Chapter Text
Harry had only been measured once before, for his godfather’s wedding. It had been tedious enough; the needles pinched and Madame kept asking him over and over, “So when’s your turn, eh darling?” It was a stupid question; Harry was only 11. Adults liked to ask stupid questions like that sometimes, and it was fun to make them laugh. When the time came to finally, finally try on his first school robes, Harry decided yet again to play along, and tried to think of something his father would say. It usually worked for the better. People called his dad a “charmer.” His mum, who accompanied him to purchase the robes, apparently thought otherwise.
“-And that’s another thing; I don’t want to hear you call women birds Harry; it’s bad manners. I don’t care what your father says; it’s not affectionate, it’s rude.”
Harry unwrapped his Chocolate Frog and tried to look admonished. “Dad calls you pigeon all the time, and all you do is smile and your face goes all pink.”
Her face was turning pink now, and the M wrinkle was coming back on her forehead. Switching the bags to her other hand, she sighed. “Yes, well; your father and I-”
“-are madly, madly in love, sport; so, unless you’re planning on making moves on Malkin, I suggest you keep the love names to yourself, young man.” His father reached for the bags that his mum was struggling to hold over her shoulder. “I’ll take that, love; never you mind.”
The Chocolate Frog wriggled a bit in his mouth, and in the corner of his eye, Harry noticed the wriggling of a mysterious package beneath a black sheet, currently in his father’s other hand. Harry stared at it, and bit the frog decisively. It melted in his mouth, and his taste buds were satisfied. His curiosity, however, was not. The sheet wriggled a bit more.
“Dad? Dad, wassat in your hands?”
“This? This is a wand, dear child. You should know what it is, you just got one in the shops a few minutes ago.” He turned to mock whisper to his wife, who looked only slightly more amused than Harry, which was not much. “Oi, got that letter not a moment too soon, eh? Our boy might be missing some tools in the shed-”
Harry glared. “You’re the one missing tools, you daft old man!”
“Harry, don’t disrespect your father.”
“Oh ho, you’re in for it now, little squirt-“
“-and James.” said his mother disapprovingly. “Don’t tease the poor boy.”
“Was only a joke, pigeon.” His dad leaned in to kiss his mother on the cheek, which went pink again. A smile escaped from her lips, and Harry deliberately looked away. “He’ll see soon enough.”
“See?” Harry protested, pointing an accusatory finger at his father. “He does too say it! And there you go again, smiling-”
Lily sighed. “You’re right dear. You’re absolutely right.” Turning to James, who was making a terrible attempt at looking innocent, she tried to look stern. “Do you know what your son is doing? He called Madame Malkin a bird-“
“She isn’t?” James gasped. “With those knock-“
“-and it’s your fault.” Lily continued, glaring. “He’s at that age now, he’s bound to pick up something terrible from your behavior and then it will be all your fault and where will that leave you, hmm?
“Divorced, probably. Ow, ow! Alright, alright!” He rubbed his shoulder. “Take it easy, woman; I only got two!”
“You’ll only have one soon; keep it up! Look, see there’s the bookstore and we’ve only got an hour before the train comes. Teach your son some manners,” she called over her shoulder as she tried to break through the crowd to enter, “And learn some yourself while you’re at it!”
Lily disappeared into the marketplace, and then there was only father and son plus wiggly black package. Harry shoved the wrapper into his pocket and inwardly groaned. He felt another lecture coming on.
James stared after his wife for a few seconds, and smiled fondly. He looked down at his eleven-year-old son, sulking pitifully at the mysterious package, and his smile grew fonder. “Right then. What’s this I hear about you seducing seamstresses while I’m away? You’ve got quite a libido for a sprout, haven’t you?” He ruffled Harry’s hair playfully while the young boy scowled. “Should we lock you up in a cupboard, until it’s safe for the womenfolk?”
“Ought to lock you up, old man. You’re worse than anybody!”
“Oi, I’m parting worldly knowledge on your person, kiddo. This is the good stuff, can’t get this kind of education in that fancy school you’re off to.”
That got a smile out of him. “Is it really fancy? Is it nice there?”
James sat down on a nearby bench and laid back. He looked wistful. “It was lovely, way I remember it. Train ride is boring as all get out, but it’s like a castle, just like in picture books. Towers so high, you can barely see the top when you’re walking in. That’s where Gryffindor is. All the way up, in the highest tower. You can see forever from up there.”
Harry tried to imagine such a place. “Wow.”
“Wow is right. You’ll meet all sorts of people there. You remember Mr. Weasley’s son?”
