Hospital & Hope
It hadn’t been Wednesday’s fault, not really, but her chest still ached seeing Enid in the hospital bed. The doctor said that Enid would be fine, and she was sitting up sipping water through the cup that Harry held for her, but all the color and life in her face was drained and Wednesday was going to eviscerate the person who did this.
“More?” Harry asked Enid. He lowered the cup when she shook her head and leaned back against her pillow with a heavy sigh.
“H-Harry…” Enid’s voice was raspy, weak and missing all the bubbly lightness that Wednesday was used to hearing from her.
It was not a welcome change.
“Don’t talk,” Harry soothed Enid. Harry was in his pajamas, Weems had brought him with her when she got the call from the ambulance driver that one of her students was headed to the emergency room to be admitted.
Wednesday didn’t understand why Weems brought Harry along with her, but she didn’t question the principal’s motives just yet, Enid needed babying and Harry seemed content to do it.
As needlessly guilty at Wednesday may be feeling, she would not be wiping Enid’s face and giving her sips of water as Harry was.
Enid shook her head and raised her hand, pressing it on the side of her throat while she spoke.
“Your dad,” she croaked out to Harry, “he saved me.”
“My dad?” Harry whispered. He sat on the edge of Enid’s bed and leaned closer, his forehead was practically touching Enid’s. “You saw him?”
“Saved me,” Enid whispered, almost too quietly for Wednesday to hear from where she stood against the door with her arms crossed. “Tall, British.”
Wednesday stepped forward curtly. “Are you sure?” she asked Enid.
Enid met Wednesday’s eyes and Wednesday saw the glazed look in them, giving away the pain medication the doctor had given her for the internal burns from smoke inhalation and the burns on her hands from where the flames got too close.
She had been so close to dying.
“Black hair, pale,” Enid said. She pressed against her throat and shuddered. “Said I was heavy.”
“Well you aren’t,” Wednesday said firmly, shutting down that ridiculous notion immediately. “The doctor said you weigh 45 kilograms, that’s a perfectly acceptable weight.”
Enid smiled faintly then closed her eyes. “I’m tired,” she said plainly.
“We’ll go,” Harry told her. He stroked her hair, not even remarking on the singed bottom part of the left side where she had gotten too close to the fire. “If they don’t release you in the morning, we’ll come back.”
Wednesday waited for Harry to climb off the bed before she stepped closer and cleared her throat while she looked down at Enid’s bandage and soot covered face.
“Thing will miss you while you’re here,” Wednesday told her uncomfortably. “Don’t sing in the morning, it will exacerbate your recovery.”
Enid’s eyes fluttered open and she gave Wednesday a weak smile.
“I’ll miss Thing too,” she said hoarsely. She raised her hand and Wednesday would have been a monster to not grab it and hold it lightly. “No cave exploring while- while I’m here.”
“Fine,” Wednesday agreed. “But you won’t be exploring any caves when you’re better.”
Enid’s smile grew and Wednesday dropped her hand.
“Deal.”
The car ride back to Nevermore was filled with silence from Harry and questions from Weems.
“Why were you in the woods?”
“Looking for the monster’s lair.”
“Who started the fire?”
“Someone trying to hide their evidence.”
“Who saved Enid from the cave?”
“She said it was Harry’s father.”
Weems slammed on the brakes and spun her head around, glaring at Wednesday with blue eyes that were so filled with ice that perhaps she wanted to freeze Wednesday in place.
“Harry’s father is dead,” she said shortly. She reached over to where Harry sat in the passenger seat and patted his knee. “God rest his soul.”
“The evidence doesn’t support your theory,” Wednesday told her. She raised a brow disdainfully when Weems looked prepared to shout at her or strike somehow. She was hardly the first person who believed they had authority over Wednesday to feel that way and Wednesday was certain Weems wouldn’t be the last.
“Who else would have been in the forest with black hair, a British accent, and the power to appear in a burning cave, rescue Enid, and take her out of the cave and disappear before I returned?” Wednesday asked her.
