A Responsible Adult

“He’s psychotic.”

“Some people say the same thing about you.”

“What people?”

“Well, I mean, let’s face it. You’re not exactly normal, are you?”

“It’s not exactly a normal world, is it?”

The television was quite loud, but Steve could still hear the creaking of floorboards coming from behind. He leaned up off the couch. It was late and to his knowledge nobody else in the house was awake. But standing at the bottom of the stairs wasn’t his wife or daughter— it was Harry.

“Sorry. Err… just getting some water.”

Harry had been a guest for a few days now. Steve had picked up some habits of his that he expected from a boy with a difficult home life. Steve spoke just loud enough for Harry to hear him, “No need to apologize for that. You know where the tap is. It’s free, after all.”

He could tell Harry was lingering. His eyes were glued to the television. Steve wondered if the Dursley’s ever watched movies together. It was more than likely they did, but that Harry himself never got a chance to watch anything at all. Steve pointed to the screen, “It’s Batman. There’s another one out in theaters, I was going to take Sarah if you wanted to come along. Are you hungry? Don’t tell Beth, I’ll make sandwiches.”

Steve stopped speaking. He took a breath. He did not want to overwhelm Harry. The boy did not move much, but Steve could tell he was still processing the proposition. “You can come watch if you want.”

He knew how important it was to give choices and control to a child in a situation like Harry’s. That was part of laying a foundation of trust and you could build something up from there. Harry still did not react much, so Steve spoke again, “Or if you’re tired—”

“I’ll watch,” Harry responded, cutting him off.

 Steve smiled. “Great, you want a sandwich?”

“Sure.”

“Mayonnaise?”

“No. Err, no thanks.”

“Really, are you sure?”

The room was quiet, and Steve could tell Harry was thinking of something to say. The scene from the television was reflecting against his glasses. “They don’t— I don’t normally eat sandwiches with anything. At Hogwarts, I s’pose I do.”

Steve just nodded, “Some mayo then, if you don’t like it we’ll make another. Go ahead on the couch, I’ll make those up.”

After a few moments, Steve took a seat on other end of the couch away from Harry. He was coming around, but Steve still needed to show an extra level of care. He placed the plate in front of the boy on the table near the couch. Then he moved away from him again. “Want to go from the start?” Steve asked.

Harry was taking a bite of his sandwich as he nodded, and Steve just watch him. “Isn’t it a little late?” Harry asked, still chewing his food.

“Tomorrow is Sunday. We’ll sleep in.”

Steve pressed the rewind button on the remote, and the tape began to clink and clank as it was being rewound inside the machine.

“Good?” Steve asked.

“It’s good.”

“Of course it is. A little mayo goes a long way.”

It was quiet again, with only the sound of the VCR player filling the silence. Steve was caught off guard when Harry spoke, “Mrs. Adams, she’s not mad at me, is she?”

Harry was braver than Steve thought.

He set his plate down and looked over at the boy. He was small for his age, but not by much. Too skinny for his liking. But Steve could tell his time at Hogwarts had at least helped bring him closer to a healthy state. "No, Harry. She's mad at me."

“Oh. Sorry.”

For a moment, Steve recalled a memory. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs. His uncle at the top, holding two separate pieces of a broken lamp. “Boy, it’s your damn fault this is broken. If I wasn’t so mad from you treckin’ mud all over I wouldn’t have broke this. Your aunt is going to be mad at you— and you know the punishment for that.”

He wondered how similar he looked to Harry back then. That was him as a boy, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. And Harry looked the same way. He had that same tick, Steve could tell. He remembered speaking the words just as meekly as Harry did when he was a child. “Oh. Sorry.” Anytime anything happened, it became an ingrained response. “Oh. Sorry.” Some way to signify that you knew your place beneath your supposed caretakers.

Steve repressed it. There were bigger issues to deal with than the past.

“You don’t have to apologize to anyone for things that aren’t your fault.”

Harry’s look was completely perplexed. He wasn’t ready to hear that and accept it yet. Steve knew it would take a lot longer, if ever, for him to believe it. But he would tell Harry that because someone had to.

“I s’pose,” Harry responded after a moment, “Sarah just told me that—”

“Harry. It’s my fault my wife is mad at me. End of story. She deserves to be. When you love someone— it’s a partnership. You both have a say equally and I didn’t give that to her. That was wrong of me. I need to find a way to communicate that with her.”