Harry vaguely remembered red hair and an impressive collection of wizard trading cards. On the last trip that Harry made to his father’s workplace, they had been introduced. They spent most of the time talking about Hogwarts and complaining about their parents. He seemed like a good friend to have. “You mean Ron?” asked Harry, suddenly excited. “Is he starting this year too?”
“That’s right. You’re bound to meet him on the train.” This time, James leered. “Girls, too.”
Harry scowled. “I don’t like girls. They’re bossy.”
His father laughed. “Oh, you’ll like them soon enough. Give it time.”
“No, I won’t either. I don’t know how to talk to them anyway. They’re confusing and they yell and they never want to play swords or nothing. I don’t like girls.” He repeated.
“Not even Mum?”
He shuffled in his seat. “Mum’s different.”
“Ay.” agreed James, “She is. Anyway, it’s not that hard to talk to girls. You just have to approach it the right way. Remember the Rochester’s dog? Their big mutt, Sandy?”
“Yeah,” said Harry. “She was scary at first.”
“But when we came at her the right way, softly and slowly, didn’t she seem much nicer? Girls are the same way, especially the pretty ones. You see a pretty one Harry; don’t just walk up to her. You’ve got to be slow and you’ve got to be soft. Treat her nicely, Harry; and she play a lot more than swords with you, I’ll tell you that much.”
Harry gave his father a scolding look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but this sounds like one of those things Mum is going to hit you for when I tell her.”
“Oi!” James ruffled his son’s hair in protest, and Harry tried in vain to bat his hand away. He didn’t care about his hair, but his mum would fuss and fix it with spit and he hated when she did that.
“This is man talk; don’t go bringing your mum into this.” He rubbed his shoulder. “She hits like a hippogriff, that one. Ow!”
His mum had re-appeared, and with her were the remaining textbooks required for the year. One of them had been chucked at his father’s head. He hoped it hadn’t been dented.
“Mum, dad’s giving me weird advice about girls again.”
She glared at James, who while rubbing his head, had the decency to look slightly abashed. “Oh, really? And what nonsense, pray tell, have you been driving into our only child’s head?”
“I was just telling him some aviary secrets, dear.” He rose from his seat to kiss his wife on the cheek. “Not everyone catches a dove on their first try, you know?”
“Oh? I thought I was a pigeon.”
“Pigeon, dove, sparrow.” Still holding her face, he brushed some hair from her eyes with his thumb and smiled fondly. “Long as your mine, whatever you like.”
“I suppose you think those lines still work on me, Potter.”
“You’re smiling, aren’t you?
“I’m trying very hard not to.”
A train whistle interrupted their tête-à-tête. Thank goodness. Harry was starting to feel queasy.
“Oh, the train!” His mum frantically grabbed at their purchases while his father tried to part through the now rushing traffic. “We’re bound to miss it now, and all for your mischief, James Potter!”
They didn’t miss the train. It turned out to only be the noon warning whistle, with fifteen minutes until departure. His mum, to his despair, fixed his hair with spit. His father gave him a gift. It was the wriggling package.
“Go on, then.” He gestured, when Harry hesitated. “Open it up, see what it is.”
He did. Upon removing the veil, he gasped.
Inside a tarnished iron cage was the whitest, prettiest owl he’d ever seen. Its feathers reflected so brightly off the cage she looked almost otherworldly. Its eyes were very black. They watched Harry carefully.
“It’s a snowy owl.” said his father, smiling at the awe on the young boy’s face. “They caught her in the mountains- she’s a girl, by the way. Haven’t named her yet. What do you think?’
“She’s beautiful.” Harry whispered, and as if she understood, the owl cooed and began preening. “Can I really have her? Really?”
“She’s for sending letters.” said his mother. Her voice sounded unusually thick, and trembled slightly. “So no excuses, all right? I want at least one every week, young man.”
Harry could feel his eyes watering. There, at the platform, it suddenly became very clear that the moment he had been waiting for nearly the entire summer had arrived. For the first time since the letter, he didn’t want to go. “Dad-”
His father coughed. “None of that now. C’mon. Let’s leave brave and proud, like men. You too, Lily. Come now.” He brushed away something on his mother’s cheek. “Something as lovely as you has no business looking so upset. Cheer up, love.”
There were children pushing by him now, and the air was filled with the goodbyes of a hundred unfamiliar families. It was time to go. James carried his things to the compartment while Harry hugged and kissed his mother goodbye, and then he shook his father’s hand and boarded the train with his new owl, and as the train began to move, waved goodbye to his family.
He only cried for a little bit, and was proud of himself.