Chapter 15
Harry Potter, boy-who-lived, come to sit on the Wizengamot and wishes he were dead. He pinched the bridge of his nose as they talked about cauldron thickness for the umpteenth time (seriously, he's lost count by now). This issue continued to come up every few years to the point where most of the members currently sitting on the Wizengamot groaned in displeasure. What Harry wouldn't give to be out on the field right now, cracking down on some illegal elf breeding ring or some other illicit activity. But no, Harry Potter and his dumb Potter luck left him here, sitting among the rest of the tired nobility. He looked up and caught the eye of Draco Malfoy. If he didn't know his tells by now, he'd think him made of steel. Draco's occlumency was certainly something else and reminded him a lot of Snape. Even with rudimentary shields, Harry couldn't hide just how annoyed he was that this was coming up again. Draco, on the other hand, kept his face blank. If it wasn't for the way his pinky finger, bearing the Malfoy signet ring, was twitching, Harry wouldn't be able to tell how much he also didn't want to be there.
Their eyes met, and they seemed to converse for a while, conveying their wish to be out of the stuffy courtroom. Despite their constant conflicts as children, not to mention being on opposing sides of a war they had no business in, Harry and Draco had formed a strange friendship. It was one that had grown stronger over the course of their sitting together as Lords. Draco and Neville had taken it upon themselves to tutor Harry on how to be a Lord, something he should have had training on way before he came of age. Harry digressed. He was busy being a child soldier, raised to die, fighting in a war he had no business being in.
Nearly two hours later, both men left the chambers and met in the hallway. "Malfoy."
"Potter."
Neville came out and rolled his eyes, "you two need to stop with the last name business."
Harry broke out in a grin and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his well-pressed trousers. " Yeah, well, habits."
"They do die hard." Draco crossed his arms and looked between both former Gryffindors. "Lord Longbottom."
Neville felt his eyes would never stop rolling with these two. "Just Neville, thanks."
Draco nodded, "Neville." He said, almost pleasantly, as the three men slowly moved down the corridor, away from the chambers at last. "So, when are we going to throttle Weasley for bringing up cauldrons again?"
Both Harry and Neville groaned in unison. "He's one of my brothers-in-law, and I know he's doing his best, but the constant need to beat a dead thestral is just not it."
"I'd say have a word with him, but we all know how that will go." Draco could barely refrain from rolling his eyes as they made their way toward the atrium. That God's awful statue of wizard supremacy was long gone, replaced by a beautiful stone memorial for the fallen. It was a passion project for which Draco rallied. Harry and Neville were both very surprised that his first act as a member of the Wizengamot was to bring about that change. Draco said, and Harry would quote whenever asked, such imagery has no place in a society hoping for change. It had been Draco's belief that statues like that just furthered the hateful rhetoric that had brought rise to Voldemort and his deranged cause. It was the first time Harry had ever thought Draco changed. Of course, he was initially suspicious until one day Harry asked him why.
Draco had confided reluctantly but was confident that Harry wouldn't tell his secrets. After his short stint in Azkaban, Astoria begged him to see a mind healer for the small part he played in the war. When children came into the picture for Harry, Draco had given him the card for his healer and urged him that in order to be a good father, he had to heal his traumas.
Harry remembered making a face about it, rolling his eyes and telling him he was fine, but Draco pressed him, knowing Harry was a stubborn asshole. Admittedly, so was Draco. When Harry bitched, whined, and complained about him being a mother hen, Draco told him the reason he was so adamant. Malfoy's therapist helped him realize many things about his father. If his father was raised under a more caring and understanding man, and not Abraxus Malfoy, he would have been a kinder soul, better to his wife and certainly better to his only son. Lucius repeated the same cycle of verbal abuse and bigotry because he had unresolved and repressed traumas. Everything Lucius had taught him had been parroted from things Abraxus had said to him as a young boy.
Sadly, Draco idolized his father, even when he was cold, never sparing him a glance unless necessary. He had wanted desperately to be someone his father could be proud of. Yet everything Draco ever did was met with a scowl and a demand for more, a demand for levels of excellence that Draco, a little boy in need of love and care, could not achieve. Not without proper guidance. It had been a lot to unpack. He tried to deny it at first. Draco had struggled with his father's toxic rhetoric. For little Draco, his father had been perfect, without fault, always right. So, realizing as an adult that his father was not without flaws was freeing.
