Chapter Fifteen
Malachi Redway had been in awe when he had seen his father's new home that weekend. It was huge; much larger than the house he had lived in before and larger, still, than he house he currently lived in with his mother. He had eagerly set about to find out which of the bedrooms had been allocated to him and was disappointed, though not all that surprised, to find that his room was, in fact, the guest bedroom and was decorated the way that old people would decorate a room; certainly not to his own tastes.
He thought he caught Severus give an unhappy look at his dad when he was shown the room but he didn't really know what it meant. He had been given the guest room in the last house, after all, and his Godfather had never complained.
He had been to Malfoy Manor on occasion; had seen the rooms Draco Malfoy had been given by his parents. A reading room, a play room and a bedroom. He supposed that was because he lived with his mum and his dad; he had his own room at his mum's, after all. He shook his head at himself for being selfish; 'some children don't have rooms of their own at all' his mother would say, reminding him that he was one of the lucky ones.
One of the lucky ones. His mum said it to him frequently, almost like it was her that wanted to hear it, but he didn't really know what it meant. His mum never explained to him who the unlucky ones were. Maybe the orphans his dad sometimes went to see? His dad saw them a lot; more than he saw him. But he was his dad and they didn't have a dad, so many that's what his mum meant.
"Can I go outside?" Malachi asked Severus tentatively.
Severus glanced over at him from his book; "You had best ask your father."
"Where is he?"
Severus glanced at the door, looking irritated, and for a moment Malachi wondered if he was angry at him; "Regulus!" From his tone, he gathered that the annoyance was directed at his father.
"What?" His dad appeared, also looking irritated; he guessed he didn't like being spoken to that way.
Severus raised an eyebrow, indicating in Malachi's direction, and his eyes softened when they met with his. Malachi looked nervously at his dad, who regarded him with some concern;
"You alright, Beansprout?"
"Uh huh," he nodded, "I just wanted to go outside."
"I'm a little busy just now," his dad was kneeling down in front of him, his arm around him as if he was younger than he actually was; "Can you wait until later?"
"It'll be dark soon," he pointed out, "I can go out myself. Mum lets me."
"Does she?"
He nodded.
"Um..." his dad looked at Severus, who shrugged, and then back at him. He gave him a smile that wasn't real; "Well, okay then. If your mum lets you; just stay close to the house, okay?"
He nodded.
Regulus smiled and ruffled his hair; Malachi grinned and hurried past him and out the door, eager to explore the huge garden outside.
"Are you sure about this?"
She wasn't sure. But after spending the past fortnight trying to convince him that she was, following his less-than-enthusiastic response to the idea, she didn't want to take any steps backwards and admit that she was having doubts about taking Harry to see James.
"Yes, I think it would be best. He's starting to ask questions. I really think he's ready," she said, with a certainty that she didn't feel.
"Lily." His tone was full of concern as he stood from the chair and approached her, "If you're not sure –"
"We've already told Harry. We can't change our minds now."
"I wouldn't be changing my mind," he said, reminding her of their previous conversations, and she found herself becoming irritated as she mused that she never seemed to do anything right by Harry in his eyes anymore; every decision she made was being second guessed and questioned by him. Add to that her son's obvious attachment, even more so to him than to her, and she found herself once again musing on the choice to remain in that house.
"It would only upset him. We shouldn't be giving him false hope, he doesn't understand, he's just a kid."
"He's asking questions. He needs to develop a bond. Remus agrees with me"
"What would Remus know about anything?"
She almost rolled her eyes at the memory, which reminded her that, not only did she not have Sirius' true support in this situation, but that he and Remus still hadn't managed to settle the issues that had arisen from their earlier argument. Judging by Sirius' frequent silences and mood swings over the past few weeks, along with his growing interest in the search for Peter Pettigrew; she guessed that the problems between them would not be solved soon. And with Christmas coming, it was going to be a tense celebration that year.
"Is it time to go?" Harry bounded down the stairs with the typical excitement of a six year old and hurried over to them.
"It's cold out, you better put on your jumper."
"But I wanted to wear this," he looked down at the t-shirt he was wearing; red and gold stripes; "It's like Gryffindor colours. They're his favourites, aren't they?"
Lily smiled, feeling reassured by the keenness Harry was expressing regarding seeing James; following the difficult conversation she had had with him that led to the decision, she had worried that he would be resistant to the idea. Instead, he had agreed eagerly and had been impatient to go ever since.
