harry potter is marked by love (markedbylove) wrote in the100, @ 2015-05-01 22:13:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, harry potter, james potter |
Who: Harry and James Potter
When: 4/2, shortly after Harry’s arrival
Where: Mount Weather, near his room
What: Harry is on his way to his new room when he runs into his dad.
Rating: Pretty low. Allusions to character death, but pretty tame.
Harry hated paperwork. He bloody well hated it. Unfortunately, being an adult meant that while he could leave it for the last minute, he couldn't just get Hermione to do it for him. Being an adult really sucked at times. And it was times like this when he thought maybe he should have taken Ginny's example and played Quidditch. He was an ave seeker, probably could have gone pro if he wanted. Being an Auror had felt like a natural fit, though. Alright, so maybe it had been partly that he felt it was his responsibility to accept when the offer was made, but whatever his reasons, it had felt right. Glancing at the clock, he sighed. 7 o'clock. Ginny was going to give him that Look when he came home and it would be one of those times age was actually cross with him rather than just doing it just to do it. But when you left paperwork for the last minute, you ended up staying at the office well past when you should have been heading home. Eventually, the paperwork was sorted, and Harry was cursing his decision to fly into work, because he was bloody exhausted. He decided he could just Floo back, carrying his broomstick, so that’s what he did, only as he stepped into the fireplace and tossed his Floo Powder- Well, he didn’t know exactly what came next, because the next moment he was waking up in a strange bed. He didn’t know where he was, but Harry very clearly wasn't in the Ministry anymore. Someone came round and explained and he tried to pay close attention, but it all sounded like something out of a science fiction film. And as he struggled to focus on surroundings and explanations, one thought formed in his head, clear as anything. Ginny really was going to kill him for this. Sometime later, Harry was on his way, holding his broom once again and making his way towards the housing assignment he’d been given. He had to find a way to get home to Ginny and the kids, but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to settle in a bit or at least find a place to put his things in the meantime. -- James didn’t normally have trouble sleeping. But there was a lot on his mind, so his sleep was restless, and eventually his stomach growling woke him up, reminding him that all he’d really eaten the previous day was candy. It was not a decision that he regretted, all things considered, although he might regret it later when he ran out of candy faster than he liked and didn’t have access to Honeyduke’s-- but right now he needed more sustenance. One of the few things that could motivate him to get out of bed was food, and so he got up, with the idea in mind that he’d bring back breakfast for Lily too. He was wandering sleepily through the hallways, still in his black trousers, white shirt, and Gryffindor tie, absentmindedly fussing with his hair, when he saw him. The man could have almost been his twin, although the closer he got the more differences he saw. He wasn’t awake enough to consciously realize precisely who he was looking at, but he was fascinated all the same. He approached, staring unashamedly, and said, “Whoa.” -- Harry caught sight of what looked like a younger version of himself coming towards him. No, not a younger version of himself. His dad. He was exactly as he’d been in the pensieve, in those few glimpses he’d gotten into who his parents had been. It had been so many years since he’d see those memories, but the image was burned into his mind. He blinked once, twice, three times and then he stared openly at the man who was staring back at him. “Dad,” he whispered. It was barely audible and he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He didn’t know how it could even be possible. His parents were dead. And, yet, here he was, a man who was absolutely James Potter standing in front of him. Without stopping to think, Harry reached out the hand that wasn’t holding his broomstick to touch James’ arrm. He looked solid enough and he just had to know if what he was seeing was real. It was. Real enough that his brushed brushed against the material of his teenaged father’s shirt. Impossible or not, this couldn’t just be a hallucination. “How?” was all he could really get out then. It was really amazing he could get that much out, considering how completely shocked he was. -- James had gotten some weird reactions since he’d gotten here-- weirdest and worst of all being Sirius’s-- and he’d sort of gotten used to the idea that people thought he was dead. He also knew already, logically, that he and Lily had gotten married and had a son. He just really, really wasn’t prepared to have