Daddy won't leave you, Henry

Daddy won't leave you, Henry

And the tears that we weep today

Will all be washed away

By the tears we will weep again tomorrow

'Papa won't leave you, Henry', Nick Cave

It was a long time since she'd been there, over four months if she recalled correctly. Everything about the semidetached house looked the same, though the fence had been painted recently; it was shining white against the red and yellow of the flowers beneath it. A bucket filled with toys stood alone on the step up to the door. Everything carried an air of peace and contented calm. But facades are never to be trusted, she mused.

With slow steps she walked through the gate and approached the oak front door. The rough surface scraped her hand as she knocked, and thoughtfully she let her fingers glide over the bruise while she waited. Soon she heard the sound of light feet, and a four-year-old opened the door and peered outside. "Hermione!" he exclaimed with joy in his voice and jumped out on the stairs to give her a hug.

"Hello, Henry! How's my favourite boy?" she smiled at him and hugged him back. "Where's your Daddy, then?"

"In the kitchen," the boy replied, took her hand and pulled her inside. "You brought me a present?"

"You certainly don't waste time, do you?" With a snort, she reached into her bag. "We'll see... Yes, I do believe there's something in here! What can this be?" With a bewildered expression she picked out the little present, carefully wrapped in shiny red paper, and reached it out to the boy who grabbed it with eager hands.

"Thanks, Hermione!" he exclaimed and took it with him into the living room.

Hermione found her way into the kitchen; a rather small room at the back of the house, with a view into the well-kept garden behind it. He was sitting by the kitchen table, his hands clenching a mug of cold tea. With bloodshot eyes he looked up at her, the exhaustion evident on his face. "Hermione? I didn't hear you coming."

"No problem," she muttered and sat down in the opposite chair, resting her head in her hands. "How are you, Harry? You look tired. Do you sleep at all?"

He made a grimace, halfway between a grin and a sneer, and rubbed his eyes. "No," he replied dryly. "The healers at St. Mungo's gave me a potion to use, but..."

"Dad! Look what Hermione brought me!" Henry came running into the kitchen, waving a large pack of Lego. "It's a boat! Will you help me build it, Dad?"

"That's great, Henry," Harry replied. "Say thank you to Hermione now."

"I already have," the boy stated and looked up at his father with a slightly offended expression. "Mum said I always should say it and I did!"

"That's right, he did," Hermione said and winked at the boy.

"All right, all right." Frowning, Harry lifted his hands in a gesture of submission. "Why don't you take that into the living room and play for a bit?"

"Can you help me build it?" Henry looked up at him, almost hesitantly.

"Later. I'm talking with Hermione; you go and play now."

Shrugging, the boy left, taking his new toy with him. Harry sighed deeply and reached for his mug of tea -when he discovered that it had turned cold, he cast a heating charm on it with his wand. "Where are my manners?" he muttered. "You want a cup, Hermione?"

"I'll get it," she replied and got up from her chair to find a mug in the cupboard. As she heated the water in the kettle with a wave of her wand, she turned back to him. "No change with Henry, I gather?"

"No," he answered while looking out of the window; there was a scraping sound as he scratched his week-old stubble. "He doesn't show any signs of magic at all. Nothing. Imagine, the famous Harry Potter having a squib for a son. That will certainly amuse a lot of people."

"Nothing wrong with being a squib," Hermione replied, a little irritated with Harry's comment.

"I didn't say there was." He lowered his head to rest against the palm of his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm not very good company these days."

The sight of him sitting so alone by the table made Hermione's heart ache. "No problem, Harry. Why don't you take that potion and lie down for a while, I'll take over for a few hours, okay?" She walked over and gave him a hug. He didn't reply, simply squeezed her hand carefully in response. "Won't you talk to me, Harry? How are you feeling?"

He watched her worried face as she returned to the table with her steaming mug, and gave her a wry smile. "How I'm feeling? I feel as if my life has been pulled out of me and torn to pieces, like the only thing that made life worth living has been taken away. I look out this window but I can't see anything anymore. There's nothing left." He took a sip from his mug. "And I hate feeling sorry for myself like that."

