Part 1
“Dada!” Harry yells, running over to his father. James picks up the 4 year old, laughing and ruffling his hair.
“What is it, Harry?” James asks as Harry takes away his glasses, like he had always done from day 1.
“I made art!” Harry presents proudly, frantically pointing to where a piece of paper full of color is sitting on the coffee table. Surrounding it was an assortment of pencils, crayons, and even a little watercolor paint. The scene was a mess, but the paper was oddly beautiful.
“I love it.” James says, tickling his son. Harry lets out a shrill laugh, squiggling until James lets him down. He rushes over, dipping a very beat up paintbrush into the watercolor and splashing more color onto his drawing. James knows this is getting out of hand. He knows it's just a matter of time before something gets stained by Harry's creativity. He can't let Harry stop drawing just because it makes a mess, though. Even if he has nowhere to do it.
“I'll hang it to dry.” James tells him, kissing Harry on the forehead before taking the painting. He hangs it on what should be a clothesline, along with all of Harry's other masterpieces. And when he comes back, Harry has already got another piece of paper ready.
“Harry, how about we be done for the day?” Harry pouts in a way that almost makes James give in, but he doesn't. He instead leads Harry over somewhere else, where he easily gets distracted while James cleans up. As he's putting away the last of the art supplies, he finally thought of a way that Harry could continue art while keeping the house from getting color stained. Harry has already run away somewhere else to play, and that’s alright because first James has a little researching to do. He runs to his office quickly, logging onto his computer. He doesn’t really know what to search up, so he just assumes anything within the range of topic should be good.
And he tries.
For nearly an hour, he tries. He tries searching up ‘art schools in London, England’ but those are all too advanced.
He tries ‘art schools for children in London, England’ but they all seem to be either too expensive, too far away, or have terrible ratings.
Finally, he tries ‘children art schools within a 30 kilometer radius’. He glances through, it’s been run for what seems like years, has a 4.6 rating, and no bad reviews that were valid. James can’t help it, he’s grinning. He grins a lot, and doing this for his kid makes him so much happier. He clicks the link, before realizing his son needs some input in the matter.
That’s when he goes to find Harry, who has occupied himself in his room.
“Hey, bud!” James says, ruffling his son's hair, “I have something to ask you.”
Harry stops playing and turns around, a little confused, “What Dada?”
“Well, you like art, right?” Harry nods, “Yes you do. However, your art requires a little bit of mess, which is completely fine, but I thought it would be even better if you went somewhere else to do art!” This is when Harry gets really confused, and kind of hurt. James can see it in his eyes. He rushes to finish, “Well, I did a bit of researching and I found this really amazing school to go to! You can just do art for hours, and even learn some new techniques!” He is careful not to use the words ‘get better’ because, a lot like his father, those words tend to put doubt into little Harry’s head.
Thankfully, Harry’s eyes light up as they widen, “Really?”
James laughs a little, “Yes, really.” Harry grins as he starts to jump up and down. “I assume you want to do it, then?”
“Yes yes yes!” Harry squeals. He grabs at James, trying to go for a hug. James laughs again and wraps his arms around his son's body.
“Okay, I’ll go get you signed up right now.” James stands up, ruffling Harry’s hair one more time before heading back to his office. He checks the price once again, and it really isn’t bad. 15 pounds per hour he's there really isn’t all that bad. So, he signs his son up for the Little Stars Art Academy.
* * *
Monday rolls around quickly, and Harry is in James’ room before he can even get dressed.
“Excited, are you?” James asks as he yawns, grabbing his tooth brush with a smile. Harry nods eagerly, messy hair bouncing all over the place. James tries not to smile — as if he does, toothpaste will fall out of his mouth — although it’s really quite hard when Harry looks so adorable. James finishes brushing his teeth, and heads over to his closet to pick out an outfit. He knows he goes into the office, he has a meeting today, so he has to dress nicely. He picks out an olive green polo shirt along with a regular pair of jean trousers and his pair of brown dress shoes. He adds a brown belt, as it seems like the final touch, and tries to calm down both his and Harry’s hair. It doesn’t work all that well, their hair never seems to want to stay put. It makes sense though. Both James and Harry have to be free most of the time. Maybe that's why Harry likes drawing so much. James tries to get as much freedom as he can. It’s hard though, when he can't really see himself with a woman, and it feels like that has just started to be socially acceptable. He sighs, seamlessly staring himself down in the mirror as he messes with his collar. It’s then he feels a tug on his leg and realizes he’s been zoned out for far too long.
“Dada! Let’s go!” Harry whines, trying to get his father out the door. James laughs, following his son out of his bedroom door. He stops by the kitchen, getting ready to brew some tea.
“Nooooo! Let’s go!” Hary whines again.
