Prompt: "Youth"

For Harry and Ginny Potter's children, their father was a loving if somewhat distant man. It wasn't that he held himself aloof from them; fact was he spent plenty of his free time with them. He never missed a single birthday, recital, Quidditch match, or holiday with them. But still when their father would pause or when they would stumble upon him looking far off even in the most crowded and rowdy of scenes, it felt to them like he was nearly a ghost. As a child, Lily would have reoccurring nightmares where her father would simply pause in the middle of something, get that look in his eyes, and then fade away. After one of these dreams, Harry would often find his daughter staring at him from the side of the bed. He wasn't sure why his daughter insisted on these midnight checks but more often than not he scooped her up and let her sleep between him and Ginny.

So, quite often, her and her brothers went out of their way to attract his attention when his mind floated off. Harry never seemed to really mind, so they kept on doing it. Anything was better than watching their father get that look in his eyes.

This is precisely what happened one afternoon not too long after Albus and James went to school, when Lily found her father sitting in the study, blankly gazing at the floral wallpaper Ginny had fought onto the wall last spring. She quickly marched in and prodded his arm.

He started and glanced around but she was below his line of vision. "Wuh—oh, hello, Lily," he smiled at her, relaxing again. "Do you need something?"

I need you to stop looking like that, she thought grimly to herself. With her brothers, now both away at Hogwarts, she decided it was up to her to keep her father back in the present. She held up a carved item in her hands, showing it to him. "Is this yours, daddy?"

"Where on Earth did you find that?" Harry laughed and plucked the wooden flute.

"I found it when I was helping mummy clean the attic," she explained before she gave him a quizzical look. "Where did you get it then?"

"Oh, Hagrid made it for me for a Christmas present," Harry answered, admiring the flute with a wistful smile on his face.

Lily frowned. "Oh." Hagrid never sent them such loving made gifts—he sent candies, cakes, cards. But the flute was an obvious labor of love; looking at it made Lily the tiniest stings of jealousy, but then, seeing it had chased away her father's mood, so she supposed she could be grateful enough. "Do you know how to play it?"

"Well, Hagrid showed me a tune or two—I'm not very good at it though."

She climbed up on his lap. "I want to hear you play—please, daddy," she tried, pouting just a little to his amusement.

He grinned and helped her settle comfortably on his legs. "Alright, but don't complain when you hear it though."

He wasn't as bad as he made out, she found. Either that or he knew the tune very well—there were a few rough patches as he hit the wrong note or lost the rhythm. This didn't mean that Lily wasn't utterly charmed by her father's playing though. By the time he finished, she started to clap excitedly making him grin. "That was really good, daddy."

"Want to give it a go?" he asked, handing it to her. She took it eagerly and blew a loud, sharp note. Harry grimaced and quickly began to tutor her on how to play it better. In a little while, she was playing the tune from he had before, even if it wasn't nearly as good as his slipshod attempt though. "Lovely," he said as he kissed her forehead. "Hmm, you know, I just realized something."

"What?" she asked, looking curiously at him.

"Well, we got your brothers plenty of presents for school, but we didn't get you much did we?"

She fiddled with the flute. "Mummy said I'd get stuff like that when I go to Hogwarts," she explained.

He smiled at her and ran a hand over her hair. "That's still not very fun for you though, is it?" She shook her head and he squeezed her shoulder. "How about you get this then?"

"What?"she asked, grinning excitedly. "I can keep it?"

"Sounds fair to me—besides, I think you'll get more use out of it than I ever did," he answered.

She gave him a tight hug and after a moment she began to play a few notes on the flute again, practicing trying to get a real song out of the instrument. She paused to see her father, his head lulling slightly to the side. "Daddy?"

"Erm…oh, yes?" he started, blinking sleepily at her.

"Do you really think Uncle Ron meant what he said earlier?"

Harry blinked. "What did Ron say?"

"What he said about Granddad never forgiving Rose if she married a pureblood?"

He frowned. "No, I don't think your Granddad would be that upset—although, from the sound of Albus' letters, Rose and James are already getting in trouble with Malfoy's son as is. …Remind me to owl your brother about picking on others, will you?"

She nodded seriously. "Daddy?"

"Yes, pumpkin?"

She grimaced at the nickname—being a redhead had made her sensitive to such comments, especially since some of the meaner children in the neighborhood called her similar things. "Would you get mad if I married him then?"

Harry was quiet for a long time, staring confusedly at his daughter. "I…no, I would never be mad—as long as your happy, Lily, that's what matters," he smiled finally, pleased with his answer.

She grinned, sat up a bit to kiss his cheek, and then slid down off his lap. "Thanks, daddy. Mummy should be ready for lunch by now."

"Is that what you came in here for?" he asked, standing up.

"No," she answered, remembering that distant look in his eyes when she walked in. She wandered out of the room, leaving her father to smile bemusedly at her.

"Kids," he chuckled to himself then paused. "Wait, Lily, what did you mean if you married 'him'? Lil—Lily, you're not planning any—Lily, I'm talking to you!"

Lily giggled as she took the stairs two at a time.