Of course, Draco hadn't told him all of the details, just the gist, but it was enough to urge Harry to look at it seriously. And Harry had, especially when he found himself having more and more nightmares during Ginny's first pregnancy. The near-daily nightmares of Voldemort breaking down their door to kill him at last and then killing Ginny had haunted him for weeks until, finally, he couldn't take it anymore and called Healer Pickering. It was the best decision he had ever made, and he thanked Draco for it. He even got Neville and some of the others who were traumatized by their tumultuous childhoods to do it, if not to Healer Pickering, then to others within his private practice.
Harry was pulled out of his thoughts as Draco subtly nudged him with a pointy elbow. "You were saying?"
Draco did roll his eyes at that. "I was asking if you and Ginny would be coming to dinner on Friday as planned."
"Oh, yes, we'll be there."
"Good. Do remind Granger."
Harry snorted, "You're never going to call her by name, are you?"
"Nope." He popped the p as he strolled off, robes billowing behind him with each step.
Neville just watched him walk off. He put an arm around Harry's shoulders and said, "You know, if you'd told me in our first year that we'd actually be friends with that prat, I'd have thought you bonkers."
"I'd have sent myself to St. Mungo's." The two shared a hearty laugh, ignoring the brief glances from the people mulling about the atrium. "Well, see you later, Nev."
"Enjoy your evening, Harry." The two went their separate ways: Neville went back to Hogwarts to check on the greenhouses, and Harry went to Ginny.
.-.
"'m home!" Harry called as he apparated into the sitting room.
"Harry!" Ginny came barreling in from the kitchen, ramming herself into him as her arms wrapped around his waist. She pressed a kiss to his lips and leaned away, gently smoothing out the ugly purple robes. "Mmm, purple really isn't your color. Anyway, how did it go?"
"Ugh, so Percy brought up the cauldrons again." He shrugged out of his Wizengamot robes with Ginny's help. Such an ugly thing. He wondered if he could maybe make a motion to vote on a better color, something more neutral.
"I don't envy you." She patted his chest as she carried the robes over to the closet. "Post came, by the way; Bowie brought a letter. Judging by the handwriting, it's from Jamie."
Harry perked up. He always loved getting letters from the kids, and a letter from his firstborn was very welcomed after such a day. Finding the aforementioned letter, Harry sat in his favorite wingback chair, enjoying the feel of the crushed golden yellow against his skin. He wondered what antics James had gotten himself into now as he broke the seal and slipped out the pages. He quirked a brow as he began to read.
Dad,
Hey! So, things at Hogwarts have been going well. I found myself a partner to tutor me in some of the issues I've been having with transfiguration. She's great. She's a Ravenclaw named Ophelia. But that's not what I'm writing to you about. I don't really remember if I mentioned her before, but there's this girl in my year, a Slytherin named Endora. I think I told you in my last letter that she promised to watch out for Albus since he's in her house.
Do you remember when you told us about your cousin? Remember how we joked about how messed up it would be if he had a magical kid? It turns out he does, and it's Endora.
Harry froze and re-read the last sentence, once, then twice. His heart was racing, and he was beginning to imagine all sorts of things. Was the girl a bully like Dudley? Was she being abused the way he had been? He was torn. Horrified even if he was being honest with himself. Dudley, with a family of his own, had crossed his mind many times, even more so once he was in therapy, unpacking all the childhood trauma linked to the abuses he had suffered under the Dursleys, specifically Vernon. Was Dudley a good father? Did he spoil his child? Or worse. Was he doing to her what Vernon had done to him just because she had magic?
"Harry?" Ginny placed a hand on his shoulder, concern on her face. "What's the matter?"
"Ginny." His voice strained. He hadn't even finished reading the letter at all and just handed it to Ginny. Standing, he made his way up the stairs to their bedroom, mainly to change but also to pace.
Her eyes followed him up the stairs. Her brows furrowed in confusion until she turned them to the paper in her hand. Ginny sighed and trudged up the stairs when she finished reading for herself. She went into the bedroom and watched as Harry walked back and forth in his trousers and undershirt, the waistcoat and dress shirt haphazardly discarded on the bed. "Harry," she began softly as she approached him. "What are you doing?"
"He has a kid. How did I not know he had a magical kid? I should have been there for her!" His pacing got worse until he let himself collapse to the floor. His hands shoved into his already messy hair, barely tamed despite his efforts.
She watched him continue to spiral, his legs pressed up against his chest as he crashed out. "Love, please…" She sat on the floor with him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "How were you supposed to know?"
"I… I'm at the Ministry. I should have found out. I was curious about them before but thought I was being crazy." His jaw locked as he turned his gaze to look at her. "Am I a bad person, Gin?"
