The First Day

Teddy's stuffed dragon sailed across the sitting room. Harry sighed, and lowered himself to his stomach, reaching under the sofa with one hand, sweeping from one side to the other, searching for the soft plush. His fingers brushed across something squashy and closed on the edge and instead of Teddy's stuffed Welsh Common Green, Harry pulled out a dusty parcel, wrapped in red-and-white striped paper. Frowning, he set it on the sofa and flopped back to the floor, wriggling a little, so he was wedged under the sofa a bit. The dragon was just beyond his reach. Grunting, Harry managed to extricate himself from under the sofa, and pulled his wand from his pocket. 'Accio,' he muttered, and the dragon flew into his hand. He flicked his wand over the dragon, cleaning a few smudges of dust off and handed it to Teddy. He turned his attention back to the dusty parcel and thumbed the tag open. It was for him, but was unsigned. Harry glanced up as Molly walked into the sitting room. 'Molly, what's this?' he asked, holding up the parcel.

'Hmm. Not sure.' She held out a hand and Harry passed the parcel to her. 'Oh, I remember what this is... It's your Christmas jumper,' she said, with a slight hitch. She handed it back to Harry. 'From last Christmas. Ginny made it. She insisted on it, actually. I think she kept hoping the three of you would somehow manage to show up Christmas Day.'

Harry fingered the brightly-colored paper thoughtfully. 'We were here,' he admitted. 'Not Christmas Day, though. But a couple of days later.'

'Where did you find that?' Molly asked. 'I could have sworn we put Ron's, Hermione's and yours away after Christmas.'

'Under the sofa,' Harry said, gesturing with the gift.

'Well, why don't you open it?' Molly suggested. 'It's a lovely jumper. Ginny did a good job with it.'

'If you think it's all right...'

Molly jabbed her wand toward a corner of the sitting room, Summoning Teddy's dragon back to the blanket spread on the floor where Teddy sat. 'Yes. I do.'

Harry turned the package over in his hands a few times before carefully tearing a strip away. Handfuls of soft blue wool spilled into his hands. He shook it out, revealing a jumper the limpid blue of midsummer skies, with deep green bands around the cuffs and neck. 'It is nice,' he murmured.

'You ought to wear it on Saturday,' Molly said. She ran a hand over Harry's hair. 'You should let me give your hair a bit of a trim,' she said.

Harry laughed. 'I owe Ron five Sickles. We've been wondering when you were going to mention my hair.'

'It's so long, dear. It's disgraceful.'

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, letting it fall against the back of his neck and over his collar. 'Can you cut it for me after dinner?' he finally asked.

'Of course I can.' Molly Summoned Teddy's dragon once more, and gave it to Teddy.

'You're really good at that,' Harry commented. 'The endless throwing and fetching makes me want to grind my teeth into nubs.'

'After a while, it's something you don't even think about. I learned to do it without even thinking about it by the time Charlie got to that stage.'

Harry made a moue of distaste. 'That's how long it takes?'

'Only because Bill didn't do this,' Molly replied, flicking her wand at the dragon yet again. 'Not this much. Charlie, on the other hand, had a fascination with making things fly. Even if he had to throw them to make it happen. He constantly threw anything he could get his hands on out of his cot, and if you didn't put it back in a timely manner, he'd make such a fuss. Ron seemed to learn that if he voluntarily let go of something, he'd probably never get it back. George and... Fred would commandeer it.'

'That explains a lot,' Harry muttered. There were very few people to whom Ron would loan anything and why he hung on to something, even if it was long past its usefulness.

'What does?' Hermione came into the sitting room, and dropped to the floor next to Teddy, who grinned up at her, displaying the tiny edge of a tooth cutting through his gums. 'Ooooh,' she crooned in sympathy. 'That looks ouchy.'

'It is,' Harry said tiredly. 'And just that Ron never really did what -' The rest of what Harry was going to say was cut off by the dragon smacking him in the face. 'The heathen is doing,' he finished, picking lint off his tongue.

Hermione giggled softly as she retrieved the dragon from Harry's lap and handed it back to Teddy. 'My grandmother used to rub whiskey on my gums when I was teething,' she commented. 'Mum nearly came unglued when she found out. Her older sister did that to my cousin, which does explain why William is such a wan-- Erm.' Hermione coughed, blushing a bright shade of red. 'Idiot,' she said succinctly.