“We need some fuel first, Harry.” James tells him, wandering over to the stovetop, “Eggs alright with you?” Harry simply nods, so that’s exactly what James does. He turns on the stovetop, allowing it to heat as he gets the eggs ready and pops the bread into the toaster. He cooks as the tea brews, never once doing nothing in the kitchen as Harry occupies himself with a few toys. It feels crazy how quickly he can go from one thing to the next, without a second thought. At this rate, they’re going to have a problem with Harry not wanting to leave, probably claiming that he was having too much fun to eat. That’s a common occurrence among this household, and it gives James the thought that maybe he’s been spoiling Harry a little too much.
Nonetheless, he does manage to drag Harry away from his toys to allow him to eat a little. Harry’s talking, as always, and James listens with pure concentration. He always finds it entertaining when Harry talks, as he usually skips from one thing to the next relatively quickly. It’s like a game, and how much has James really grown up from when he was 11?
They finish rather quickly, although that might just be a part of Harry’s excitement, and all of a sudden James is swinging him around in the air. Harry is laughing and flinging his arms all around, legs kicking. They make their way around the living room, both cackling in pure delight, all the way to the garage, all the way to Harry’s car seat. He adds a little tickle, just before going over to start the car.
Fleetwood Mac comes on instantly. It’s his favorite out of all he’s been introduced to by Sirius. He doesn’t truly remember when he was introduced to them, but all of a sudden he has his own CD and now multiple different playlists of them. Eventually they make it, Harry talking almost the entire time and never once getting tired. Oh how similar he and James can be sometimes. But James is fine with listening to him. It’s like listening to a much younger version of himself. As they got out of the car, Harry’s volume and speed picks up as he starts ranting about all he’ll make and everything he’ll use to make it and all the fun things he could do there. How he was going to make a picture of him with his dad, of his emotions, of the house, of a cat, and so many others it was hard to keep up.
All the way to the door, where he suddenly got very quiet.
“Are you ready, Harry?” James asks, looking down at Harry. His eyebrows are pinched together and there's fright in his eyes.
“Could we maybe just stay here for a while?” Harry replies, his voice a squeak. James squats down, preparing for this very moment where Harry wouldn’t want to leave his father.
“Harry, you were just so excited. Think of that picture you’re going to make, of the cat. With the watercolors, correct?” Harry nods. James continues, “And of us, holding hands and smiling? Or maybe of the new place, so you could show it to me.”
Harry smiles a little, “That would be fun.”
“Yeah? So why don’t we both go in there and meet your art teacher. Is that okay with you?” Harry nods, and James gets up, offering his hand to Harry. He takes it gratefully, and together they walk into the propped open door. The room is extremely bright, with pictures strung all on the roof and stuck on the wall. There are little easels and stools for the toddlers. There’s containers full of crayons and colored pencils. There’s a rack full of different kinds of paints, and the floor is a masterpiece of its own. James is almost mesmerized. It’s just so… unique. He loves it. And then the art teacher walks up.
And James’ heart practically falls to the floor. Black curls falling all around his forehead and ears. His face is full of angles. His eyes are a bright sparkling gray. He’s wearing a cute green jumper and long dark jean trousers. He’s smiling and James can see little dimples on either side of his cheeks. James suddenly gets very uncomfortable when the man squats so he’s eye level with Harry.
“Hello, and who is this little one?” The man looks up at James, not expecting a response from Harry. But James can’t give a response.
When he does, it comes out sort of like, “Uhm, well, this is my son- er, his name is-”
“Harry!” His son pipes up, thank god. That was enough humiliation for the day.
“Harry. And who is his father?” The man still looks up at James, although now he’s getting up to shake hands with him.
James briefly forgets how a human greeting goes. When he remembers, he practically shoves his hand into the mans, “James! My name is James. Potter.”
“James Potter.” The man says, and James just melts all over again. His eyes might as well have been in the shape of hearts. Maybe they were, he didn't know. He likes his name in this man's mouth. This Man, wow he really should get a better name for him. Gorgeous Cheekbones, maybe. Or Handsome God, that seems to fit. Or-
“I’m Mr. Reggie.” He says. Or… that. That might have been the best and worst option. Oh, it’s just so adorable. James is surprised he hasn’t just turned into a puddle on the floor yet. Mr. Reggie.
Mr Reggie.
Mr. Reggie, Mr.ReggieMr.ReggieMr.Reggie Mr-
Shut up.
“Well, I’ll just leave Harry with you.” James announces, rushing through this as much as possible. He squats down again, looking Harry directly in the eyes, “Well, that’s it. I can tell you’ll have lots of fun here. Make me something brilliant.” He looks up to find Mr. Reggie looking at him, perhaps fondly. And oh no his mind shouldn’t have gone there. Now he’s spiraling. He doesn’t think he can drive, really he’ll be too distracted. They say don’t drive while distracted, don’t they? Or maybe don’t drive while drunk, although James feels rather drunk so he still wouldn’t be able to drive.
