Work Text:
Harry Potter stares out the kitchen window of The Burrow, a silent frown adorns his lips. All around him, his chosen family and friends are bustling about in preparation for breakfast. Yet, his mind is somewhere else, staring into the outside world. He has not yet learned to not dwell on the dead. It is a side effect of sending children to war.
“Harry, mate.” Ron Weasley places a searing palm on Harry’s shoulder, jolting him from his nothing thoughts. He really was thinking of nothing. He was simply longing.
He stares up at Ron, only now realizing that the table had emptied out and the only person in the room with him was Ron. “Where’d everyone go?” His forehead furrows in confusion.
Ron stares down at him in concern, but he does not mention what he is thinking. “Mum said we’ll eat outside. Weather’s nice.”
“Oh.” Harry pushes away from the table, avoiding Ron’s searching eyes. “Okay.” Harry leaves the kitchen in a rush, hoping to avoid any questioning Ron might want to take up. He does not want to think.
Ron stares at Harry’s retreating back with a sad smile. He hurts so much for this boy who is so much like him, yet so different, that it often feels as if a piece of his heart had been ripped out and never returned. Another thing he lost in the war.
Harry takes a seat at the table in the garden, avoiding everyone’s eyes. He especially avoids George’s, because he cannot stand to see the emptiness. The lack of a twinkle and an identical pair breaks something in him a little every time he sees a frown adorning George’s lips. He cannot deal with it.
George reminds him that he wasn’t the only one who lost something in the war.
George reminds him that he was too much of a failure to save everyone.
Harry Potter has not yet understood, that in war, there will always be deaths. It is inevitable. That is why children should never deal with the burden of war.
Ron takes a seat next to Harry and reaches out a hand under the table. He grabs onto it. He does not ever want to let go.
To Harry, Ron is a steady presence. To Ron, Harry is an anchor that keeps him present with his family. It may seem like Harry is always floating away, but if given the opportunity, Ron would pack his bags and disappear into the wind. Leaving behind war-torn grounds and scarred skin that should have still been blemish free.
Chatter continues around the table, Harry and Ron not partaking, just sitting in their own little world. No one at the table tries to bring them out of their little world. They have unfortunately gotten accustomed to blank stares and glassy eyes.
Ron places a cup of herbal tea in front of Harry, knowing he will spend the entire meal just pushing any food given to him around a plate. Harry shoots him a grateful smile as he grips the cup with one hand, curling the fingers on his other hand tighter around Ron’s, conveying his gratitude. Ron squeezes back.
The two are brought out of their conversation of glances and soft touches by an owl landing on the table with an envelope clipped in its mouth. A strange sight really. They’re not allowed to get much mail anymore after an incident where some poisonous substance had been embedded in a letter that almost killed Harry and Ron. Yet, this mail seemed to have gotten through all the barriers.
“I’ll get it,” Arthur Weasley says, reaching across the table to retrieve the letter. The owl hops away from his reaching hands and lands on Harry’s shoulder.
He stares up at the creature with a tired frown. Ron reaches towards the bird and it nips at his fingers, allowing the letter to flutter from its beak and into Harry's lap. He stares at the stained white envelope blankly. He sees no writing on the outside. He does not know what he is supposed to be doing with it.
Bill Weasley comes around the table to Harry, reaching for the letter, “Here, let me check it.” The owl rears up from where Ron was distracting it and attacks Bill with its claws.
“He seems mighty protective of that letter, mate.” Ron whistles, watching the owl attack his older brother. “Maybe you should just open it.”
Protests rise from the table, Molly Weasley standing and shooting her son a stern look. Ron rolls his eyes and looks away, already expecting to be berated.
“Ronald Weasley,” she begins, rounding the table to reprimand him. He interrupts her with a frown.
“I know, mum. It could be dangerous.” The words drag out from his throat as if he is reluctant to say them.
“No, I’ll open it.” Harry is staring down at the envelope as if mesmerized. “I mean, if it came through all this trouble, it must be important. Right?” He looks to Ron as he says this. Ron nods. “Then let’s go open it.”
“I think you should open it here.” Molly says this firmly.
Harry and Ron exchange a look. “No thanks, mum.” And the two back away from the table and apparate away.
When the two lands, Ron looks around in confusion. “Where are we?”
“My home.” Harry tugs on Ron’s hand and pulls him through the little gate where the two headstones sit. “It’s a safe place.” Ron stares at him as if he has grown two heads. “It’s a safe place now.”