"It's normal, feeling like that -it's not more than two weeks since she died," Hermione replied quietly. "I'm just sorry I haven't been able to come over sooner. I have a few days off -I could stay a day or two if you want me to."

He gave her the first genuine smile of the day. "Thank you, I appreciate it."

"As I said, Harry, no problem." She reached out across the table and stroked his chin with her finger. "Now, I want you to take that potion of yours and go upstairs. Henry and I'll go to the shop or something; I suppose he needs a break as well."

"Yeah." Harry stood up from his chair and walked into the hall and up the staircase.

Giving him a worried look, Hermione took her mug and went into the living room, a small room dominated by the large three-piece suite in dark leather. Numerous family portraits had decorated the walls during her last visit, now the walls were empty and cold.

Harry had never been the type to ask for help, not even in those times where it was obvious to everyone else that he needed it. It had culminated after their last year at Hogwarts when he'd had a breakdown; he'd stayed at St. Mungo's for three months afterwards. There he met Fay; gentle, calm and strong she'd been everything he needed, everything Hermione had hoped for him.

Henry sat on the floor with pieces of Lego spread out all around him, the paper with the instructions for the Lego-boat lay beside him in a heap. "How's it going?" she asked and sat down beside him.

"The boat was too hard," he replied with a miserable expression. "So I'm making a monster instead." He showed her a creation that could be interpreted as some sort of animal.

"You want me to help you? Or maybe we should go to the shop before it closes? I though we could buy something for tonight."

"You're staying?" He looked at her with surprise, and when she nodded he contemplated for a few seconds. "Could I have crisps?"

"All right. Put on your shoes and we'll be off."

She watched him get up and go out into the hall to find his shoes. He struggled with the shoelaces while biting his lip, not complaining or calling out for help, firmly concentrating on managing on his own. Just like his father, Hermione reflected. He even looked like him, dark and with a serious expression on his face, but with his mother's brown eyes. "Want me to help you, Henry?"

"No," he muttered, and a few seconds later he showed her the meticulously tied shoelace. "I can do it," he added with a casual voice, and started with the other.

"Good boy," she replied and waited patiently while he tied the other.

Soon they were outside, walking down the street, passing the playground where many children were playing. Henry gave them a long gaze, then lowered his eyes to the ground, taking a firm grip around Hermione's hand. "Perhaps you'd like to play with them?" she asked, but he just shook his head.

In the village shop they bought dinner and the biggest bag of potato crisps in the whole of England. On their way back home he didn't even lift his head to look at the playing children. Walking through the gate they met the neighbour, who was out hanging up the laundry on the other side of the hedge. "Hello, Henry!" he exclaimed. "Good to see you, mate. Cloe's been asking about you, did you know that?"

"Oh," Henry replied, looking up at the tall Muggle.

"She's inside," the man said and made a gesture towards the door.

The boy looked hesitantly at Hermione, but she nudged him over. "Go on, Henry, have fun," she told him. "I'll let you know when dinner's ready." Thoughtful, she watched the child approach the door, and when he hesitated once more for a second on the doorstep, she smiled and gave him a reassuring wink.

When Henry was inside, she turned to the Muggle. "He's not out much, is he?" she asked, sighing when she got the answer she'd expected.

"We haven't seen him for days," the neighbour replied with a frown as he picked up another damp sheet from his basket. "Cloe was sad, thinking Henry didn't want to be friends anymore." Thoughtfully, he lowered his arms and the sheet dragged along the lawn as he turned to Hermione. "You're his friend and know him better than me; couldn't you... I don't know. Tell him that Henry needs to come outside from time to time? This has gone on for too long, and frankly I'm a bit worried."

Hermione nodded, and the neighbour awkwardly lifted the sheet up from the lawn and inspected a tiny green spot on the white cotton. "I'm a widower myself," he muttered. "I know it's hard. But we got to carry on living, you know? 'Cause there's always someone who needs us." He shrugged and finished hanging up the cloth. "I'll send Henry home at about six." With a wink and a nod he walked inside.

