and see if the poor thing is okay."
James got up and exited out of a door at the back of the kitchen. As he came around the patio outside, Harry watched as his face morphed from confusion to concern to amusement as he stooped down and scooped up what Harry assumed to be the bird.
As he came around the corner, back into the kitchen, James called out in a sing-song voice, "Oh, Harry! It's for you!"
"Me?" Harry asked skeptically. Of all the people in the house, he was the least likely to be receiving mail of any sort.
"Is the bird okay?" Mrs. Potter asked, trying to get a look at the lump in James' arms.
"Oh, I think he's fine. A little stunned is all." As if to prove the boy's point, the little owl jumped up and took flight once again in the middle of the kitchen, zooming over to perch atop Harry's head.
"Pyrrhus!" Harry gasped as the fiery fluffball rushed him.
"I did not know you had an owl, Harry," Mrs. Potter said, a bit puzzled. The boy hadn't brought a cage with him or anything.
"I don't," Harry said, quite in contradiction to the creature making its nest on top of his head.
"It's probably more accurate to say that Harry is Pyrrhus' human rather than Pyrrhus is Harry's owl," Sirius threw out.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Potter- I really didn't think he'd follow me all the way here," Harry said apologetically.
James smirked, "He's a clingy little bugger-"
"James!" His mother scolded.
He flinched. "Erh- I mean, he's a clingy little sprite, isn't he?"
"It is fine, Harry. He is welcome to stay too. We have an owl as well- she usually does not mind a little company. Perhaps James can show- Pyrrhus, was it?- to the nest after breakfast. It's up on the third floor."
"Erh- He's not exactly a trained owl, I don't think," Harry tried to explain. "Even at school, he never goes to the owlery or anything. I think the nights he doesn't spend in our dorm he just spends out in the forest. If you wouldn't mind him staying out in the garden, I think I can convince him to stay out there as long as I come and visit him," Harry offered.
"Oh, that is not necessary. This house is spelled against animal mess, so he is free to stay with you. I just figured that most owls preferred a perch- though, perhaps I should have noted that this one seems to have already found one it quite likes," she said, smiling at the owl that had made itself quite at home on Harry's head. "Though, of course he is allowed out in the gardens to hunt and stretch his wings and whatnot," she added.
Harry rolled his eyes at the little bird's antics before saying, "Thank you, ma- Mrs. Potter."
Mr. Potter joined them just as the food was being served. As he lowered himself into a chair, he asked, "So, what exactly have I missed?" Eyeing the small owl that no one else at the table seemed to be taking notice of.
"Whatever do you mean?" Harry asked, flashing his big, innocently confused eyes and theatrically cocking his head to one side as he turned to face the man. Pyrrhus let out a small, indignant hoot and gripped more tightly onto Harry's hair as he swayed with the movement.
Everyone else at the table burst out laughing. "Monty, this is Pyrrhus. Apparently, he's not Harry's owl," Sirius explained helpfully.
"I see," Mr. Potter nodded his head as if he now completely understood the situation.
"I- uh- found him at school and he's just taken a bit of a liking to me, I guess. He must've followed me here," Harry shrugged.
"Not the brightest thing though-" Sirius told Mr. Potter, leaning over to point out the smudge on the window to him, "Flew right into the glass."
"Hey!" Harry defended, "Windows are a human invention- it's our fault for putting invisible walls in the sky, not his for accidentally flying into them."
"Fair point," Sirius conceded.
Mrs. Potter reentered the kitchen just then, dusting her hands off on her apron. "Poppy will be stopping by in a bit to take a look at your leg, Harry," she told him. Then she leaned down and kissed her husband, "Good morning, dear." As Mrs. Potter straightened up, she asked, "Would anyone like tea?"
They were all still sitting around the table enjoying a lazy morning and sipping at their tea when Madam Pomfrey arrived.
They heard, "Mia?" Called from the living room where Harry assumed she had come through the floo.
"We're in the kitchen, Poppy!" Mrs. Potter called back.
Madam Pomfrey soon appeared in the doorway to the kitchen with a stern look on her face. "Now, really, Harry. Not even one day? I knew you would miss my company sooner or later, but I had really hoped it would fall more on the later end…" She shook her head.
"Sorry, ma'am," he said, ducking his head a little.
With a small sigh and a near rolling of her eyes, she asked, "James, could you please help us into the living room?"
As James helped Harry up, Pyrrhus fluttered away and Mrs. Potter offered Poppy a cup of tea, which the matron accepted, asking if she could bring it out into the other room for her.
Once Harry was seated on the couch, Pomfrey made him lay down so that she could get a proper look at his leg. Sure enough, a handful of stitches had come undone. "I'm going to have to redo the lost stitches," she told him flatly. "And you really should take care not to move around so much as to undo any more of my handiwork."
"I was asleep!" Harry defended himself.
Pomfrey just hummed disapprovingly in response. Of course, she had gotten the full story from Mia already- that James had come and woken her in the middle of the night saying that Harry had had a nightmare and was bleeding 'all over the bed again' which was a phrase that had raised some eyebrows. Poppy had then had to explain Harry's first leg injury to the Potter matriarch, earning a glare that she knew had nothing to actually do with her. But Poppy also didn't want to pass up an opportunity to reinforce the importance of proper self-care with Harry. She really had expected to see him before his scheduled check in for one reason or another- he just seemed to have a special talent for requiring her services.
Luckily, this time it was only a few stitches and Pomfrey was finished pretty quick. Once his leg was rebandaged, Harry thanked her and swore that he really would try to be careful. She checked on his arm again, just to be sure that nothing there needed to be addressed too and was satisfied that it appeared to at least not be any worse than when he'd left her care the day before. Pomfrey checked on Sirius too, since she was already there, before finishing her tea and taking her leave.
The rest of the day passed just as lazily as the morning had. The boys mostly hung out in the living room, laying around, chatting, and playing games. After lunch, James and Sirius finally caved and showed Harry the library. It was nestled at the front of the house, to the left off of the entrance hall instead of the right, like the guest quarters. The room was large. It actually went up all three stories of the house, ending with a domed roof. It was almost like a book silo, with curved walls covered in shelves upon shelves of books. Circular balconies tiered up each level with those sliding ladders connecting them so you could climb up without having to use the main stairs back in the entrance hall. The domed ceiling above was painted like the night sky with glowing constellations. Looking around, Harry had to wonder what exactly Mrs. Potter had meant by 'any book not on the top shelves'. When he'd heard that, Harry had just pictured a simple room with a couple of bookshelves in it meaning that he was referring to those books located on the uppermost shelf. However, seeing the vast 'library' for himself, Harry was wondering if perhaps he had meant the entire top floor. Not that Harry was going to be climbing up to the third floor anytime soon. Nor would he need to with the number of books on his level alone! But still, he decided to play it safe and avoid the top shelf down there too. Not that he could even reach it anyway.
Sirius and James patiently put up with him looking around at all of the books for about half an hour before dragging Harry back out into the living room, Sirius carrying a small stack for him that he wanted to peruse later.
A little while after dinner, the boys decided to call it an early night. James and Sirius looked just about ready to pass out at any moment, so Harry took pity on them. Back in their room, after the bandages were changed, Harry asked Mrs. Potter if she could leave his lamp lit so that he could read a little before going to sleep. She kindly agreed before showing him how to put it out safely without magic. James and Sirius were asleep basically the moment their heads hit their pillows, but Harry stayed up for another couple of hours reading. He had never actually seen, let alone read, a wizarding fiction book- unless you count that drivel Lockhart was pushing- so he was really fascinated by the concept. Did wizards have fantasy as a genre? Did they try and imagine how muggles live the same way muggles did with wizards? The book he'd found was actually some kind of adventure novel about a young witch and her misunderstood pet dragon on a quest together and Harry found it a rather entertaining read, even if it was perhaps more for the novelty of it than, say, quality writing. The dragon was not even described very accurately. Eventually, though, Harry grew tired and had to find a stopping place. Placing the book open face down on the bedside table, he slipped his glasses off to join it and settled down under his comforter. That night, Harry dreamed of dragons who liked wing scratches and were nice enough to let you ride them.
The entire week leading up to Christmas passes pleasantly at Potter Manor. One might think with a house so big, and with so few occupants, that the space might take on a cold feeling, as if it were not really lived in. But much to Harry's relief, he found that that was very much not the case. Mr. and Mrs. Potter were always moving about and keeping busy while the boys entertained themselves. Mr. Potter often joined them in the living room, settling into one of the plush chairs with a book or the paper, simply enjoying sharing the space with them. Harry was quite amused when the older man had donned a pair of round reading glasses that looked very much like James' and his own. Halsy would also drop by and check on them intermittently, bringing snacks or tutting at Harry if she caught him moving around too much or doing something that she didn't think he should be doing. Halsy really was a kind elf and Harry was just thankful that she didn't appear to suffer from the same groveling problem that most of the house elves he'd encountered thus far seemed to.
Another thing that Harry found interesting about the Potter's house was that there was almost alway music playing. The gramophone in the corner of the living room produced impressively clear sound given just how ancient it looked- but perhaps that was the beauty of magic. Harry was pleasantly surprised that they played a mix of muggle and magical music. He actually knew some of the songs that came on- mostly a couple of hits from Queen, The Beatles, and Elton John. Harry had to stop himself from laughing as an ABBA album cycled through. He might not have gotten the chance to really actively listen to music when he was a kid, but even he knew the words to Tiny Dancer, Bohemian Rhapsody, and Dancing Queen and he found it hilarious that James and Sirius appeared to too. In fact, James was humming along with basically every single song that played all day. Sirius would only jump in and obnoxiously sing along to 'the hits'. They both found it amazing that Harry genuinely didn't seem to know any wizarding music that had played.
"Well, I guess that's another point to your 'raised by muggles' theory, mate," Sirius teased when James pointed it out after Blackbird had played and Harry had hummed along with it.
The boys spent most of their time kicking around the living room and playing games. They had to get a little creative with which games they played so that it was still somewhat fair even though Harry and Sirius each only had one usable arm. It was kind of amazing how many games required you to do something like hold cards in your hand while you played or where speed was a factor. Mr. Potter had recommended that they play chess, since in wizarding chess the pieces moved themselves, but all three of the boys agreed to use that as a last resort as none of them were particularly fond of the game. One solution that they employed to even the playing field was to just make James sit on one of his hands. They even invented a specific one-armed variation of Ketchum where you play with all of your cards face down so that no one needed to hold any cards in their hands, freeing them up to play. This approach, it turned out, led to chaos as it quickly became very hard to remember exactly which cards you put down where and even they don't know if they were lying half of the time. But that also made it all the more entertaining.
On Thursday, the boys were lured into the kitchen by the smell of baking cookies. Mrs. and Mr. Potter and Halsy were all scattered around the kitchen each engrossed in their own stage of the baking process. Sirius, James, and Harry all came and joined them at the counter. James asked if he could help and his mother set him off with his own recipe to get started on. Apparently, the Potters made a lot of holiday cookies.
"How many different kinds are you making?" Harry asked, unsure whether to be impressed or frightened by the setup she had going.
"Traditionally, we make six different kinds," she told him, not looking up from the dough she was intently mixing. "Oh-" she paused what she was doing to look at Harry, a bit embarrassed, "I probably should have asked a long time ago, but are you allergic to anything?"
"No, not that I'm aware of at least." Harry would probably never know if he was allergic to caviar, but he was okay with that. At the very least he knew he wasn't allergic to nuts, which was probably more what Mrs. Potter was asking about.
"Well, that is good. I do not want to have to explain to Poppy why I had to summon her on Christmas because I accidentally poisoned you," she joked. "Now, let us see…" She peered down the counter at her little worker bees. "James is just getting started on the allspice sugar cookies- those are my favorite- Monty is working on the date-nut bars, Halsy is making the dough for the cutouts, this here is going to be the mincemeat cookies, the gingerbread is in the oven right now, and then we'll make the pinwheels at the end," she explained to Harry, who was quite impressed with her operation. It used to take him days to make the biscuits at the Dursleys- it looked like they were going to have this wrapped up by dinner.
"Mum-" James called from his spot down the counter. "We don't have enough allspice!"
"How much do we have? Could you maybe just half the recipe?" She leaned forward, trying in vain to get a look at what he was working with.
"No, I already put it into the rest- sorry," he said bashfully.
"You can just use a mix of three parts cinnamon, one part nutmeg, and a pinch of cloves and it should taste basically the same. Or some partial combination of that depending on what you have around and it'll at least approximate the flavor. As long as there's some actual allspice in there, it shouldn't taste too off," Harry pitched in.
Everyone looked at him with varying expressions of confusion and shock. Because what sixteen-year-old wizard knows that? And the way he rattled it off- it was like some rote memorization that was required of him. An odd way to talk about cookies…
"Well," Mrs. Potter said slowly, "we should have that."
"Why on earth do you know that?" Sirius asked suspiciously.
Harry realized that everyone was staring at him and he flushed, stammering, "I- uh- I don't know. I just- do."
"Well, thank you for the tip," Mrs. Potter told him. "Once Halsy rolls out the dough, do you boys want to help with the cutouts?" She asked, trying to move on for Harry's sake.
"Sure," Harry replied quickly and Sirius also agreed.
