Chapter 16: The Remembrance of Childhood


"I remember my childhood as a long wish to be elsewhere."

— Louise Glück, Unpainted Doors


James wore glasses himself, of course. There's a certain age after which your body just starts giving up on you, and you need assistance, no way around it. Although his sight was only affected as far as reading was concerned. And if he said so himself, he looked quite the dashing professor with his glasses. Not that he actually was a professor, but one could fantasise.

He had absolutely no idea how Harry could function at all.

The boy had confessed to being unable to recognise people who stood more than a few feet away unless they had a distinct silhouette, or other defining feature. Said he couldn't read the board in class and the teacher couldn't care less. Said his relatives couldn't care less either.

Which… disturbing. Especially when paired with the child protective services incident that had happened the year before. He'd vaguely heard about it, but it felt much closer home now that he was actually interacting with Harry.

Harry never outright complained about the Dursleys, which made it all feel worse. Children his age were supposed to throw huge tantrums whenever something didn't go their way. Harry just… didn't. He'd ask questions and speak and laugh, yes, like any child. But he just did not complain. About anything.

It was concerning, but James didn't know what to do about it. He couldn't call CPS, one fiasco was enough, a second time won't matter unless he had good evidence against the Dursleys. For the time being, all he could do was provide Harry with at least some of the things a proper guardian should have.

The boy was shockingly thin as well. It took him a while, but he noticed that both Mrs. Figg, and the librarian's assistant, were on this not so secret mission of fattening the boy up. Almost a little obsessively. They were very receptive to him joining in on that mission.

Today, James had decided to take the boy to get some glasses. This was dangerous levels of nearsightedness, Harry already complained of headaches often, and the longer he went on without glasses the worse his sight would get. He didn't know how Harry was functioning now, let alone how he'd function if his eyesight got worse.

The optometrist's was a small shop, tucked away beside all the big showrooms. It didn't have a huge selection of glasses, but it had enough for James to be satisfied with what he'd gotten. And he knew the woman who ran it was quite jovial and nice. Agatha, her name was, from what he could recall.

He had one of Harry's hands in his own, the little boy's fingers thin and cold within his own as Harry nearly vibrated off his skin at the prospect of finally getting some glasses for himself. James had had to convince Harry to leave Eve behind.

While Agatha may be a nice woman, James wasn't sure how she'd react to a snake, even one as harmless as Eve, wrapped around an eight year old's wrist.

As soon as he entered the clinic, he was hit by a blast of lavender, and he wrinkled his nose. While not an unpleasant smell on a whole, it was just as overpowering as always. A young man in a crisp white shirt and smart looking glasses looked up from the reception table, giving them a small smile.

"Hello," he said, voice almost cheerful, "Do you have an appointment or are you walk in?"

"Walk in," James replied, while Harry rocked on his heels.

"Lucky for you, today's not a packed day, so you should be able to get to it right away. Are the glasses for you?" he'd already pulled out some forms and was writing on them, before he put them up on the table, offering a pen to James.

James let go of Harry's hand, transferred his cane into his left, and took the pen, pulling the forms closer to himself and frowning down a little at it. He looked down at Harry, then back up at the form. He probably shouldn't be doing this, but…

"For my son," he said, and quickly put pen to paper, scribbling down the information. He hesitated over Harry's name, wondering whether to use his own surname or Harry's, before settling on his. Harry had blinked up at him for a moment there, before going back to looking around the room.

Well, at least he hadn't freaked the boy out with his impromptu decision.

After James gave back the papers to the man, and he'd skimmed over them, he– David, from his nametag– gave Harry a smile, "Hey there, kiddo. Ready to get your first glasses?"

"Mmhmm," Harry said, grinning back.

David looked back at James, "Agatha's inside, she knows you're coming in. Go on."


Voldemort would have laughed if it weren't so damn sad.

Something a parent should have done for their child, a guardian should have done for their ward, being done by a virtual stranger. But it wasn't the sad part, of course. The sad part was a man named James Aton had just filled out a form, posing as Harry's father.

As oblivious as Harry could be sometimes, even he knew the irony of it. Harry had done his crying the first time Aton had given Harry all those kids science magazines, the ones with little puzzles and small facts in bright colours, too many images, and too little text.