Ron's head poked through the kitchen door. 'Lunch is ready,' he told them. 'Better get in here quick like. Dad and George are acting like they haven't seen a meal in ages.'

'That's because neither of them ate breakfast,' Molly grumbled. 'They were too busy mucking about at the table with Muggle magic tricks.'

'That's not true,' Ron objected. 'They ate most of the toast.'

Harry picked up Teddy. 'Get used to this,' he said in a low voice. 'It may seem barmy, but you'll know they care about you.' He glanced up at the clock, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly at the sight of his hand pointing toward "Home". He arranged Teddy in the high chair and took a small bowl from the cupboard and poured a small amount of cereal into it, using his wand to add milk and warm the mixture.

George snagged the bowl from Harry's hand and flicked his own wand at Teddy, making a bib appear around Teddy's neck. 'My turn,' he said.

'But...' Harry started to protest, but George waved him off.

'Remus didn't mean for you to do this all by yourself,' he said quietly. George tilted his head toward the clock. 'Besides, this is what families do - they help out. And you haven't eaten a meal with both hands on a weekend in weeks.'

After a long moment, Harry pushed the high chair closer to George. 'Thanks.'

'No worries, then.' George picked up the spoon and stirred the cereal in the bowl. 'Personally, Teddy,' he intoned to the baby. 'I wouldn't be caught dead eating this.'

Harry scooped beef casserole on his plate. 'Can the two of you come do something with me?' he asked, looking at Ron and Hermione. 'Instead of going off and doing whatever it is that the two of you do after lunch,' he added, feeling his ears burn. He knew perfectly well what Ron and Hermione did when they disappeared after lunch.

'Sure,' Ron plucked a roll from the basket and handed it to Hermione. 'What is it?'

'I need the two of you to go to my mum and dad's house with me later.'

'Are you sure you want to do that?' Hermione asked uneasily. At Ron's perplexed glance she mouthed, I'll explain later...

'Yes,' Harry said, tearing his roll in half. 'I went last night,' he explained. 'I found a pair of gits ripping pieces off the fence. To take home with them,' he snarled quietly.

'Oh, that's terrible,' breathed Hermione.

Harry shrugged. 'I put wards on it. Like the ones we put on here and used last year. You can't see it unless you go through the garden gate. And you can't get through the garden gate unless you're me.' He pushed a bite of his lunch around his plate. 'We won't be long,' he mumbled. 'I just want to see what I can salvage, if anything. If there are any photographs or something like that.'

'We'll go. As soon as Andromeda picks up Teddy,' Hermione said.

*****

Ginny came down the spiral staircase from her dormitory to find Dean sitting on the sofa, a crumpled letter in his hand, rubbing the back of his neck. It was a familiar gesture to her. He did it often under great amounts of stress. 'Hey...'

Dean's eyes flew up. 'Oh. Hi.'

'All right?'

Dean nodded, then shook his head. 'I got a letter from my mum,' he said, holding up the balled-up paper.

'Is everything all right at home?' Ginny felt slightly alarmed. Dean had been close to his parents and younger sisters.

'Would your mother ever lie to you?' Dean asked abruptly.

'Probably,' Ginny admitted. 'If she thought it would protect me.'

'But you hate that,' Dean said slowly.

'Well, yeah, I'd be tetchy with her. We all would. She did it all the time with Harry, so as not to frighten him. She didn't think he could handle it. Not for a long time.'

Dean snorted. 'Harry's not a bloke that scares easily,' he said. 'Or if he does, he hides it well.'

Ginny shook her head. 'It's just the normal stuff doesn't scare him. Being alone with a four-month old baby... Leaves him shaking in his boots.' She nudged Dean's knee. 'But we were talking about you.'

'My mum wants to know if I'm coming home for the Christmas hols.'

'Why wouldn't you?'

Dean sighed and squeezed the paper ball a little. 'We had an awful row before I went on the run last year. I didn't even go home after...' He swallowed heavily. 'I went to stay with Seamus until school started.'

'What did you fight about?'