Steve suddenly remembered again. He and Beth were arguing in their old Wisconsin kitchen. “Why Britain? Why all the way in Europe? This American school sounds just as good as this Hogwarts—”

“I don’t know that. I don’t know anyone here. You’re all I have here. She has to go to Hogwarts. She has to. That’s where I know people. That’s what she deserves— the best. I want her to have what I had.”

“Aren’t we both supposed to have a say in this equally?”

Steve snapped out of it again, not even realizing the movie had started. It was the opening scene to Batman. He had seen it half a dozen times at this point. Sarah loved it she begged them to get the VCR tape as soon as it came out.

Steve watched as a married couple and their son were attacked by some muggers. The father had talked back. The muggers were not happy with that. One of the men struck the father down, and his wife screamed next to him.

Harry watched in silence. Steve saw that look in his eyes as he watched. The boy was only twelve. Steve could see right through him. It could be something as small as a scene from a movie that could remind someone of the past.

And the past never spared people like Steve or Harry.

The Burrow was amazing.

Sarah had said that about a great many things. Especially since she found out she was a witch. But this time she really truly believed it. There were the gnomes, the Quidditch pitch, the chickens, the ghoul, the food— all of it. She thought all of it was amazing.

It was also a little, tiny bit amazing (or much more than that, but she’d keep that to herself) that Harry and Ron were treating her like a friend. Maybe not a Hermione-level friend, but a friend. She had grown a lot closer to Harry over the past two weeks. They shared a lot in common. They both loved Quidditch, magic, and sneaking around at night. There were several late-night sandwich-making or night-flying escapades in which they were caught around half the time.

Sarah Adams was friends with Harry Potter.

Her dad had dropped them off earlier in the morning. He told Sarah that he had an amazing all-day date planned for him and her mum. A walk in the park, shopping, a movie, and dinner. Sarah hoped they’d stop fighting. She told her father to get her mom a new wand holster. Sarah heard her complaining and she knew her mother loved practical gifts. Her father picked out the perfect one, and he showed Sarah before he dropped them off.

But now it was lunch time, even though Sarah felt like Mrs. Weasley had served them a breakfast of sausages, fried eggs, toast, and marmalade not only an hour or two ago.

She was handing out corned beef sandwiches, when she stopped Sarah, “Sorry you have to play with the boys today. The older ones are off with their father in Diagon Alley. Ginny doesn’t want to come down for some reason.”

“She’ll be coming to Hogwarts next year, won’t she?”

“Of course. She was so excited only a month ago. After that awful, nasty business her father got into with Lucius Malfoy, well, she’s been quite horrible to everyone. I think maybe it scared her. Seeing grown-ups fighting like that, especially her father. I’m afraid she’ll never make any friend if she keeps up with that attitude.”

Sarah bit her lip, “I could go up, talk to her. About Hogwarts and stuff.”

Mrs. Weasley’s cheeks lit up like two red tomatoes, “Would you really, dear? That would be lovely. Your parents truly raised a remarkable young girl.”

“Is Ginny going to eat her sandwich?” Ron shouted from the table, prepping himself to take a bite of his own sandwich which he held with both hands.

“And obviously I only raised a pig! Trying to steal your sister’s food— Sarah offered to go up and inform Ginny that it’s time for lunch, which is more helpful than you’ve been today, Ronald Weasley!”

They were still yelling at each other. Harry just shrugged at Sarah, and she smiled back as she went up the stairs. There were many doors. She tried to remember which was which when Ron was showing her and Harry around. She finally decided to knock on each one trying to find Ginny.

Finally, a voice responded when she knocked.

“What?”

“Ginny?” Sarah asked.

The door creaked open, and the girl standing in front of her was quite a bit shorter than her. Her hair was a brilliant shade of red, even deeper than the rest of the family. Her face was dotted with freckles.

“Hi,” she smiled, “I’m Sarah. You’re Ginny, right?”

“Yes,” Ginny answered with a disgruntled look.

“You’re going to Hogwarts next year, right?”

Ginny just nodded her head. Sarah wondered what was wrong with the poor girl, but at the same time she was making the conversation rather difficult. She sucked in her breath and tried to be patient like her father taught her to.

“Do you want to come downstairs and hang out with us? I’m outnumbered. Two boys to one girl. You’ll help me out. Won’t you?”

“Harry is down there.”

Sarah tilted her head, “He’s just Harry, really. He’s nice”

“He’s Harry Potter.” Ginny spoke, putting stress on his last name.

Sarah smiled, “Well I’m sure he’d like to meet you either way. Ron’s his best friend so I’m sure he’d like to know who his sister is.”