Soon enough, Harry felt like a kid in primary school, cutting out little shapes and throwing around sprinkles like it was some silly art project. Harry wasn't sure that Sirius had ever actually done this before as his cookies kept coming out all misshapen and he was only able to get about half as many as Harry out of the dough they were given, but he seemed to be having fun nonetheless. Looking around, Harry noted that this was the kind of thing he'd always thought other families did around the holidays, but that he'd grown to only expect to see in a Christmas movie. It was nice to get to experience the real thing.
Saturday was Christmas Eve. Halsy made a full English breakfast, much to James' delight and everyone sat around the table, savoring the meal and sipping their tea and chatting for hours. According to the Potters, holidays were meant to be spent together, so Mr. and Mrs. Potter joined the boys all day long in their lounging and games. It turned out that Mrs. Potter had quite the competitive streak and that Mr. Potter was wicked good at Gobstones, even when forced to play with his non-dominant hand. Holiday music filtered through the house all day while the occupants laughed and joked and generally enjoyed themselves.
Pyrrhus and Perdita had formed an amusing rivalry that seemed to primarily center around which one of them could earn more of Harry's attention at any given moment. At one point, Harry was lying on the floor, having already been knocked out of the chess tournament, with Perdita curled up on his chest. He was absentmindedly petting her when Pyrrhus swooped in, as if trying to divebomb the cat. She innocently flicked her tail, sending the small owl careening off course and crashing into the board that Sirius and Mr. Potter had been bent low over in complete concentration. The lucky pieces had seen the incoming collision and jumped out of the way, but most had ended up scattered across the floor.
"Oi! Bambi! Keep your ruddy owl in check." Sirius snarled, even as he gently picked up the little bird, making sure he was okay.
"I told you- he's not my owl," Harry replied lazily. Sirius stuck his tongue out childishly at Harry who returned the gesture in kind.
It was an exchange that warmed Mr. and Mrs. Potter's hearts. They were so happy that Harry seemed to have relaxed somewhat as the week had progressed and was much more willing to act like a teenager around them now- as he very well should. Though, he still refused to call them by their given names- but, well, baby steps. And if he was more comfortable this way, then they were not going to make too much of a fuss.
In the afternoon, they gathered around the table once again for a big, holiday meal. They actually had beef wellington. The pastry was decorated with elaborate holly leaf designs and Harry almost felt bad that they had to cut into it and ruin the beautiful, hard work. Harry was a little embarrassed when Mrs. Potter sent a subtle spell his way that cut up his meat into bite-sized pieces for him, but at least he was able to manage on his own with the mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, and mushy peas.
After dinner, they sat around drinking tea and hot chocolate until the sky turned dusky outside. Then, Harry learned another Potter holiday tradition. They all piled back into the car and Mr. Potter took them on a tour of Dover where they admired all of the muggle holiday lights and displays. They really were magical in their own way. Every house seemed to shimmer and flash with bright, gaudy colors and plastic candy canes and reindeer littered the yards. The main street downtown was decorated in grand tradition as well with a large, light-up tree in front of what Mr. Potter pointed out as Town Hall and sparkly snowflakes hung from every streetlamp. Harry couldn't have told you how long they drove around for, but he didn't resent a second of it.
When they eventually returned to Potter Manor, they enjoyed some trifle and then gathered back in the living room to sit around the fire, everyone cradling a mug of warm cider. Harry honestly couldn't have pictured a more perfect day. As he sat there, staring into the dancing flames, Harry fought down the warring emotions within himself. All he wanted to do was savor this moment, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel a little bitter that this was the life that he could've had. There could've been family dinners and games and fun traditions and people who cared that he didn't choke on his food, rather than rooting for it. If his parents hadn't died, would they have done something like this together on holidays? James had been the most adamant about many of the traditions they'd participated in so far, so Harry thought the answer was very likely yes. And that brought the wave of grief crashing down once again, filling his chest until he felt the water prickling at the corners of his eyes. But he refused to give in. He refused to cave to something that he knew could never be and forced himself to focus on the moment he was- by some miracle- getting to experience right then. He looked greedily at the faces of everyone around him, trying to take a permanent mental image of their sparkling eyes and carefree smiles as they lounged around the living room, basking in the warmth of the fire and good company.
Harry rested his head on his knee and breathed in the faint smells of cinnamon and nutmeg and clove that wafted through the house. The headache that had been annoyingly plaguing him all day was back once again with a vengeance. While there had been activity earlier, it had been relatively easy to push away and ignore, but in the quiet peace that had settled over the room, Harry had lost most of his distractions allowing the pain to reassert its claim. He knew he should probably just go to bed, but he didn't want to let go of the moment- even through the throbbing in his head, he was savoring every second of it.
After another half hour, Harry finally had to admit defeat. He wasn't sure that he'd be able to keep the pain off of his face for much longer.
"Would you mind if I headed to bed?" Harry asked the room quietly- not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.
"Of course not, dear," Mrs. Potter turned to look at him, taking in his hunched posture and slightly pinched expression. "Are you feeling okay?"
"Yes," he replied automatically. "I'm fine. I just have a bit of a headache is all," he told her.
Her face softened. "Would you like anything for it?" She offered.
"No thank you, ma'am. I can just sleep it off." There was that word again- and here Mrs. Potter thought they'd been making real progress on that front.
James came over to help Harry up and watched as the boy fumbled with his crutch. James gently reached out a hand to still Harry's slightly shaky one. Looking into his eyes, James said quietly, "Harry, please…" After a long moment, Harry gave a small nod and James stooped down and carefully picked him up. As they made their way to the guest quarters, Harry's head rested on James' shoulder and it took every ounce of his willpower to keep himself together. Harry felt all of two years old- like a sleepy toddler being carried off to bed. It was mortifying and terrifying and warm and comforting all at once and he just couldn't sort anything out, so he did his best to shut it down instead.
As James laid him down on his bed, Harry sent him a ghost of a smile, not really trusting his voice at that moment. James returned it warmly before stepping away, making room for Mrs. Potter to take his place beside Harry.
"Let's just take care of those bandages right quick so that you can get some sleep, okay?" Harry gave her a small nod and with a few waves of her wand, Harry's wounds were cleaned and redressed in a matter of seconds. She had also gone ahead and spelled his nightclothes on, which James had dug out without prompting- but Harry wasn't going to complain, for once. He really did just want to go to sleep at this point. Mrs. Potter gave him a soft pat on the cheek before straightening up and taking a step back.
"Thank you," Harry murmured sleepily, eyes already blinking heavily.
"Not at all, dear," she told him kindly. Turning towards James and Sirius, she asked, "I take it you boys are going to retire too?" They gave her a pair of nods.
As she turned to leave with Mr. Potter, James said, "Happy Christmas, mum."
She gave them one last smile, saying, "Happy Christmas, boys," as she and her husband went to retire for the night as well.
He was walking through the cold night air. It bit at his face bracingly and he relished the feeling. He was excited. Tonight was the night. Months of planning, of tracking down that muggle whore. It would never have been worth his time- wasting it on such filth- if she weren't exactly what he needed. Tonight, he would have his revenge and his treasure.
He knew she was out here. Once a dosser, always a dosser. Living on the streets like the vermin she was- it was almost fitting. And tonight was the perfect night. All of the blasted muggles snuggled up in their loving homes around the fire. It was disgusting. But just this once, their sentimentality played to his advantage, so he would let it slide- for now. No one was to interrupt him in his important business tonight, he had made sure of that.
His eyes swept the dark shadows of the street, searching. Tonight, the hunt was all part of the fun. Halfway down the next block, he felt a flare of satisfaction. There she was. A ratty, middle aged woman sat alone on a bus stop bench, sheltered beneath the overhang. She was clutching a bottle tightly to her chest as her head bobbed back and forth to some tune only she could hear.
"Good evening, Florence," he greeted her in a low, silky voice.
The woman startled. Her eyes snapped open and her gaze flew over to him. "Wha- zzit to you?" She slurred.
"Pathetic," he sneered. "I see absolutely nothing has changed- for you at least." He regarded her with the utmost contempt.
"Wha-? Who'r you suppoze t' be?" She looked at him as steadily as she could manage.
"I am not surprised that you do not recognize me- you were never a very intelligent girl and it seems as though you have gone and drowned your last few faculties in debauchery and booze." He wrinkled his nose- he could smell her foul stench from there.
"Hhn?" She teetered where she sat.
"It is a good thing that I do not require you lucid- I just require you." He pulled out his wand and with a flick of his wrist, the two figures appeared to vanish to the rest of the world. "I brought something for you," he said in a chillingly sweet voice.
"Pres'nt?" She cocked her head to the side as her eyes lit up a little.
"Oh, yes, Florence. It is a gift for the world." From within his cloak, he withdrew a heavy, golden locket. With another wave of his wand, he sent the necklace floating over to the woman where it came to rest around her throat.
She clapped excitedly at the magic trick. "Oooh," she cooed.
He made a noise of disgust. "This would be so much more satisfying if you were not such a miserable waste of life already- even for a muggle."
There was the briefest flash of lucidity in the woman's eyes. "Tommy 'oy?" She gasped.
"Do not call me that!" He roared. "If you are to address me, it will be as 'my Lord', 'Dark Lord', or 'Lord Voldemort'!"
She laughed. The whore dared to laugh at him. That would be her final mistake.
"Avada kedavra!"
She fell backwards, expression caught in its final moment of mirth, head lulling against the back of the bench for a moment before her body slumped sideways and slowly slid until her empty face came to rest against the rough wood of the seat.
A rush of blood roared in his ears as the powerful magic resonated through his body, setting every muscle fiber to hum. Quickly, he turned his wand on himself, hissing out a foreign incantation. His entire body suddenly went ice cold while at the same time, there was a terrible, burning heat that erupted inside of his chest. It felt as though someone had poured acid on his heart, and that it was leaking into his bloodstream and permeating his lungs. The wand slowly rose up, and there was a sickening, tearing sensation- like when you have a hangnail that is just barely hanging on and you rip it off, leaving behind a bloody quick. But this was happening to his very soul. It was excruciating- worse than the cruciatus. That only affected your body, but this- this was hurting something much deeper. Something that was never meant to be touched, let alone shredded. Everything about the sensation just screamed 'wrong'. No, it didn't just scream- it shrieked- it howled 'unholy'.
And then he was choking. There was a white-hot, stabbing pain in his chest as something splintered and came loose. It was like summoning a rib from the inside out. As the wand rose, so did the obstruction- crushing his heart, freezing his lungs, and blocking his airway. It scraped and clawed as it was forced upwards, resisting the movement every fraction of a millimeter of the way. Finally, he gagged, and something dark and twisted came out of his mouth. It looked like living ash- a wispy, swirling mass comprised of conflicting light and dark that seemed to be fighting itself and desperately trying to return from whence it came.
The wand remained steady as a rock as it was trained on the mass, preventing it from going back in. Carefully- tenderly- he lowered it into the open locket resting in the hollow of the muggle woman's throat. With another hissed incantation, the locket snapped closed, revealing an ornate serpent inlaid in a curved 'S' on the front. He stepped forward, as if to admire the piece, before pulling out a small vile and pouring something thick and red over the locket. The liquid oozed down the sides of the pendant as it pooled and dripped down the woman's neck, giving her the appearance of someone having slit her throat. But then, the liquid seemed to reverse course- it flowed upward as if the locket itself was greedily sucking it. There was a flash of eerie green light before the ashy mist curled itself around the pendant and chain before retreating back inside of the locket. It was done.
His equilibrium shifted nauseatingly, but there was also a wave of elation at the feeling- like he was riding some sort of sick high. With a flick of his wand, the locket ripped itself from the woman's neck, leaving behind a couple of raw, red marks in its wake, before settling comfortably back in his pocket. With a macabre smile, he turned on his heel, casually strolling back down the empty street. As he got further away from the scene, his spell slowly faded and the woman's body came back into view. Nobody would find it until morning and nobody would care when they did.
James was awoken by something scratching at his face. Bringing a hand up to swat the offending thing away, his hand made contact with soft feathers and then a sharp beak. He let out a yelp as he quickly sat up. Squinting in the low light, he could just make out Pyrrhus madly flapping around his bed. The little bird dove back in to grab James' hair and give it an insistent tug. Reaching over, he grabbed his glass and slid them on, looking at the owl. He looked, well- he looked kind of panicked.
"What's wrong, little buddy?" He asked quietly, trying to figure out what the bird was trying to tell him. Clearly he thought it was important enough to wake him up in the middle of the night- Pyrrhus had never done anything like this before.
And then Harry let out an odd keening noise. James' head whipped around towards the source of the pitiful sound. Throwing back his covers, he yelled, "Sirius!" As he scrambled to his feet and over to Harry's bed. Harry was curled up in a ball, right arm wrapped tightly around his chest, while his left hand was clawing at his forehead. Sirius appeared at his side as James reached forward to try and pry Harry's hand away from his face and wake him up. He let out a gasp as his fingers closed around Harry's arm, feeling the cold, clammy skin. He wasn't cool- he was cold. That could not be healthy.
"Halsy!" James called desperately. The little elf appeared with a crack, looking up at him expectantly. She knew a summons in the middle of the night usually constituted an emergency. "Go get my parents." Halsey disappeared with another loud crack.
Up in the senior Potters' bedroom, the elf materialized, quickly reaching out a knobby hand to gently shake Mrs. Potter awake. After a moment, she roused.