Hermione went in and left the groceries on the kitchen table; a quick glance into the living room, and she saw Harry sitting in the sofa, looking at the television set in the corner. "I thought you were sleeping!" she burst out.

"No," he mumbled, irritation in his voice as he switched between channels, seemingly without finding anything interesting. Harry had purchased the TV as a birthday gift for Fay only last summer, but it was mostly Henry that used it, watching cartoons in the mornings while eating his breakfast. Harry put the remote control down next to him when he found a program about Egyptian mummies, and absentmindedly he rubbed his eyes. "That potion gives me a headache."

She sat down in the armchair and took in the sight of a pyramid on the TV. "I thought I'd make lasagne."

"That's nice, Henry loves that. Where is he, by the way?"

"Next door." She hesitated for a while, then decided to jump right into it. "I spoke with your neighbour."

"Dan -yeah, he's okay. Brother of a Muggleborn witch. Megan Jones, remember her? Hufflepuff in our year; Dan's her uncle." His voice was polite and friendly, but his eyes were fixed at the screen and his whole body cried out how tired he was.

"Can't say that I do," Hermione replied, watching him. "He said that Henry hasn't been out much lately. That the other children are missing him."

"Yes, I suppose they do." There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Why do you keep him inside?" The question blurted out before she'd thought it through.

Finally, Harry took his eyes away from the TV and stared at her with his mouth open. "Keep him here? Why should I want to do that? He doesn't want to go out! What am I supposed to do; throw him out and lock the door?" He was angry now, but still he remained sitting; she saw the muscles in his jaw stiffen as he resumed staring out of the window. "Is that what Dan said?" His voice was thick with bitterness.

Hermione sighed and cursed herself; diplomacy had never been her forte. "He's just worried about Henry," she explained, careful to keep any trace of reproach out of her voice. "And so am I; he needs to be outside with the other kids. Why doesn't he go out?"

Harry shook his head slowly. "I don't know," he muttered. "I don't know, Hermione, and right now I... It's not that I don't care, but it's too much for me. You know? I can't sleep, I can't work -the Auror department wants me to come back to work... but just thinking about it makes me sick. And I can't talk about it, because I don't know what to say. It's as if I have a dementor eating at me from the inside."

"You just buried your wife," Hermione replied. "It's normal."

"Is it?" he asked with a snort. "If it was a dementor I could just wave my wand and it would be gone. It'll be three weeks this Saturday, and I can't even find peace to sleep. Henry hardly talks to me anymore -he just follows me around the house or watches cartoons. He never lets me out of his sight and all I want right now is to crawl into a corner and hide."

"I understand, but-"

"Do you?" He cut her off, his voice hard. "I've never had anything, and when I finally find something worthy of holding on to, some purpose with my life, it's torn away right in front of me. She died, Hermione, she spent a whole year dying and there was nothing I could do. This wand, this fucking twig... What good did it do when my wife dwindled away before my very eyes?" He picked up the wand from the windowsill and studied it with an expression of disgust.

"You mustn't think like that!" Hermione was almost in tears by now, torn between annoyance and guilt for not being there for him when he needed her the most. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner, Harry, but things just..."

"This has nothing to do with you!" he exclaimed angrily, grabbing the wand hard and pushing it into her face. "It has everything to do with this! What's magic ever given me, Hermione? Pleasure? Happiness? It gave me a living Hell, that's what. I'm glad my son's a squib! He's going to grow up to be a painter, or a carpenter or a friggin' male nurse, and he's not going to know what magic is. Magic will be foolish nonsense he'll read about in children's books, in fairytales." With a quick movement, Harry snapped the wand in two.

