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“Harry?”
“Yeah, Ted?”
“Who are your parents?”
Harry peered over the top of his book, eyes fixating on his seven year old godson. Teddy was looking at him with a wide, curious, contemplative stare as he waited for Harry to provide an answer to his question.
Harry smiled at him and gestured towards the wall, where a variety of photos of smiling people were hung. “You’ve seen pictures of them before. Here,” he stood up from his chair and wandered over to the display, unhooking one particular photo of his parents that had been left to him by Remus all those years ago. He placed the frame in Teddy’s hands and the boy’s eyes flickered in recognition.
“Oh, I know them! They’re in that photo in my room with my dad and your godfather, Sirius,” he said, a smile blooming on his face – though it was short lived, because it was gradually replaced with a confused frown. “But I’ve never met them, I don’t think. Can we visit them?”
After taking his eyes off the many photographs, Harry turned back to face his godson and let out a sigh. He took a seat next to Teddy, who looked up at him, not understanding the complexity of the situation.
“We can’t see them, Ted. Not until we’re really, really old. D’you remember when me and your Nana had that talk with you about your mum and dad?”
Teddy sat up a little at the mention of his own parents, and nodded solemnly. For a child, Harry could not deny that Teddy did not have a very mature and deep understanding of life and death.
“They died when I was a baby. And that means we can’t see them, but-“ his face contorted a little, as though trying to figure out a tricky maths calculation, “they can see us.”
Harry nodded, running a hand through Teddy’s soft, vibrant hair. “That’s right. Well, that place where your parents are – that’s where mine are, too.”
“Really?” said Teddy, a look of mild interest on his face. “So, you’re a bit like me then?”
Harry chuckled and shrugged nonchalantly. “I guess you could say that.”
Teddy grinned and the pigment of his eyes involuntarily turned a faint green. “Cool. So, will you see your parents again?”
“Hopefully,” said Harry, his eyes glazing over as his thoughts stretched into a distant path of the past. “But that’s a long way away, Ted.”
“I know,” said Teddy, now chewing his nails. “But – can I ask you something, Harry?”
“Of course.”
“If… if they can see us then why won’t they talk to us?” Teddy asked, his eyebrows furrowing in an uncharacteristic way. He looked back up at Harry with bright eyes. “Do they not want to talk to us?”
Harry fought back a frown and smoothened down his hair on instinct. “Come here, Ted,” he said quietly, and shuffled closer to him, wrapping an arm around him. He took a deep breath before speaking. “The thing is… they – they can’t talk to us. When someone passes away, they can’t talk to people who are still alive. So, because we’re alive, our mums and dads can’t communicate with us – but that doesn’t mean they don’t want to. If they could, they would, Teddy, I can promise you that.”
“Oh,” was all Teddy said, resting his head against Harry’s chest.
“You’ll understand a bit better when you’re older, I know it’s confusing. I lost my parents when I was really young and it took me years to realise what that actually meant.”
“You look like your dad.” said Teddy as he looked at the photo grasped between his small hands.
Harry grinned. “Everyone says that.”
“You do though! You could be twins.”
“Hmm, I don’t know. I’ve got my mother’s eyes.”
“Oh, yeah, you do. Nice and green,” Teddy giggled, gazing at the laughing couple. “They look very happy.”
“They do, don’t they? Nothing like me and Ginny – we’re a bit of a grumpy bunch, aren’t we?”
Teddy laughed delightfully. “Ginny always gets moody when she loses at Quidditch.”
Harry smirked, envisioning the scowl Ginny plastered on her face whenever her team did dreadful in the friendly games often played at The Burrow. “I know she does – not as bad as Ron though.”
“Ron’s so worse. His ears turn all red and he says rude words.”
“All right, all right. Less of the insults, mister,” said Harry playfully, poking his godson’s side which he knew would emit a squeal.
“Harry! You’ll wake up James!”
“You’re the one squealing,” Harry said, though spared a glance over to the stagnant cot in the corner where James slept.
“So,” Teddy said after a moment of silence. “Are you James’ dad?”
“Yes. And Ginny is James’ mum.”
Teddy nodded in understanding. “James is lucky.”
There was a beat of silence. Harry glanced down at his godson with a slight frown on his mouth. “What makes you say that?”
“He can talk to his parents,” Teddy responded, as though the answer were obvious.
Harry exhaled a stressful breath. “We’re lucky too, Ted. Even if we can’t see our parents. Because we’ve got each other, and a huge family who loves us a lot.”
“I guess so,” replied Teddy, shrugging his shoulders in Harry’s embrace. He was still looking intently at the photograph of Lily and James Potter. “But still. I wish we could see them.”
“Me too,” said Harry, a familiar sorrow sensation washing through him. “But we will. One day.”
“When we’re really old and grey and have to use a walking stick like Victoire’s Auntie Muriel?”
Harry refrained from laughing at the comment. “Yes, when we’re really old and grey and have to use a walking stick like Victoire’s Auntie Muriel,” he echoed, planting a kiss on Teddy’s head, the both of the gazing at the photo in Teddy’s hands.