"Wha-?" She asked, blinking slowly and looking confusedly at the elf.
"Mistresses' deer is needing her," Halsy squeaked.
"Dear?" She asked, looking over at Mr. Potter, who was still sound asleep next to her in bed. "Which 'dear'?" Did she mean James?
"Mistresses' new deer child- he is needing help!" Halsy said urgently.
It took another moment for it to click. Halsy wasn't saying 'dear', she was saying 'deer', like a doe- she was talking about Harry.
Mrs. Potter threw her arm out and shook her husband roughly. "Monty- get up! There's something wrong with Harry!" Once she saw that he was awake and had heard her, she apparated away, knowing that the other two would follow.
Mrs. Potter apparated directly into the boys' room and rushed over to where Sirius and James were gathered around Harry's bed.
Hearing her approach, James turned and looked at his mother with frightened eyes that broke her heart. "Mum! He won't wake up! I think something's really wrong."
She reached the bed as two more pops of apparition echoed through the room, announcing the arrival of Mr. Potter and Halsy. Harry was still curled up, but had now rolled over on his side, facing away from them. Mrs. Potter reached out a careful hand to grab his shoulder and lay him back down, but when she touched him, Harry let out that awful, distressed, keening sound again and hunched further away from her.
"Get back," she ordered the boys, who were still crowded around. Pulling out her wand, she levitated Harry off of the bed and into the middle of the floor. As she gently lowered him, everyone gasped as they got a good look at his face. Not only was Harry ghostly pale, but blood was dripping down his forehead. His fingernails had carved gashes in the skin around his scar and the scar itself looked as though it had been reopened. Harry began to writhe, as if in pain, and his hand shot back up to tear at his scar. "No! Monty- hold his arms down. Careful with his bad one," she warned. Not sure what was wrong with him, Mrs. Potter was hesitant to use any intrusive spells on the boy. She really didn't want to make whatever was happening any worse, so a body bind or something similar didn't seem worth the risk. But she also didn't want Harry to hurt himself any further and this was the best solution she could come up with.
Mr. Potter settled himself on the floor by Harry's head and leaned forward, taking hold of his upper arms and pinning them to the ground. Luckily he was much heavier and stronger than the boy, so it wasn't too much of a struggle. Harry still fought him though, wrenching at his arms, desperately trying to get away.
Mrs. Potter cast the handful of diagnostic charms that she'd picked up just as a mother- nothing too complex or in depth- but they all came back basically normal. His heart rate and breathing were a little fast and his temperature, maybe a little low, but nothing that would remotely explain the pain he was clearly in. Harry's breath started to wheeze and he pulled his knees up to his chest to curl in on himself now that his arms were no longer an option. He was thrashing his head from side to side in some attempt to escape either the grip on him or the pain itself.
"Monty- come around the side," Mrs. Potter ordered as she made her way over to take her husband's spot by Harry's head. She gently pulled the boy's head into her lap and held it steady, so at least he wasn't banging it on the hard stone floor. Looking down at Harry, her heart felt shattered. With his eyes closed, he was the spitting image of James. And seeing her son's face all bloody and screwed up in pain sent a bolt of fear straight through her soul. Even though she knew this wasn't James, it still killed her to see any child in such a state. And this child in particular had already been through so much. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to help him, to chase away the pain, to protect him- but she did not know how.
When he started choking, that's when the fear truly gripped her.
"Roll him on his side!"
Mr. Potter let go of Harry's arms to hastily pull the boy over so that he was resting on his left side, but that left his hand free to come claw at his throat. Mr. Potter quickly took one hand and pried Harry's fingers away from where they were digging into his neck, drawing more blood.
Finally after minutes upon agonizing minutes of watching Harry suffer, he gave a violent gag and then stilled, going limp. His body still trembled slightly, but it was nothing compared to what it had been doing before, his breathing eased, and he was no longer trying to claw his skin off. But no matter what they tried, Harry would still not wake up. Mrs. Potter was relieved that his vitals had stabilized, but it was of little comfort overall. She very well might have taken him to St. Mungo's if she weren't terrified to move him. Instead, she stayed there on the floor, with his head cradled in her lap, gently running her fingers through his messy, familiar hair, as Mr. Potter did his best to comfort James and Sirius who were both looking shell shocked and horrified.
Just after dawn, Harry began to stir. Everyone's attention was immediately on him.
"Harry?" Mrs. Potter called gently. "Harry, can you hear me?"
He turned his head slightly at her voice and brought a hand up to rub at his face. She reached out and stopped him before he could get all the way there.
"None of that," she chided lightly. "Come on, Harry- open your eyes," she coaxed.
After another moment, Harry blinked owlishly up at her and his brow furrowed in confusion.
"That's a good lad," she praised, though she was a little worried about how out of it he looked.
"Who-" He began scratchily, before cutting himself off and muttering, "Gonna be sick."
Mr. Potter rushed forward to help him roll onto his side again while Mrs. Potter conjured a basin for him to throw up in. Once he was done, they settled him back down.
"Sorry," he mumbled breathily.
"That's alright, dear," Mrs. Potter reassured him.
"Where-" Harry tried again as his gaze rolled around what little of the room he could see from his current position.
There was an audible thunk as James smacked himself on the forehead. "His glasses! He can't see even half a meter without them." He quickly made his way over to Harry's nightstand and grabbed the frames before handing them off to his mother. "Those should help."
"James?" Harry asked, at least recognizing his voice.
"Yeah, mate. Sirius and I are both here," he told Harry as his mum slid his glasses on.
After a few blinks, the world slid back into proper focus and Harry jumped, trying to scramble away when he realized that he was literally laying on top of James' mum, muttering, "Sorry."
"Woe- Harry- It's okay. Calm down. You're okay," she tried to soothe him.
Realizing that she wasn't going to let him go, Harry stopped struggling. His entire body hurt and his head ached something fierce. Slowly piecing together exactly where he was and what that probably meant, Harry asked the question that he probably should've come up with sooner- "Erh- What happened?"
Mrs. and Mr. Potter exchanged hesitant looks which did very little to put Harry at ease. Could it really have been that bad? But then it all came back to him in a violent rush. Voldemort- that poor woman- that terrible, burning, ripping, utterly wrong feeling. Harry gave a wracking shudder before rolling over and vomiting again.
"Sorry," he whispered.
"That's alright, dear," Mrs. Potter said as she vanished the sick. "Last night you seemed to- have some sort of fit. How are you feeling?" She asked as her hand absentmindedly returned to carding through his hair.
"I'm okay," he told her, but when Sirius let out an unamused, 'Bambi…', Harry added, "I'm just a little nauseous and have a bit of a headache." Seeing as how he'd already basically thrown up on her, it was a little hard to deny that first one and the second was just a little too true to ignore.
"Okay, hun. How about we get you off of the floor, hmm?" And before Harry could respond, Mr. Potter was lifting him up, carrying him over to his bed. Harry let out a small squeak in protest, but mostly focused on not throwing up again as his stomach rolled at the movement. Once Mr. Potter set him on the bed, Harry rolled onto his side and curled up a little bit in an effort to stave off both the nausea and the cold. He was still shaking.
Looking around at all of the worried faces, Harry tried to reassure them, "Really- I'm okay," as he made to sit up, consciously trying to relax his body and look as comfortable as possible despite how he felt. Mr. Potter looked reluctant to have Harry vertical, but helped him up all the same.
"Here," James said, coming around his father's side, holding out Sirius' old jumper that he'd given to Harry. He helped the smaller boy pull it on and watched with a hint of a smile as Harry let out a little sigh and snuggled into it. Harry pulled his good leg up to his chest and rested his forehead on his knee, closing his eyes for a moment just to breathe. James and Sirius decided to invite themselves in to join Harry on his bed, taking up residence on either side of him. When he gave no formal protest, the boys were not sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. Sirius reached out and rested his hand gently on Harry's back, causing him to flinch and arch away from the contact, but he didn't remove his hand. Instead, Sirius waited for Harry to relax a little before he began rubbing slow circles until he felt some of the tension start to melt out of the muscles beneath his fingers. It may have just been his imagination, but Sirius thought he could feel the damned kid's ribs even through the thick sweater and he had to grit his teeth in order to keep a flare of anger at bay. One thing at a time.
Mrs. Potter had slipped out of the bedroom as the boys all settled on the bed. She made her way quickly into the living room. Grabbing a pinch of floo powder, she tossed it into the ever-burning flames and said in a clear voice, "Poppy Pomfrey- Primrose Cottage!" The flames flickered green as she stuck her head into the fire.
Mia's face appeared in the small fire that had just sprung to life in the grate at the cottage. "Poppy!?" She called out, loud enough to be heard in the next room, but hopefully not so loud as to wake anyone who may still be sleeping. "Are you up?"
There was a shuffling and scraping noise that came from the kitchen, just out of view. A few seconds later, a slightly startled looking Madam Pomfrey emerged through the doorway. She was still in her dressing gown and slippers, hair tied up on her head in a messy bun. "Mia?" She asked, as her half-asleep brain was catching up with what she was seeing. Soon, it clicked that this was much too early to be a social call and Poppy came hurrying forwards. "Is everything okay?" She asked hastily.
"I'm sorry to bother you so early- and on Christmas- Poppy, but I was wondering if you might be able to stop by and check out Harry?" Mia asked a little anxiously.
"Harry? What's happened to that boy now?" Poppy asked with a mix of exasperation and worry.
"Last night he had a- oh, I just do not know what to call it. A fit? An episode? A nightmare does not really do what happened justice. I am not really sure how to explain it- he was asleep, but he was thrashing around and would not wake up and it looked like he was in a lot of pain. He was clawing at his face to the point of actually making himself bleed. He finally calmed down after nearly half an hour and just kind of, went limp. All of his vitals seemed fine- he just, would not wake up. I honestly almost took him to St. Mungo's- but I was worried about even moving him when I did not know what was wrong with him and once he calmed down he did not seem to be in any immediate danger… He finally woke up this morning, but he's been a little ill. He threw up a couple of times and just seems rather weak and shaky, but he keeps insisting that he is okay."
Poppy let out a sigh, "Why am I not surprised by that bit?" She shook her head. "I'll come through in a few minutes, okay? I just want to get dressed, then I'll be right over."
"Of course," Mia told her, relief flooding her voice. "Thank you, Poppy. I'll see you soon." And she ended the floo call.
Not five minutes later, Madam Pomfrey stepped through the floo and into the Potter's living room.
"Thank you, again, Poppy for coming," Mia said earnestly as she led the mediwitch back towards the guest quarters.
When they entered, the scene was still much how Mrs. Potter had left it. Harry was still sitting up on his bed, flanked by James and Sirius. His head was resting in his folded arm propped up on his bent knee. James was speaking quietly to him while Sirius was rubbing his back. Monty was hovering nearby, but came to join the women as they entered.
"He was sick again, just after you left," he informed them quietly. Poppy inclined her head in acknowledgement as they collectively moved towards the occupied bed.
"Harry," Mrs. Potter spoke softly, "Madam Pomfrey is here just to take a quick look at you, okay?" Harry quickly raised his head, color invading his cheeks and his eyes flickered between Mrs. Potter and Pomfrey. "Come on boys, why don't we give them a little privacy?" She asked, even though it was not a question. James gave Harry's arm a reassuring squeeze before hauling himself off of the bed, quickly followed by Sirius. Mrs. Potter shepherded the lot of them out of the room leaving just Harry and Poppy behind.
Pomfrey conjured herself a chair to sit on that she pulled up next to the bed. "Mia told me a bit about what happened last night," she began, "but I was wondering if you could fill in any of the gaps for me?"
"It was just a nightmare, ma'am. There really doesn't need to be such a fuss," Harry told her quietly, over his arm.
"Harry- taking one look at you I can tell that more than a simple nightmare occurred. And bad dreams do not make you ill," she pointed out. At Harry's confused look, Pomfrey conjured up a small mirror and handed it to him. Harry let out a gasp when he saw his reflection. While Mrs. Potter had cleaned off the blood, there were still a series of deep, angry scratches across his forehead and even a few on his neck and his soon-to-be famed scar looked as though it had been carved anew and now stood out as a fresh wound. Okay- maybe he could see why they all seemed so concerned about him… The rest of his face was also rather pale, and the slight trembling in his limbs was accentuated by the fact that his reflection seemed to be vibrating.
With a sigh, Harry handed the mirror back to Madam Pomfrey, saying flatly, "I think it was a really bad dream."
Shaking her head, Pomfrey had Harry scoot forward so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed and then she ran a few diagnostic spells. They all came back negative. So she ran a few more. But as far as she could tell, there was nothing wrong with the boy- which was obviously not actually true. But what had Pomfrey perhaps the most confused, was Harry's attitude. Of course she knew- probably better than most- that Harry was never very forthcoming about his health and that his favorite phrase in the world seemed to be 'I'm fine', but something about his behavior that morning struck her as not quite right. When he'd been sick, Harry had woken up confused and slightly more agreeable than normal, and when he was injured, he was usually argumentative and could not sit still. But the Harry that sat before her was neither. Despite his pale face and tremoring frame, he just seemed weary and resigned- like he was just going through the motions with her. He didn't protest or complain about her diagnostics and had an air of almost humoring her, as if he knew that she wouldn't find anything.