Voldemort had never once felt guilty about anything, he didn't know what guilt felt like. But he reckoned he came quite close that day.

After all, hadn't he longed for the same, when he was Harry's age? Hadn't he longed for someone to come and say there had been a mistake, that he was their son, that he didn't belong in an orphanage and would now go back to the people he really belonged with?

He'd been disillusioned with it all quickly enough, but for just a little while, he'd felt the grief, and the terror, and the hope. All that he's inflicted on Harry. And others as well, during the war. They didn't matter as much as Harry, though.

Perhaps it was all for the best. Harry was unusually powerful, and whatever unfortunate events that followed that fateful night, now means that Harry belongs to him. That his powers belong to him.

They were waiting now. The woman, Agatha, had said something about it only taking about twenty minutes to fix a pair of lenses in the frames Harry had chosen, and James had agreed.

The boy had chosen the most obnoxious pair of glasses he could have, absolutely no class or elegance. Oversized square shaped glasses with a pink tortoiseshell design on them. And of course Aton had just laughed and said they suited him. Which, Voldemort couldn't exactly disagree with it, but damn if it didn't infuriate him. But Harry was just a child, and he had time enough yet. Once he was old enough, they could even get him an eye correction procedure done, or perhaps just a potion would do.

Afterwards, Aton took Harry to a small cafe, walking distance from the optometrists. He himself just got a hot coffee, but Harry got a chocolate milkshake and some strawberry crepes.

Voldemort would have sighed, but at least Harry was eating something. Despite everything, despite all the stealing and lying and carefully controlled bursts of magic, and the help of Nyx and Eve and Iris, Harry still rarely ever got enough to eat. Most of the time, he just hid the mostly non perishable items like biscuits and protein bars into the little bag he'd stashed under the cupboard.

The bag had a very very mild expandable charm applied to it, something that had left Voldemort lethargic and nearly unable to even talk to Harry for a day after. But at least the bag could not hold twice the amount of things it would have initially. Which wasn't much at all in the grand scheme of things, a forth year student could've done better than this–

But Voldemort had learnt to compromise. His life had become a series of compromises now, one thing after the other. He hadn't felt this helpless in years. Not since he discovered in the orphanage that he was different, not since he killed Billy's rabbit and the other kids there learned not to mess with him. Everything he'd done since had been a step towards making sure he would never be helpless again.

And yet, here he was.

He knew he was growing more powerful by the day, but it wasn't enough, not when a simple expansion charm left him completely useless for the next few days. But it would work out. Some way. Somehow. It had to.

He turned his attention back to Harry and Aton, talking about the things Harry had been reading recently, and promptly turned away again when Harry started talking about appendixes and how they're not really useful and can sometimes just explode. He'd heard it enough times that he could probably recite it all off himself.

He turned back inwards, ignoring Harry and Aton. They wouldn't have much of value to say in any way.

The simple fact of the matter was, despite Voldemort's tries to the contrary and attempts at denial and attempts at distraction, today was a bad day. He was having one of his bad days.

He felt raw and jagged, and missed having a body like one misses a severed limb except his entire body has been severed off his soul and there's no comparison he can make because even ghosts choose what they do and they still have more corporeality than he did at the moment. He's not even a full soul. He's nothing.

He could almost smell the coffee, feel the sharp aroma of it, comforting and reminding him of late nights when he stayed up researching his new obsession. It reminded him of Abraxas and sitting with him for drinks and saying no to alcohol because he had an important ritual to do, and it reminded him of feeling rich because there had never been any coffee at the orphanage.

He tries to look at Harry and he tries not to feel envy, tries to look at James Aton, and tries not to think about his own father and the very very few people who would sometimes come to adopt children at the orphanage and often pass him by because he was the problem child.

And he tries not to resent. And tries to feel secure. And tries to feel powerful.


A/N: turns out ffnet now defaults to no emails. even if you turn it on, it will disable emails again after 90 days. so, maybe go to your profile and enable ffnet emails if you want updates for the fics you're following and to recieve emails about any new reviews left on your fics. horrid site management by the way.