Daddy's Favorite

29 June, 1996

Albus,

Have I ever told you I am afraid of you? It is quite true. Anyone with much sense is afraid of you a little. And I have never had the kind of courage that would lead me to face a roaring lion when there is no need. So I am writing this to you because, to my shame, I should say it to your face but I have not got the nerve. I've never been one for direct confrontations. I leave that to Molly.

But since I am writing and not speaking I can take the time to expound a bit. It is Leavetaking Day, Albus - or rather the night after Leavetaking Day. I love Leavetaking Days. Ever since our children started Hogwarts some years ago, one of my favorite traditions has been a jaunt to the station to pick them up, followed by a happy ride home and a long evening over one of Molly's most elaborate and lovingly-prepared meals. I often am not able to buy my beloved one's the things I would like them to have, but I try to make sure that the comforts of love and family are never in short supply at the Burrow.

This Leavetaking Day was very special, as you know. For one thing, we finally confronted the Dursley's about the way they treat Harry. I have had a slow fire burning in my belly for years over that, especially since I saw with my own eyes their attitude towards him. Poor sweet child. I understand Albus your reasons for wanting him to stay with the muggles. Still I wish you would relent and let him come live with us. What would one more mouth to feed mean in this house? And we love him as much as one of our own anyway.

I am especially grateful to Harry for what he has done for my Ron. I have always worried about Ron, buried as he is under a pile of older brothers, all of whom are over-achievers in one way or another. I had hoped he might find his own friends and identity at Hogwarts. I think meeting Harry on the train was perhaps the best thing that ever happened to Ron. The love that has blossomed between the two of them has given him the support that he so desperately needed - and that I was never able to provide, what with work, constant financial problems, and the demands of six other children.

Of course it isn't easy being the best friend of The Boy Who Lived. I am glad that Hermione is there as well. Certainly she can be intimidating in her own right, but in the wizarding world magnificent grades don't hold a candle to a lightning shaped scar. And if I am not mistaken, she regards Ron as something more than a friend - even if Ron doesn't know it yet.

And yet, I still worry about Ronniekins. I never call him that of course - and I wish his mother would not use the name so often. But in my heart he will always be my baby boy. This year was a very good year for Ron in so many ways. He became a prefect. He became a hero on the Quidditch Pitch. He was one of the heroes who forced Voldemort into the open. Yes it was a very special year.

But you see Albus, Ron understands something very important, and that understanding hurts him very badly. Ron's glory is the glory of reflection, or of absence. He is able to stand out because he is Harry's friend, or alternatively because Harry is not around. He is a star to Harry's sun, and he knows it. He knows even his glories of this year were because of special circumstances. He knows in his heart that he was made prefect because he is Harry's friend, and because for some reason of your own you thought it best if Harry not wear the badge himself. He knows he became a hero at Quidditch largely because Harry was banned - and banned for defending our family honor! He understands this, and it eats at the foundations of his confidence like termites eat at a muggle house.

The worst part about it in some ways is that the love between he and Harry is so strong. He loves Harry so much that most of the time he doesn't think to be resentful. And Harry, mostly, does not begrudge Ron what glory he does get. You know, I don't think he even remembers most of the time that Harry is the Boy Who Lived. To him he is just his beloved friend, closer to him than any of his brothers. I know for a fact that most of the time he does not remember that Harry is rich. It would be funny if it were not so heartbreaking. Ronniekins of all my children feels the sting of being poor the most. He resents it the most. He struggles against it the most. And yet I honestly believe that he hardly ever remembers that all of the things he longs for could be his at any time, if he just asked Harry for them.

But he won't ask, of course. Ron is too proud for that. Or perhaps he is too weak. Perhaps his self-worth could not stand gifts from Harry. I know Harry worries about that. Why else would he buy Ron new formal robes and tell the twins to pretend like they are a gift from them? Oh, Ron believed it - because he wanted to believe it. But Molly and I knew the truth. I love all my sons dearly, but the twins are just not the types to be that sensitive to Ron's needs, much less that tasteful and restrained in filling them. No, those robes were paid for from Harry's vault. And after seeing the look on Ron's face when he first wore them, I can say that whatever happens in the coming war, Harry Potter will always be a hero to my family.

And what does all this have to do with you Albus? I am writing you to ask for the thing dearest to any father's heart. I ask for Ron's happiness. I cannot give Ron the confidence he needs, the validation he needs. You, the mighty Albus Dumbledore, could. With just a negligible effort you could grant him the strength he needs to hold onto the self-worth he is building so tenuously. Give him a little attention. Just one brief meeting would do it. Just one nod from the great Dumbledore - just you and him. Just let him know that he matters because he is Ron, not because he is Harry's friend. You could do that couldn't you? Just fifteen minutes for a sixteen-year-old boy who needs you badly. Harry would not begrudge Ron fifteen minutes of your affection. Ron has no aspirations to stand in your affection as Harry does. Just fifteen minutes Albus. I am asking it for my son. As one father to another, I'm begging you to help before the wound inside Ronniekins gets larger.

As one father to another? Yes, that is the other reason that I am writing you Albus. You hold the happiness of Ron in one hand. You hold Harry's soul in the other. And I am afraid, so very afraid Albus, that you are on the verge of strangling that soul out of existence in the name of caring for it.