Pomfrey watched Harry's face closely as she probed a little more about what he remembered from the previous night's events and how he was feeling. Harry just kept repeating that it must have been a bad dream and that he was fine. But Pomfrey didn't miss the haunted look that flashed in his eye when she asked him what his dream was about and he hastily told her that he didn't remember. She went ahead and healed up his scratches, but the cut along his scar refused to mend like the rest of them. It wasn't very deep, so she wasn't worried about it healing on its own, but it was very peculiar. But once all of that was taken care of, she was still faced with the issue of not actually knowing what was ailing the boy.
Finding herself officially at a loss, and knowing that Harry was being less than forthcoming about something, Pomfrey finally just asked, point blank, "Harry- do you know what happened to you last night? And why you are feeling ill?" The slightly guilty look on his face and the way Harry avoided looking directly at the matron was enough of an answer for Poppy. "Harry," she said, softening her tone, trying to get him to listen and understand, "you need to be honest with me. If you're ill and I can't figure out why, then I will have no choice but to bring in another healer or perhaps even take you to St. Mungo's- the hospital. You have to help me help you," she implored him.
After sitting there with his lips pressed tightly shut for another minute, mulling over his options, Harry let out a long breath before telling her, "It's a cursed scar," motioning towards his forehead. "And, I think it just- gives me trouble sometimes," he hedged.
Poppy's brow furrowed. That was definitely not what she'd expected to hear. Curses were by no means her area of expertise, but she knew enough to know that nobody really knew what they were talking about when it came to cursed scars. The lingering magic was often wild and unpredictable- usually some offshoot or corruption of the original spell. "Do you know what curse?" She asked intently, leaning forward.
Harry snorted, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me," Poppy pushed.
Harry bit his lip, eyes roaming around the room as he contemplated something. "Can you promise me that this will stay between us? That you won't tell anyone?" He asked, looking at her very seriously. "And that includes the Potters and McGonagall and the Headmaster and literally anyone else?"
Poppy took a moment to consider that request, which Harry appreciated. It meant that she was taking him seriously and not just immediately telling him what he wanted to hear. Upon reflection though, Poppy knew that her first and foremost duty would always be to her patients. If this deal was what it took to get the necessary information to help the boy, then so be it. "Okay," she said carefully, "I promise. Whatever you tell me does not leave this room."
Harry gave her a tight, slightly pained smile and said, as he leaned back on his good arm, "It was an avada kedavra."
Poppy gasped. Because that- that was impossible. But looking into Harry's eyes, she could see that he was telling the truth. That moment may have been the very first time that she was completely certain that Harry was not hiding something from her. "H-how-?" She stammered.
"No idea how I survived it," he said with a shrug. "But the scar acts as some kind of- connection- to the man that gave it to me. Once in a blue moon, it seems, when he is feeling particularly murderous or something, I can kind of feel it- or see it. And last night he was doing some particularly sick shit." Harry shivered at the memory, hunching in on himself once again. Poppy didn't bother to scold him about his language, knowing that this was not the time for such things. "So, like I said, there's nothing actually wrong with me- well, beyond the obvious. I'd like to think that anyone with a soul would feel a little ill after watching what he did." Harry wrapped his arms a little tighter around himself. "I'm sorry to have interrupted your Christmas, ma'am, but this time, I really will be fine. I just need a little time to shake it off," he tried to assure her.
"Harry-," she began hesitantly, "If this is what your scar does to you, then maybe it would be best to get an expert opinion-"
"No," Harry cut her off firmly. "You swore to me that this would not leave this room and I trusted you." Harry eyed Pomfrey critically. "Please, don't break my trust," he said softly.
"I won't tell anyone else without your consent," she promised gently. "I was merely pointing out that whatever ishappening here isn't healthy. You cannot function like this." She made a vague gesture indicating Harry's general shaky state.
"I promise- last night was an outlier. I've only had maybe two other episodes all year and neither of them were anywhere near this bad. It's usually more, waking up in a cold sweat, a little shaky, maybe a touch nauseous but I'll be fine by morning. Or just a headache." Wow- this was by far the most he had openly told someone about his visions. The anonymity of this time was kind of freeing. "You'll be happy to know that my dormmates threatened to drag me to the hospital wing both times and if it happens again- particularly after the fiasco that must've been last night- I can almost guarantee that James and Sirius will fight each other over who gets the honor of finally following through on that threat." Harry did feel bad about how he must have scared them. Given that he had woken up in Mrs. Potter's lap, he knew she must've sat up with him at least half the night. And given the clearly self-inflicted injuries on his face, this vision must've really made quite the sight beyond his usual tossing and turning. The fright still showed on their faces well after he'd woken up.
"Good. Even if there is not much I can do, medically speaking, in regard to the cause, at the very least, you should still be checked out and a stomach soother, headache draft, and some chocolate can still go a decently long way towards treating the symptoms. Speaking of- do any of those sound like they would be of any benefit to you right now?" Pomfrey asked, peering down at Harry.
Harry took a moment to actually take stock and try to answer her question honestly. He really wasn't all that nauseous anymore- once he'd gotten everything out, that had kind of passed. He was definitely still cold and trembling a little, but there wasn't much for that. In the end, he concluded, "I could try a headache draft- though I'm not sure if it's actually going to work since it isn't your typical headache… And I think Halsy would be more than willing to make some more of her fantastic hot chocolate if I were to ask, so that might help a little too."
Poppy was almost proud. Who knew Harry had it in him to have such an honest conversation about his health? If only he could keep it up with all of his other issues beyond the cursed scar… Poppy rummaged in her bag and pulled out the requested potion, handing it over to Harry who downed it quickly and returned the empty vial.
"Well, since I'm here, I might as well check up on your other injuries as well. Make sure nothing was aggravated too much last night. How have they been treating you? Any other issues since the popped stitches?"
"No, ma'am. My arm just hurts sometimes when I forget that I can't use it- you know? It's just kind of instinctual to reach for things with my right hand," Harry admitted.
Pomfrey hummed as she inspected his arm, waving her wand around it in complicated motions. "And the leg?" She asked, leaning down to do the same routine for it as well.
"I really have just been trying to stay off of it- which has bloody sucked. I think I've spent more time sitting in the past month than I have the entire rest of my life combined," Harry whinged.
Pomfrey laughed a little at that. "You know, Harry- most teenagers would be glad to have an excuse to sit around all holiday."
"Madam Pomfrey- when have I ever struck you as like 'most teenagers'?" Harry asked as if insulted and was quite satisfied to see Pomfrey crack a smile.
"No, Harry, you are many things, but 'common' is not one of them," she told him earnestly. "Now, I finally get to give you some good news for once. I would say that your leg is healing nicely and that you can start trying to put a little weight on it. That does not mean that you should go overboard as you will likely just end up hurting yourself further and prolonging the recovery process. It does mean that your foot may rest on the ground as you are assisted in walking and depending on how that feels, you may slowly add more weight. No more than a ten percent increase in weight bearing per day, though- am I understood?" Harry nodded. "And the stitches will need to stay in until next week, so you still need to be rather careful. As for your arm- the stitches should be on the same timeline, but the muscles will still take longer to heal. I'm hoping that by the time the stitches come out, the muscles will be recovered enough to start on some exercises to begin rebuilding some strength and dexterity. As for the issue you've been having- I'm afraid that the best I can offer you is a sling in order to physically prevent the instinct from being acted upon, but I will leave that decision up to you," she said as she changed out his bandages for fresh ones.
"Thank you. I think I will be fine without it- it would probably be more uncomfortable than it's worth," Harry shrugged. Since the bite kind of went all the way around his arm, there wasn't really any way to rest it on something without putting pressure on some part of the injury, so the idea of putting his whole arm's weight on it all day in a sling just sounded painful to Harry.
"Very well," Pomfrey conceded. "Is there anything else that we should be discussing? Any questions for me?" She paused to give Harry a chance to think- they had covered a lot in their time together that morning. After a moment, Harry shook his head. Then Pomfrey asked, "Has the headache draft worked at all?"
"Not really," Harry admitted and Pomfrey sighed.
"Well, I better go and check on Mr. Black and then let you all get back to your Christmas day," Pomfrey smiled at Harry before gathering up her things and heading for the door. "I'll send Mr. Potter in to help you come and join everyone. Remember- small, gradual weight increases on that leg of yours," she actually wagged her finger at him. "And if you are in pain- then you will ease up," she commanded.
Harry smiled. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," he said sincerely, earning one last kind look from the mediwitch as she turned and left the room.
Stupid Sirius got his stitches out, which Harry was definitely a little jealous of. Once she finished up with the other boy, Madam Pomfrey had a brief word with the Potters and then bid them all adieu and left. The remaining occupants of the house were all gathered in the living room now. Halsy had served tea and hot chocolate and scones that smell delicious, though Harry had declined one when offered. Even though he wasn't feeling all that nauseous right then, he still didn't think food was a very good idea at the moment. But he was more than happy to sit and sip his hot chocolate as the others enjoyed their breakfast. His hands were still a little shaky, so it was to his combination of embarrassment and relief that Halsy had handed Harry a sort of muggle to-go thermos instead of a regular mug. While it was a little mortifying to have to use what amounted to basically a sippy cup in Harry's mind, it was also better than spilling the hot drink all over himself and the couch.
Given what little Harry had experienced of the Potters' lifestyle and the state of the manor in general, he was not all that surprised to see the vast number of presents (at least by Harry's standards) piled beneath the tree in the corner of the room. It was something very hard for Harry to get his head around though- just how wealthy the Potters were. He was starting to finally understand why much of the wizarding world made certain assumptions about him though. 'Pampered prince' was one of the many Snape insults that Harry had just never gotten where it had come from. All you had to do was take one look at Harry and the state of his trainers to get the sense that he didn't exactly live a privileged life outside of school, so it had always been weird to him that people assumed that he was rich. While he knew that his parents had left him some money at Gringotts, if you'd asked Harry how much, he probably would've said it was hopefully just enough to get him through school. That was part of the reason why he didn't do things like buy new trainers. If it wasn't on his school list, Harry was very hesitant to buy anything in order to try and make his money last. But looking around now at how the Potters lived and presented themselves, Harry found it difficult to fault the wizarding world for assuming him a bit entitled and wealthy if this was the image that came to mind when they thought 'Potter'. That perception was just one of the many things that gave Harry whiplash when he switched between the muggle and magical worlds. In the muggle world, people sneered at him because they thought he was some kind of street rat criminal, but in the wizarding world, they sneered because they thought he was some kind of spoiled brat. The sad truth of the matter was that Harry had never stolen anything in his life unless you counted food in his own home (which aunt Petunia very much did) and he was only 'spoiled' if you considered the word in the sense of forgotten and neglected food left alone to rot in some dark corner.
Harry was so deep in thought that Sirius had to literally wave his hand in front of Harry's face in order to get his attention. Harry started and then shook himself lightly, looking up at Sirius with a, "Hmm?"
Sirius shook the item in his other hand that was extended out towards Harry as he said, "Come on, Bambi- we're opening presents," with a grin. When Harry just stared blankly at him, he shook the item again.
Looking down, Harry saw that it was a gift that Sirius was trying to hand him. "That's for me?" Harry asked with a mix of surprise and confusion.
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Nah- we just thought we'd put you to work opening them for the rest of us. Of course it's for you."
"Oh," was all Harry could say as he finally accepted the present.
Sirius settled in next to him on the couch with a gift of his own in his lap and looked expectantly over at Mr. Potter who was sitting in the squashy armchair closest to the tree, holding his own small parcel. The older man began unwrapping his gift as everyone else eagerly looked on. It looked like what Harry thought might've been a pair of cufflinks. Mr. Potter leaned over and kissed his wife, thanking her. Then it was Mrs. Potter's turn. They went around in a circle like that, each person taking a moment to unwrap whatever gift Sirius had distributed to them. It was much more calm and orderly than the Christmas mornings Harry had spent at Hogwarts with Ron- his friend often resembled a Tasmanian devil as he tore through his presents. And this system seemed to benefit the gift giver as much as the recipient if James' eager face was anything to go off of as he watched his mother open the gift from him. It was a beautiful shawl whose colors seemed to be softly shifting, like the gently flowing water in a stream. She thanked him as she draped it around her shoulders.
Sirius' gift was also from James. It was a camera.
"I was bloody tired of hearing you complain about not having one around the dormitory to 'capture the moment' and whinging about so many lost blackmail opportunities," James teased him, but Sirius took it in stride, clearly very excited about the gift.
Everyone's attention then settled on Harry and he got suddenly rather nervous. "You really didn't need to get me anything… I- uh- wasn't able to get anyone a gift-"
"Mate-" Sirius jumped in, cutting off what was ramping up to be a long, rambling, needless apology. "If the term 'extenuating circumstances' doesn't apply to you- an amnesiac dwarf who fell out of the sky, spent basically the last month in the infirmary, and then got eaten by a Hellhound- then I don't think I want to know what qualifies someone to get out of doing their Christmas shopping," Sirius told him.
"I'm not a dwarf!" Harry snapped, as if that was the only objectionable content in Sirius' statement.
"Sure you're not, Harry," Sirius said, as if indulging a small child in their fantasy- which, perhaps, from Sirius' perspective at least, he was.
