Father's Day

Ms. Stites rapped her ruler on her desk for quiet. "Attention, class," she called loudly. The babble silenced itself. "All right. As most of you know, Father's Day is this Sunday. So we are going to make cards for our fathers." She pointed to a small girl in the front row. "Margaret, kindly give each student a sheet of paper." Margaret jumped up and started passing the paper out. "And everyone please take out your crayons or coloured pencils."

There was a general scrabble while the students--most of whom were not terribly organised--scrambled for their art supplies. When it died down, Ms. Stites began again. "Now, fold your card in half. Your card can be tall or wide." She showed them the difference. "You are each to draw a picture and write some kind of message to your fathers. Then sign your name. You must use both the inside and the outside of the card. Any questions?"

"What should the message say?" called out Yvonne Winters from the third row.

"Anything you like: Happy Father's Day, I Love You, whatever you want."

' "Does it have to be nice?" yelled Piers Polkeiss.

"Yes, it does."

"What are we going to do with them?" demanded Dudley Dursley, who was next to Piers.

"I'm going to collect them and put them on the board to show the parents during Parents' Night tomorrow evening. Your fathers will take them home with them."

There was a general noise as students reacted to this information, shared ideas, and just generally talked. Then Ms. Stites saw a single student in the room, sitting quietly in the back row, raising his hand. "Harry Potter?" she said loudly, indicating that the noise should stop. "And thank you for raising your hand." A few students looked at one another sheepishly.

"Who am I supposed to write my card to, Ms. Stites?"

The question threw Ms. Stites completely. "Why...to your father, Harry."

"But I don't have a father, Ms. Stites."

A couple of students turned to look at Harry. Ms. Stites blinked. "Then make it out to your mother."

"I don't have a mother either, Ms. Stites."

"You don't?"

"No, ma'am."

Ms. Stites was surprised. She was new to the school--that much was obvious. Every veteran teacher knew that Harry Potter was an orphan who lived with his aunt and uncle, which was why Harry was glad she was his teacher. Mrs. Morgendorf would've made him write the card to his uncle, and his uncle wouldn't appreciate it. He'd rip it up.

She thought for a minute while the class stared at poor Harry. "Well, write it to whomever you wish to, Harry."

Harry's face lit up. "Okay."

"Any more questions?" There weren't. "Begin."

Thirty little heads bowed down over the desks. Pencils and crayons flew furiously.

That evening, Sarah Stites was sorting through the cards and tacking them to the board. She made sure to look at each one. Most were fairly good. Piers and Dudley had clearly copied off one another; their 'artwork' was a red scribble that vaguely resembled a heart, while inside, huge, blue, nearly illegible letters read

At the bottom of the stack, she discovered a card that made her pause. The cover was a surprisingly good coloured pencil drawing of an angel that resembled one of her students. The angel was hugging a small boy--a boy who looked like the angel, a boy with dark hair and glasses. She opened it up and read the inside.

Sarah looked at the card for a long time. Finally, she stuck it in the place of honour on the board, the place every child hoped to see their work on, the place that indicated the student had the best work in the class.

~~~

At Parents' Night the next evening, parents exclaimed over their children's cards. Fathers took the cards off the board. Sarah noticed the Dursleys take down Dudley's card and exclaim about exemplary work and originality, even as Piers' parents said the same things. Sarah shook her head.

One mother--Rebecca's mother--paused and read one of the cards, the one in the Sacred Spot. She turned to Sarah. "Now, Ms. Stites, this is exemplary work. This boy's parents must be extremely proud."

"I honestly wouldn't know," Sarah answered.

The other woman looked surprised. "You haven't met them yet?"

"I doubt I ever will. The student who crafted that particular card informed me that he has no parents."

"Well, his legal guardians then."

Sarah didn't voice her suspicion that the boy had no legal guardians, but Rebecca's mother turned and started pointing out the card to various parents. When she pointed it out to the Dursleys, Mr. Dursley sighed. "Yes, the boy's our nephew...his parents were killed in a car crash several years ago...well, I suppose we'll take this."

Sarah stepped forward and caught his arm as he reached for the card. "I'm sorry, but as it's addressed to his father I cannot let you take it."

"His father is dead," Mr. Dursley said, looking as though Sarah was nutty as a fruitcake.

"I am aware, but again I cannot let you take it."

Mr. Dursley frowned at her and led his wife off.

~~~

When Sarah came back to unlock the school and prepare for the week on Sunday morning, she discovered that Harry's card, which had been there when she'd left, was gone. She searched the room without finding a clue, then shrugged and planned her lessons.

But somewhere far away, beyond the ken of mortal men, a man with flyaway black hair and hazel eyes showed a red-haired, green-eyed woman their son's first-ever Father's Day card. Both of them smiled proudly in their son's direction through tear-filled eyes.

And Harry Potter paused in the park near his aunt and uncle's house, suddenly feeling pleased, as though he'd just made the most important person in this world or the next proud. And indeed he had.