Fathers and Sons

Fathers and Sons

It wasn't that he didn't love his son - no, like any father, Harry Potter treasured his child. It was just that James' actions, they - well, there was no other way to put it - made him nervous. His son had inherited the Potter stubbornness and the ruthless cunning that his wife possessed. If Ginny had not been a Weasley, Harry thought, she may well have been sorted into Slytherin. Together, the two were a volatile mix. James would do anything to get what he wanted, regardless of the consequences or means, without any guilt. And that was what made him treat his son differently than he did Albus or Lily, the thing that had created the strained relationship they had. He would tread lightly around him, always guarded, as if he was speaking to a potential enemy, with none of the ease that stemmed from the implicit trust between parent and child that he had with his other children, or even with Teddy or Hugo. Yet, somehow, no one noticed how Harry Potter was so distant to his oldest son. Except, he thought, possibly James himself. The boy seemed to be barely concealing his disgust for his father every time they spoke. However, whenever he tried to speak to Ginny about it, she would laugh, calling his feelings "fatherly fears." "You're just afraid that you're not the center of his world anymore, Harry," she would say, chuckling, "Ron said what you did after Hugo first went off to Hogwarts too." He doubted it.

James' being sorted in Slytherin seemed to exacerbate the situation. He came back after the first year even more possessive and sly than ever, seeming to size everyone up when he entered a room, and regarding his mother and father with disgust. He treated Albus and Lily like inferiors, ordering them to bring him food and give them their most prized possessions with the threat of hexing them if they did not comply. Even Teddy, his former best friend, was not spared his contempt. "He's a half-breed," he sneered, when Harry confronted him on his shunning of the boy. "He's not a real wizard. And, besides, he's in Gryffindor." The only ones he seemed to dislike more were Ron and the Weasley children. Strangely, the only person he still liked was Hermione...

The weekly Sunday dinner at the Burrow was always a raucous affair, as the Potter and Weasley families gathered to discuss the week's events. All sat at the dinner table, happily talking about the Cannons' chances for the year, except for two people - James and Hermione. James was stiffly sitting in his chair, glaring at his Uncle Ron as he ranted on and on about that stupid team, who always lost anyway...really, as Scorpius had said, what was the point of liking something that was a failure. The man was pathetic on all measures, really. Holding down some entry-level position in the Ministry that he had obtained solely on the merit of being his father's best friend, acting like an overgrown child with that typical Gryffindor self-righteousness...He even had the temerity to punish him for "accidentally" vanishing Hugo and Rose's toys, making those two weak children cry...he really had no idea how those miserable ruffians could have been related to Aunt Hermione. She was everything to aspire to and to want, with her lovely brown ringlets, amber eyes, and brilliant mind. She was an Unspeakable - a real profession, not like his mother, who was a housewife, and his father, who was content to rest on his questionable laurels by coaching Quidditch, for Merlin's sake...And, unlike his parents or her husband (he inwardly snarled at that fact), she had retained her youthful beauty. Her body was still lithe and toned, unlike his mother's, which resembled that of his grandmother's. He couldn't imagine how his father could have ever found his mother attractive, honestly...She, on the other hand, was the only one in the family worthy of his respect...

He felt her touch on his shoulder and instinctively perked up.

"I'm happy to see that I'm not the only one at this table who isn't obsessed with the Cannon's dubious chances," she softly uttered in a voice that always rattled his Slytherin cool.

"Well, what's the point in talking about failures," he replied, trying to deepen his voice as much as possible.

"Exactly." She beamed at him. "By the way, did you get the Ancient Runes book I sent you? I hoped you liked it - it has some extra translations in the index..."

"I loved it," he said. He loved anything she gave him, or did, or said...She never failed to understand him, unlike the rest of his Gryffindor family...While his parents had sent him a cold letter after he was sorted into Slytherin, and Uncle Ron had always treated him like some sort of criminal after he heard the news, she had congratulated him, and told him that she was almost sorted into the house, but the hat said she would have hexed her housemates to death after they taunted her about her blood. It was the house's loss, he thought.

As she put her hand on his shoulder and he reveled in her attention, he did not notice the suspicious look that his father was giving him.