With trembling hands that may have had more to do with his nerves than his nightmare, Harry carefully removed the wrapping paper from the medium sized box on his lap, taking care not to tear it. He set the paper neatly on the ground beside him and then gently pulled the lid off of what appeared to be a clothing box. Inside, there was a lovely winter coat. It had a thick, fuzzy lining, a heavy hood, and many pockets. It even had a special spot to store your wand for easy access. It was amazing. And it was actually his size, unlike James' old jacket.
"Th-thank you," he said in a small voice, gently running a hand over the garment as he looked around at the Potters, who he assumed had bought it for him. Even from across the room, they could see the emotion swimming in Harry's big, green eyes.
"You are very welcome, dear. I'm glad you like it," Mrs. Potter smiled at him.
Harry set the box aside, but kept the coat on his lap as James took his turn unwrapping a present. His was some kind of fancy practice quaffle that was spelled kind of like a boomerang so that it flew back at you when you threw it so that he could practice, even on his own. James seemed rather impressed with the design. Likely, as an only child, he'd faced many days where such an item would've been rather entertaining and handy.
They went round and round, opening presents like that until the pile under the tree disappeared. Harry had received mostly clothing items from the Potters, so he now owned his very own, properly fitting jumper, cardigan, hoodie, three pairs of joggers (because at the rate Harry was going through trousers, he was going to need the backups), a couple of shirts, and warm pair of gloves to match his new coat. To Harry, it all felt like too much. His annual Weasley jumper was literally the only item of clothing that Harry had ever owned that was his and only his that wasn't a school uniform. He really didn't need all of it- Sirius had already given him a jumper, so he would be fine for the rest of the year. All the rest of it was just unnecessary. It was too much.
Seeing how uncomfortable Harry was looking with all of his new clothes piled around him, Sirius leaned over and whispered to him, "You know, the Potters basically bought me a whole new wardrobe last summer when I came to stay with them. I didn't exactly have time to pack before I left either. Honestly, I think you got off lightly. Mia dragged me around Diagon Alley for a full day until she was satisfied that I had anything and everything I could ever possibly need." It was the first time Sirius had ever really mentioned anything even close to the topic of his family and why exactly he was living with the Potters instead of them. Of course, Harry knew the reason from his own time, but this Sirius had remained rather tight-lipped about the whole affair. But still, Harry felt touched that he'd been willing to share that just to make him feel better. He gave Sirius a small smile.
Harry had also receive a ridiculous amount of Honeydukes candy from Sirius and James, along with an 'IOU 1 non-academic book of your choice' coupon, a pair of socks with snitches flitting around on them, a book on quidditch strategies from Sirius, and, surprisingly, a book on Charms from James.
"I didn't know you could find that section of the bookstore," Harry said to James with mock impress.
"I don't think he was only over there shopping for you, mate," Sirius winked, causing James to flush.
Once all of the presents were open, and everyone was relaxing, admiring one another's haul, Harry shifted uncomfortably. He felt kind of stupid, but he also felt like he needed to give everyone something for Christmas, even if it couldn't be an actual gift. "Erm- Sirius?" He asked hesitantly, turning to face the boy next to him on the couch. When he looked over, Harry took a little breath before pressing on, "Would you- uh- mind passing these out for me?" Harry held out a small stack of envelopes. "I know it's kind of silly, but it was the best I could do, since I couldn't really buy anything…" He trailed off nervously.
"Of course," Sirius said cheerily, snatching them up and trotting off to deliver the mail. As he handed off the envelopes, Harry could see Sirius lean down and whisper something to the Potters who listened and then smiled kindly over at Harry and then James who happily said, "Thanks, Harry!" Sirius then returned with his own note in hand.
Harry was very uncomfortable with the fact that he could not properly reciprocate for all the gifts that he had received, but he tried to reassure himself that something was better than nothing. So he had used some of his ample time trapped in the hospital wing to draft letters for everyone- even Peter, though Harry had used that one as more of a therapy exercise than a heartfelt gift. Plus, he thought it would seem odd if it got out that he's given a note to everyone but Peter, so Harry had sucked it up. He'd given the other two theirs right before they split up for break.
Everyone had gone ahead and opened their letters right then, so Harry watched anxiously as they all read them. The Potters looked touched and James gave Harry a bright smile. Sirius cried, "Awe! Bambi!" Before wrapping Harry in a tight hug. Harry immediately went stiff at the unexpected contact, but Sirius didn't let up until Harry relaxed and cautiously returned the hug.
"Pads- release him before you crush him," James scolded. Sirius reluctantly let go of Harry and sat back up, glaring playfully at James.
They spent the rest of the morning hanging out and playing games together in the living room. Harry opted to sit out most of the games, but was more than happy to watch on. There was something distinctly different about the feeling of sitting there, still a part of the festivities even though he was not actively participating like the others, that filled Harry with warmth unlike those many years at the Dursleys' where he had been relegated to his cupboard where he caught glimpses at celebrations through the crack in the door. This was nice.
Perdita and Pyrrhus seemed to have reached a temporary truce for the day and were both snuggled up with Harry on the couch, the cat in his lap and the little owl settled on his shoulder and up against his neck. Harry had also gone ahead and put on his new jumper underneath Sirius' old one and the combined effort of all of that was finally beginning to chase away that persistent chill Harry had had since he'd woken up that morning.
As the morning grew late, they moved into the kitchen. Apparently, it was another Christmas tradition at the Potters that everyone helps out with the cooking for dinner.
"Many hands make light work," Mrs. Potter explained easily at Harry's slightly confused look. "Plus, I refuse to send my boys out into the world not knowing their way at least functionally around a kitchen. There is not always going to be a house elf around to pick up their slack- nor should there be," she said firmly. Then, she leaned forwards across the counter and whispered to Harry with a wink, "Next summer, I'm going to make them do their own laundry too." Harry let out a snort. Ahh! The horror! While Harry had never personally done magical washing, he couldn't imagine it was any harder than doing it the muggle way. He was pretty confident that James and Sirius would survive- he suspected the issue they were more likely to run into was having the proper motivation to do it over the actual laundry itself. Sirius was much more the type to just go commando when he ran out of pants rather than clean a pair to wear. And sometimes James was just lazy. That was one area where the two boys seemed to feed off of one another in a more negative way. Harry honestly suspected that if Remus weren't there, the other two would get themselves into a lot more trouble from that particular tendency of theirs.
Mrs. Potter split everyone up and assigned them their tasks. Mr. Potter and James were taking care of the mince pies, Sirius was to be working on the vegetable side dishes, and Harry- along with Hasly's help- was set to make the potatoes gratin. Mrs. Potter herself took on preparing the cornish game hens that were going to be the main course. Harry was just happy he could finally actually help with something. It was basically the first time he'd been able to contribute anything since arriving at the Potters'. Halsy prepared the ingredients, slicing the potatoes and creating the sauce, while Harry assembled the dish. It was a long, slow process with just the one functioning hand, but nonetheless something he could actually do. He carefully arranged the potatoes, layering in the cream sauce and cheese until it looked like a dish worthy of his aunt Petunia's most fastidious dinner parties. Once it was ready, Halsy whisked the dish off to the oven for it to bake before going over to help Sirius with the veg.
"So, Harry," Mr. Potter said, "I know we've been forcing a lot of 'Potter' traditions on you- is there anything you or your family liked to do for the holidays?"
Harry fidgeted a little uncomfortably. "Um- No, sir. Not that I remember. I- uh- don't think that I celebrated Christmas much growing up." The half-truth was the best he could come up with.
"Oh, I'm sorry- I didn't mean to assume. Are you Jewish? Or do you prefer to celebrate the Solstice or something else?" He asked pleasantly.
"Oh, no- I didn't mean it like that. While I don't think I'm a very religious person, I don't take offense to Christmas or anything. It's a lovely holiday. I just- I don't think I've ever really done anything like how you celebrate," he said lamely.
Harry heard James hiss, "Dad!" under his breath as he leaned in and elbowed him, causing Mr. Potter to look up from his work and catch sight of the uneasy look on Harry's face.
Feeling suddenly rather awkward for his tactless line of questioning, Mr. Potter said, "Sorry- I didn't mean to go dragging up bad memories."
Mrs. Potter, shaking her head at her husband's inept conversational skills, said, "We're just happy to have you this year, dear." She gave Harry a kind, understanding smile.
"It's alright, sir. I just appreciate you having me," Harry told them, with a slightly forced smile. Pyrrhus nuzzled up into Harry's cheek, causing him to let out a little laugh and his face to relax into something much more genuine as he reached up to pet the little bird.
Once everything was in the oven, they played what Harry was just calling in his head Wizarding Ludo. The game was played essentially the same way, but all of the pieces were animate and liked to argue with you as you commanded them around the board and seemed to enjoy using guerilla tactics to drag your opponents' pieces back to their starting positions when they were captured. It was very fun to watch and finally a game where Harry actually knew and understood the rules before they started playing, so he managed to put up a fair showing and won the game. Harry could admit that he also had a bit of a competitive streak- he was just usually pretty good at hiding it anywhere other than the quidditch pitch- so he was quite satisfied with his win.
Once the game was over, they cleared off the table and set it for dinner. Mrs. Potter got out 'the good china' which had a beautiful golden inlay and delicate little blue birds that hopped and swooped around the intricate designs at the edges of the dishes. The food was levitated over and soon they all tucked in. They sat around the table for hours, enjoying the food and conversation. Mr. Potter was regaling them with stories about his family and youth and time back in school.
"You know, my father's name was Harry." Mr. Potter leaned towards Harry as he spoke. "Well, technically it was Henry, but everyone called him Harry."
Harry's head shot up and he looked at Mr. Potter with slightly overlarge eyes. "Really?" He asked, fighting to keep his voice even. Put that one under the column labeled 'things no one bothered to fucking tell him'.
"Uh-huh," Mr. Potter nodded. "You actually kind of remind me of him. He was a strong willed man and Charms was a bit of a specialty of his. From what I've heard from James, that seems to be true for you too," he smiled.
"He gives Lily a run for her money. You should hear the two of them nattering on back and forth," James scoffed playfully.
"At least she voluntarily talks to him," Sirius shot back.
Harry rolled his eyes. Once again wholeheartedly not wanting to get involved in his future parent's love life, he tried to steer the conversation back towards more interesting topics- at least for him, personally. "Did your father work with charms then?"
"Oh, no. Charms was more of a hobby for him. He was more of a politician and philanthropist. He was actually a member of the Wizengamot for a while before he got blackballed. Certain people in power did not share his same views on the importance of muggle-wizard cooperation and did not appreciate his outspokenness on the subject. While he never held any official office after that, he still worked the rest of his life to change the hearts and minds of those making the decisions and the wizarding world at large. He was a good man," Mr. Potter said reminiscently.
Wow. So his great-grandfather had been some kind of pro-muggle activist? Again- why had no one bothered to tell him about that?! "That's really cool," Harry said, a bit in awe. "And what sort of work do you do, if you don't mind me asking?" Harry pressed, now greedy for more information.
James jumped in before Mr. Potter got the chance to answer. "Dad's a potioneer," he told Harry teasingly. When Harry wrinkled his nose, Mr. Potter laughed.
"I take it Potions is not your favorite subject?" He asked in an amused voice.
"As those two can attest, I'm absolute pants at Potions. Don't let me anywhere near a cauldron if you still want to have a cauldron later in the day," Harry said seriously, earning another chuckle.
"Well, have no fear- there will be no mandatory brewing this break. Besides, I am retired now," he attempted to reassure Harry.
"Yeah, when you hit it big, you can retire young," James said. "Dad invented Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and then just rested on his laurels."
"Oh, I promise you- there was no rest to be had in this house. Just after Sleekeazy's hit the market, Mia got pregnant and we had this one to contend with," Mr. Potter jerked his thumb over at James. "And believe me- chasing after him was more than a fulltime job," he said adamantly.
"Your dad invented a hair care potion?" Harry asked incredulously, staring at James, his eyes roaming up to the disaster of a mop on top of his head.
"Hey!" He protested, a hand flying up to sweep his bangs back, messing up his hair even more. "I think using potions is cheating," he stated firmly. "Besides- you're one to talk."
"My dad didn't invent the solution to this-" Harry gestured at his own messy hair. Though apparently his grandad did…
"Whatever," James rolled his eyes and returned to his meal.
"Believe me, Harry- we've tried everything to get James to use it, but some wills cannot be broken," Mrs. Potter lamented, causing Harry to smirk. Of course that's the hill James is willing to die on.
"He gets that from his mother," Mr. Potter winked. "I should warn you, Harry- Mia is not a woman you want to get on the bad side of. She may come off as all sweet and motherly and innocent, but when she wants to be, she is a force to be reckoned with. Knocked me out cold the first time we met," he told Harry with a knowing nod.
"Now, really Monty- the way you say that makes it sound like I attacked you! I do wish you'd find a better lead in to that story," Mrs. Potter huffed.
"But where would the fun be in that?" He asked innocently. "We met at Dueling Club in school," he explained to appease his wife. "I didn't even know what hit me until I was blinking up at the ceiling having already lost- and I wasn't some novice dueler. But she was just that good. I begged her to teach me for weeks after that until finally she caved. From there, my sparking charm and winning personality took care of the rest," Mr. Potter beamed over at Mrs. Potter.
She scoffed as Harry muttered, "And I see where James gets his delusion from too," just barely loud enough for Sirius to hear, as he was sitting right next to him. Sirius barked out a laugh.