that son standing right in front of him. For a good few moments that felt even longer, he just stood stock still, staring at the so familiar and yet so foreign face in front of him. A part of him wondered if he was still asleep and dreaming about staring at himself in the mirror. He had been missing his broomstick, and that one looked awesome. But why would his dream self call him Dad? “Harry,” he said, when he could finally speak again. The name came to him from in the middle of the haze, attaching itself to the man in front of him. It had been bouncing around in his head for days, but he had been picturing… he had been picturing a baby. “Merlin… it’s you, isn’t it?” -- It was several moments before Harry could find his voice again as he stared at- well, if he couldn’t feel for himself how solid the man was, he’d have sworn he was looking at a ghost or some other kind of apparition. Maybe it shouldn’t have been such a surprise, considering he was in an alternate reality, several years into the future, if those who’d greeted him could be believed. He didn’t think even George Weasley could have pulled off a prank this elaborate. Nor would he, Harry reasoned, throw his dead father into the mix if he had pulled something like this off. He rather felt that was something even George wouldn’t mess with. He nodded mutely at the question, still unable to form words. This was a moment he’d wished for a hundred times as a boy. Even now, at 28 years old, Harry missed his parents desperately. He yearned to know more about them. It was a yearning he thought would never be answered, given that just about everyone who’d really known them was gone. But, now here was standing his father, in the flesh. He looked to be a little younger than he’d been the last time Harry has seen him. Late teens, if he had to make a guess. He supposed it should be weird to see his father looking so much younger than himself, but it was no weirder than seeing his father standing here at all. “It’s me,” he said finally as he found his voice again. “Are you.. really here? Am I dreaming this?” Dumbledore had once told him something could still be real, even if it was happening inside his head, but that had felt much different than this had. It felt both more real and more impossible all at once and at the moment, Harry didn’t know which to believe. -- This part, at least, James was used to. He’d had to actually shove and shake Sirius before he believed that James was really and truly standing in front of him, and Lily had needed to throw herself at him to reassure herself; he recognized the cue for what it was. “Yes,” he said, moving forward to wrap his arms tightly around his son. “Merlin-- yes, Harry, of course I’m really here. This is real.” It bothered him every time that people didn’t think he was real, that they might be dreaming or hallucinating or that he might not be some kind of ghost. (Why hadn’t he come back as a ghost? He should have held on tighter to this world. Then he could have been around to haunt people, at least. It wouldn’t be the same-- it would probably be horribly lonely and awful not being able to eat and hug and eventually everyone would die on him-- but at least he’d have been able to watch over his son. Talk to him, comfort him, guide him, protect him in whatever ways he possibly could. He really shouldn’t have died at all, but at least he could have died better. Or something.) He hugged Harry tightly for a long moment, trying to process the reality of it for himself-- because no matter how confidently he reassured people, he doubted it himself sometimes. Whether he was real, whether this was all really happening. But he wasn’t the type to hallucinate or get lost in fantasy. He trusted his senses and instincts, which told him that he was real. Finally, he pulled back but didn’t let go, keeping his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Blimey, look at you,” he said, a sad and proud smile on his face. No, he wasn’t going to cry. There was a lump in his throat, but it didn’t stop him from being able to talk. He touched a hand to Harry’s cheek. “So handsome, of course, knew you would be. Can’t go wrong with a mum and dad as good-looking as yours. And you’re brilliant, I can tell it just by looking at you. Absolutely brilliant in every way.” -- Harry had wondered, himself, why his parents or even Sirius hadn’t come back as ghosts, back when she’d been too young to properly understand it. He understood it better as an adult, he was better able to appreciate the sacrifices they’d all made and he’d gotten away from being bitter about growing up without them or having lost nearly every connection he had to his parents. Remus, Sirius, Dumbledore - time had healed the wounds losing them all had left him with. He’d moved on and had a pretty good, happy life. But meeting his dad now was still like something out of a dream. The confirmation that he was really here still brought tears to his eyes