“I’m just… nervous…”

Sarah suddenly picked up on it. Ginny was embarrassed and looking away. It never clicked with Sarah that Harry was the all-important Boy-Who-Lived. She never grew up with the stories. She never had her parents put her to sleep telling tales about how a baby defeated an evil wizard. Sarah wondered if she was raised like that— if she too would feel embarrassed being around Harry.

Sarah peeked over Ginny to see her room. There, on the desk, was a notebook and quill. “Are you writing something?” she asked the girl.

“No!” Ginny stepped in front of Sarah’s view, blocking her sight line from her desk, “It’s just— my diary. That’s it. Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Of course not,” Sarah got the cue that Ginny really did not want to speak to her anymore, “Your mom made sandwiches and uhh— we’re going to go fly later. Me, Ron, and erm… Harry. You should join us. It’ll be fun.”

Ginny did not respond, she only shut the door.

“We came here after we got into that fight about the broken sink.”

Steve and his wife walked side by side. The date had been going fine, but the tension between the two was still more than palpable. The quiet park they were now in was about an hour’s walk from their house, so they hadn’t had the time to visit in quite a while.

“I remember that,” Steve looked at his wife. Beth was stunning, and for that he considered himself lucky. She was tall and shapely, her black hair flowing behind her from the last winds of Summer. “We fought about that damn sink so much that Sarah dragged us out of the house. We got lost and ended up here.”

"And eventually we sorted out whatever our row was about in the first place."

Beth looked at him then, and Steve knew she wanted to talk as badly as he did.

“We can do that— I can try that again.”

She smiled, “Me too.”

They found a cool, shaded spot under a tree and leaned against each other. There were still children running amok, schools were still on their summer break. It was mostly normal folks, Muggles, on this side of the town.

“It wasn’t right that I made the decision to invite Harry to stay over without your agreement. You should have had an equal say and I’m sorry for taking that from you.”

Beth leaned into him harder, and Steve sighed.

“I’m also sorry for the way I reacted when we argued last. I shouldn’t have broken the mug. That was not right of me. I apologize.”

Beth did not miss a beat, “I forgive you.”

Their hands met, and she was looking over at him. He gripped her hand tightly and they kissed. It was brief— but it meant something.

“You’re still upset.”

“Yes,” Steve replied truthfully.

Beth rested her head on his shoulder, as if to feel the weight of what he was carrying around for himself. The park was clearing out. It would be dinner time soon and most of the children would be headed home. The sun was just starting to show hints of setting.

“I wish you would have talked to me more,” she spoke softly.

He let out a deep sigh, “I just— you kept so much from me. I shared my life with you and you— nevermind.”

“No,” Beth sat up and was looking at him, “Say it. Say what you need to say to me.”

“No,” Steve answered, “It’s not fair of me—“

“No, it is fair of you.”

It was silent between them. Steve could feel his wife’s gaze on him as he looked out towards the setting sun. How could you cope with something like finding out magic was real? How could you deal with your wife, a person who you thought you knew everything about, being a witch? Not only that— but that a whole world existed right next to yours without you ever knowing.

To make it worse— these wizards and witched knew all about you. They have a word for you: a Muggle. But you weren’t special enough to have the privilege of knowing about them. They are wizards and witches, and you are just a tiny, oblivious entity— hardly more than a creature to be marveled at by many of them.

“I have not come to terms with much of this,” Steve admitted as his thoughts raced.

“I know,” she responded, “I wish you’d let me help.”

“You can’t help me.”

“Then, maybe you should talk to someone— I don’t know— like a—”

“Who, Beth?” Steve snapped, “I can’t tell a therapist about this. ‘Oh, magic is real and I’m having a really hard time with it.’ They’d throw me in an institution!”

“They have healers, magical healer, who you could talk—”

“So they can look down on me like some kind of specimen? Some sad man who found out magic is real only to realize he only found out because he married a particular woman?”

“Don’t get pissed with me,” Beth retorted, “It’s like you resent me or something.”

“Yes, I do resent you.”

The children had left the park now. Shadows cast over the grass.

“Okay,” Beth quietly spoke. She stood up, leaving him sitting in the darkness beneath the tree. “We should go. We need to pick up Harry and Sarah.”

“Stop,” Steve rose to meet her and took a few steps towards her, “How can you expect me not to resent you?”

“Because you should understand where I’m coming from.”

“I tried, Beth. I tried. All those nights we spent fighting when I first found out— You think I wasn’t trying to understand?”