Hermione had never seen a wand be broken before, and she was surprised to hear the loud crack as it snapped; no lightning bolts, nothing but the strangely dry sound as the wand was destroyed. Stunned, she stared at the two pieces of wood in his hand, held together by nothing more than the flexible phoenix feather cord in the middle. With a pained expression on his face Harry threw the broken wand into the corner beside the TV.

"It's what I want," he muttered, staring at the twigs in the corner. "Because Voldemort is gone now, and for the first time in my life I have a choice. I choose to live a normal life, Hermione, and there's nothing you can say to make me change my mind. Please, don't even try."

She looked at him and saw in his face that he truly meant this, and the realisation upset her more than she wanted to admit. "I'll start making dinner," she mumbled and got up from the armchair, her legs slightly shaky as she walked out into the kitchen. He remained on the sofa without replying, just staring at the screen with a blank face as the fire in his eyes once more faded back to the tired mask.

Leaning against the kitchen unit, she bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. The kitchen, once such a friendly room with its warm colours and Henry's framed drawings, suddenly gave her a feeling of claustrophobia. Slipping into her shoes, she walked out to stand on the front stair, taking a deep breath that almost made her lungs hurt before slowly letting it out. This was wrong. Magic was a gift, a precious thing, not to be thrown away like this!

She looked down the road, but could see no children.

"They're still inside. I had to bribe Henry with chocolate to keep him there," a dry voice said. Sitting on the step up to his front door was the neighbour, Dan, smoking a cigarette; he gave her a lazy smile that changed into a frown when he saw her face. "You all right?"

"Yes," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. "No, not really -I don't know."

He made a humming sound as if he was waiting for her to continue, but no explanation came. She could not manage to talk about this right now when all her emotions were in uproar inside her.

"Well, it's six o'clock," he muttered as he looked down at his wristwatch. "I'll tell Henry it's time to go. Dinner must be finished by now, am I right?"

Hermione sighed, she'd forgotten about dinner. "I haven't even started," she replied and stared down at the flowers next to the gate. Yellow marigolds, nasturtium climbing from the ground and up the side of the gate, emerging with the hedge. One of Fay's rosebushes, flowing over with crimson red -Hermione just looked at them, taking in all the colours while trying to calm down.

"Well, it's just a swish and a flick, right?" he grinned. "Must be practical, being a wizard!"

"Yes." She gave him a faint smile. "It is." She waited while he went inside and soon Henry came out on the steps, his face flushed from playing. "You want to help me make dinner?" she asked.

"All right," he replied, making his way through a passageway in the hedge where one of the bushes had died. The downtrodden path through the bushes told her that this was his usual route over to Cloe's house. "Is Dad sleeping?" he asked suddenly, a worried expression on his face, and when she shook her head he half ran up to the front door. Hermione followed him inside and found him standing in the doorway, looking at Harry who was once more gazing out the window into the back garden. Silently, Henry walked in and took the remote control, and finding a channel showing cartoons he sat down in front of the TV.

"You want to help me, Henry?"

He shook his head at her and returned his attention to Tom and Jerry. With a sinking feeling of despair, Hermione entered the kitchen to make the lasagne.

~*~*~*~*

Harry had been upstairs, tucking Henry in. Now he reappeared in the doorway, looking ready to pass out from exhaustion any moment. "He wants you to go up to say good night," Harry muttered and sat down in his usual seat in the sofa. Without speaking she got up from the armchair and started walking towards the stairs.

"Hermione?"

She stopped and turned back.

"I'm sorry."

His face was sincere and she gave him a shy smile, still a little shaky from their earlier conversation. But it was his decision, not hers, and she had no right to put further pressure on him. This was not a time to vent about principles. "It's all right, don't worry about it."

The lamp in the stairs was broken, or perhaps Harry just preferred to keep the light off. She decided not to check the lamp, the darkness didn't bother her and she didn't want to upset Harry by unknowingly breaking one of the rules he'd set up after his wife's death. Through the shadows she spotted the blankness on the wall; even here the pictures of Fay had been removed, though Hermione was puzzled to find her two paintings still hung on the landing upstairs.

