Sins of the Father
The man in front of him had once been a student, a prized one at that, popular and beloved by all—at least, by all that mattered. He still had the same messy black hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He was in his Auror clothes and the scent of a drink beforehand lingered in the air, although the drinker in question showed not one sign of inebriation. He was relaxed, poised, but he was not smiling, which was odd, to say the least, for the kind of man James Potter was.
“I'd hope this wasn't true,” Albus started, kindly. With one swaying hand, he offered a lemon drop that he knew his former pupil would not take. Even when he was an eleven-year-old scamp doing his best at acting innocent in the face of punishment, he couldn't bring himself to say yes to the offer. In fact, he'd scrunched up his nose, muttered an insult about one particularly big-nosed Slyt0herin boy his same age, and asked out loud if this was apart of the torture interrogation. Albus had never been so surprised at the audacity of a student but he supposed, to be Gryffindor is to have audacity, boldness, pride in yourself to be yourself without an apology.
Seeing he'd known James Potter so well, he also knew that this would, perhaps, be more difficult than anything.
If Lily Potter didn't trust House Elves and the Ministry of Magic, then James Potter didn't trust anyone at all. He had a questioning brow and an Auror's technique for self investigation.
He knew better than to outright doubt the Headmaster, but he was still troublesome in that manner. James was an extraordinary student—and he was a prankster, a trickster, a classic Gryffindor hooligan with brilliant talent and a righteous path set ahead of him. Albus adored his antics, watching him grow up into a strapping young man of good reputation and even better ability and sound mind, but now, it proved to be slightly, if only slightly, trying with how much the man believed in himself. James’ opinions wouldn't change if Merlin himself challenged him.
Albus Dumbledore did not consider himself Merlin, but he'd thought that the great wizard would stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him.
“My boy,” Albus greeted when it became clear that James wasn't resisting his claim. He clapped his hands happily, spotting the shiny gold medal clasped to James’ front robes. “I see you've been promoted!”
“Head Auror, actually,” James said, patting himself on the chest. He smiled finally, having no trouble at all meeting his eyes. “The Minister determined that Charlie’s extraordinary circumstances proved my worth. If I can protect the Savior of the Wizarding World, then I can protect the common wizard and witch as well. It's… nice. Lils won't ever have to work, hopefully.”
“My congratulations,” Albus said, truly meaning it. He wished he had a goblet to toast with; perhaps alcohol would have made their conversation so much easier, made James more amenable. But, no. No sense in mulling over what could have happened if he'd planned better. “Lily is at home, is she, and I do think It'll be good for her, she was always so stressed in crowded environments. I suppose she must be so happy with all the time she gets to spend with her babies.”
A small frown itched at the corner of James’ mouth, before correcting itself. He looked off wistfully. “I wish I could join her,” he said with longing. “Charlie’ll be having so many developments while I'm away. He'll be walking soon, and Lily thinks he should be making words already. I could be there to help him.”
Albus raised an eyebrow at one particular comment. “He hasn't been speaking?”
James laughed, a soft sound that had the warmth of the sun. “He is, he is,” he reassured. “Charlie babbles constantly. He coos and he giggles, keeps trying to stick his hand into his mouth, and just—Merlin, Headmaster. He's adorable.”
“I see Charlie will be staying with you,” Albus mused, as though there were any question about it, before, slowly, slowly getting to his point. He kept his voice soft, considerate, careful, until he waited for just the right moment. “And Harry—”
“No.”
“You… did not let me finish, my boy.”
“I know what you're going to ask,” James started, “and my answer is no.”
“Did Lily tell you?”
“She was so upset she destroyed my mother’s tea pot collection,” James said by way of an answer. His brown eyes flashed with both amusement and displeasure. “She was crying, you know. She was so upset. It was awful how you questioned her.”