“Perhaps it was whoever started the fire in the first place,” Weems said through a blatantly clenched jaw.
“So you believe Harry’s father is linked to the monster and the arsonist or do you believe they’re three and the same?”
Wednesday saw Harry twitch in his seat, but the evidence couldn’t be ignored. If James Potter was roaming the woods, he very well could be the monster. Perhaps he saw Wednesday and Enid in the cave, decided to burn as much evidence as he could. It didn’t mean he wanted to murder Enid, as evidenced by his rescue, and his conscious could have led him to rescuing her.
When magic, monsters, and murder were involved- no theory could be discounted.
“You listen to me, Wednesday,” Weems said harshly with her eyes boring into Wednesday’s, “you will stay away from the forest, you will mind your own business, and you will drop this nonsense about Harry’s father. Do you understand me?”
“I understand your words, yes,” Wednesday said, just as intense in her eye contact as Weems. “I will not be ignoring the mysteries that you seem willing to entirely discount. Someone put Enid in the hospital and killed Rowan. I intend to find out who.”
Weems scowled and turned back to face the road, kicking the car in drive once more.
“You are a meddlesome child,” she muttered.
Wednesday nearly smiled.
“Yes, so I’ve been told.”
*****
Hours after Weems walked Harry and Wednesday to their rooms, personally ensuring they made it to their beds, Harry was still wide awake, staring at the ceiling.
“Tall. British. Black hair. Pale.”
It was nearly the same description that the shopkeeper had given Harry of the man who bought his suit, his thankfully repaired suit that now hung in his closet away from the rest of his clothes so it wouldn’t get damaged.
James Potter was alive, Harry just knew it. He was alive and he’d saved Enid, and he wasn’t the monster or the arsonist, no matter what Wednesday said.
But…
But why didn’t he talk to Harry?
Did he not want to see his son? Didn’t he want to be a family again?
Why else would he be in Jericho, living in a cave? It couldn’t be a coincidence. He knew Harry was there. He bought him a suit!
So why didn’t he talk to him?
Harry slid out of his bed when the whispering under Ajax’s cap and his own thoughts kept him sleeping. He padded silently across the room, quietly creeping out on their balcony for fresh air.
It was the stars in the sky and moon hanging high that finally broke Harry. He leaned on the rail and screamed, frustration tearing through him and cracking his chest open wide.
Why didn’t he want him?
Was Harry not good enough to be a part of his family? Was Harry not good enough to be his son?
Harry slid down the rail and rested his head on the bars while his knees crunched on the cold stone balcony floor.
“Why don’t you want me?” Harry whispered brokenly to the night. “Please, Dad, please… I’m sorry…”
Harry was ten, hiding behind the library, his chest heaving from how hard he’d been running. Dudley and his gang were playing another round of Harry Hunting and both of Harry’s hands and his knees were scraped from falling while he ran to evade them. Harry thought he got away, he thought maybe he could wait it out until dark then slink home.
He’d take being tossed in the cupboard over getting beat up by Dudley and his friends. The heat of summer made them more vicious than ever and Harry didn’t want to be the target of their rage that day.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
Harry shrunk against the back of the library, closing his eyes and even holding his breath, when he heard Piers Polkins, Dudley’s best mate, calling from somewhere nearby. Harry silently chanted for Piers to not find him, please don’t find him, but luck wasn’t on his side that day.
It rarely was.
Harry opened his eyes when he heard Piers laughing, directly in front of him.
“Peekaboo, Potty,” Piers grinned. He had a sack filled with rocks from the road and he tossed one in the air, catching it over and over. “Time to play a new game.”
The first rock Piers threw broke Harry’s glasses, sticking a shard in his face and causing him to cry.
After Piers threw the fourth one, striking Harry in the shoulder, something inside Harry broke. He wasn’t thinking, he just lunged forward and tried to tackle Piers. He was sick of being bullied, sick of being a target to everyone-
Uncle Vernon.