He takes a seat in front of his parents' graves, tugging Ron down next to him. He carefully lifts the flap of the envelope and pulls out the letter sitting inside. Ron sits silently next to him, a hand placed at the base of his spine, keeping his mind from floating. As Harry unfolds the letter, a slip of paper floats into his lap. He and Ron exchange a look before shrugging and he opens it, reading aloud:
“Dear Harry Potter
Unfortunately, you do not know me and you have not ever known me. But I knew you once. I was a good friend of your parents. More your mother than your father, but someone had to send this letter. And if what I have learned is right, I am the last one who can send it. This might not be what you need right now, but I needed to send it before I left too.
I contemplated sending this so many different times. I figured there would have been different moments when you would have needed it, but I didn’t want you to be hurt by a stranger. This is to you kid. From stranger to stranger, I wish you all the best. I’m sure there’s someone out there who’ll be able to remember your parents to tell you everything you need to know about them.
Mary MacDonald”
“Mary MacDonald?” Harry mutters softly under his breath. “Who’s that?”
“I’ve heard of her.” Ron’s voice is kept at a whisper. “She was one of the few who survived I heard. She just disappeared one day. Presumed dead. I’ve seen her in your parents' yearbook too.”
“Oh.” Harry stares at the letter in his hand as if it is a bomb waiting to go off. “Who do you think it’s from?”
Ron does not reply because he knows, just as Harry knows, that it is from his long-dead parents. Harry unfolds the papers and stares at the black ink swimming along the page. There are stains all over the sheets and a fond smile blankets his lips.
Dear Harry Potter
What to say to you? I am somewhat speechless right now because even though I knew this was coming, it is still surprising. You have my name. And it baffles me that there is a smaller version of me out there that I will get the chance to shape into a dashing young guy. Well, your mother will be doing that. She’s always so kind and caring and I hope you will absorb all of her goodness. She has more of it than I have because she’s been good much longer than I have been.
You know Harry, you have her eyes. You opened them so wide today after screaming your lungs out and I fell in love. You really are your mother’s son. I hope you grow to be as much like her as you can possibly be. She is one of the best things in such a dreary world and I hope you become a light like her. I hope you get all the parts of her because my flower has no bad parts. She is all good.
Speaking of my flower, she kicked me out of the room because I wouldn’t stop crying over you. Yes, the stains on the paper is teardrops. I’ll probably tell you it’s water as I hand this over though. Your mother said she only had time for one crying baby in her presence, so I’m sitting on the floor outside in the hall and Padfoot is dozing on my shoulder.
By the time you’re reading this, you’ll already know who Padfoot is, but let me make introductions. Harry Potter, child who has taken after my blood, I would like to introduce you to Sirius Black, my brother in everything but blood, and your godfather. Or, well, your dog father. I can’t wait until I can make that joke to your face and you'll giggle along. I hope you got Lily’s laugh. Remus says when I laugh I sound like an absolute arse. Wouldn’t want to attach that to you.
I’ll probably have calmed down by the time you’re reading this, but I am so happy you are my son. I am so happy that we’ll get to have fun and grow and become people together.
Remus just walked over to inform me that the worst thing to happen to you is that I’m your father. Don’t get mad at your Uncle Moony kiddo. I’d take offense, but I get what he means. I promise to be serious about you. And if I’m not, then Sirius, Remus, and Peter will kick me into gear.
Speaking of Peter, he got you this really cute teddy of a brown stuffed dog with floppy ears. That counts as your first present because contrary to what Sirius thinks, he is not a gift. I hope it will be something you cherish forever. Sirius hates it but I think that’s because it looks nothing like him. Wormtail was so happy when he handed over the teddy that he was vibrating. Wormtail had better be your favourite uncle kid. I’m sure Sirius won’t take offense.
I have to go. I’ll finish this letter later. Lily is calling out for me. But Harry, I am going to create a world that is kind to you and your mother. I swear it.
I love y
The letter ends abruptly. The tail of the ‘y’ dragging across the page as if the writer’s hand had been grabbed and abruptly pulled away from the sheet.
Harry comes back to himself when he feels Ron’s hand glide up his back and grips his neck tightly.
“Harry?” His voice is quiet. Actually, everything is quiet. Harry does not like how quiet it is.
“I think my parents would have liked you. I think they all would have.” He does not look at Ron as he says this, instead staring straight ahead at the gravestones. A harsh wind picks up and leaves swirl around the two young boys riddled with scars and nightmares, as they stare at the graves of people they did not know.