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“Marley Fawley was talking about his family’s history last week in the Hufflepuff common room. He said his whole family has been magic for at least a hundred years.”
“Impressive that he knows all his ancestors. Most people don’t.”
Acceptance sings through the air.
“Yeah, he asked us, and Skylar Catterick talked about his muggle family tree, but only up to his grandparents.”
“So probably the ones he’s met.”
An excuse, graciously offered.
“Then I said I didn’t know mine, except the Blacks, who are hard to remember. Skylar said I should ask my parents, and Marley said I can’t because I’m an orphan.”
Pity, but it’s the kind that comes from knowing only too well.
“I’m sorry, baby. That probably made you feel sad and different. You’re in good company, though. Professor Longbottom and I both lost our mum and dad when we were young.”
Youthful frustration, vented with good humour.
“I know it’s not bad. And I’m not a baby, Harry. I’m twelve.”
“Ah, but you’re my baby.”
“That’s a very dad thing to say!”
“Is it?”
Nonchalance turns to glee as they share a silly secret: that they are what they are to each other, regardless of blood relation.
But muffled giggles and sentimental smiles quickly gave way to a drooping melancholy.
“They made fun of me for it. Marley said he must know more about my family than I do. He told Skylar that I had two dads and a million aunts and uncles, but none of them are real ones.”
“Of course, we’re real.”
“And then Skylar laughed! Harry, they were laughing at me!”
Sickly sympathy.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I wish I could give you good advice. It happened to me, too, sometimes.”
“I thought you were a cool kid at school.”
“Definitely not! Everyone knew all about me before I even met them, but I wasn’t popular at all. That was more Draco and Pansy. Or Aunt Ginny.”
“Oh. That makes sense.”
A scenario much too readily accepted.
“Especially during my second year. No one liked me then, except Ron and 'Mione.”
A silly wiggle of a little blue eyebrow.
“And Draco.”
Now, a blush and an allowance.
“Maybe, but he was still keeping it a secret if he did!”
“I think it’s crazy to keep something like that a secret. He should have told you, then you could be together in school like Uncle Ron and Aunt Miney.”
A softspoken truth.
“Love can be crazy. And scary. And weird and confusing and wonderful…”
“Yes, alright Harry, I get it.”
“Sorry. I just love love.”
“Did your mum and dad love each other?”
Definitely.
“Yes, I think so. Very much.”
One, two, three beats of hesitation.
“Did… did my mum and dad love each other?”
Probably?
“Of course. Did you think maybe they didn’t? Why?”
Quiet, dripping doubt.
“Because my dad loved Sirius.”
“Well, I do think it’s possible to love more than one person.”
There’s no proof for this, and Harry’s never experienced it himself. But they will get dragonblood from a rutabaga before they get a negative word out of him regarding Remus or Tonks.
“But he loved Sirius longer than Mum. A lot longer, right?”
“Yes, but a lot of that time, Sirius was in jail, so not a lot of quality time then. And quick marriages are popular during a war.”
Thin excuses. Surely not robust enough to survive next year’s tweenage questions.
“What if they only got married because of me, though?”
Here be monsters.
“What if?”
A challenge, wrapped in a puzzle.
“Then that means they didn’t love each other the same as Dad and Sirius, and it’s just because Mum got pregnant that they were together.”
A regretful sigh stirred the air.
“I don’t know their hearts, Teddy. But there was no ‘only’ about it. No one seemed very happy during that time, but they were both so proud when you came around.”
“And they loved me?”
No doubts here. Just full, all-encompassing surety.
“More than anything in the world.”
“Like your parents loved you?”
“And like I love you.”
“I love you too, Harry.”
Cosy, comfortable warmth.
“Goodnight.”
“‘Night, Harry.”