Dean pulled a much-creased photograph from the pocket of his jeans. 'This.' He handed the photograph to Ginny.

Ginny held it up to the light, squinting. 'Who's this?' she asked curiously. 'That's not your dad.' Ginny had met Dean's parents at King's Cross a time or two. Laurence Thomas was compact and wiry, with a broad smile. This man was tall and lanky with Dean's eyes and his ears. She turned the photograph over and read what was scribbled there. 'Anthony, Dean, and Olivia Quinn. 4 March 1980.' Her frown deepened as she gazed at Dean. 'That's your birthday...'

'That is correct.' Dean's slender, tapered finger tapped the photograph. 'And that is my real father...'

'Oh, Dean...'

'I didn't know,' Dean said softly. 'I was in the attic of the house, trying to find all that warm clothing my mum sends with me and the big knapsack we use when we go camping during the summers. Because with the Death Eaters running the school, there was no way a Muggle-born like me would be welcome, and I wasn't about to draw attention to my family, if I could avoid it. And I did not want to register,' he stated emphatically. 'So I was getting ready to leave, and there was this box in the corner. I thought that might be the one, so I opened it. And instead of clothes, it had all these photographs of my mum with him,' he said dully. 'So I confronted Mum with the one of their wedding, since it was obviously not Dad.' Dean's voice cracked. 'She lied to me. She's lied to me my entire life.'

'What happened to him?' Ginny asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

'Dunno.' Dean shoved the photograph back into his pocket. 'Mum said he left one day and never came back. He could be anybody. Muggle, wizard, Squib. Who knows? If he was a wizard, he never told Mum.' Dean laughed bitterly. 'Guess I'll never know, will I?'

'Do you want to?' Ginny asked.

Dean sighed and threw the balled-up paper into the fire. 'I don't know,' he admitted. 'It might be nice to know. Not for him, but to know who I am.'

'Does it matter?' Ginny got to her feet and started for the portrait hole. 'You're Dean. You're a talented artist and a wizard. You play Keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. You have two younger sisters who adore you. Your mum and dad -'

'He's not -'

'Yes, he is,' Ginny insisted. 'He raised you, didn't he? He loves you, doesn't he?'

'I suppose.'

'Has he ever treated you differently than Katherine or Charlotte?'

'No...'

'Taught you to be who you are today?'

'Yeah...'

'Then he's your dad,' Ginny stated. She climbed out of the portrait hole and it swung shut, leaving Dean alone in the common room.

Dean watched Ginny leave and waited several moments before he picked up his bag and flipped it open. Tucked into a small pocket inside was a letter he'd received from his mother that summer, but hadn't opened. He sat on the sofa for several minutes, the envelope balanced on his palm, debating with himself to either throw it into the fire as well, or read it. He used his fingers to flip the envelope over and ran his thumb under the flap, opening it. The sound of ripping paper was loud in the quiet room. Slowly, Dean pulled out the folded paper inside, and curled into the corner of the sofa before he unfolded the letter.

10 July 1998

Dear Dean,

I understand you're upset with me. And perhaps I should have told you about your father sooner and not hidden him from you. But that is my mistake. Your dad - Laurence - has told me for years I needed to tell you, but maybe you'll be able to understand why I haven't told you any of this.

I met your father, Anthony, when I was working as a clerk in a shop that sold art supplies when I finished school. Anthony was a painter. When you come home, there's a box in the attic with some of his drawings. I saved them for you. I thought one day I'd tell you about him, eventually, so you might want to see them. He was very good. He drew portraits. It wasn't much of a living, but he was happy. I don't know if he was like you or not. If he was, he never told me.

I won't bore you with the details, but we got married, then had you about a year later. Anthony seemed to be happy, but he also seemed to worry a lot more. Every time we left the flat, he kept looking around suspiciously. It got to the point where if I took you out for a walk without him, I couldn't go a block without looking over my shoulder. And one day, when you were about five months old, I sent him for nappies and talcum powder. He never came back.

Of course, I reported him missing to the police and rang all the hospitals, but nobody matching his description was ever found. I was devastated. But I needed to move on for your sake. He was declared dead when you were two. And by then I'd met Laurence. He was... good. For me. And he adored you. And you followed him everywhere when he came by the flat. He made me feel safe in a way I hadn't felt since your father disappeared. After we were married, he adopted you. Sometimes, even after that, I hoped your father would somehow show up and tell me it had all been a horrible mistake, just so I'd never have to be the one to hurt you.

