Grandpa Evans' Pocket Watch
The next morning, Harry was abruptly woken up by the sound of the bedroom door being thrown open with a clang. The room was already full of light, as he sat straight up and blindly felt around for his glasses on the nightstand. As he shoved them on his face and Ron came into focus, Harry noticed that his friend looked so pale that even his freckles seemed to have faded. His red hair was covered in cobwebs.
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked him in alarm.
“Spiders,” Ron whimpered, and Harry’s concern immediately converted to amusement.
Ron was terrified of spiders, though he himself had never been bothered by them. With the obvious exception of their one venture to Hagrid’s friend, the giant acromantula, Aragog, in the Forbidden Forest, Harry had always considered spiders to be good company. He supposed that’s just what happened when you grew up in a small cupboard that was full of them.
“The bloody size of dinner plates, just jumping out at us from behind the silver,” Ron elaborated, walking shakily over to collapse face down on the unmade bed across from Harry.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Harry laughed.
“Sirius told us not to, not on your birthday - Happy Birthday by the way,” said Ron, lifting his head briefly off the mattress in acknowledgement. “The last thing anyone should have to do on their birthday is face off against a house of horror.”
“Why not? Still sounds like a better time than my birthday last year when the Dursley’s spent the whole day ignoring me,” Harry replied.
“What time did you even get to bed last night anyway?” Ron asked. “I never heard a sound.”
“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “Pretty late.”
The truth was that the sun had already begun to rise in the sky when Harry had made his way downstairs from his godfather’s room. He hadn’t been able to tear himself away before that, but had sat up begging Sirius for one story after another. The adventures Sirius and James seemed to have shared apparently came in an unlimited supply. Sirius and James had been so full of daring and it made Harry understand on an even deeper level just how much being trapped at Grimmauld Place, not to mention the twelve years imprisoned in Azkaban, had to be torturing him now.
“Did you know that Sirius ran away from this house when he was only our age?” Harry asked. Sirius had told him last night that he’d crashed at James’ during the school holidays and all about the Potters and their impressive manor with its own private Quidditch Pitch, which had long been sold.
“No, but I don’t blame him,” said Ron, who had leaned off the side of his bed to rummage around underneath it for something. “It’s just creepy here - even without all the vile stuff trying to kill us. I mean, have you met that nutter house elf yet? His biggest dream in life is to be beheaded and hung up on the mantle like his mother and grandmother before him.”
“Yeah, Sirius caught him coming out of his brother Regulus’s room last night,” Harry said, recalling the old beaten down elf, whose skin had looked at least three sizes too large for his body.
Ron’s top half reemerged from under the bed. He was holding a rectangular box wrapped in brown paper, which he tossed onto Harry’s bed. “Happy Birthday, Harry!”
Harry grinned as he tore at the paper to reveal a box of chocolate cauldron cakes. He immediately took a bite out of one, while Ron disappeared under his bed again. This time he re-emerged with a sleek polished broomstick.
“It’s not as good as yours,” he said hurriedly, running a finger over the gold script on the handle, “but it’s new. Mum and Dad bought it for me - Fred and George can make fun of me being a prefect all they want, but they’ve never had new brooms.”
“Nice one,” said Harry, who knew just how significant it was for Ron - the youngest of six brothers - to receive anything new. “Listen--really well done. Dumbledore made a good choice.”
“Nah,” Ron shook his head. “I was sure it was going to be you.”
“I’ve caused too much trouble,” Harry said dismissively, taking the new Cleansweep Eleven into his hands to admire. “I wish we could go flying right now.”
“And play Quidditch,” added Ron.
“Oh that reminds me,” said Harry suddenly, getting up to open his trunk and take out the well-weathered Golden Snitch that he’d stowed in there for safe-keeping when he’d come to bed last night. “Sirius gave me this for my birthday - it belonged to my Dad.”
The old snitch gave a weak flutter of its wings. Harry wasn’t sure if it would even take off if he let go of it, or just fall to the ground like an ordinary ball. It didn’t matter though. He knew he would cherish it forever.
“Your Dad played Seeker too, right?” asked Ron interestedly.
“No, he was a Chaser,” Harry replied. “Sirius said he’d just knicked this snitch one time from the school and used to play with it in class all the time when he got bored and the teacher wasn’t looking. He’d let it go and then catch it again. Over and over-- ”
His voice trailed off and he blushed as he slipped it into the pocket of his pajama bottoms, slightly embarrassed to have admitted to Ron just how much meaning he could put into an old useless snitch just because his Dad had once held it. Sirius had understood that though. How Harry had hungered for connection to the parents he didn’t know and the memories of those who did know them. After growing up in a house where their names weren’t allowed to be mentioned, it was everything to him.”
“There you are!”
Neither Ron nor Harry had noticed Hermione coming up the stairs until she was standing in the doorway with her arms crossed and a frown on her face. There was dirt on her cheek and her clothes were covered in dust. “Your mum told me to come and look for you, Ron.”
“Yeah, well, do me a favour and tell her you couldn’t find me,” Ron said unconcernedly, as he tucked his broomstick back under the bed. “I don’t care what she says - I’m not going back in there.”
“Oh honestly,” Hermione sounded exasperated. “Why should we have to do all the work while you two fool around up here?”
“We’re not fooling around, I just gave Harry his birthday present,” Ron replied. “Don’t you have something you’d like to say to him?”
With a final disapproving look at Ron, Hermione turned to face Harry. “Happy Birthday,” she smiled. “I didn’t mean that you had to come downstairs, by the way. Sirius made pancakes and bacon - he said he was going to bring a tray up.”
“Really?” said Harry, he’d never experienced that sort of generosity before - except when he’d been confined to a bed in the hospital wing. “Well, we’ll come help with the cleaning after then. Just nothing with spiders for Ron.”
