Harry
You knew it still hurts underneath my scars
From when they pulled me apart
But what you did was just as dark
Saturday, August 31st 1989
The last month alone had proved to Harry that everything he’d learned about the world, for his entire eleven years, had been a complete lie. First of all, he’d found that what goes up mustn't always come down, for he’d seen flying broomsticks, impossibly levelled buildings and countless floating knick knacks throughout all of Diagon Alley. Secondly, he’d also learned that two bodies could, in fact, occupy the same space at the same time — and they often did. As Harry made his way through that strange, infinite tent, he almost felt like he could hear his worldview shattering inside his head.
"It’s a basic expanding spell", James was telling him. He had offered Harry a tour of the place, after the two of them were left alone while the others took Sirius to the inn. "People usually cast it in their purses or pockets. Though my old man used to tell me stories of a wizard he met who actually lived inside his suitcase."
Harry halted. "Inside a suitcase?"
"Had a whole zoo in there and all, apparently."
Harry’s eyes widened as he tried to even imagine how that could be. He had already read through most of his school books, many of which mentioned unicorns, phoenixes, dragons, basilisks and even centaurs. He pictured his mum’s old trunk, which had barely fit everything he’d wanted to pack for Hogwarts, and wondered how he’d ever fit even one of those creatures in it.
James continued the tour, showing Harry all four of the bedrooms, and for each of them he had a handful of funny stories to tell. It seemed a bit excessive, Harry thought, to have all that space with no one to share it with — he had noticed most of James’ stories took place either in his childhood or his school years.
"Right, then", James said, as soon as they were back in the living room. "I suppose we’re done digesting breakfast now, so we should be good to go."
They at last rounded the quidditch supplies and took them outside. James cast a number of silent, invisible spells around the area, declaring it safe, and they took off to the skies. Harry soared through the clouds, laughing as he felt the unbelievable speed stretch the skin on his cheeks and prickle the inside of his tummy. Oh, quidditch! How could he ever grow tired of it? This was only his second time flying, and yet he already knew, deep in his bones, it would always be his favourite thing to do. He zig zagged repeatedly, testing the sharpness of every turn. The broomstick seemed to merge into an extension of him, responding to his every command in a fraction of a second, obeying all of his impulsive desires. Harry had never known this much control.
James caught up with him and they began practising. The day before, they’d been more focused on passing quaffles from one another, which was a lot trickier than it looked — Harry lost his balance and almost fell twice after spinning a bit too much when throwing the ball. This time, however, they were finally going to up the stakes, and Harry felt his heart racing as he identified the shiny winged orb in James’ hand.
"The golden snitch", he breathed.
"Exactly", James said. "Though this is the one we use for practice — it’s a slightly bigger and slower version. But it’s how we all start. It’s the same one I trained with when I was a kid, actually."
Harry nodded, straightening up with newfound importance. James was, after all, a professional quidditch player, so following his steps meant someday he could become one, too. It was already the ultimate dream.
James began timing Harry as he chased after the snitch. It was damn near impossible to see at times, but Harry loved shooting after it, pushing the broomstick to its limit as he drilled through the air. He took over twenty minutes to capture the thing, but it only felt more rewarding when he finally did it.
"Very well, Harry", James congratulated him. "Most people give up the first time. Now, let’s do it again, but with a bit more of a challenge."
There was a third ball — a so-called bludger — which James released, and it immediately started chasing Harry. James had assured him it was also a practice version, but it still hunted Harry with admirable determination. He had to duck and dive constantly, losing sight of the snitch when he did it, though he’d always find it soon after. While the exercise kept Harry on edge, he couldn’t be more glad for the distraction. The time spent on the air was the only time he could let go of everything that had been flooding his head for the past weeks.
Even as he concentrated to his maximum, however, his efforts were still not enough. He had just narrowly avoided the angry bludger when it suddenly made its way back, hitting his exposed left hand and sending him crashing into the sand below.
Somehow, he slowed down before reaching the ground, where he landed softly. But the pain on his hand burned as if he had dipped it into one of Mrs. Moore’s boiling oil pots, and he suffocated a cry before James landed beside him.
"Harry?" He was calling urgently. "Let me see it."
Harry obliged, extending his hand for him to examine.
"Oh, this one seems to be broken", James whispered. He took out his wand and emanated a white light, and the next second the pain was gone.
Harry’s jaw dropped as he blinked the tears away, as if sharpening this sight would help him believe his eyes (and senses). And yet, there it was: his perfectly healed hand, with all five functioning fingers, just as though the last minute had not happened at all. He knew he hadn’t imagined any of it, the excruciating pain of only a few seconds ago, but any evidence of previous damage had already disappeared.
"Is it better? Does it still hurt?" James’ eyebrows were furrowed in concern.
Harry kept staring at his hand. "No, it’s… great. How did you do that?"
James shook his head dismissively. "Oh, well… Quidditch players break bones more often than most, so it’s a quite useful spell to learn."
Harry thought back to the time he had fallen off a tree and had to wear a cast for a month, only last year. Back then, his mum had taken him to the hospital and watched as the nurses and doctors told him he wouldn’t be able to play soccer with his friends anymore, nor swim during one of the hottest summers the island had ever known. Had she known the spell all along? How could she have allowed him to endure all of that, when there was a solution as simple as a wand swish?
"Harry?" James called again. "Are you okay?"
He realised he’d been awfully quiet. "Yeah", he muttered. "I’m fine."
He didn’t elaborate any further, so of course James asked again. "Are you sure?"