Ginny scowled. "Harry James Potter, now you listen, and you listen good." She set the letter aside to grab his face and made him look at her. "You are not a bad person. How could you have ever known or even had an inkling about that girl?" She pressed a kiss to his nose, then to his forehead in comfort. "You do not have to feel guilty. But you really should read the rest of the letter." She handed it to him.
Harry was reluctant as he held the paper in his hand, tempted to rip it to pieces, but he couldn't do that, not to James. So he turned his attention back to the paper and continued where he left off.
She's been too shy to make contact with us, but after I asked her about her last name, she admitted to it. Dursley is a common name, so I thought I was just overreaching with my line of thought. At first, I didn't know what to think. I asked her if she was being abused, and she told me no, that her parents were very doting, as was her grandmother. She said that her grandparents had divorced over it. I'm not sure of the full story there, and I didn't ask. But she said they want to reconnect and discuss things with you.
I left her alone for a while, avoiding her like the plague after that. But the more I thought about it, the more I felt it was unfair to her. Outside of her mom being a witch, she's alone in the magical world. I didn't think it was right to just leave her alone. I know this is a lot to take in. It was a lot for me, too. But you should meet her during Yule. If not her Dad and grandmother, at least her.
Albus and Lily already like her and know who she is to us. We've accepted her as part of the family. I'm not asking you to do the same; just meet her once. That's all I ask.
Waiting to hear back soon,
James
A sigh left him. "So they already pulled her into the family without even talking to me first." He couldn't help the frustration. He was so torn over this.
Ginny sighed and hugged him, guiding his head to rest against her chest as her fingers carded through his hair in gentle strokes. She didn't say anything, just let him go through his emotions, doing her best to comfort him. It was difficult trying to see things from his perspective. Ginny always had her family. She never had to think of some estranged family member bursting into her life. Percy had been a clod in her younger years, believing more in the Ministry and that it could do no wrong over the outright signs of things not being right, but he had repented and stood by them when it mattered. But Harry? Oh, she couldn't even begin to say she understood. So all Ginny did was rock them gently, fingers moving in slow, soothing circles on his scalp, her other hand slowly moving up and down his back.
She didn't know how long they remained like that, but eventually, Harry pulled away and rubbed at his face with rough, calloused hands. "Thanks Gin…" He muttered as he leaned back, letting his back hit the side of the bed. "James does have a point," he relented in the end. "This girl will need all the family support she can get. I'm not sure if I'll be able to stand in front of Dudley or Petunia right off, but the girl hasn't done anything to me. If anything, she's been a help, keeping her eyes on Albus and helping him."
Ginny only nodded, not wanting to push him while he processed things for himself. If there was anything Ginny Potter had learned over the years of being married to one Harry James Potter, it was that he was prone to overthinking and sometimes not thinking at all, only making decisions with his heart. Pure Gryffindor, honestly. "I think you should have a talk with Healer Pickering before you even make a concrete decision."
He sighed and pouted but conceded the point. "You're right."
"I usually am." She smirked smugly.
"Yeah, that's a hundred percent why I married you." He smirked in return as he leaned in to kiss her softly on the forehead.
She tilted her head and brushed her lips against his. "Go on and shower. Dinner's nearly ready."
"Mm…" He trailed off and stood up, tugging off his undershirt. His skin was riddled with the scars of his past. Some of the newer ones were from Auror missions and violent bouts of scratching his skin raw during his darker crashes.
Ginny let her eyes caress each one. There were so many painful memories on his skin, and although they had both come to terms with the horrors of their past, Harry had been subject to far worse than she had ever faced outside of the war. The terrible PTSD he suffered from for so long, in denial until Draco managed to convince him to see a mind-healer, had only gotten better in recent years. Not a single new scratch marred his skin now. She stood up and wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing her cheek against his back. "I love you, Harry." She muttered against his skin, taking in the smell of his skin and the cologne Draco had gifted him for one of his birthdays.
Harry let his shoulders drop and turned in her embrace, wrapping her up in his arms. "I love you too, Gin." He kissed the top of her head, hugging her closer for a few more moments before he pulled back. "I'll be a few minutes." He gave her a boyish grin as he moved to the bathroom door, only to pause, "Oh yeah, Malfoy wanted me to remind you about dinner with them over the weekend."
"I remember. I was going to bring over one of the desserts I found in Mum's recipe book."
"Is it treacle tart? Tell me it's treacle tart."
She rolled her eyes. "No, now go bathe." Ginny went to the door and glanced back to catch Harry with a pout. She snorted in response. "Big baby." She left him to it.
.-.