“We got rid of the spiders,” Hermione replied. “We’re moving onto the last of the bedrooms now and - Harry, isn’t that Hedwig?”
Harry turned to look out the window and saw his snowy white owl flapping her wings impatiently to get his attention. He got up to open the window to let her in and discovered she had a small parcel and a letter tied to her leg with a bit of string which he quickly worked to untie.
“Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday, dear, Harry! Happy Birthday to you!”
Sirius had chosen that moment to come bursting into the room with a tray loaded down with pancakes, bacon, and berries. Lupin was right behind him, grinning joyfully while he, Ron, and Hermione promptly joined Sirius in singing.
“This is amazing!” Harry said, climbing back into his bed to be served breakfast, setting the parcel Hedwig had brought him down on the bedside table.
“Your Dad and I used to serve one another breakfast in bed on our birthdays,” Sirius told him, as he carefully lowered the tray onto Harry’s lap.
“It’s true,” Lupin said, perching on the cedar chest in front of Harry’s bed. “They’d sneak downstairs to the kitchens and return with enough cakes and biscuits for all of us. Anyway, Ron, I was supposed to tell you that your mum’s looking for you.”
Ron groaned as he reluctantly pulled himself to his feet and helped himself to a piece of bacon before following Hermione from the room.
“I’ll be down soon,” Harry promised, feeling slightly guilty about being given such special treatment when the others were being made to work.
Even if it was his birthday, he wasn’t exactly used to it being celebrated. He was pleased though and tucked into his breakfast happily while he listened to Sirius and Lupin recount various memories of birthdays they’d celebrated in the past. It was only after he had finished eating and Sirius had vanished his tray, that he remembered the package on his nightstand.
“From Snape?” said Sirius in surprise, once Harry had announced who it was from. “What’s he want with you? You were just there.”
XXX
Harry,
Your petulant owl would not agree to leave my house until I gave her something to carry. However, this really should belong to you.
It’s an old pocket watch, which once belonged to your grandfather. Your mother gave it to me for Christmas after he died. You’ll notice that it’s charmed in many different ways. Lily went through a phase where she loved taking ordinary items and charming them to become extraordinary - charms was one of her favourite subjects.
Happy Birthday.
Sincerely,
Professor Snape
XXX
“That’s kind of Severus,” Lupin murmured, once Harry had passed the letter over for him and Sirius to read.
Harry eagerly went for the package and discovered that it contained exactly what Snape’s letter described - a simple gold pocket watch.
It was closed, revealing nothing besides a smooth yellow gold cover. Harry picked it up and turned it over a few times expectantly - not realizing at first that the magic had been triggered by the touch of his hand. As he held it, the chain stiffened and the closed watch grew and twisted until it resembled a flower, with the original clock at the center.
“Look at that,” said Sirius. “Well, Snape’s quite right - Lily did love charms. I think she might have even gotten the highest grade in the class during our fourth year.”
Harry wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but it felt like the watch had gotten even warmer in hand - like a comforting acknowledgement from the young girl who had long ago bewitched it, not knowing that one day her only son would hold it and wish he could remember her for himself.
“I wonder what else she did?” Harry said quietly, glancing back at the note for reference. “Snape said ‘many different ways’.”
“May I see it?” Lupin asked.
“Yeah,” Harry handed it over and Lupin used the tip of his nail to flick open the watch. It still kept the time, Harry mentally noted, as a quiet ticking filled the silence that had fallen between them. They were waiting for it to do something, just as easily as it had grown to resemble a flower in Harry’s hand.
“Maybe you need a wand to make it do more?” Sirius murmured.
“No,” Harry said automatically, somehow feeling like that would be improper. He took it back from Lupin and stroked his finger around the face of the clock.
“Harry, it’s changing,” said Sirius.
Harry paused and watched as the beige background blurred and suddenly became an image of deep blue water. What’s more, it wasn’t staying still. It was moving. White caps flashing here and there and the pocket watch was suddenly playing the rhythmic song of crushing waves.
“I know this place!” Harry told them. “It’s a picture of one of my mum’s favourite places. A lake she spent summers at when she was a child. Snape showed me a memory of her there. She loved the water.”
“Severus showed you -” Lupin broke off before saying more. “Well this is beautiful magic.”
“Lily’s magic was always very beautiful - very expressive,” Sirius agreed. “I wonder if it only responds to your touch? That’s why it didn’t change when Remus held it.”
“How could that be?” Harry asked. “I didn’t exist when she did this.”
“She wouldn’t have known you when she charmed this, but it’s her magic and you’re her son," Lupin gave him an understanding sort of smile, then added softly. "It recognizes you.”
Harry glanced back down at the chain and felt his heart rate quicken. There was writing on it now. A curvy script in which Lily had once written: “Until the end of time” - December 1974. Harry read the words over and over, committing them to memory. Taking note of every etch that Lily’s quill had once carved. She had made her “i”’s exactly like he did and Harry tapped his finger against both of them back and forth, until he heard a creak on the staircase outside the room and shut the pocket watch abruptly.
“I’m pretty sure that 1974 is the year that your grandfather died,” Sirius said uncomfortably, when Harry showed him what Lily had written.
“I’m surprised Severus shared this with you,” added Lupin. “That couldn’t have been easy for someone like him to do…I guess the summer really did go alright.”
“Yeah, it really did,” Harry admitted, as he returned his grandfather’s pocket watch to its case.
“You’re going there today, aren’t you, Remus?” asked Sirius.
“Yes, I am,” Lupin replied. “I have to go pick up the Wolfsbane Potion that I know Severus will have devoted a lot of time to making perfectly, ensuring that I don’t have to suffer at the next full moon - another good side of Severus Snape.”