Patronus

Patronus: Latin for protector. Derived from the same root as patro, to accomplish, and pater, father.

Harry’s expression is one of grim resolve. I can see fear written in his posture, in the way his knuckles pale where they grip his wand. At any moment he will hear his worst memories come to life, and his worst memories are more painful than any thirteen-year-old should have to bear.

And yet he stands firm, waiting for me to release the boggart once more.

A wave of guilt washes over me. In a very real sense, what we’re doing is a form of torture for him. Again and again he faces his nightmare, and again and again it overcomes him. Perhaps I shouldn’t have agreed to this. But he’s so determined to face his fear, to fight it. Profound courage, for a boy so young. I’m impressed even as I grieve its necessity. Where did he learn such courage?

James...you were brave, even foolhardy in the risks you took as a boy. You knew what lines not to cross, but never hesitated to walk right next to them, to stop just short of going too far. And then you had a wife, and then a son, and such risks were no longer an option; instead all your courage was channeled into a fierce protective instinct. It was always thus; you could face jeopardy yourself, but never allowed someone you loved to do so, not if you could shield them from harm. That was your nightmare, and you faced it without hesitation, flinging yourself between death and your family.

But bravery alone could not save you.

Harry is muttering the words of the spell under his breath, practicing for the moment of confrontation. He looks so very much as you did, at his age...the same features, the same messy black hair, even the same absent-minded habit of brushing his hair out of his face. Harry, too, flies like he was born on a broomstick. Sometimes, watching him, I forget myself and see the friend I lost. But you were never so reserved, never so serious. You never had need to be so serious, not until the end.

James, James...you should be here. You should be here, to see your son growing in your image, to see how brave he is, and how unselfconscious. You should be more than a voice he hears only when monsters come near him. You should be more than a shadow summoned to protect him from dementors. I can already see your shape in his Patronus; a hint of horns, a form that will sharpen into dignity and grace and understated strength.

You should be here.

My sense of guilt grows. Could I have prevented it? I had suspected Sirius of being the traitor; he’d been so obsessed, almost manic in his desire to find the dark lord. For years he’d talked of becoming an Auror, fighting dark wizards, ever since we were boys...did he find more than he’d bargained for, in the end? What turned him? What could possibly have turned him against you, against all of us?

It seemed impossible...but I suspected. I postponed telling anyone of my suspicions; I was ashamed of myself, ashamed of doubting one of my closest, oldest friends. I thought there was time to find proof; I wanted so badly to prove myself wrong. And while I wrestled with myself, he was made your secret keeper, he betrayed you, he destroyed everything. All our lives, destroyed in a single night. You and Peter both dead, Sirius insane and imprisoned, and me left alone to regret all the things I didn’t say or do.

Strange. I always thought I’d be the first of us to go-the monster, the werewolf. I already had the mark of doom on me. How is it that I’m the only one left?

If I’d spoken...if I’d acted...would things have been different? Could I have saved you?

Part of me wants to apologize to Harry, to tell him all of this, since I cannot tell it to you. But it would only hurt him, and he’s known enough hurt already. All I can do is train him, protect him. That much I can promise, James. I failed you. I won’t fail your son.

I take a deep breath and move to open the packing case where the boggart is trapped. Harry’s expression tightens; the lid opens, the boggart emerges, and then a dementor is gliding through the air. Harry looks equal parts determined and terrified; he raises his wand, and the lesson continues.

"Expecto Patronum!"