"If you wear your red one, you can keep the t-shirt on underneath, and then take it off once we arrive at the hospital so he can see it," she suggested, as she pulled on her cloak. He seemed to think on the suggestion for a moment before he nodded and hurried up the stairs to retrieve the item.
"Lily." Sirius was at her side again, speaking quietly, and she gave an irritated sigh as he went on; "Really, I don't think he's ready. What's the point? James can't even –"
"You don't know that, Sirius," she interrupted him.
"Look, I'm worried about you, okay?" he went on, "You're still not dealing with what's going on here; with what's happening with James. And the last thing we need is to bring Harry into –"
She turned around, hissing at him quietly, because they were both wary about raising their voices to one another following the events of last month; "You think I don't know the situation; I do! Pardon me for not giving up as easily as you."
"Easily? It's been five years!"
"I'm ready!"
Lily started at his voice, while Sirius quickly moved away from her, Harry's presence successfully nipping the argument in the bud.
"Are you coming, Uncle Sirius?" Harry was looking at him with a frown, noting that his uncle had not yet donned his cloak. Sirius glanced in her direction for a brief moment before forcing a smile at him;
"Of course I am."
Harry visibly relaxed and broke into a wide smile, before he grabbed Lily by the hand and tugged her towards the door; "Let's go!"
"Severus, have you seen Malachi?"
He felt strangely agitated, having searched around the house for almost twenty minutes, before finally going out into the garden and still finding no sign of his five year old son.
Severus glanced over at him with enviable calmness, a book held in his hands, completely oblivious to the panic that was currently building up within him. He glanced at his timepiece; "It's almost six. Perhaps he's in the guest room."
"I checked."
"The kitchen? It's almost time for dinner –"
"He's not in the kitchen; he's not in the house!"
"Then logic would suggest he is still outside."
"I checked the garden. I checked the house. I can't find him anywhere!"
"What do you expect me to do, Regulus?" Severus snapped, though he stood regardless of the statement and made his way over to him, speaking with the same disapproving tone he often did when the subject of his family came up; "He is your son; you should be entertaining him on these short visits that you have with him."
"Don't start with that," Regulus snapped, heading towards the door that led out onto the patio, with Severus following close behind; "He went out hours ago; surely he would have come back since."
"Perhaps if you had not invested in such a grandiose property, then your son would be easier to find."
"Severus, spare me the sarcasm!" Regulus felt his agitation increase further at his friend's lack of concern; what if their location had been discovered by the person who had tried to poison him? What if he had come across his son in the garden?
He threw open the doors to the patio, yelling out at nothing; "Malachi!"
Suddenly, a small, frowning face popped up from behind the wall at the far end of the patio; "Uh huh?" he called back, his expression confused.
"Come here!" Regulus snapped and he caught Severus' disapproving look out the corner of his eye, which only heightened the strain on his frayed nerves.
Malachi hurried towards him, obediently, without question.
"Where have you been?" he was almost shouting.
Malachi frowned, looking acceptably baffled at the unexpected anger his father was directing at him; "Just here. In the garden. I told you –"
"I checked the garden; I've been looking for you for almost half an hour! I told you to stay close to the house!"
"I was just there," his lower lip trembled, as he pointed nervously in the direction of where he had just come.
"You've been out here for hours, what have you been doing?"
"Playing."
His son's eyes were glistening now and suddenly the agitation and anger he had been feeling was gone, replaced by guilt and shame. It didn't help that Severus was currently at his side, glaring at him critically. Regulus swallowed and then held out an arm. Malachi looked at it suspiciously for a moment before he stepped in, allowing him to give him an apologetic hug;
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout. I was just worried."
His son said nothing either to accept or reject the apology; only allowed him to hold him until he pulled away. Regulus ruffled his hair; "It's almost time for dinner. Why don't you go and wash up."
Sometimes he wondered what kind of joke the fates were playing on him by giving him a son. What did he know about being a father? His own was hardly a shining example, nor had his uncle been, so how on earth was he supposed to know what to do. Sometimes he felt as if he were the child; sometimes he would do things, stupid things, like when he dropped a bottle of milk in his face when he was a baby, and Malachi would look at him with a smile and give him a hug, as if he were saying 'it's okay dad. I don't care that you're an idiot'.