“And I greatly apologize for that.” Albus, honestly perplexed, swallowed his curiosity like the bile it was. “I meant no harm. I simply wished to change her mind. She seems to believe you gave her the idea of…”
“That's because I did,” James said unflinchingly.
“Wh—what?” Albus gave a startled, disbelieving laugh. “I would have thought she… she was merely… James. James.”
James spoke plainly, bordering boredly. “I think it's best if we leave Harry with Petunia. That's his Aunt, is it not?”
Astonishment painted his face openly. “And you're his father!”
“I respect you,” James said, ignoring his outburst, hazel-brown eyes unyielding in their cool stare, “but I cannot listen to you this once. I firmly believe this is the right option—for both Lily and Charles.”
“And what of Harry,” Albus tried, his timbre rising somewhat. He felt like a dog trying to chase after a rabbit, forever out-paced and left utterly lost at every miscalculated step.
“Harry will be fine,” James said offhandedly, looking away into the window. “He's a Squib anyway. That's what you said.”
“I—still. Isn't he your child?”
James didn't respond at first. Something dark and brooding entered his expression. “Yes,” he started slowly. “But blood isn't the only thing I'm bound to. You know this, Albus.”
I know, thought Albus. I've known this your entire life.
The Albus Dumbledore Gellert Grindelwald fell in love with had a less charitable thought: You do love your lost causes, don't you?
He let out a small, exhausted sigh. He felt like he'd aged ten years these following weeks. Who ever knew that stubborn parents would be the death of him?
“James,” Albus put on his Headmaster voice, the one he used for children who simply needed a little push in the right direction.
“I take care of people,” the former Gryffindor declared—and, yes, he was truly the best of his House. Memories of that gang of fun-loving troublemakers, the Marauders, Dumbledore’s favorite students, passed between them. The werewolf, the Black Heir, and the deceased Pettigrew. James was the leader of all of them—providing funds and excuses and directions for whichever piece of mischief they were going to commit. “That's what I do—”
“Mr. Potter—”
“Lily and Charlie need me.”
“The Order needs you,” Albus said. “This cause needs you. This good world needs you. If Harry Potter has Magic, if I am wrong, or—not even wrong—if he is of use to the Order at all, then we must capitalize off it. We cannot waste any of the benefits afforded to us. We cannot…”
James stood up from his chair, calmly. “No, Albus,” he said, a crease between his brows. “There is nobody in this world that matters more than my family. My decision is final. Harry will be going to Petunia — and she may be a bitch, but she kept her own kid and her own husband well-fed. A good house. She'll raise him fine.”
“And if she doesn't?” Albus demanded. Lily had once been his protege—and she had told him about her family—and he'd used it to mold her, to shape her, to perfect her skill set—but still. Still.
(“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” Petunia had said once, in the dank summer of 1973 after nearly drowning her little sister in the creek near the Evans’ house. Lily told him this in his office, when she had returned to Hogwarts, trembling, head bowed, eyes unseeing. She had been just thirteen. The calming draught did nothing to calm her, and she was never truly the same since.)
James inhaled slowly. “Lily says they're similar,” he said, lifting his chin almost defiantly. “And I say it'll be good to get him out the house. He only hurts her.”
“What of young Charles? The last time I saw him, he was heavily attached to his brother, was he not—”
“Harry barely sees him,” James dismissed. He was starting to make an awful habit out of interrupting him. “Lily doesn't like it when he's near. If Charlie’s upset about Harry leaving, then we'll just have to love him more. Get him cake for breakfast and he'll forget all about it.”
“You and Lily,” Albus got out heavily, somewhat strangled with frustration. He shook his head. “Neither of you will change your minds over anything.”
“Right that,” James said with a nod and what looked like a triumphant smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. And then, never leaving Albus’ stare, pulled in the chair underneath the desk. He bowed respectfully and left without another word.
Albus Dumbledore sat there alone in his office.
He was really starting to wish he joined Gellert when he had the chance. He, at the very least, would have been with someone who actually liked his sweets.