He nodded. Before James could say anything else, he got up and started taking the broomstick back to camp. James eventually joined him, and they made their way back in silence, as Harry’s head ached with questionings. He couldn’t shake this feeling off of him, of not understanding why his mother had kept the whole wizarding world a secret. Why hadn't she told him about who his father was, considering all three possible contenders had answered his call as soon as he sent those invites? If they were all so willing and available, why did she let him believe he had no one else?
Surely, there had been no way she could have not known about them. After all, he found out very easily, at a very minimal price. So why hadn’t she done anything? How could she have let him grow up believing a lie?
They went back inside the tent, collapsing at the kitchen table, where James served cold tea. It turned out to be yet another display of casual magic: the entire set levitated from the cupboards to the table, and Harry was sure he could’ve had James levitate his cup to his mouth if he asked.
"I just don’t understand", he blurted before he could realise. "I don’t understand how mum was able to give all of this up. It would’ve made her life so much easier." He thought back to every night he’d heard her still working downstairs past midnight, to every morning he’d found her asleep on top of her office desk.
James stared at him. "Do you mean magic?"
"Yeah. You all said she used to be so good at it. How could she have given it up?"
James looked tentatively at the entrance, but then sighed. "Honestly, Harry, I’m not the person who can answer that question…"
Harry could barely refrain himself from rolling his eyes. Adults loved avoiding any difficult questions. It was ironic, really, how often they did, considering teachers would never give him that option in class.
"I understand you might find it… hard to believe", he continued. "Magic is very exciting, and I know I benefit continuously from it. But believe me, Harry, and I say this because I was raised in a wizarding family… Magic is not a synonym to a better life. Wizards are not inherently happier than muggles just because they have magic. In fact, magic can also make your life more complicated. And, from what I’ve seen since yesterday morning… the life your mum built here for you, it seems pretty good."
Harry didn’t look up. Listening to long grown-up lectures was never fun, and it was even worse to know, deep down, they were not wrong.
"Did you and mum ever date?" he asked. He had withheld all of his doubts and questions for a full day now, choosing to watch and listen carefully instead, but he could hold it no longer. He had thought, when sending the invitations to the three men, that he would somehow know the answer as soon as he saw them. But it turned out he was only more confused. The three of them all seemed to have weird relationships with his mum and with each other, and they all took interest in him. They all acted like they cared so much for him, even though they had just met, and Harry could conclude nothing of it.
James looked startled, and Harry rejoiced in having the upper hand, even for a moment. The man took a moment to recollect himself.
"Did your mum ever tell you about me?"
"Not much", Harry shrugged noncommittally. "She never talked much of her school days."
"Right, of course." James seemed to be hoping he would drop it, but Harry waited. "Harry, it is probably best to ask her…"
"I’m asking you." He knew he was being rude, but his patience had worn off.
James gulped, apparently defeated. "Right, then… Yes, your mother and I dated in our final year at Hogwarts."
Harry only stared back, so James kept going.
"She’d never paid much attention to me until we became Head Boy and Girl together. But, well… it didn’t exactly work out, so when she dropped out of school and didn’t reach out… I thought it best to respect her wishes. So I didn’t try to find her. But, Harry, I had no idea she had a kid."
James’ eyes were pleading, so full of meaning, that Harry had to look away.
What did that mean, then? James had, in fact, dated his mum, and it was right around the time she got pregnant. So could James actually be his father? Harry sized the man in front of him — with his dark, untidy hair and long face. Could he be the answer? Could it be, could it really be?
But then again, Sirius had approached him the night before, telling him he’d pay for his school supplies if he wanted to. He even invited Harry to come spend holidays with him in London. And Sirius had the same black hair and bony limbs.
And, of course, there was Remus. He had the least compatible appearance, but he seemed the closest with his mum. She had taken him in the day before, let him sleep at the inn, and even had breakfast with him today. So could that mean he was his father? After all, his mum would want him to be close to his dad, wouldn’t she?
As if he had been reading his mind, James said, "Harry, did your mum ever tell you about your father?"
Harry’s entire body blistered and bubbled. James kept looking at him, really looking at him, and he knew what the man was trying to say. But no. He was not ready. No. No, no, no. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t do this now, he was not ready…
"Did mum ever date the other guys?" he spouted, trying to gain some time. "Sirius and Remus?"
"Si… Remus?" James repeated, taken aback.
Harry nodded quickly.
"Uh… no", he stuttered. "Not… not that I know of."
"Oh, okay", he replied, way too eagerly. "Cool."
James still looked puzzled. Before any of them could gather their thoughts, however, they heard Aunt Marlene’s voice as she entered the tent.
"Oh, hey guys!" she cheered. "You’re here! You… Have you… been talking?"
James was quick to his feet. "We practised for a while, but we had a little accident with a bludger so we came back for some tea and rest."
Aunt Marlene was instantly at Harry’s side, scanning him up and down. "Oh no, are you okay, sweetie?"
"I’m fine, Aunt Marlene."
"Should we call it quits on quidditch for today?"
Harry’s eyes darted involuntarily at James, who still watched him too intently. "Actually", he said, "I’m feeling much better now. Can we go back for some more?"
"Harry, are you sure? Lunch’s almost ready, anyway…"
"I’m sure", he said, jumping up and grabbing his broomstick. As soon as he left the tent, he hopped on the broomstick and flew as high as he could, going up and up until the clouds completely surrounded him, hiding away James and the tent and everything else.