And he was an idiot; at least that's how he felt when he was around his son. He never knew what to say. Never knew what to do with him. Even Severus, who really had no patience for children, was able to entertain him when the occasion called for it; offering him books, allowing him to assist with potions and simply transfiguring stones into objects of his son's choice.
"It is not fair of you to take out your frustrations on your son."
Regulus glanced at Severus but didn't know what to say in response; he couldn't deny that's what he had done. Finding his son gone, possibly in danger, was terrifying and, on reflection, just another example of what a bad job he was doing.
"I'm not very good at this."
"I have noticed." Severus could be a bastard when he wanted to, Regulus thought as he glanced at him, bitterly; though he knew Severus would not be sympathetic before so spoke, so he continued to voice his concerns, regardless of the comment.
"I'm a terrible father."
"True. But only you can change that."
Regulus knew the statement was true; the only person with the ability to change what was happening between himself and his son was him. But the same question always came to mind; "Where do I start?"
"I hear there are books."
"Books? Parenting books?" He almost laughed at the idea; at the imagine of himself sitting in the Foundation Bistro at dinner with a copy of 'What To Expect When You're Expecting'. He supposed Malachi was past the stage where that particular title would be helpful.
"I'm afraid I know little on the subject of rearing children."
"You do alright with Malachi."
"Entertaining him. I am not raising him. If I was, I would not have allowed him to go out into the grounds unattended."
"Then why didn't you say anything?" Regulus felt himself grow irritated, remembering how he had looked to him for help when Malachi had asked to leave the house.
"Because it is none of my business how you raise your own child, Regulus. The decisions regarding your child's boundaries are your own; unless Evelyn tells you otherwise."
"Yeah, well, I could use some advice on the matter, Sev. You are his Godfather."
"I would not want to overstep my boundaries."
"You wouldn't be."
"I do not envy your position, Regulus; raising a child is, I hear, frustrating, exhausting and confusing. That is as far as my knowledge of the subject extends; you would be better asking one of your cousins for help."
"They're not here; you are. I could really use your back-up when he's staying here."
"I do what I can. However, as I said, raising the child is your duty; it is not something I am willing, nor able, to help with. I will continue to entertain him, when the occasion calls for it; discipline, boundaries and being a father – that's your role. This is just something you are just going to have to learn and that is not something you will be able to do if you frequently avoid spending time with him."
Regulus looked away, shame finding him once again, as it often did. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling; he lived with shame every day. But there was something different when it related to Malachi. It was something deeper and more troubling.
Sometimes he felt as if it were easier to repent for what he had done during the war than it was to repent for the wrongs he had committed against his son.
It was easier to bury himself in the Foundation and everything that came along with that because he was making a difference, he knew he was, and he was good at it. But people could go on without him if he failed at that; the organisation could survive.
But Malachi; he was his son. He depended on him completely. It was frightening, particularly considering how terrible he was at it. His chances of failing were higher, more likely.
And then he shook himself with a roll of the eyes because, frankly, he was failing his son now. What else could he possibly do wrong by him?
Harry released his mother's hand as they reached the door to the room that he knew his father was behind. He didn't want him to think he was a baby, holding his mum's hand like Ginny Weasley did with her mum whenever they went out.
He had butterflies and was hopping from one foot to another impatiently, as he waited to be taken into the room. He felt his mum's hand on his shoulder, and then she was kneeling in front of him, both hands on each of his arms. He frowned, noticing the worried look she was giving him. What was wrong? Were they not going to let him in?
"Harry, you remember what Uncle Sirius and I told you about your dad?" she asked and he felt himself become exasperated because, obviously, he still remembered. They had been telling him constantly for the past couple of weeks; that he can't talk; that it might look like he's not listening, but he is; he can't take your hand, but you can take his.
"Yes," he said, impatiently, "Can we go in?"
The way she was looking at him made him think they weren't. They were just going to stand there, staring at each other, while his dad was just seconds away; his dad. He would finally see him; he would get to talk to him at last.
"You said I could see him!" he finally said, and she nodded, standing up. She and Sirius looked at one another with the same worried looks and then his uncle reached for his hand. Harry squeezed it and then released it quickly; he'd look just as childlike holding his hand as he would his mum's.
Finally, his mum pushed down the handle of the door and walked into the room. Harry shrugged Sirius' hand off of his shoulder as he followed, eagerly. Lily glanced back at him and gave him a small smile, before she sat down on the bed next to the figure that lay still beneath the covers.