and when James’ arms wrapped around him, Harry hugged him back tightly, holding on for a long while as he hugged his father for the first time he could ever remember. He knew, logically, his parents had held him as a baby, but Harry didn’t have any memories of it. He could barely remember them at all. Harry was much like James and he trusted the reality of what was happening, because it was what his senses all told him. However impossible this whole situation seemed, Harry knew it had to really be happening. And right now he wasn’t about to complain. His eyes pinkened when his dad started to compliment him. He’d hear all his life that he looked just like him, except for the eyes. Those were his mothers, he knew. They’d known each other just a few minutes and he knew his dad couldn’t know him well enough to back up what he was saying, but it meant so much to hear that he was proud of him, anyway. “Thanks,” he said a little awkwardly, but he was smiling. “It’s so good to see you, Dad.” -- James didn’t want to let him go, or stop touching him. He brushed a hand through Harry’s messy hair-- so much like his own, patted him on the cheek, and then pulled him in for another hug. It broke his heart to think that this was the first time that Harry could really remember seeing him, being hugged by him; he’d thought about that already, of course, but having the evidence right in front of him made it so much more real. This was the kid he’d wanted to have with Lily, and he hadn’t even gotten to raise him at all. “You too, Harry,” he said, when he’d finally pulled back again, this time letting his hands lower to his sides-- although it was unlikely they’d stay there for long. “I’m just sorry you didn’t get to see more of me, and that I won’t get to see you grow up. You know I wanted to be there for you, don’t you? At the very least I wanted Lily or Sirius to be there for you, but…” In truth, he didn’t know exactly how that had turned out. He knew that Sirius was going to Azkaban, that he hadn’t been allowed to take Harry; Remus hadn’t raised him either, and hadn’t been a part of his life. At least Harry was alive, and he seemed healthy and… well, if not happy, not completely broken either. It sucked that James’s expectations for how people would turn up here had gotten that low. -- Harry shook his head. “It’s not your fault, none of it was your fault.” Harry had spent some time resenting the fact that he’d grown up without his parents. He’d been so angry at everyone he’d lost at one point and everything that had been thrust onto his own shoulders. But while he still missed all the people who were gone from his life, he’d come to terms with it all a long time ago and he knew who was really to blame. It was Voldemort who had stolen his parents from him, his godfather, his friends. Now didn’t think now was the right time to admit he’d been raised by the Dursleys or to tell his dad what his childhood had actually been like. Maybe it would never be the right time to tell him those things. It didn’t matter now, anyway. He would never be close to his mother’s family, the people who had raised him, but he no longer hated them the way he once had, either. It all seemed like a long time ago and he was happy. Well, usually. At the moment, he was wishing for his wife and his kids. At the same time, he was glad to not have to worry about them in a place like this, even if he knew Ginny could absolutely take care of herself. “You’re here now,” he said, making himself smile. That was the thing to focus on. That his dad was here and impossibly alive. Incredibly young, but he was he would take what he could get. -- James wasn’t sure he agreed with that. Maybe if he’d known better, realized what Peter was up to, none of this would have happened to them. Maybe he and Lily would have survived and Harry wouldn’t have had to grow up alone. But he didn’t feel like arguing with Harry right now, he just wanted to be glad that he was here. “I’m here,” he said, smiling. He couldn’t help but reach for another hug; Merlin, it was going to be impossible to keep his hands off his son. “And so are you. I’m not leaving you alone again, okay? I’m going to be around so much you’ll get sick of me.” -- Maybe he would have grown up with his parents, but Voldemort would still be out there if things had happened differently. It had taken himself to come to terms with that, to be able to place the fate of the world above his own happiness. Sometimes he still wished for his parents and for the life that had been taken from them, but he knew there were a lot of people in the world who were better off with Voldemort out of the picture forever. That was worth a lot, too. Harry couldn’t help smiling at his dad’s words. “Get sick of you?” he asked. “Not a chance in hell.” It was weird, having a dad that was a decade younger than him, but he’d take it. He’d take what he could get, because his dad was here, alive, and that was pretty amazing. |