Pulling himself together, Sirius offered, "You know, Harry is the best duelist in our year. Knocked a baby Death Eater out twice on our first day." There was a hint of pride in his voice as he spoke.
"Oh really?" Mr. Potter asked, turning towards Harry with raised eyebrows.
"And you should've heard him in our last dueling class. Fortin had him critiquing the duels since his leg was hurt- you would've thought he was some kind of four-star general the way he was talking strategies," Sirius continued.
"Yeah, well- if you lose your wand, you're still in the fight, but if you lose your head, you're dead," Harry shrugged simply, earning him a look of respect from Mr. Potter.
"That was very well put," he told Harry. "Mia and I were doubles dueling champions in our youth and I can attest that strategy and teamwork won us more matches than any fancy or complicated spellwork."
"And I wouldn't have had to take down Avery twice if I'd done it properly the first time," Harry pointed out, still a little bitter about that whole situation. "It was an oversight and mistake I do not intend to make again." There was a fierce edge to his voice that drew everyone's attention. For the first time, the senior Potters were maybe starting to see why James had once described Harry as "a little terrifying". It was hard to imagine that small, injured, overly polite boy that they had been getting to know over the past week as anything other than endearing. But hearing him speak like that- with a confidence that only hard-earned personal experience can bring- served as a reminder that they didn't actually know him. Or at least, not all of him- or what he'd been through. That hard edge conjured up all-too-fresh images of Harry writhing in pain on the bedroom floor and then insisting that he was fine. It helped them to recall just how he had gotten injured in the first place- fighting off a Hellhound and living to tell the tale. It reminded them of the frightening reality of the world that they were living in and sent little chills down their spines even as Harry shook his head slightly and looked back up with a pleasant smile as he continued to happily eat his dinner.
After dinner, they broke out the Christmas crackers. This seemed to be yet another area where the Potters went all out- and perhaps a little over the top. While the small cylindrical tubes looked unassuming and much the same as those that Harry had experienced at Hogwarts over the years, he soon found out that when these ones were pulled, volleys of glitter or showers of sparks erupted from them. Instead of silly paper crowns, real jeweled metal ones fell out along with the strangest assortment of fancy objects. From one fell a beautiful peacock feather quill and from another, what appeared to be a solid gold toilet seat. Harry and Sirius pulled one that contained a high quality leather horse bridle for some reason- at least, Harry didn't think that the Potters owned a horse… Out of another fell a medieval gauntlet, which James was quick to snatch up.
They all sat around, wearing their new crowns, and enjoyed dessert. They had a lovely plumb pudding and- much to Harry's delight- treacle tart. Once the dishes were cleared, they retired to the living room once again with warm beverages in hand and gathered around the fire. As he sat there, Harry couldn't help but smile. Despite how it had started, that day had still been one of the best Christmases that Harry could ever remember. And he had finally gotten to spend one with family.
Everyone ended up heading to bed early that night as most of the occupants of Potter Manor had not gotten a lot of sleep the previous night. Despite their tired eyes, Mr. and Mrs. Potter seemed rather hesitant to actually leave the boys after seeing them to their room and taking care of changing Harry's bandages.
James walked over and gave his parents each a hug, wishing them one last 'Happy Christmas'. As he pulled his mother in, James whispered to her, "We'll be fine mum. And I promise to come get you if anything happens."
Mrs. Potter gave him a searching look as she pulled back, but finally gave him a small, slightly strained smile and a nod before whispering back, "Happy Christmas, sweetheart," and brushing a kiss against his cheek. Mr. Potter took her hand as they left together.
The next morning, Harry and James were both up before Sirius, so they decided to let him sleep in. James helped Harry out to the kitchen where Mr. and Mrs. Potter were already getting started with their mornings. Mrs. Potter came over and reapplied Harry's bandages once he was seated at the table.
"You boys are on your own for breakfast today," Mrs. Potter informed them as she straightened up. "But James- you know where the food is. I'm running into town for a little Boxing Day shopping, but I'll be back later this afternoon. I am trusting you boys to hold down the fort, okay?" She said, giving James a stern look.
"I promise not to let anyone starve and that when you return the house will still be mostly in one piece," he swore with one hand over his heart and the other raised.
"That's not funny," she told him.
"We'll be fine. We haven't even tried to blow anything up all break- why such little faith in us now?" James asked, looking put out.
"Because I will not be here and you and Sirius are known for having impeccable timing with this sort of thing," she said knowingly.
"Pads isn't even awake yet," he brushed off, as if that couldn't very well change any second. "And you'd think that dad isn't a viable parent sitting right here," he pointed out. Mr. Potter let out a very noncommittal grunt at being involved in the conversation.
"This isn't about your father," Mrs. Potter said as she threw a slightly unimpressed look at her husband who had not put his copy of the Daily Prophet down since Harry and James had walked in. "This is about you proving to me that you boys can be responsible," she told James.
He nodded his head solemnly, "Yes, ma'am." Mrs. Potter gave a brisk nod in return before gathering her things and heading out.
James let out a dramatic sigh before saying, "You'd think we weren't sixteen and that we weren't wholly capable of looking after ourselves for a few hours… I mean, what does she think? That we have a 24/7 minder while we're at school?" James huffed indignantly.
"You do," Harry pointed out. "His name is Remus."
"Oh- stuff it," James said as he rose from the table. "What do you want for breakfast?"
"I'm not all that hungry," Harry admitted. "Go ahead and just get something for yourself."
With a shrug, James went and grabbed a box of cereal and a bowl before sitting back down at the table in between Harry and his father. As James shuffled past him, Mr. Potter finally lowered his paper to take a sip of tea and greet them. "Good morning, boys."
"'Morning," they chorused back.
Mr. Potter also seemed to be having a slow morning. He was still in his dressing gown, his hair a mess as he sat there reading the paper. Just as James poured out his cereal, Pyrrhus swooped into the kitchen, quickly followed by Perdita. Apparently, their truce had not lasted as the cat took a swat at the low flying owl. Harry watched the two chase one another with amusement until Pyrrhus managed to knock the sugar bowl off of the counter and spill the contents all over Perdita. Just as Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust at the mess, there was a click and a flash that drew everyone's attention. Over in the doorway stood Sirius, his new camera raised. And he was laughing.
"Oh- you three really make quite the set!" He cackled, earning heated looks from Harry and James and a slightly bemused one from Mr. Potter. The camera had spat out a photo- like a muggle Polaroid- and Sirius snatched it up, admiring it. "Now, this is art," he said loftily.
Sirius slapped the photo down in front of Harry. It was kind of a perfect candid shot. The three of them were sitting all in line along the side of the table- the Harry in the photo could be seen wrinkling his nose at something out of frame, James was hunched beside him wolfing down cereal, and Mr. Potter was on the end, glancing down at his newspaper with a cup of tea held lazily in his hand. They all sit there for a moment before giving a collective jump as all eyes snap towards the camera and glare. But with their nearly identical faces, hair, and glasses, they looked almost like one of those 'evolution of man' posters or a matching set of small, medium, and large.
As they passed the photo around, Sirius disappeared only to return a minute later with a quill in hand. He grabbed the photo back and flipped it over, writing across the back:
Boxing Day, 1976
Potter Manor
'Potter, Potter, Doe' by Sirius Black
"There you go, Bambi. A holiday keepsake." Sirius thrust the picture at Harry, who did his best to look insulted by the unflattering photo when in reality it had instantly become his most treasured possession.
"Do you think you might wanna brave the stairs today?" James asked Harry, who instantly perked up.
"I'm sure I can manage," he said with a shrug, attempting to hide his eagerness. It seemed to have been decided- without Harry's input- that going up to the second floor was just not worth the effort and/or risk. Since the first floor of the house was so vast, it wasn't like the boys had faced any issues with keeping themselves entertained, but Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't intensely curious to see what the rest of the house held.
The climb was definitely slow, with James doing most of the work and Sirius hovering worriedly behind them as they made their way up, but Harry was just happy to be doing something. It was like a little adventure- kind of. But hey- at this point, Harry would take what he could get. At the top of the stairs, they headed down the hallway to the right where the family bedrooms were located. James pointed out his parents' room at the end of the hallway and then the next two doors were his and Sirius' rooms, right across from one another. To get to the boys' rooms, they walked past a handful of other closed doors which James explained were things like a project room for his mother, extra guest rooms, a bathroom, and some storage. Finally they arrived at their destination and Sirius ran ahead to pull them into his room.
It was a large space, with a big bed, much like those they had down in the guest quarters, pushed up against one wall. The sheets and drapes were matching deep, Gryffindor red, but there was a black shag carpet covering most of the hardwood floor. The walls were covered in posters to the point where Harry was impressed since he knew Sirius had only been living there a few months, rather than acquiring such a collection over his whole lifetime. They were mainly pictures of motorcycles, hot rods, and American muscle cars. There was a large desk shoved against one of the other walls that was messy and crowded with loose parchment, a couple of books, a fancy quill set, and all kinds of random odds and ends and knicknacks. There was a nearby bookshelf that was looking awfully light on the books and appeared to be in a similar state of disarray. A squashy armchair and brightly colored ottoman sat in the back corner, but really, all of the furniture seemed to be considered unimportant by the room's occupant and was just relegated to the outskirts of the space.
Sirius made a beeline for the desk when they entered the room and started rummaging around for something. With a huff, he gave up on the desk and turned to the bookshelf, and then a set of drawers until he finally pulled out what appeared to be a brown leather diary.
"Give me that," James demanded as he went to snatch the unassuming book out of Sirius' hands.
"No!" Sirius yelled, dancing out of James' way and holding the book aloft, high above his head, just out of James' reach.
"Oi! You lost your right to custody when you forgot it, like an idiot," James glared at Sirius as he tried to jump up and grab the journal. After a number of failed attempts, James finally just stomped on Sirius' foot, causing the other boy to double over with a yelp, giving James the opportunity to sntach his prize while Sirius whined over his mistreatment.
"Tosser," Sirius muttered as he limped over to the bed.
"Do I even want to know what that is?" Harry asked warily, eyeing the little book.
"That, my dear Bambi, is our little black book," Sirius told him mysteriously.
"It's brown," Harry pointed out in a flat voice.
"And it doesn't contain the addresses of any of our lovers," James added, a bit confused.
"Merlin- you lot don't have to be so literal!" Sirius complained, throwing his arms up and then flopping back in the bed.
"Well, that was helpful," Harry said sarcastically and then turned towards James with a raised eyebrow. "You wanna try?"
"This," James said, raising the book up dramatically, "is our life's work. Our anthology." He opened the book and thumbed the pages lovingly. "Each prank, a masterpiece. Every scheme, a thing of beauty. It contains the blueprint to every bit of trouble we've caused since starting at Hogwarts. It is the envy of many aspiring troublemakers and the bane of Filch. And it is arguably the one piece of writing that Pads is more dedicated to than Moony," James added with a smirk. But Sirius didn't even try to protest. "And now it is out of date for the first time in over five years because someone was a berk and forgot it."
"And yet somehow we still managed to pull off a first-day-of-term prank for the first time in our illustrious careers," Sirius grinned.
"I never said we needed it- our talent alone can carry us through. It is about showing due respect to a sacred object," James said haughty. Sirius rolled his eyes, but his shoulders slumped all the same.
"Noted- don't mess with James' diary," Harry muttered.
"It's not a diary!" James stated loudly as Sirius snickered.
Pulling himself up off the bed, Sirius grabbed James' arm and started dragging him towards the door, saying, "Sure it's not, Prongsy. That's why I've never seen you sleep with it under your pillow…" James spluttered at that, but the flush that crept up James' neck was very telling. He quickly shook Sirius off and helped Harry across the hallway where they entered James' room.
The other boy's room looked much more lived in, which wasn't all that surprising. It was definitely a little more organized and the furniture was arranged in a way that made a little more sense. The bed was in a back corner with an ornate dresser next to it. A matching carved desk sat against one wall with a large couch across from it along the other. There was a low table in front of the couch and a soft rug depicting a forest scene ran underneath it. The curtains were a deep, royal blue, but the sheets matched the ones in Sirius' room. James also had a lot of posters up on the walls- though not quite as many as Sirius. Harry noted with a bit of surprise that they seemed to be mostly music related. They depicted artists or album covers, both magical and muggle alike. There was a large, rounded window on the back wall that overlooked the gardens below. It was a spectacular view.
James went over and opened one of his desk drawers and grabbed out a few inkpots and a couple of quills before straightening up and turning back to the others with a smile. "You ready to show him the game room?" James asked Sirius.
"You have a whole separate game room from the ones I've already been in?" Harry asked, a little dubiously. He would've assumed that the living room basically served as the 'game room' as that was the room that they had been playing games in all week.
"Oh, Harry dear- you ain't seen nothing yet," Sirius winked.
They made their way down the hallway, back past the main stairs and went through the first door on the right on the other side of the second floor.
Harry actually gasped when he entered. The room was huge. Multiple chandeliers hung in a row down the long, rectangular room. All along the back wall of the room stood a series of odd shaped tables that looked to be customly designed. He recognized one of them as a poker table and another one looked like it belonged in a muggle cusino. But for most of them he couldn't even fathom what they were meant for. One of them was actually shaped like a zigzag with chairs tucked into the sharp turns. Another was round with what appeared to be a suspended grid of red string above it. Towards the middle of the room, there was a billiards table and a little further down in the middle of the room there sat what looked like just a regular table and then past that, at the far end was what appeared to be a sandpit and a large patch of grass. Of course wizards would think that a normal thing to have in their houses- why not? Along the short wall nearest then was a long bar with stools along one side and a small kitchen area behind it. The last wall held more comfy looking seating.