“Anyway, I have to get going. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Reggie.” James nods, getting up and somehow managing to not trip and fall. Mr. Reggie nods, a smile on his face,
“It was nice to meet you too, Mr. Potter.” And James just about dies. He really does, perhaps he’s in heaven as he speaks, and Mr. Reggie is some sort of angel. If not, then Mr. Reggie will be the death of him. He already knows. The only thing he doesn’t know is when the death will ultimately fall upon him.
***
James is utterly shocked to find he’s in one piece by the time he pulls into the work parking lot. He was fully convinced his overwhelming obsession with Harry’s art teacher would get him into a car wreck somehow. But he didn’t, which he found quite relieving. He walked into the office, up the lift, to floor 9. His first meeting was a few floors below, but he thought he might stop by his office, see if there was anything of importance there that may have been forgotten in his trance. And there’s definitely something when he got there. Well, not something, but more so someone. James smiles, his entire body relaxing just a little bit when he sees her. “Marls.” Marlene smiles too, cocking her head to the side a little,
“A little late, are we?”
“Well, I had to drop Harry off before I got here. And that took… a little longer than expected.” James laughs, looking down. “But I was only a few minutes late.”
“You were dropping him at Sirius’?” Marlene asks, “That shouldn’t have made you late, surely.”
“Well, no.” Marlene looks even more confused. James continues, “I dropped him off at a new art school. We had made the decision over the weekend, and today was his first day.”
“And you were late because…?” Marlene questions, still seemingly confused.
“He got a little nervous once we were there, as all kids do when entering a new environment. But we talked it through, met his teacher, and he seemed very happy when I left.” James sighs, walking over to his small cubicle and setting his bag down.
“Oh, your first big father moment.” Marlene says, making a large gesture like it’s truly a miracle.
“First? Are we forgetting the first steps? Or words for that matter?” James challenges, still laughing.
“Oh yes, his first words. Now, was that a win for you or “Moony” Lupin?” Marlene questions, raising an eyebrow.
“Bloody arse.”
Marlene laughs again, nudging him, “Alright, we better go. Can’t be late, can we?”
James rolls his eyes, but slings his arm over Marlene’s shoulders, “Let us away, then.” And together, they go down to the 7th floor. Marlene is talking most of the ride down, but James’ mind seems to have wandered back to Mr. Reggie. He was… adorable, in a sense. And it’s already certain he’s good with children. Plus, an artist. James always had a soft spot for artists. Exactly where Harry got his lover for art, he assumes. All because of his mother and her love for are.
Now, it’s not like his mother died. Him and her don’t hate each other in any sense. They were young, fresh out of school, and somehow in love. They spent the night together and nine months later, there was Harry. Now Lily and James thought they were still in love. They did get married, shortly after they realized she was pregnant. They had full intentions to raise Harry together.
But here comes fate. After a year or so, things changed. Lily was out, James was out. And one day Lily brought a girl home. And came out to him, letting go of all these emotions. Of course, James had thoughts of his own feelings. It wasn’t like he wasn’t completely unattracted to her, or women, in particular. However it seemed, James was supportive. He always is. They got a nice divorce and agreed James had Harry most of the time. Now, of course when needed Lils and Mary would take him. Like when James would go into work, but she hadn’t a job and Mary was taking university classes to try and become a doctor. So, of course they stayed close friends. She came over every holiday, or even spontaneously on the weekends. They just simply fell out of love with each other.
But he did fall in love with her. He loved her at some point. And she was an artist. And James is a sucker for artists.
James is only reliving his small encounter with Mr. Reggie for probably the 10th time when he gets a wake up call from Frank Longbottom, a man he greatly admires (and possibly had a crush on one or two years back).
“James, you’ve been staring at the same pot plant for the last half hour. What’s going on?” He asks, confusion and a bit of worry on his face.
Okay, maybe they had a small thing going on between the two of them one or two years back.
James clears his throat, “Oh, nothing. Just a little worried for Harry. I dropped him off at an art school for the first time. Wondering how he’s doing, is all.” James waves it away, as though it’s nothing.
“Oh, that’s lovely. I bet he’s doing wonderful.” Frank pats him on the shoulder. “He loves a new challenge, like another person I know. However, you really do need to pay attention. This is mainly all your field.” J
ames rolls his eyes, waving his hand again, “Marls’ll tell me. She always does when I ask.”
Frank looks at him a little skeptical, but says nonetheless, “Alright.”
And then James goes back to daydreaming.