This is a kind of pre-quel to a chapter from "The Photograph Album," just so you know :)

23 January 2028 – Advice

The knock at the door came very early that morning; Molly was only half-awake while she cooked breakfast when she pulled open the kitchen door and saw, to her surprise, Harry. It was freezing out, and the ground was thick with snow that had fallen overnight.

"Harry, dear—my goodness, it's early," she said. "Come in, come in—Arthur," she called, going to the sitting room doorway. "Arthur, your breakfast! Harry, do you—do you want something to eat? Coffee? Tea?"

"No, Molly, thanks, nothing," he replied, stamping the snow off his boots on the mat and removing his cloak. He kissed her cheek and gave her a strained kind of smile. "How are you?"

"We're just fine," Molly replied, watching him closely. "Is—is everything all right? Ginny—"

"What? Oh—oh, yeah," he said. "No, everything's all right—I, uh—well, I sort of…I wanted a word. With you and Arthur."

Molly blinked. "Of course, dear…let me just see…" she walked away from the stove and poked her head into the sitting room. "Arthur! "

"I'm coming," he called back. He sounded as though he were hurrying down the stairs. "Coming, coming!"

Molly shook her head and started dishing up the eggs and bacon onto two plates. "Are you sure you won't have any? Sit down, dear, sit down."

"Right, thanks," said Harry. He moved to the table and seated himself. "I'm fine, Molly."

Arthur came into the kitchen, humming lightly, and spotted Harry. "Harry! I didn't know you were here!"

Molly gave Harry an exaggerated, long-suffering look, and he smiled. "He's come to have a chat with us, Arthur." She picked up her tea and brought it with the breakfast plates to the table, sitting down and tucking her napkin in her lap.

"Is everything all right?" Arthur asked, frowning. "With Ginny, the kids? How's Lily?"

"No, they're all fine," Harry assured him. "And Lily's feeling much better, Lorcan's looking after her—but the Healers are actually hoping that if this part of the new treatment works out, they'll be able to give her the second half around March, and then she'll be done. She'll have her voice back."

"Oh, wouldn't that be wonderful?" Molly sighed. "It feels like ages that she's been suffering with all of that awful business."

"Almost two years," Harry nodded, looking grim. Lily had had a terrible accident, competing in the Triwizard Tournament in her final year at Hogwarts. A graphorn's tusk had sliced her throat open, and she bore several large scars across her neck and arm, but the worst of it all was that her voice was constantly giving out. She would go days or weeks without being able to speak at all and have to have a temporary remedy, until her regular Healer at St. Mungo's had come up with a possible way to mend it permanently.

"Hard to believe it's been that long since she and Hugo and Roxy left school," Arthur said, shaking his head.

Molly smiled. "Now there's just Lucy! I can't believe she's our last granddaughter at Hogwarts."

"Weird," Harry agreed, chuckling. "I still remember when Percy and Audrey found out they were going to have her." Molly reached out and patted his hand.

"But you're not here for all that," she said. "What's going on, Harry?"

Harry blinked, going silent for a moment. "I—I had…a visit yesterday, and…well—I was hoping for some advice."

Arthur frowned, sitting forward. "All right."

"Go on, dear," said Molly.

Harry wouldn't look at her as he spoke, instead staring at the broom that leaned against the wall. For a fleeting moment, Molly saw not the grown-up, adult Harry, but the eleven-year-old boy from King's Cross, whom she always remembered.

"My cousin…Dudley, you remember? He—he sort of turned up, unexpectedly, at the house. And, y'know, normally he refuses to come over, but I knew that—I don't know, something was wrong, obviously, because he was there."

Molly was rather confused. "All right," she said. "And what was it?"

Harry met her gaze. "My aunt…fell, this week. I guess she just stumbled and hurt her hip, which has happened before, I think, but they had to take her to the Muggle hospital and…when they were tending to her, they just…they found that a lot of things were wrong with her."

Molly looked at Arthur. It felt as though years and years had gone by since the last time Harry or his upbringing or the Dursleys had ever come up in a conversation.

"I know how you two feel about…that particular branch of my family," said Harry.

"Oh, Harry," Molly said at once, "That—that doesn't matter at all—"

"But I really do need your help," he interrupted. He swallowed, and there was a moment of silence.

"How can we do that, Harry?" asked Arthur quietly. He took Molly's hand.

Harry looked away again. "I—I hope it's been clear to you—I mean, I hope that—" He took a breath. "I think of you both…as parents. Certainly a lot more than I've ever thought that of my aunt or uncle, but even, in some ways—even next to Sirius, or Remus…"

Molly's mouth fell open slightly. She looked at Arthur, whose expression was very tender.

Harry closed his eyes. "My aunt is dying," he said, and it was a statement of fact; he was not emotional about it. "I mean—possibly. It could be a while before it happens, but…she's not got very long, Dudley says. And I have this chance to go and talk to her one last time before she goes. I'm pretty sure she—doesn't want to see me, but I think Dudley wants me to go—and—I don't know, I sort of…I want to talk to her. I feel like I ought to, anyway." He looked at Molly and Arthur. "What do you think?"

Molly let out a slow breath. "Well, dear…I'm afraid it's not what we think that matters, here."

"Although it's true, we're not exactly unbiased in this particular instance," said Arthur. "It's been a long time since you've seen her, hasn't it?"

"About…fifteen years? She met Lily, I know that," he said, shaking his head. "That was weird. And I hadn't seen her before that since I left Little Whinging."

Molly shared a look with Arthur. Then she reached out and took Harry's hands. "Harry, dear—you know you're important to us—as much as we are to you, if not even more. But…I'm afraid that we can't just tell you what's right, here."

He nodded. "I don't know if I ought to just leave her alone, or—or make some kind of effort, if that's even worth the trouble." He paused for a moment. "It's my mother's birthday next week." He shook his head as though trying to clear it. "I think that's part of all this, too."

Molly opened her mouth to speak, but was surprised when Arthur cut her off. "Harry," he said firmly, "If there's one thing I've know about you for—well, just about from the moment I met you, it's that you, by virtue of having a good heart, and a good conscience, have very good judgment. I trust your judgment, and I support it, wherever it leads you."

Harry blinked, and Molly smiled slightly.

"We wouldn't let just anyone marry Ginny and raise our grandchildren," she told him with a wink. "Even the Chosen One."

"I think you already know your answer to what you want to do, even if you haven't realized it yet," Arthur continued. "And Molly and I are going to support you, any way you decide to go."

"Your aunt—Petunia," Molly said, "And your life with her and your uncle—they're your business, your affair entirely. You're allowed to react to this situation any way you want to. We're here for you, whatever happens. And I know Ginny would say the same thing."

Harry gave a short laugh, looking down at his folded hands. "She has." Molly beamed. "Thanks," he said, "Both of you. This…it helped to talk it through. Thanks for listening."

"Of course, dear," said Molly.

"We're always around," Arthur agreed, as Harry got up and pulled on his cloak. He stopped at the door, holding it open for a moment.

"I—I'll see you tomorrow night for dinner," he said.

"Wouldn't miss it," Molly replied.

Harry grinned, looking exactly like his little boy self again. He seemed to teeter for a moment on the edge of speech. "Well—bye," he said quickly, and he disappeared, the door clicking shut behind him.

Molly sighed and shook her head, looking over at Arthur, who was eating his breakfast. She sat very still and quiet for several minutes, until he looked up at her in concern. She lifted her chin. "Petunia Dursley doesn't have any idea what she's lost," she said coolly, picking up her own fork. "And I feel very sorry for her."

Arthur nodded seriously. "So do I."