"And you lot were content to just let me sit on the floor and play cards all week," Harry huffed as he took in the room.
"Awe- don't be like that, Bambi," Sirius pouted. "I thought you liked losing to us at cards."
"One of these days I'm going to have both hands and actually know all the rules- so you better not get too comfortable up on that high horse of yours," Harry threatened.
"But that does lead us back to the age-old question- what can we play that doesn't require arms or legs?" James pondered thoughtfully.
"Hey! I still have one of each, thank you very much," Harry said indignantly.
After a moment, Sirius' eyes sparked and he asked, "Anyone ever played left-handed darts?"
It turned out that there was a dart board tucked just past the bar area. They dragged over a barstool for Harry to sit on while he played and watched. If Harry had to guess, he's wager that no, neither James nor Sirius had ever played left-handed darts before that day because they were absolute rubbish. In the first round, they both missed the board completely more often than they managed to hit it. However, it seemed that they had finally found Harry's game. Despite him having never actually played proper darts before, he still had pretty good aim- even left-handed. After Harry absolutely wiped the floor with the others in the first game, he joked, "It looks like you two are the ones that need the handicap." So Harry let them play the next round with their proper hands so that the game would at least be more competitive- though Harry still managed to win. Apparently those long hours in his cupboard with nothing to do but throw pebbles and flick paperclips had been good for something. Harry would bet that he'd annihilate the others at paper football too.
After a few more losing rounds, James and Sirius started moving Harry's chair further and further back until they were finally able to beat him about half of the time. Harry could not stop laughing when Sirius tried to take a shot from where Harry was sitting and missed the target entirely- even using his right hand!
While Harry was trying to pull himself together and Sirius was busy glaring at him, James heard a distant call of, "Boys?!" through the door that they'd left open. He went out to the landing, leaning over the railing to smile down at his mother, who had just walked in the front door.
"Hey, mum!" He called down, causing her to start and look up. "See-" He said, splaying his arms proudly, "The house is still in one piece!"
His statement was immediately undercut by a loud clattering noise and the thud of something heavy hitting the ground from somewhere down the hall behind James. Mrs. Potter apparated up to the landing and where she and James rushed into the game room. Much to their relief, they found Harry right where James had left him on the stool, laughing. Following his gaze, they saw Sirius, sprawled out on the floor with a bunch of horseshoes scattered around him.
"Oh- hi, Mia," he greeted innocently, brushing himself off a little.
"What on earth happened?" Mrs. Potter asked warily, eyeing the mess all around Sirius.
"Pads was wondering if I'd be just as good at other throwing games, but didn't want to bother to wait until someone could help get the box of heavy iron horseshoes down- oh, no! Swore he could manage just fine," Harry cackled.
Sirius looked a bit embarrassed as Mrs. Potter flicked her wand and gathered up the spilled horseshoes and then helped him up. "Are you okay, dear?" She asked more kindly, giving him a once over.
"I'm fine," he told her. "Just lost my balance."
Once she was satisfied that Sirius really was okay, Mrs. Potter turned back towards Harry and James to ask, "Have you boys eaten lunch yet?" When she got a negative response, she asked, "Would you like to eat up here? I can have Halsy bring up some sandwiches or something if you'd like."
"That'd be great mum," James gave her a smile.
"Alright. It'll be up soon then." She went to leave, but just before she made it to the door she said, "And please- be careful. We don't need any more injuries in this household before you go back to school. Poppy might just have my head."
It turned out that Harry was also very good at horseshoes, once he got the hang of it. The boys spent the rest of the afternoon up in the game room, Harry perfecting his aim and James finally getting to update his diary, before they were called down for dinner.
On Wednesday- much to Harry's excitement- he was finally able to take his first few unaided steps and officially regained an ounce of independence. It definitely wasn't super comfortable moving around quite yet, and he still needed to be careful not to tear any of his stitches, but it still felt like a monumental victory. He could actually go to the restroom anytime he wanted now and didn't have to make James lug him around everywhere.
So when he woke with a start early on Thursday morning, he savored the ability to crawl out of bed and slip into the bathroom. Up until then, he'd been forced to wait until James woke up to help him, which was often a rather long time since Harry's habit of being up before dawn was still going strong whereas James and Sirius seemed to be running on holiday schedule- meaning sleeping in late. After using the loo, Harry looked at himself in the large mirror above the sink. He couldn't decide if he looked better or awful. Or maybe both. He'd dreamt of the basilisk attacks from his 2nd year. He watched as everyone was attacked and then as Ginny just about died in the Chamber of Secrets. Only, he wasn't just watching- no, he was the bloody snake. He was attacking everyone, his thoughts consumed with 'rip', 'tear', 'kill' and he was so hungry and all he could smell was the mouthwatering, coppery tang of blood. His stomach turned. God- he really wished that his nightmares would at the very least stay in their own lanes! The memory of attacking Mr. Weasley was bad enough, rattling around in his brain- he didn't need to go making up new ones to keep it company.
Giving a little shiver, Harry carefully leant down to wash his face and take a drink from the sink, praying that he could just wash away the bag under his eyes. Knowing the effort was in vain, Harry sighed as he straightened up, toweled off his face, and put back on his glasses. Maybe there was a bit more color in his cheeks now? He thought optimistically as he turned to head out of the bathroom. Deciding to embrace his newfound freedom, Harry moved past his bed and quietly made his way out of the room to let the others sleep. Harry wasn't sure how early Mr. and Mrs. Potter were usually up, but he didn't really want to disturb them, so he avoided the living room and kitchen area. Realizing that now was the perfect time to explore the library a little more, Harry made his way there.
As he was looking around, admiring the vast room, it struck Harry that a personal collection like this from an old and wealthy family was probably more likely to have a book on time travel or related topics than someplace like the Hogwarts library. So with a new goal in mind beyond mere awe, Harry dredged up his master plan and wracked his brain for whatever step he was on. It finally came to him- Step 3: figure out how the heck he got here (and therefore how the heck to get home) with Subsection A: What do we know about time travel? And Subsection B: What do we know about portkeys and/or magical stones? Simple. Time travel, portkeys, rocks. With those topics guiding him, Harry set out on a methodical search of the library. After probably an hour, Harry did find a rather promising looking book about magical travel with a section on portkeys that he snagged and added to his small stack of books he'd pulled that had just sounded interesting. He found a couple more books on magical gems and geology which looked incredibly dull, but Harry dutifully gathered them anyway.
It was not until he had almost exhausted his search- of the first floor, at least- when he spied an extremely enticing title above his head. The beaten spine read: The Shifting Sands of Time and How To Harness Them. Harry had to balance on his one leg and use the end of his crutch to precariously pull the book out and knock it down so that he could grab it. He was so excited that he just sat down right there on the floor and eagerly opened the book. He was soon lost in it. The first few chapters were spent adamantly warning readers against messing with time and time travel- but Harry was well beyond the point of worrying about such things. This was already very much happening. Then it started to get into the theory behind time turners- the only known time travel device according to this particular book. Apparently the sand contained within the miniature hourglasses inside of a time turner was actually a unique substance called 'time sand', which held many, 'yet to be determined', magical properties. Wow- how helpful and specific, Harry scoffed internally as he read that little tidbit.
Later that morning, James and Sirius hurried into the kitchen with distracted looks on their faces. Mr. and Mrs. Potter were seated at the table enjoying their morning tea.
"You guys- uh- haven't happened to see Harry this morning, have you?" James asked his parents with a hint of worry.
"No, dear. He hasn't been with you?" His mum asked, brow furrowing.
"Uhh- no," James admitted. "He was gone when we woke up and we haven't been able to find him anywhere…"
Mr. and Mrs. Potter shared a concerned look before both rising from the table. "Well, where have you looked?" She pressed.
"Everywhere," James said amamantly. "Well, at least everywhere on the first floor…"
"But he wouldn't go upstairs alone, right?" Sirius asked. Even if Harry lacked self-preservation instincts, there wasn't really anything for him to do up there on his own. And it'd be a bit weird for him to be hanging out in their bedrooms without them. Sirius' eyes wandered over to the window and he gave a little swallow. "He- he wouldn't have gone outside, right?" He asked, looking out at the frosty ground.
Mr. Potter jumped in- "How about we help you check the house before we go jumping to any conclusions. I'm sure he's fine and just went off to do a bit of exploring…" He said, though as he looked at James' face, he realized that, at the very least, his son believed that it was a genuine possibility that their friend had wandered out into the frigid grounds on his own. "I'll check the west wing and my lab- Mia, you double check the east wing. Boys, why don't you check upstairs, just to be safe and we'll reconvene here in fifteen minutes, okay?" They all nodded quickly and split up.
Nearly twenty minutes later, even Mr. Potter was getting nervous. He had heard no shouts of 'I found him!' echoing through the house and his search had turned up nothing. Back in the kitchen, he was met with more worried faces. Mr. Potter was thinking desperately hard trying to figure out how to find the boy. What is the fastest way to find a wizard? "Boys- is his owl still around? Maybe he could help us? He managed to find Harry all the way out here in Dover, after all, right?"
James and Sirius immediately turned and bolted back to the guest quarters with the Potter parents following close behind. Thankfully, Pyrrhus was still sleeping, curled up on Harry's bed when they entered the room. Sirius poked at the little pile of feathers until it stirred, hooting irritably.
"Pyrrhus, buddy. I'm sorry, but we need your help. Can you find Harry?" Sirius asked the owl hopefully. He hopped up and cocked his head to the side, staring intently at Sirius before giving a firm hoot, spreading his wings, and then taking off. They all scrambled after the little bird as he swooped through the manor. He led them out of the guest wing and back through the entrance hall and over into the library where he settled on the back of one of the chairs.
"I don't understand- we checked in here," James insisted, looking around once again for good measure.
"So did I," Mr. Potter said.
But Pyrrhus gave another hoot from his perch, glaring at the group gathered by the door as if daring them to question his competency again. Not sure what else to do, Mr. Potter walked over to where the little owl was sitting hoping that whatever the bird wanted would become more apparent soon. As he approached, Pyrrhus looked at him, and then looked pointedly down at the ground behind the chair. Rounding the chair, Mr. Potter's eyes fell on Harry who appeared to be sitting comfortably with a book in his lap, leaning against the back of the chair.
"Harry!" He said with no small amount of relief and the others came rushing over. At the sound of his name, Harry looked up with a start from where he'd been engrossed in his reading and was surprised to find a concerned looking Mr. Potter standing over him.
"Oh, uh- good morning, sir. I hope you don't mind that I borrowed a book?" He said hesitantly.
"Damn it, Bambi! You scared the pants off of us!" Sirius said harshly as he too rounded the chair. "What the bloody hell are you doing?!"
"Uh- reading?" Harry said tentatively, holding up the book in his lap slightly in demonstration.
"But why are you hiding back here on the floor?" James asked, having climbed into the chair and now looking down at Harry over the back of it.
Harry looked around, as if just noticing what an odd place he'd chosen to sit. "I guess I wasn't really thinking about it. I just sat down where I found the book," he shrugged. "And I know you hate the library Sirius, but I really didn't think you were actually afraid of books," he teased.
"It's not the books that almost gave me a heart attack- it's you! We've been looking for you for almost an hour!" Sirius explained heatedly.
"Oh," was all Harry could think to say. "Well, I've just been here," he offered.
"No more hiding," Sirius declared.
"I wasn't 'hiding'," Harry scoffed.
"How about we all agree to just sit on the furniture from now on, hmm?" Mrs. Potter mediated. "Now, how about some breakfast?"
Mr. Potter helped Harry to his feet as everyone began shuffling out of the library. Harry could've sworn he heard Sirius mutter something along the lines of 'goddam flight risk' and 'put a damn bell on him' as he made his way to the kitchen with the rest.
The next morning, Harry was a little more cautious with his early morning movements. Not wanting to draw any extra attention to his research in the library, he was hesitant to be found there again, so after doing a little more morning reading as he waited for the sun to fully rise, he then tucked his books away and made his way towards the kitchen where he could already hear voices. As he drew nearer, Harry realized that it was not Mr. or Mrs. Potter that he was hearing, but rather it was the Wizarding Wireless. Harry paused in his movement to listen.
"Another attack yesterday adds three more tallies to the death toll. Death Eater sightings in muggle areas have taken a sharp rise in this past week with no apparent explanation. You-Know-Who has never been shy about his views on muggle inferiority, but the question still stands of 'what exactly is he planning?' It seems as though no one- not even the Minister of Magic- has that answer just yet. I guess, save for the Dark Lord himself…"
"Oh, Harry!" Mrs. Potter said, catching sight of him lurking in the entryway to the kitchen. "I'm sorry- I didn't see you there." She hurriedly turned off the wireless and busied herself at the counter. "What are you doing up so early?"
"I've always been an early riser," he admitted. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you."
"Oh, not at all. I'm just so used to those two sleeping like the dead until food is waved in front of their faces," Mrs. Potter said with a motion towards where James and Sirius were likely still fast asleep. "Besides, I always appreciate the company," she smiled.