“You shouldn’t get mad when you are trying to understand someone,” her voice was harsh, like a curse he had seen her cast before.

“Why? Why not? Haven’t I got the right to be mad? You lied, Beth. To me. For all of those years we spent together you hid the biggest part of yourself from me the entire time.”

“I hid it from myself, too. You have no idea what I was running away from.”

“I do know,” Steve told her.

“I lost everything, Steve.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. I never told you… all of it. How it happened.”

“Beth, I’m your husband.”

“And I’m your wife,” she looked at him, “I was never able to tell you the full story, and you were never able to tell me that you resented me.”

“I did today.”

It was silent and she looked at him.

“I know, and when Sarah goes back to school, and we have another night like this— I am going to tell you everything that happened to me during the war.”

Summer came and went. Steve and Beth had brought Sarah and Harry to their train and sent them on their way to Hogwarts. He kissed his daughter on the forehead. He gave Harry a firm handshake.

“You can come back again next summer if you want.”

He remembered Harry smiling and nodding. Steve hoped it helped. Even a few weeks away from people like the Dursley’s, it had to have helped.

But next summer Harry would be sent back to them. That was a problem for a later date. Steve had his plans, but this time he knew he needed to include his wife in them. She would agree, he thought. Or at least he hoped she would. Steve hated the distance between them. Since everything had come up, all of those repressed feelings reemerged. He wanted to trust her, to know her.

There was time for that. For now, there was work to be done.

Steve was the Educational Liaison Officer at the Department of Wizarding Education— and he was the first one in twenty years to step foot inside Hogwarts. He had spent his first month in the halls of Hogwarts observing— mostly.

He watched how the students acted and how the professors treated them. He tried to stay out of the way and for the most part, everyone was content to let him be. A few portraits questioned him, which he surmised he would never in a million years get used to. He saw his daughter only a few times, and though he agreed to let her be, she willingly snuck three hugs in during the first month alone. He had caught Harry a few times as well, and they simply exchanged smiles and nods.

For all of the dangers the children were exposed to, there was also quite a lot of love in the halls as well. Professors had to walk the line between parent and teacher— and Steve was happy to see that many did so gracefully.

But Steve was done observing, and as he stood watching students soar above him on the Quidditch pitch, he was ready to make his first change.

“Hey! Gryffindors! Come on down for a while!”

He recognized a girl who was sitting with her nose in a book, occasionally looking up to watch her friend flying above. “Ms. Granger,” Steve called, “Could you help me with something?”

“How do you know my name, Mr. Adams?” Hermione asked him.

“I’m trying my best to learn the name of every student. It’s part of my job. I know your father, as well. He’s a part of Hogwarts’s Association of Parents,” Steve pointed at the field, “How familiar are you with softening charms, Ms. Granger?”

“Very,” she replied, “We learned how to properly cast them last year in Charms, and we went over them again during our review at the start of this year.”

“Perfect. Do you think you can cast one over the field?”

Hermione bit her lip, “That’s quite a large area. I could try.”

Steve recruited the help of two Ravenclaws who were getting much too familiar with each other under the rafters. Soon his recruits were sweeping over the grass of the Quiddtch pitch and casting softening charms on the length of it.

The Gryffindors had all landed and were converging on him.

“What's the hold up?” Oliver Wood asked in a grumpy tone. “Who are you, anyways?”

Steve grinned, “I am the Educational Liaison Officer at the Department of Wizarding Education. You can just call me Mr. Adams.”

The Gryffindors were whispering amongst each other. Steve heard references to Snape, to Sarah, and to the Ministry. He made out Harry in the small group and gave the boy a quick nod. He did not want to embarrass him in front of the team. Harry grinned back.

“They really let Muggles work at the Ministry?” Fred Weasley asked loudly, “I thought my dad was just taking the mickey. How do you get on in there without a wand?”

"Yes, they do let a few select Muggles work there and I get around just fine. And it seems our gracious Ministry lets Weasleys work there as well, it's rather inclusive of them— don't you think?"

There we some laughs from the group, mostly from Fred and George. Steve was quite proud of the joke.

“Again,” Oliver asked, “Can I ask what you called us down for?”

“These little things are called Fall-Me-Knots.”

Steve reached down into the box he had with him. He pulled out a little piece of string. It was no longer than the length of his finger, and no thicker than a pencil. At the center was a knot which was the size of gumball. Steve had found a box filled with them collecting dust in a storage closet back in the Department of Wizarding Education. He wondered what else he’d find the next time he went looking.

