I need more of my favorite redhead talking to the other redheads in the series.

~Multi-Faceted~

XI: Novice

"Arthur, I humbly request your advice," Albus said.

The Weasley patriarch only did a second's double-take, to his credit. Then he smiled and waved his guest into the Burrow. "Certainly, Headmaster... What's on your mind?"

The taller man ended up perching awkwardly on an equally-tall chair with arms which snapped at him every few minutes. But his mental preoccupation meant he hardly noticed the quirky furniture as he batted its wooden lips away.

"...I am concerned about Harry," he finally explained.

Arthur's lips quirked even further upwards. "That's hardly a surprise," he said, half-teasing, and looked even more amused when Albus blushed.

"Ahem, yes, well... it has been only a few weeks since Sirius passed, and I am painfully aware that Harry was quite alone until I retrieved him from his relatives' home. Yet when I did meet him he showed none of the signs of distress or depression I expected. I anticipated a certain level of commiseration would be required, even comfort... but Harry dismissed my concerns almost before I had finished voicing them."

"That sounds like Harry."

"So it does." But Albus loosed a long sigh as he looked down at his interlocked fingers. "And yet I cannot help but wonder if Harry is less likely to confide in me about his true feelings, after..."

His throat closed before he could finish his sentence, but after last year hung in the air anyway. Arthur seemed to understand—he was one of the few whom Albus had confided in about deliberately avoiding Harry, though he had not mentioned Harry's scar connection with Voldemort when explaining why. Albus knew that Arthur had not approved of his decision then, but the man was too polite and respectful of the Headmaster's position to say so; and a not-insignificant part of him despised the reverence he inspired now, knowing that a man less afraid of disagreeing with a living legend might have advised him to do things differently sooner.

Then again, there was no use laying his own mistakes at anyone else's feet.

Arthur had summoned tea for the both of them as his old headmaster talked, and now absently stirred his own cup as he spoke. "So you'd like my advice on how to get Harry to open up to you with his feelings about what happened last June?"

Albus remained silent. He wanted Harry to open up to him about everything—he wanted back the close, unassuming bond they had had four years running, before he had ruined it last summer in the name of protecting the only child who had come to mean the world to him. But he knew 'everything' was too much to ask, and Harry had every right to look on him with suspicion and disdain from now on.

"...Albus?" Arthur asked gently, in a tone that suggested it was not the first time. The headmaster startled, and had to move quickly to keep from knocking his own tea away afterward.

"My apologies, Arthur."

"It's all right. Really."

Still, his embarrassment prodded Albus to return to the topic at hand. "You have six sons," he began, haltingly, "and a wealth of experience in caring for them and tending to their emotional needs. I speak truth and the highest form of praise when I say you are an outstanding father. I, on the other hand, have found myself at a loss on how to reach out to the one son I have come to claim."

Arthur blinked quickly a few times, the way he did when something shocked him but showing that surprise more plainly wouldn't be polite. If Albus wasn't so focused on obtaining the man's advice, he would have paused to realize how openly he had just compared his own feelings for Harry to Arthur's for his boys. It was wholly against his nature to show his hand that way, and yet...

"You are starting this a little late," Arthur said lightly, "but I think I can help you and Harry all the same."

"I would be grateful..."

"There's no need to thank me. I've hurt my own sons more than a time or two, I can tell you, and not long ago either..."

Albus acknowledged the awkward pause with a swift nod, the absence where Percy Weasley ought to be.

"...anyway. Harry clearly isn't in the best headspace right now, but he's not a child anymore either. A few pats on the head won't satisfy. The best way to go about this is to show him that you're going to be there for him without smothering him—that you respect his right to grieve and his privacy, but you're not going to leave him completely alone like before."

This time it was Albus who blinked rapidly. "Harry knows I will be there for him. I've told him so."

"Ah ah ah. I didn't say tell him you'll be there for him. I said show him. Harry's heard enough talk in his life; what he needs now is a man willing and able to stand behind what he says. Someone who will talk with him and sit with him and defend him when he needs defending, and even when he doesn't. Haven't you said before that it's the choices we make which define us?"

"Indeed I have."

"Well, then." Arthur put down his cup and spread his hands wide on either side of it. "Your choices are clear, Albus. You can keep talking to Harry, without extending yourself any further, and the two of you will keep drifting apart—or you can pair actions with words. You can schedule time for him, offer him your ear and all your support, for things beyond You-Know-Who. I won't call myself an expert, but I know which path I'd prefer you take."

The advice was swift and more pointed than the snapping chair, and it jabbed at Albus in exactly the places he needed it to. He felt a rush of appreciation for the bluntness of both Arthur's advice and his tea.

"I understand," he breathed, and actually meant it. The revelation rivaled some of his finest dragon's blood moments. "And I will heed your words. Thank you, Arthur."

"You're welcome," Arthur said, placing one of his hands over Albus'. His own eyes even twinkled to rival the Headmaster's. "And Albus...? Welcome to fatherhood. I hope you enjoy your stay."