Harry hoped that, as James grew up, he would mature into the Gryffindor Quidditch star that he had been and that Albus was rapidly becoming. Instead he became even more contemptuous and withdrawn - a true Slytherin, Harry sullenly thought - while retaining the ruthless cunning he had always had. From what Albus told him, he had become the darling of many a teacher, earning the top spot in his class. Besides, he had said that he was so feared at Hogwarts that any potential competitor would have purposely gotten lower marks to avoid his wrath. Teddy, now a Charms apprentice there, echoed Albus' concerns, saying that James had "gotten into a bad crowd." He was best friends with fellow Slytherin sixth years Scorpius Malfoy and Dominic Zabini, and the three tortured any Hufflepuff or Gryffindor that dared "irritate" them. When Harry wrote to him, at Ginny's request, as she was sure all of the rumors were slander about her beloved boy, asking him about the veracity of the rumors, he only received a sentence in response. James had replied that "they deserved it." Harry decided enough was enough. He would have to do the thing he dreaded most - have a serious talk with a son who detested him.

James strode briskly of the platform, brushing off his mother's needy hugs and kisses. For Merlin's sake, he wasn't her little boy anymore, and liked to think he never was. Besides, there was only one female he wanted to see, and it sure as hell wasn't her. He had pointed Hermione (he had stopped calling her Aunt long ago, and she had permitted him, and him only him, to do it, which shouldn't have made him feel as good as it did) out to Scorpius and Dominic at the beginning of the year, and they both agreed that, regardless of blood, she was definitely "worthy." Perhaps she was at the other door of the train...

Harry watched him. He had grown tall and muscular, with an air of superiority and arrogance that pervaded his every action. He almost looked like a Slytherin version of the first James Potter...Harry stopped himself from reminiscing. He had to talk to his son away from Ginny, who he had sent to take care of Albus and Lily. He had told her to take them out for sundaes at Fortescue's while he talked with James. "Father-son bonding, love," he had said to Ginny that morning. She had immediately started cooing sloppy nonsense, making him long for Hermione's calm demeanor. Hermione had always known how to treat his every mood...No, he couldn't start down that road again. He had pushed away their closeness for Ginny, and what was done was done.

James' hopes were deflated as he saw his father. Joy. The Savior of the World had decided to make some time in his busy schedule of coddling his spoiled Gryffindor brats of a brother Albus and sister Lily (who, although only a first-year, was already a clone of his mother) to spend time with his Slytherin son, who anyone could see he despised. Really, did the man think he was as dense as Uncle Ron? The man's disgust was visceral, and it was mutual. Besides, his enmity towards the man had only grown after he had seen him ogling Hermione. Yes, she was obviously a far better sight in shorts than his mother, whose pale, flabby stomach and cellulite-encrusted legs had him wanting to hurl right then and there, but she was his, and had stopped being his father's after he had made the idiotic decision of choosing his mother over her.

Harry put his arm over his son's shoulder in a pantomime of a fatherly gesture as James grimaced. He was tempted to say that the feeling was mutual, but restrained himself. He had to do this to get to the bottom of the story, and try to check a boy who, he was ashamed to admit, he was starting to even be a bit rattled by.

"So, son, how was your sixth year?" Harry asked, in a insincerely cheerful tone.

Bloody hell, this was going to be even more painful than he had anticipated.

"Is there something you would like?" James icily replied.

His father was alone, and he had seen his mother, with Albus and Lily, talking with Uncle Ron. He had caught that Hermione was not able to come to greet her brats - like they even deserved her presence - because of Unspeakable duties, but would come over for dinner tonight, and he mad a mental not to remember to freshen up...he was sure he looked rumpled from the bumpy train ride.

"Well, yes," Harry levelly said.

If the boy wanted to reject his pleasantries and get to the crux of the matter, that was fine with him. It wasn't like he wanted to politely chatter with him either.

"Then what is it?" James asked imperiously, raising an eyebrow. "I'd prefer if you did not waste my time."

Really, his father was so transparent. He wanted to reprimand him somehow, and knew that if he tried to do so in front his mother, she would throw a fit. Thank god for his overly protective mother - she prevented anyone from ever really opposing him.

"I'm not happy with your behavior, James," Harry stated. "Albus and Teddy have been telling me that you have been bullying Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, and Teddy says that you treat him like a house-elf whenever you see him. Even Lily says that you never acknowledge her in the halls."

"Look, father, I am not interested in whatever complaints those pathetic Gryffindors have against me. If I have "bullied" any people, it has been because they have provoked me or any of my friends. And Albus, Teddy, and Lily are not worth my time, especially to acknowledge. Let's be honest, father. You're angry that I've failed to meet your expectations of the brainless, glory-seeking Gryffindor Seeker that you want me to be. If it's any comfort, I think Albus is progressing nicely to become that. He's already met the brainless and glory-seeking requirements."