Harry stared at him. The stranger stared back; his eyes seeming to look directly at him but not see him, looking through him.
"James," his mother was saying, "Sirius and I brought someone to see you." She glanced back at Harry again and reached out a hand towards him.
He hesitated, his eyes remaining on the still figure, then felt Sirius' hand gently press to his back, and slowly made his way to his mother's side. Her arm came up around his shoulders and, forgetting his earlier wish to appear grown up, he leaned into her, surprised how much better he felt to be close to her.
The figure wasn't quite staring at him anymore; he was staring towards the side of him, down towards the floor, at nothing.
"Harry, this is Dad," his mum whispered, squeezing his shoulder.
"Looks just like you, doesn't he, Prongs?"
Harry frowned at the statement; looking more closely at the man in front of him. He didn't think he looked like him. This man didn't even look like the man in the pictures. Where were his glasses?
"How come he doesn't have his glasses on?" Harry asked, quietly. But then he thought that wouldn't make a difference to the comparison between the two of them, because he didn't wear glasses either. But his dad did. He knew from the pictures; "Where are they?"
"He doesn't need them right now, Sweetheart."
"But his eyes are open. Can't he see?"
His mum's arm tightened around him and she kissed him on the side of the head; "Do you want him to put his glasses on? They're right here." His mum's hands were shaking when they reached towards a drawer on the nightstand and her movements made his dad's body move on the bed and his gaze was directed straight at him again. Harry quickly pushed away the sudden urge to cry; he wouldn't cry. He was six. He wouldn't let his dad see him cry.
Lily leaned back from the drawer, a pair of glasses he recognised from the photographs in her hand. She gave them to him, "You can put them on, if you like."
Harry looked down at the glasses, biting his lip, before he shook his head and handed them back to her; "You do it," he whispered. She did as he asked, leaning up and slipping them on, and he suddenly looked more like the man he recognised from the pictures but that only made him feel worse.
"Smart kid you've got there, Prongs. Me and Lily didn't even think to put them on you."
Harry felt himself become irritated at his Uncle Sirius' statement; why was he saying that? Why was he saying anything? This was stupid. He felt the prickle of tears in his eyes again.
"He is; top of his class, isn't that right?" his mum was speaking with a cheerfulness that she obviously didn't feel and he felt his irritation grow; both of them were treating him like a baby and there was a stranger staring at him and he wanted to cry.
"Great on a broom as well. Takes it after you; tell him Harry," his Uncle Sirius said.
Harry drew in a trembling breath, looking at the man they were telling him was his dad, but couldn't find the words.
"Harry," his mum was whispering in the voice she always had when she was worried about him.
"He's not usually this shy, mate. Maybe if you quit your staring he'll say something."
Joking. That was too much. Harry turned sharply and looked up at him, his eyes glistening with tears that he could no longer hold back, and the smile on his uncle's face, which he was sure wasn't real in the first place, crumbled and he was looking at Harry so sadly he almost couldn't speak. But he did; "Why are you talking like that? He can't help it!"
"Harry –"
"You're talking to him like he can talk. You keep telling me he can't talk, so why are you talking like he can?"
Both his mum's arms were around him now, both of them facing in Sirius' direction rather than the man in the bed, and he felt better to not be looking at him anymore but was still agitated because he knew he was behind him.
"Harry, I'm sorry. Sometimes it's easier to pretend that he can," Sirius said, which didn't make any sense.
"Why are you pretending? It's not a game."
"Harry," his mum's hand was stroking his head and he felt like he was going to start crying, for real, not just the tears that were beginning to spill out and he looked at her desperately;
"I wanna go home."
And suddenly his mum was on her feet, and he was in her arms, and she was struggling to lift him but she didn't put him down until they were back in the corridor. When the door slammed shut behind them, he burst into tears against her shoulder.
"I'm sorry," his mum murmured against him, over and over, as she held him close, and he heard her crying as if she was trying to stop herself. He didn't understand why; how could she not cry? He had never felt more like crying in his life. And then he felt Sirius kneel down beside them and his hand stroking his hair.
He sobbed against his mum like he hadn't done since he was little, really little. And he wondered if his dad could hear him through the door and then realised he didn't care and that it didn't matter because his dad wasn't there. That wasn't his dad; his dad was gone.
Why didn't his mum and his uncle see that?