I never meant for you to find out this way. Please, Dean... Come home. Katherine and Charlotte miss you terribly. So does your dad.

I miss you, Dean.

Love,

Mum

Dean stared at the last page, covered with his mother's loopy handwriting. He unfolded himself from the sofa and picked up his bag, and left the common room in search of Luna.

*****

Ron and Hermione trailed behind Harry, as they walked down the lane through Godric's Hollow. 'So what's with the concern about coming here?' he said, his mouth next to Hermione's ear.

Hermione reached for Ron's hand, and wound her fingers through it, slowing their pace until Harry was several feet in front of them. 'We came here on Christmas Eve,' she told him. 'He wanted to see his parents' graves, and we had wanted to see Bathilda Bagshot. Turned out she lived next door to Harry's parents.' Hermione's throat tightened. 'Voldemort,' she choked, 'killed Bathilda and hid his snake inside her. Harry, of course, could understand her, since she was speaking Parseltongue, so he didn't think anything was wrong at first. Then once they were alone, the snake attacked Harry.' Hermione brushed her fingertips over the crook of Ron's elbow. 'Just there. He almost died,' she said softly.

'That's what those scars are,' Ron said in dawning comprehension.

'Yeah. And it's how his wand got broken,' Hermione added.

Harry stood at the gate, tapping his toes impatiently. 'Could you two stop fanning around and hurry up?'

'We'll be right there!' Hermione called, quickening her steps, dragging Ron behind her until they joined Harry, who laid a hand on the gatepost, making it creak open. Ron and Hermione filed through the gate.

Ron stood in the front garden, his mouth hanging open. 'Blimey,' he breathed. 'Half the roof is gone.' His head slowly shook from side to side.

'It's all right inside,' Harry said. 'Your foot isn't going to go through the stairs or anything.'

'What are you looking for exactly?' Hermione asked, twisting the doorknob on the front door.

Harry went through the door and gazed around the entrance, rubbing a hand under his nose at the dust they stirred up. 'Personal stuff,' he said vaguely. 'Photos, letters... If those bloody vultures can get through all those charms, I don't want them taking any of those things.' He started up the stairs and walked down the corridor, opening cupboards. They were filled with things like extra jumpers and bedding. He avoided looking into the open door that led to the room with the wreckage of his old cot.

Ron appeared at the top of the stairs. 'Looks worse in here,' he muttered.

'Yeah,' Harry said.

Ron followed Harry's gaze to the closed door. 'What do you reckon is in there?'

'Dunno.'

Ron stretched out a hand and attempted to open the door. When it wouldn't open, he drew his wand from his back pocket. 'Alohomora.' The door remained tightly shut. 'Bloody hell, it's like trying to open a vault in Gringotts.'

Harry's head shook a little, like he was trying to wave off a cloud of gnats. 'What? What did you say?'

'It's like trying to open a vault at Gringotts.'

Harry's eyes narrowed and one of his hands floated up and almost dreamily, his index finger stroked the frame of the door, as a long-forgotten memory arose. The door clicked open and Harry pushed the door open further to reveal a bedroom, the wide bed still neatly made, with several framed photographs clustered on a small table in the corner. 'Must have been charmed,' he murmured.

'Why would your parents charm their bedroom door?' Ron wondered.

Harry burst into hysterical peals of laughter. 'Did you meet Sirius?' he choked. 'I wouldn't have put it past him to sneak in there and pull some sort of prank while they were sleeping.' He clung to the door frame, attempting to catch his breath, wheezing with the remnants of laughter.

'Want to go in?' Ron asked gesturing toward the open door.

'Yeah...'

'Want me to go in with you...?'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah.'

Ron slung an arm around Harry's shoulders. 'Come on, then.' They carefully stepped through the doorway and Ron glanced at his friend's pale face. 'Well, what do you want to take home with you?'