Aunt Petunia.
Dudley.
The teachers.
All the other kids in Little Whinging.
Harry felt a burning hatred fill him and he just wished, just for a moment, that they would all die.
Harry’s hands didn’t even touch Piers, a green mist just left his hands and suddenly Piers fell over. His eyes were wide open, staring unseeingly, and the rock in his hand fell from his limp fingers.
When Harry crawled home, his shirt torn and bloodied from the beating he’d taken, he hadn’t even waited for anyone to put him in his cupboard. He crawled in there himself and curled in a ball, not leaving until after the news broke the death of a local boy the next night.
They called it a freak accident and only Harry knew that it was true.
“Harry?”
Harry was too miserable to even turn and look when he heard Wednesday slip out on the balcony behind him. He was also too ashamed of the tears that soaked his face and the sadness that made his heart ache and his eyes feel swollen and puffy.
Wednesday never cried. Dr. Kinbott said it wasn’t realistic to never have emotions, but Harry thought maybe Wednesday had it right.
“What are you doing up?” Harry asked while he tried to subtly wipe off his face. He turned his head to the left when Wednesday’s quiet footsteps approached on his right and he let his cheek smush against the cold metal bars.
“Thing told me you were out here,” Wednesday said. She knelt down beside Harry, leaving space between them. “Why?”
“‘Why?’” Harry made a pathetic noise he couldn’t hold back, it just ripped from his throat and echoed in the silent night. “That’s the question of my life, isn’t it?”
Wednesday was quiet for a moment. “I can’t interpret your emotions or your vague words, Harry. Speak plainly, what is the problem?”
Harry slumped down lower, his head nearly touching his own lap. “If he’s out there, how come he isn’t trying to talk to me?” Harry whispered. “Why? Why doesn’t he want me? Why doesn’t he want to be a family? Is it- is it because of what I did?”
It had to be. Harry couldn’t think of any other reason why his dad would avoid him. Harry wasn’t mad he faked his death, he was sure he had a good reason for it. He wasn’t even mad about being left to the Dursleys, he just wanted to know that he didn’t have to go back, that he could live with his dad and be a part of a family.
A real family.
Not just a possibility of spending his summer with his cousin Wednesday and her family.
A small hand, soft and surprisingly warm - sometimes Harry forgot that Wednesday wasn’t actually a vampire as much as she looked like one - landed on Harry’s shoulder and her fingers curled around it tightly.
“I cannot begin to fathom the motives behind your father’s actions, but I will tell you that he saved Enid’s life tonight. And, perhaps he is a monster, perhaps he did start the fire, but he is also your father, and you should consider the possibility that your shyness is merely genetic.”
Harry sniffled and turned to look at Wednesday. Her face was softer in the moonlight, her dark eyes weren’t quite so flat, they were glimmering with the reflection of the stars. Harry fancied he saw some sort of fleeting emotion in them, something strong that made him grateful she was his friend.
“What’s that mean?” Harry asked. He knew what genetic meant, but he didn’t understand what Wednesday meant about his ‘shyness’ being genetic.
Wednesday’s hand tightened on his shoulder for an instant, almost hard enough to hurt, but then she let unclenched, leaving her hand there lightly.
“Possibly, what he needs is a nudge to bring him out of hiding,” Wednesday said. “Why don’t we reach out? See what happens?”
Harry bit his lip and considered it for a moment.
“Okay,” he agreed, wiping his face off determinedly. “What should we do?”
Less than an hour later, Harry and Wednesday were inside the little makeshift cave in the woods where Harry knew his father had to be hiding out in. The walk there had only taken them twenty minutes, but Harry had agonized over what to write. In the end, his message had been simple.
‘Parents weekend is next weekend. I don’t know why you’re hiding, and I don’t care, I just want to see you.
Please come?
I’ll look for you.
Love, Harry’