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The peas were rolling along the floor, the bowl bouncing with the unpleasant clatter of plastic on tile. ‘Cake!’ James was screaming, his face red with fury.
Harry’s jaw was clenched, his head in his hands. It had been like this all morning.
'Cake! Cake!'
'You can’t have cake,’ Harry said, trying extremely hard to keep his voice at a normal volume. 'You had peas.’
From the little tray of his high chair, James seized a tiny handful of squashed peas and threw them at Harry’s face.
Harry lost it. His chair falling backwards as he stood quickly, he leaned over to his son and unbuckled him from the chair with shaking hands, then roughly pulled him out of the chair. James was still screaming with rage as Harry strode across the room, carrying his kicking, wriggling son by his under arms, setting him down in the pantry, marching out and closing the door.
He sank down to the floor, sitting with his back against the door, listening to his son’s temper tantrum dully. He could feel the door shake with the thud of James’s small fists, could hear the screaming wail just behind the strange ringing sensation in his ears, could feel his own breaths growing rapid and shallow in his chest, his lungs prickling.
'Let me out!’ James was bellowing.
'You can’t come out until you say sorry,’ Harry heard himself say. From somewhere, possibly his hair, a pea fell down and bounced onto the floor.
'I can’t say sorry!’ James insisted angrily. 'It hurts my mouth!'
Ordinarily, Harry would have had to fight back laughter, but he was staring down at his own trembling hands, his breathing echoing in his head.
'Let me out! Daddy! Let me out!'
He took his glasses off and pressed his hand against his eyes, breathing deeply. 'You have to apologise,’ he said loudly.
'No!'
He put his glasses back on and looked back up at the table, where baby Al was in his own high chair, gurgling happily, oblivious, chewing on his own fist.
'Daddy!'
'All right,’ he croaked. 'All right…’ He stood, and opened the door to find his son lying prone on the pantry floor, kicking and beating his fists against the ground. 'I’m sorry,’ Harry told him, staring helplessly, peas still pressed into his hair. 'I’m sorry I did that.'
'Cake,’ James sobbed into the tiles.
Harry wanted to pick him up, to hold him, to apologise, but what if he did something awful? What if he lost his temper again? He realised what the feeling in his chest was - it was fear, genuine fear, and shame swelling up inside him like the way Dudley’s weight through childhood had.
He swallowed, and walked out of the kitchen, James’s wails following him. He took a pinch of floo powder from the pot on the mantle, and threw it into the dying fire. 'Mrs Weasley,’ he called. 'I need some help.'
She was there in just over a minute, bustling through, firmly telling James to get up and eat his lunch. The temper tantrum stopped almost immediately; James obediently allowed himself to be strapped back in, contentedly eating from the fresh bowl of peas Molly conjured up for him.
Harry sat and watched out of the corner of his eye, feeding his other son with a little spoon, the mushed food collecting around his happy little mouth. Harry felt the guilt like a heavy weight, and he only mumbled his thanks, wishing he could slink away and brood somewhere.
'Are you all right?’ Molly asked him.
'I lost my temper.'
'Well, that happens,’ said Molly, unconcerned. 'Sometimes you can only get through to them with a good shout.'
'I didn’t shout, I shut him in the pantry,’ Harry said, determinedly not looking at it. It wasn’t a cupboard, not really. More like a small room.
'For how long?’ Molly asked.
'A few seconds. Maybe a minute.'
He felt her hand on his shoulder. 'Then I don’t think that counts as losing your temper too badly,’ she said gently. 'It’s an awful age, two.'
He looked up at her, feeling more miserable than he had in several years. 'I never had this problem with Ted’s tantrums. I never did anything like that.'
'Well, he was loud, wasn’t he, but I don’t remember him ever throwing food,’ said Molly, picking squashed peas out of his hair. 'You’re a good parent, Harry,’ she said gently. 'Everyone has moments like this.’
He didn’t answer, but nodded shakily at her. She hugged him, and offered to take the boys for the afternoon. 'No,’ he said, his voice hoarse. 'It’s fine…'
'Would you like me to stay?’ she asked him. 'Until Ginny gets home?’
He paused. 'Yes,’ he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper.
'All right,’ she said, squeezing his shoulder. 'Don’t worry, it’s all in hand.'
'Done,’ said James suddenly, his voice bright. Harry put down Al’s spoon, and rose, heading straight to James and unbuckling him with trembling hands once again. But this time he hugged him tight, and James, clueless to the anguish his father was going through, hugged him back, looking over Harry’s shoulder and smiling at his grandmother.
'Well done,’ Harry said to him. 'Would you like some cake now?'