Harry shrugged, his fingertips trailing over the surface of the bureau. 'The photos, I guess.' He pulled open the top drawer, and his hand dipped inside, closing around a packet of letters, bound with a bright blue ribbon. 'This feels like stealing,' he confessed. 'Or that I'm violating my mum and dad's privacy... I keep thinking someone's going to burst through the door and raise a fuss.'

Ron swiped his sleeve over a dusty framed photograph of Harry's parents with Sirius and Remus on their wedding day. 'Technically, it's yours,' he said. 'I can't think that your parents wouldn't want you to have this...'

'Yeah, I guess...'

Hermione walked into the room, rubbing her hands together to warm them. 'All the cupboards in the kitchen are bewitched. It'll take more than Alohomora to get them open, though. So are the bookcases in the sitting room. Well, the ones with doors.' She looked around the room. 'You must have been an extremely mischievous child,' she told him. 'Anything important or breakable was locked away using fairly advanced locking charms.'

'Maybe we can box all this up, mate,' Ron began. 'Take it back with us and put it in the attic. Then you can sort through it when you're ready.' He laid the photograph on the bed, and picked up one of Harry and his mother. 'It's not like it's a museum or anything.'

'Ronald!' Hermione hissed, smacking him in the arm. 'That was out of order and completely insensitive!'

'No,' Harry said suddenly. 'He's right. None of this was meant to be shut away.' He turned to Hermione. 'We'll do this room first, then go deal with the ground floor.'

'What about...?' Hermione gestured to the nursery, visible through the open door of James and Lily's bedroom.

Harry kept his gaze averted and focused on the open bureau drawer. 'No. Just leave it...'

*****

Ginny checked over her Transfiguration essay. Professor Trentham had asked them to research the theory behind Animagi. Ginny had been somewhat shocked to discover it took a great deal of personal introspection to become one. She had known Sirius, and heard many stories about James. Introspection didn't seem to be a trait either of them had a great deal of. The prevailing theory seemed to hold that like a Patronus, one's Animagus form was dictated by their personality. She made a few corrections to her citations and measured the scroll. It was fifteen inches - three past the minimum of twelve. 'Brilliant,' she muttered.

Luna glanced up from her Arithmancy textbook. 'What is?'

'My essay for Transfiguration,' Ginny said, brandishing the scroll. 'I wrote it as if McGonagall was going to grade it. Trentham ought to give it at least an E.'

'That's always a good plan,' Luna said, scribbling a formula in her notes.

Ginny propped her chin in an upturned hand. 'Luna, are you busy?'

'Not especially.'

'Can I ask you something?'

'Sure.'

'Are you in love with Dean?'

Luna closed her textbook and gazed at Ginny. 'No.'

'How do you know?' Ginny asked.

'Dean isn't the first person I want to talk to when I wake up. And he's nice, but the things that are important to me don't matter much to him. He's quite easy to talk to, but I don't feel the urge to find an empty classroom and stay up until three in the morning talking to him. And I don't want to rush to find him and tell him something good's happened, or even when something bad happens. It always sounds like whinging when he's complaining about something.' Luna paused and leaned closer to Ginny. 'And he has a tendency to hover, even after I've asked him not to. It's quite annoying actually.'

'So it's not just one thing...?' Ginny asked.

Luna shook her head. 'I don't think so. And I can't quite picture any sort of future with him.' Luna cocked her head to one side. 'And he sort of kisses everywhere at once... It's more wet than anything else.'

'Yeah,' Ginny agreed, her lip curling slightly in distaste. 'Didn't exactly make my toes curl, either.'

Luna's misty gaze sharpened. 'Why are you asking?'

Ginny shrugged. 'Just curious.' She rubbed her hands over her face. 'It's just with everything sort of going back to normal, I was trying to figure out if it wasn't just a little girl's crush with Harry...'

'Maybe you're not meant to,' Luna said dreamily. 'It's one of those things that can't really be defined or explained. There's supposed to be an entire area of study by Unspeakables about it. Not always something you can point to and say "That's it." It's all the inconsequential things that add up. Like an equation in Arithmancy.' She wrapped a strand of hair around her index finger. 'That's what my mum said in the diary she kept. People never quite understood why she married my father.'

Ginny toyed with her quill. 'Thanks, Luna. That actually makes sense...'

Luna grinned deprecatingly. 'It happens from time to time.'