“Everyone, please take one. Put it in a pocket or any secure place. When you’re at Hogwarts and you’re on a broom, you will have one of these with you. When you fall, these are charmed to slow your descent. The charm will wear off after a single use. If you ever fall be sure to get a fresh one from the Quidditch supply closet.”

The Gryffindors were mostly talking amongst themselves as they passed around the box of Fall-Me-Knots. Harry made eye contact with Steve again, and the boy made a quick show of placing the charmed string inside his pocket.

“Hey, Professor Adams—”

“I’m not a professor, just Mr. Adams is fine.”

“Okay, Mr. Adams. You’re really the guy who got Snape fired?”

There was silence. Hermione broke it by yelling about being finished and a few of the Gryffindors turned to look at her. They all immediately looked back at him. Steve felt compelled to speak on the matter.

“He got himself fired by acting the way he did around students. If anyone in this school treats you even half as bad as that man did— please come and speak to me immediately.”

“What’s with the accent?” Alicia tried speaking quietly, but obviously Steve could hear her.

“He’s American,” Angelina snapped, “Or don’t you know anything about anyone who isn’t British?”

“So, it was you who got Snape then?” Fred Weasley asked.

Another silence.

“Yes, Mr. Weasley. In a literal sense, I was the one who forced the issue that resulted in Snape’s dismissal.”

The Gryffindors were cheering loudly after that. Steve knew at this point they would hardly listen to anything serious he had to say. At least if they fell off their brooms while attempting to mock his accent they would not be breaking their necks.

As the team got back up into the air, Harry shot him one last look. Steve nodded, and Harry returned it with a smile.

Fred and George stayed behind, and they seemed amazed while looking at the Fall-Me-Knots.

“How do they work?” George asked.

“I’m not sure,” Steve responded.

“Can we take a few more? You know, for educational purposes.” Fred looked toward him with a grin.

“Tell you what. Take a handful. Figure out how they work and in exchange, you’ll tell me how you did it so I can have someone make more. If I find any more charmed objects like that, I’ll bring them to you. Fair?”

The twins had already taken a handful each and were waving to him as they returned to the pitch.

“Thanks, Mr. Adams!” George yelled back.

“And thanks for getting rid of that ol’ bat, too!” Fred finished.

When Steve turned to return to the castle, there was someone waiting for him.

“Just what is it you’re doing out here, Mr. Adams?”

Madam Hooch did not have a very jovial expression on her face. Steve cleared his throat, “Well, we just charmed the whole field with softening charms. We need to do that everywhere else as well.”

Madam Hooch crossed her arms, “Would you have us charm every spot that students fly over? That seems—”

“Yes, yes I would.”

“Is this some new rule?”

“It’s a new decree,” Steve grunted, “When you go up in the air, you bring a Fall-Me-Knot with you. If a student is caught without one, they should be punished accordingly. The Quidditch Pitch and any other place used for practice should have regular softening charms applied to them. If an instructor fails to do so, let’s just say the Ministry won’t be too happy about it.”

“I think you are taking this rather seriously. The students won’t be happy about serving detention and I won’t be told how to run my classes.”

“I do take the safety of children seriously. Thank you for the kind compliment. We have first year students up in the air and flying. They are eleven-year-old children. I don’t suspect students will be happy if they forget a Fall-Me-Knot and get a detention, but they are students. I won’t have them end up like Justin Williams. I recall that he fell from his broom in a Quidditch match in 1988 and broke his neck. Terrible accident. Easily preventable.”

“Are you blaming me for what happened to that boy? It was an accident!”

“Yes, I’m blaming you. If these measures had been in place, he wouldn’t have had to spend months in a bed while his bones were grown and regrown until his head could stay on straight. I put that on you, and the other professors here.”

“Just who do you think you are? Speaking to me like this?” Madam Hooch said accusingly.

“Ma’am,” Steve grinned from ear to ear, “I’m just a Muggle.”

That night, Steve arrived home late.

“Beth?”

There was a voice from out in the garden, so Steve followed. His wife was there under a fading, lavender sky. There were large white cartons of Chinese takeout on the garden table, and two glasses of wine filled much higher than usual for a Tuesday night.

“You’re going to tell me now, then?”

Beth did not speak, she just waved him towards the chair. Steve sat. He looked up at the sky. The sun still had a bit longer to go before setting.

“Steve,” she spoke, “Every witch and wizard has a story from the First Wizarding War. This is mine.”