"Oh, believe me. I'm well aware of how hard it is to drag those two out of bed in the mornings. I honestly don't know how Remus has managed it for five whole years," Harry said, with a mystified shake of his head.
Mrs. Potter laughed. "He really does deserve a metal, doesn't he?"
"Definitely," Harry agreed. "And probably you and Mr. Potter as well for putting up with James for the first eleven years." Harry tried to picture a young James being dragged out of bed by his dad so that he wouldn't be late to his first day of school as he went over to sit at the counter. Curious, Harry asked, "Do wizards go to primary school?"
Mrs. Potter looked up at him and blinked. To her, it was a slightly odd question, and the way Harry asked it was almost as if he himself wasn't a wizard. "No- at least, not like the muggles do. Most education happens within the home before children reach school age. Many of the families that can afford it will often hire private tutors, but there is no formal education like you have at Hogwarts before age eleven," she explained.
"Oh," Harry frowned. "That's a long time to be stuck at home." He couldn't imagine not having had the escape of school growing up- even if people didn't necessarily like him there, at least he was able to get a little more lost in the crowds. And a change of scenery was always nice.
"I'd imagine for some, it probably is," she said a little sadly. "Would you like anything to eat, dear?" She asked, shaking herself out of her somber thoughts.
"No, thank you. I'm okay," Harry said politely.
Eyeing him critically, Mrs. Potter was not very satisfied with that answer. He did not look like a boy that could afford to miss very many meals. "Well, how about something to drink then?" When he didn't respond within a few seconds, she offered, "How about some hot chocolate?" And then she didn't even wait for his answer before turning around to start making it.
When she handed Harry the mug a few minutes later, she was pleasantly surprised that he accepted it without protest and offered her a small, "Thank you," before taking a sip and seeming to savor it.
When Harry entered the kitchen the next morning, he found it empty. Just as he was turning to leave and head back towards the library, something out the window caught his eye. Something big and blue and glowing faintly in the morning light. No way… But after many hard blinks and shakes of his head and even a firm pinch on the arm to make sure he was really awake, Harry still found himself standing there looking into the big, blank eyes of the ghostly reindeer that had tried to get him killed that night in the Forbidden Forest. And it was standing just outside of the kitchen window, waiting for him. There was a war being fought in Harry's head at that moment between the rationality of not once again mindlessly following a spirit who had previously almost led him to his death and something deep within him that told him everything was going to be okay if he just followed the creature- that it meant him no harm.
This time, Harry was a little more aware of what was happening and managed to wrestle his mind into at least somewhat coherent thought as he tried to analyze the situation. The first thing that came to mind was how that reassuring feeling almost reminded him of the imperious curse- which was an extremely unsettling thought. Some unknown voice telling him to just go along and that things would work out. But at the same time, while the imperious curse felt like a comfortingly blank void, the feeling he had now felt more warm and personal. It was tugging at that place in his chest, right behind his heart, promising to fill it with that warmth and make him whole.
Without even realizing consciously that he had made a decision, Harry was already moving to go grab his coat. Even as Harry made his way outside, there was a voice in the back of his head reminding him that Sirius had specifically requested that he try 'not to get led away by glowing forest creatures', but hey- nobody's perfect, right? As Harry stepped outside, the cold winter air hit his face for the first time in almost two weeks and he took a deep breath, reveling in the slight sting it brought to his face and lungs, waking him up a bit more. As he slowly made his way toward the reindeer, it turned and started walking away from him again, so he followed. Thankfully, the creature matched his sedate pace as it led Harry out along the patio and then down into the gardens. Harry was so focused on keeping up with the reindeer that he wasn't really paying any attention to his surroundings save for the ground directly in front of his feet and the glowing form in his periphery.
And then, all of a sudden, it just vanished. Once again, the stuid deer left Harry high and dry with no explanation or help or anything. Snapping his head up when he saw the blue misty form disappear, Harry got another shock when instead of seeing the reindeer, he found himself looking at Mrs. Potter. She was sitting on a bench just a few meters in front of him, staring off at something in the distance, apparently not having noticed his presence just yet. And she was crying. Harry suddenly felt very uncomfortable at that realization and tried to back pedal and flee before he drew the woman's attention, but when he moved to turn around, the motion and rustling gave him away. Mrs. Potter's head swiveled around and her eyes widened as her gaze landed on Harry.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll- I'm sorry," Harry stuttered.
She gave him a watery smile as she reached up to subtly wipe her face and said, "Not at all, dear. Not to worry. Why don't you come and join me?" She patted the bench next to her.
Harry felt trapped. He really didn't want to upset her, and he could see that she had wanted to be alone, but he couldn't very well refuse her offer… With a slightly anxious expression, he eventually complied with her request and settled himself hesitantly on the bench.
"What brought you out here?" She asked conversationally.
Harry turned to look back towards the house, trying to gauge if his excuse might actually hold up. "I, uh- thought I saw someone out of the window and wanted to come check," he said, sounding a little unsure, even to his own ears. But Mrs. Potter gave him a reassuring smile anyway.
They sat in companionable silence for a bit, both looking around at the garden. It really was yet another beautiful thing about the house. Everything there was clearly well cared for, but not manicured like those gardens on Privet Drive. Each plant had its own space to grow and thrive, blending in with the next, but not crowding each other out. Even in the beginnings of winter, the whole place was filled with color- from deep evergreens to magical blooms. It was breathtaking and the beds seemed to spill on forever. Lush hedges grew, dividing up the garden into rows and sections, giving it that feeling of a slightly secluded place- somewhere you could escape to and that would hold your secrets. It was so calm and peaceful, just sitting there, that Harry wasn't even aware that he's started to relax.
"Thank you," Mrs. Potter said quietly into the still air.
Harry looked over at her. "For what?" He asked confusedly. All he'd done was interrupt her tranquil morning and sit on a bench…
"For saving my boys." When she turned to face him as well, the tears were back, sparking at the corners of her eyes. "One of the world's greatest travesties is for a parent to outlive their child- and it was terrifying to come to grips with almost having to face such a reality. What you did- you gave us one more Christmas filled with joy and love this year instead of sorrow and loss." She took a slightly shuddering breath. "I have a feeling that you know better than most the kind of world that is waiting out there for you boys after school. But these are the moments and memories that we are fighting to protect. So thank you for helping us protect them- and helping us to make some new ones worth protecting as well." She gave Harry a heartbreaking smile and pulled him into a gentle hug.
"You know," Harry said in a small voice, basically whispering in her ear and she held him close. "They saved me too." And Harry wasn't just talking about the Hellhounds- though he probably would've died that day if Sirius hadn't intervened. His eyes began to water as he saw the flash of green light and watched Sirius fall through the veil behind his closed lids. It felt like there was a knife twisting in his chest as Harry realized the small, tragic mercy that Mrs. Potter wouldn't live long enough to see her worst fear realized- her son would outlive her, if only for a short while.
Once their tears had dried, Harry and Mrs. Potter had headed back into the house to warm up. They never mentioned their conversation from the garden again, but Harry could feel it in the way that Mrs. Potter looked at him that something important had passed between them. There was a deeper understanding now- a connection beyond being just another one of James' friends. A meaningful one.
It was New Year's Eve, which meant another day that the family spent decidedly together. Much like on Christmas, they passed the day playing games and helping out in the kitchen. Though, after dinner, they spent much of the evening in the living room with loud music and dancing before all bundling up and heading out to the back patio where they gathered around a small bonfire, roasting marshmallows and making s'mores with leftover Christmas biscuits. They counted in the stroke of midnight and then Mr. Potter set off a rather spectacular fireworks display. The shimmering sparks formed intricate designed and beautiful flowers and amazing dragons that battled in the sky. It was definitely the best New Year's that Harry had ever celebrated.
The next morning, Madam Pomfrey dropped by once again- thankfully, this time it was for her regularly scheduled check in. It was the first one they had managed to make it to all break.
"All right, dear," Pomfrey said carefully to Harry. "The stitches are coming out today, but you need to remember that that does not give you free license to go and undo all of our hard work. I don't want you putting full weight on that leg for the rest of the holiday." She gave him a stern look. "And we are going to go over a few short exercises I want you working on every day to start rehabbing that arm as well."
Harry was just excited about the prospect of having any use of his right hand back, so he readily agreed to the matron's terms. It took them a while to get all of the stitches out, but eventually- finally- Harry was free. Madam Pomfrey walked him through a couple of exercises each for both his leg and his arm. It was very frustrating that he still had the grip strength of a newborn kitten and his hand seemed to be working on a delay from when his brain sent out the instruction to when it decided to respond, but at least it was something he could actively be working on now. Much to Harry's amusement, Pomfrey even left him with a rainbow hacky sack to use as a kind of stress ball so that he could work on retraining his muscles.
Once she was finally done with Harry, Pomfrey ended up staying and joining them for tea. It was so interesting to see her not only outside of the hospital wing, but as a full person outside of her role as a healer. It turned out that Poppy and Mia shared an interest in magical gardening and got deep into a conversation about the potential pros and cons of degnoming.
Besides the games and fun and research, there was one more important thing that Harry was doing over break. He had taken up Sirius' advice and was using his sick time to meditate and try to figure out what his animagus form might be and get in contact with it. Try and find his 'inner animal' or 'second heartbeat' or whatever else Sirius had called it. The part of him that no one sees. Harry almost had to laugh at that- so often it seemed as though that was all of him. If you asked some random student at his Hogwarts to draw 'Harry Potter', he would wager that just about the only thing that they'd probably get right was the scar. Everything that he wishes he was, but doesn't get to be in his normal life. Another almost laughable question- he's always just wanted to be normal. Just Harry. What does he want most in the world? Well, that was a question that had already been answered, assuming his response hasn't changed in the last five years. He just wants a family- a real family. Not 'relatives', like the Dursleys. Or maybe, on a deeper level, what he really wants to be loved. Not tolerated or adored or even respected. He just wanted to be unconditionally loved.
And isn't that a depressing thought. So far, his 'inner animal' sounded pretty pathetic. With his luck, it would probably turn out to be something insanely boring and impractical, like a slug or a woodlouse. Or maybe something terribly clingy and unhelpful, like a koala or a sloth.
All of this 'soul searching' felt like it was just picking at every last one of Harry's insecurities and was making him feel like he was five years old again. Though, this is probably what Sirius meant when he said that the process was long and uncomfortable. He had warned Harry that discovering one's animagus form takes a level of honesty with oneself that can be hard to come to terms with. Harry had always considered himself a very honest person- despite what some people have accused him of in the past- but he was starting to realize that honest did not necessarily mean open. And, for him, this process meant he needed to learn to be open- at least, with himself. After all, if you convince yourself thoroughly enough of a falsehood, you can be honest without telling the truth. This is one of the downfalls of truth serums that is often overlooked- they only reveal what the drinker believes to be true, which may or may not have any bearing on the actual truth. And there have been plenty enough lies swirling around about Harry his whole life, and barriers that he had constructed in order to survive, that the actual truth may have gotten lost or obscured along the way. So Harry spent hours lying awake in bed beginning the painstaking process of trying to open up and find his own actual truth.
After the New Year, it seemed as though the last week of break flew by. Now that Harry was a little less restricted in his movement, the boys explored the grounds some and Harry got to see the orchard and miniature quidditch they had and best of all, the amazing ocean view. Apparently, Potter Manor was nestled right on the cliffs of Dover, so the back edge of the grounds actually ended in a sheer cliff that gleamed a brilliant white and overlooked perfectly blue water. The crashing waves sent up a salty scent that made Harry smile. He had never actually seen the ocean before and this view looked like it had been ripped right from a postcard.
On Saturday, the boys were all dragging their feet as they packed up their trunks in order to make the return trip to school the next day. It was the very first time in Harry's life that he wasn't dying to get back to Hogwarts. If his little trip to the past had been some kind of surreal escape, then this trip to Potter Manor had been an outlandish fantasy within that escape. He was going to miss his morning tea with Mrs. Potter and Mr. Potter's corny jokes. And the music that filled the air and the easy way that everyone seemed to be totally at ease while in the house. It felt like he was about to lose something very special- and just when he was getting used to it. But alas- time plows on and life is not fair. As Harry looked down at the photograph that Sirius had taken of him, James, and Mr. Potter the day after Christmas, Harry reminded himself that he was extremely lucky to have had what little time he did here. He got to meet his grandparents- and they were wonderful people. He got to experience some Potter traditions firsthand and spend a proper holiday with his dad and godfather while they were both alive and happy. And he was getting to leave with the moments and memories that no one would be able to take from him. His uncle could not lock this away from him in a cupboard and it's not like Voldemort could kill everyone he loved again. Talk about a real work around of the system.
The Potters had been kind enough to let Harry borrow some books from their library to bring to school with him, which he profusely promised to return to James by the end of term, despite their easy agreement. Mrs. Potter made sure that they were all packed up before dinner as it was going to be an early morning for them since they would need to make the long drive to London in order to catch the train back to school. She was a wise woman to avoid the last minute mayhem that was so often run into at the Weasley's. They were only allowed to not have packed a pair of pajamas, their robes for the next day, and their toiletries. Everything else was subject to her thorough inspection. Once Mrs. Potter was satisfied, they sat down to one last dinner together and Harry savored every moment of it.