When did you become a father? I wonder about that. I suspect you wonder too. I first noticed it last year. It was the week after Harry's encounter in the graveyard. We had assembled for our first meeting of the Order. And even as you came into the room I felt it. I could almost smell it coming from you. Fear, Albus. You were terrified.

You had just realized what had happened, I am guessing. After all the excitement died down you suddenly had a thought. Harry might have died. Harry almost did die. And you became so scared that your very bones ached.

It was obvious for the rest of the summer. Every time we talked about bringing Harry out of Privet Drive you had some excuse, some plausible reason why we could not do it right then. And all the time you were sending off waves of fear like some emotional tuning fork. Not just any fear either. It was a special kind of fear. The fear only a parent knows. The fear that comes when nightmare scenarios crowd into your brain, when visions of your child suffering latch onto your thoughts. I think you had loved Harry for a very long time Albus, probably since the first time you saw him. But now you began to truly UNDERSTAND that you loved him. At it was tearing your proverbial guts out.

Your life has changed, hasn't it Albus? I bet that you find yourself watching Harry, unable to take your eyes off of him. I wager that every movement he makes has significance for you. I certainly know that you can't open your mouth without talking to him.

Have you become fascinated by his skin Albus? Does the thought of bruises or cuts on his flesh make you cringe? Does the sight of actual blood coming from his skin make you so sick you think you will vomit?

You've been cursed Albus. It's a very common hex, called the "Daddy Curse." I've been through it seven times. It is the absolute fascination with your new child. The inability to take your eyes away. The terror at the thought of pain coming to this sweet life.

You are a little unusual in that your new baby happens to be fifteen years old and the savior of the wizarding world. Other than that you are just like any other bedazzled new Daddy, constantly watching his child, constantly singing his praises, constantly reaching for photos when you meet colleagues.

You have entered a new world Albus. You see when you become a father the very order of the cosmos shifts. Reality reweaves itself. To be a father is to look on your child and know that this child MUST NOT be hurt, MUST NOT die, MUST NOT suffer. And not just because of moral imperatives, but because it is against the very laws of the universe itself.

But the problem Albus, the thing I fear, is that almost inevitably the Daddy Curse becomes just that. You see in our haste and desire to protect them, we hurt them. Oh yes we can hurt them badly.

You would not think it looking at them Albus, but teenage boys are like tropical flowers. They are wild and vibrant and breathtakingly beautiful. And they are so fragile the smallest wind can damage them. For all their strength and loveliness, a teenage boy can be broken in one hand be someone who knows where to apply pressure.

I know. I broke one.

You have done it, haven't you Albus? I saw that look in your face when you talked about Harry last. I saw the look on Harry's face when he got off the train. You wanted so badly to protect him, to keep him from harm. And you have hurt him badly.

Oh it isn't a rare thing. Ask any parent. Stop almost any muggle on the street and they will have a story about how they hurt their beloved child when they only wanted to protect them. Yes, it is the most ordinary, plain, understandable thing in the world. And it makes the Cruciatus Curse seem like a hangnail.

Welcome to the world of fatherhood, Albus.

I broke my Percy. Before all heaven I did not mean too. I love him so much that to think about what happened that day ... I would rather face a white-hot iron. But I broke him. He was the middle child you see. Neither the oldest nor the youngest. And that put him in a more insecure position even than Ronniekins. He tried to deal with it by becoming "Perfect Percy." Oh yes, I know what his brothers called him, and there was some truth to it. But underneath it all he was only a frightened, insecure boy who needed to be loved.

And yet I yelled at him Albus. I argued and pounded my fist on the desk and said things to him that I wish I could cut out of my brain with a razor blade. I knew he was making a mistake you see. I had to protect him. I had to stop him from taking that course of action. I had to. And I hurt him so badly he does not talk to me any more.

And Percy came from a loving home. He did not spend ten years under the stairs. He did not have to live with people who starved him and neglected him. He was so much stronger and healthier than Harry, and I am so much weaker than you.

Harry is fragile Albus. He is fragile and cracked and wounded. For all his bravery and cleverness and luck he could break into a thousand fragments if not handled delicately. And you are swinging sledgehammers in his direction. In order to protect him you cut him off from emotional support when he needed you the most. In the name of treating him like he deserves you have told him something that is eating at his soul. I don't know what it is, but I am sure it has to do with the prophecy.

I am not saying you should not have told him whatever it was. But I do fear that you have set in place a series of events that you cannot understand. I fear that one day you will look down at those iron fingers of yours and see only bloody fragments, and then your heart will be rent like it has never been torn before.

And yes, I worry about Ron in this too. If you break Harry, Albus, Ron will shatter as well. Oh, it may not look like it. But inside him something will die, and my baby boy will become a walking sore.

I also worry about Ginny. Despite what she likes to proclaim at the moment, Harry Potter is the constant infatuation of her heart. She may convince herself differently for brief periods of time. But in the end the bond forged between them cannot be waved away by shifting moods or emotional games. If Harry is broken, I think Ginny might die in a way even more profound than Ron. There is even a chance she might literally perish.

So as one father to another I'm imploring you, Albus. Please be careful. You are the greatest wizard of the age. You are the champion of light, the greatest headmaster in the history of Hogwarts. You are the leader of what is good and righteous.

But when it comes to being a father, you don't know what the Hell you are doing.

Arthur Weasley