The house was small, and the first floor consisted only of two bedrooms and a tiny bathroom. Henry's room was the door to her left, and quietly she knocked before entering. The boy watched her with sleepy eyes as she came in and sat down beside him; he looked so oddly alone in his big bed. Gently, she stroked his hair, not knowing what to say or do -he didn't seem to mind though, just closed his eyes as his breath deepened. When she was convinced he'd fallen asleep, she stood up. "Good night, Henry," she whispered.

"Can you stay with us?" His voice was as clear as glass in the darkness of the room.

Surprised she turned back. "I though you were asleep. No, I don't think I can, but I can come down here more often. Would you like me to?" Once more she sat down on the bed and pulled her feet up from the floor.

"Yes." He pulled the blanket up to his chin. "Couldn't you stay? I'm afraid."

"What are you afraid of?" she asked, frowning as she started stroking his hair again.

"Of Daddy."

The boy suddenly shied away from her hand and pulled the blanket over his head. She stared at the lump under the blanket for a second, shocked from his words, and then she pulled the blanket away and looked into his eyes. "Your Daddy loves you, Henry," she told him, her voice almost stern. "He would never do anything to hurt you! You know that, don't you?"

He stared at her with Fay's eyes. "But he's so sad, Hermione. And sometimes he gets so angry, and I don't know what to do. Can't you stay, please? I don't like it when people leave."

"No one's going to leave you, Henry," she said and pulled him up into a hug. "Not your Daddy, not me, not Cloe and Dan next door. It's gonna be all right -you sleep now. Tomorrow morning we're going over to Cloe's again, and you two can play like you did today. That sounds okay, doesn't it?"

"Yeah." He lay down on his pillow and closed his eyes, and again she stroked his hair until she assumed he'd fallen asleep. Then she stood up as quietly and carefully as she could, and tiptoed towards the door. "Good night, Hermione," he said in a sleepy voice, and she couldn't resist a little smile as she turned back to him.

"Good night."

She found her way back down the dark stairs, and got Harry and herself a couple of mugs with tea in the kitchen. He gave her a little smile as she put it down beside him on the living room table. "Thanks, he muttered. "What are you doing?"

She had grabbed the remote control and turned the TV off, and he gave her a confused glance. "Maybe it's time you listened to me for once," she replied. "You didn't when we were young; perhaps that tells you something?"

He frowned slightly and turned his head to look out the window. "Hermione, I really don't..."

"You have a kid up there that's scared to death about what's happening to his father," she stated bluntly. "He's just lost his Mum, he doesn't need to lose you as well. I don't give a toss if you get the mother of all headaches from that potion; you're going to take it, because you need to sleep. If you're not willing to take it voluntarily, I'll hit you with a stunner and shove it down your throat -I'm the one with the wand now, remember?" Her voice was hard and she felt the anger inside her; she knew she'd do it if he protested.

He stared at her, disbelieving, unresponsive, something that only fuelled her anger. "I need you to friggin' wake up," she sneered. "If I believed it would do him any good I'd take him with me, but he'll only see that as the proof that you don't want him around anymore, and that's the last thing he needs right now. It's the last thing he deserves!" She took out the blue vial with his sleeping potion from her pocket and put it down on the table next to his untouched mug of tea.

The anger faded away when she saw the pained expression on his face. "Please, Harry. I'm not going to tell you that I know how it feels, because I don't. But no matter how much you've lost, you have one that needs you." Slowly, she pushed the vial closer to him. "Please. I'm not telling you how to live your life or how you should feel, I don't have the right to do that; I'm just telling you to consider your son and his feelings."

He opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again as his eyes fell on the vial beside his mug. The tiny vial seemed to be lit from the inside and reflected its cobalt blue colour in the white surface of the mug. For a long time he took in the sight of it, before picking it up and dropping two drops in his tea. "Am I really that far-gone?" he asked her quietly before emptying the cup.

She didn't answer. The soft sound of ceramic against wood as he put the empty mug back on the table, and he stood up, crossing his arms over his chest. For a moment he just stood there, staring into nothing, then he gave her a nod. "Good night, Hermione."