Later in the evening, Harry sat at his desk, writing in a leather-bound journal about his thoughts. It was something he had started doing as suggested by Healer Pickering to help him sort out his feelings when they became too overwhelming, when Harry's scumbag brain started overthinking details, or when he felt like he was spiraling. So, finding out that Dudley had a magical daughter who talked to his kids was certainly such an occasion. Healer Pickering had told him before that he didn't have to forgive them, only understand that ignorance makes people say and do things that sometimes they usually wouldn't.
Over the years, Harry had played with several ideas on why things had been so bad for him living with the Dursleys. Learning he was a Horcrux certainly made him think. The locket had driven the more negative emotions out of Ron, so it wasn't too much of a stretch to think that maybe the same had happened to his relatives, too. He had been with them for years; that kind of long-term exposure had to have some sort of side effect. That was a thought he had clung to almost desperately. He knew people abused children for no real reason outside of their own perceived grievances, made-up slights, or just because they were all around terrible people. But was that really the case here, too?
Vernon, he had no doubt, was a piece of shit even before Harry came into their lives. Knowing Petunia had divorced that oaf made him wonder. Had she been with another, kinder man, would she have been so bitter and downright nasty to him? Would she have eventually accepted her sister's child? Harry digressed. He'd never know what was in any of their heads now. The only way he could ever come close to knowing was if he made contact.
Harry leaned back into the plush leather of his office chair and let out a dramatic sigh. He had two, no, three choices here. Saying no outright to James felt like it would come back to bite him in the ass, so that was not an option he wanted to consider at all. Option two, a strong option he was leaning toward if he was being honest, was to make contact with Endora and only Endora. She hadn't done anything to him and had been watchful of his youngest while he lived in the snake pit.
He had dug up the saved letters from Albus after dinner and re-read them to see if they mentioned her. There was a lot of talk about Scorpius and some about some girls named Annabelle and Penelope, who were also in his year. He did find a letter talking all about Endora among them. She had been helping them with their homework, guided them to their classes that first week, showed them shortcuts she had found, and even brought them a huge haul of sweets from Hogsmeade. It sounded like he looked up to her, and Harry couldn't take that away from him. Had it been Harry at that age, finding a family member, or anyone who went out of their way to take care of him and make sure he knew what he needed to, oh, how he would have killed for that! A sigh left him, and he hunched back over his journal, continuing to write.
His last option was to make contact with all of them, and that was something he wasn't sure he wanted. He had often thought of Dudley over the years. Harry had been tempted to contact him before he and Ginny married, but he chickened out. If he was being honest, sometimes he regret it. Dudley had been a terrible person to him growing up, that much was true, but the summer that the dementors came and nearly killed them both, things had changed. It wasn't a fast change, of course. Old habits died hard, after all. Harry recalled the last time they saw each other when Harry had convinced them to leave Privet Drive to protect them. Dudley had approached him and took his hand. There had been a quiet understanding, a worry in his eyes that Harry wouldn't be okay, that his world was dangerous, and that Harry might not survive whatever he was facing. It was a glimpse of what could have been under different circumstances.
Harry felt like an asshole thinking about it now. Had Dudley thought him dead up until his daughter ended up at Hogwarts? He knew Vernon certainly wouldn't have given a rat's ass if he had lived or died, but he wasn't entirely sure about Petunia. His relationship with her had never been good either, but that last conversation they had often played in his mind, too. Did she have regrets? The petty part of him said good, she should. Actually, the petty part was the one that spoke the loudest.
Healer Pickering had told him that he didn't owe the people of his past apologies or forgiveness, but if he was going to heal from all that pain, he had to recognize and come to terms with those experiences so he could move on and be an even better person. He had to unlearn so much behavior, and the therapy sessions really helped. He'd come to terms with the fact that the people he thought had his best interests in mind had manipulated many of the traumas he'd experienced. Learning from Severus's memories that Dumbledore had raised him to die had been a lot to unpack. He had buried it, locked away with everything else, hoping to ignore it.
Ginny had asked why he wanted their youngest to be named after Dumbledore instead of another member of their family or some other name that had nothing to do with anyone they knew. Harry hadn't had an answer then. He knew he wanted Severus's name to go on because, in the end, despite what an absolute fucker he was, he had endeavored to protect him from the shadows, fueled by the love he had for Lily and the guilt he felt over being the cause of her death. He wondered if Snape would have been different if he knew how Harry had been living. If Harry had let the hat put him in Slytherin, would he have stepped up? Would he have been more protective and watchful of him? He shook his head. That was not a train of thought he wanted to go down today. Not again.
No, Harry needed to focus on the now. Endora and the Dursleys. With a quick spell to dry the ink, Harry closed the journal and grabbed some parchment to begin writing back to James. He finally had his answer.