"Good night," she whispered without looking at him. She returned her attention to the TV when she heard the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, feeling nothing but an echoing emptiness inside. She was tired as well.

~*~*~*~*

His feet were so heavy; every step was a struggle against the force of gravity, pulling him down to the ground, beckoning him to lie down and forget about everything. But if he did, the images in his head multiplied and came to haunt him -his dead friends, his wife's eyes as the healer told her she was going to die. Her empty, uncomprehending eyes as she took in the news, how she'd laid her arms around Henry in a desperate embrace, not wanting to let him leave for a second. The sight of her, sitting quietly in the sofa, looking out on all the flowers he'd planted for her in the back garden.

What was it about him that attracted death and despair? After the victory over the Dark Lord all had laid in shatters, himself included, but when he met Fay the idea of another life had seemed possible. He'd dared to dream of carrying on, of living a normal life with his family. Dared to let his guard down, and he hadn't been prepared when the blow came -but the blow always comes, as certain as the seasons and the tide.

He should have known.

He reached the top of the landing, keeping his eyes on the floor to avoid looking at her two paintings. All he needed to do to see them was to close his eyes. She'd been so proud of them, but shy as she'd been when it came to these things she'd hidden them upstairs for no one to see, no one but them. The first was the view from her parent's cottage in Yorkshire, the other of the cottage itself. Now the cottage stood as empty as his heart, only the cold draft moved amongst the empty rooms.

Two steps to the left and he stood outside Henry's door; carefully he opened it without knocking and went inside. Henry's room was painted blue, a pretty cerulean tone his wife had picked out. Memories everywhere -memories that whispered to him, retold the stories of happier times. He hadn't even known that he was happy back then; maybe happiness was something you could only experience in retrospect? He didn't know.

Sometimes it hurt just looking at Henry, seeing her eyes in the boy's face. But now his eyes were closed, he slept quietly beneath his blankets, nothing but his hand and a tuft of unruly black hair sticking out. Harry had an eerie feeling of having seen this scene before: a little boy, motherless, sleeping alone. The emptiness in his chest gave way for another feeling, a heavy warm sensation that set itself upon him, and for a minute he found it difficult to breathe. Slowly, he sat down on the bed and pulled the blanket away from his son's face. After staring at him for a long time, he curled up on the bed beside him and pulled the boy closer.

Henry made a complaining sound in his sleep, but Harry soothed him. "Daddy won't leave you, Henry," he muttered in the boy's ear. "I won't leave you." Slowly, Harry felt his body relax as the potion started working. Soon he slept.

~*~*~*~*

Hermione found a blanket in the cupboard in the hall, and fell asleep sometime during the night while watching an old film on the TV. With a start, she woke up to the sound of cartoons, and saw Henry sitting beside her in the armchair. "Good morning," she muttered sleepily, rubbing her eyes. "Where's your Dad, then?"

"G'morning," he smiled back. "He's sleeping."

He was holding something in his hand, twirling it between his fingers. "What's that?" she asked him, and was surprised to see the cord from Harry's broken wand; the phoenix feather cord shone with a faint, dull glow in the early morning sun peering in through the window, illuminating the palm of his hand.

"I found it," Henry told her as his little hand closed around the cord, hiding the light from her eyes. "I want to keep it. Don't tell Daddy, he wanted me to throw it in the bin."

"I won't tell him," she promised. "You take care of it, Henry. Maybe Daddy would like to have it back one day." She reached out her hand and lay it on top of his, carefully squeezing his hand.

Quietly, he crawled up beside her on the sofa, and together they watched cartoons without speaking until Henry fell asleep with his head on her arm. Carefully, she pulled the blanket up, covering them both. Slowly, she drifted back to sleep to the sounds from the TV.

Half an hour later, Harry came down the stairs and stopped in the doorway to look at them; the hints of a smile played in the corner of his mouth. Thoughtful, he walked into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.