"Yes, well, I don't like who you're becoming. You've surrounded yourself with Malfoy's and Zabini's sons, and are some Slytherin swot. Albus tells me you suck up to every teacher in the school. You need to behave yourself, young man, or-"

"Or what? You'll sic Albus on me? I can beat him in a duel any day. Headmistress Abbott doesn't favor Gryffindor the way your precious Dumbledore or McGonagall did, and all the teachers respect me because, unlike you, I actually make an effort in their classes. And the fact that you hate my friends solely because they are Slytherins and the sons of your enemies in school shows how prejudiced you are against Slytherins. So how about you just continue to silently resent me, like the way you've done for the past six years, and pretend that Teddy is your oldest son?"

"Yes, well - you're a slimy Slytherin!" Harry blustered.

There was nothing he could do. Any chance of having even a cordial relationship was over at this point, and he might as well get in a dig while he could. And he just could not stand that irritating superiority that his son addressed him with and know that he would have to have dinner with him that night, acting as if nothing had happened.

"Really, father, I thought that you had progressed beyond insults befitting first years, but I was clearly mistaken. Now, since it seems as if this little chat has finished, how about we depart? I believe we have dinner to get to, and I would like to look my best."

James was irritated. His father's temper tantrum was taking up the time he could have been selecting shirts to wear. Unfortunately, his mother, being the controlling little housewife she was, bought the entire family's clothes, meaning that every single item he owned, aside from his school uniform, was red. He would have to transfigure it to green, both his and Hermione's favorite color.

She had told him last summer, during one of their talks. As everyone else yammered on about Quidditch, he and Hermione would steal away to the Weasley's garden. They discussed anything and everything, from the Goblin Rebellions of 859 to (one of James' favorite subjects) Ron's many irritating habits. Sitting there, shoulders touching, as she clasped his hand to make a point or laughed at something he said, he was in heaven. The best part was at the end, when they embrace. They had agreed to hug after every talk they had after the first one, and it had been six years of countless little moments of bliss. Her firm breasts pressed against his chest, her petite frame fitting perfectly into his taller one...it was simply amazing. And what made it even better, if that was possible, was his father's jealous glare as he returned with her, hand in hand, to the table. Uncle Ron was blind, but he wasn't, and he knew that his father, self-righteous Gryffindor he was, would never confront him about his attraction for fear of him bringing up his dirty laundry.

That night at dinner, Harry grew even more nervous. The boy was planning something, he knew it. He just looked too happy in his deep green button down (how the hell had he gotten a green shirt? Ginny would never buy anything that wasn't in a shade of red, and the boy had no money), especially as Hermione remarked how handsome he looked in it. He wasn't blind, and he saw how his son glowed with pride and happiness after her comment. Ginny, of course, simply gushed over how handsome her "little boy" was getting, and whispered to him that she was sure that James would be almost as irresistible as his father. He knew better. And the boy's hatred of Ron confirmed it. His son wanted Hermione. And he knew he would try to get it using any means possible. He wanted to warn Ron, tell him that James was dangerous, that he wasn't some beloved nephew the way Albus was, but it was impossible. Ron would think he was crazy, and Ginny would unleash the full Molly Weasley wrath on him for even suggesting that her offspring could be anything but perfect. Besides, she would then ask him why he had been watching Hermione in the first place, and that could lead to further questions about his feelings about Hermione...Questions that he did not want to answer.

His suspicions were confirmed six months later, three months after James left for his 7^th year. The boy had been made Head Boy, and Ginny was beyond ecstatic. He was not surprised. The little swot had been kissing every professor's arse since first year, and Teddy had told him that the nearest competitor, a quiet Ravenclaw, had "mysteriously" been found at the end of the year in the Great Hall with five empty bottles of Firewhisky around him, with no memory of how he ended up there. She insisted on a party before his departure, a truly torturous affair in which Ginny clung to him to a leech, her pale, flabby body draped around him like some kind of albino parasite, while James smirked at him. Hermione was there too, tormenting him as she happily discussed N.E.W.T. regulations with the boy, looking radiant in a short green dress that hugged every curve and, as usual, pleasantly avoiding Ron the few times he tried to talk to her. He had been too distracted by her - well her everything - to notice his son taking Ron's drink when Ron went to the loo. At the end of the party, his son smirked at him when she hugged him goodbye, but he had dismissed it as one of his usual smirks, nothing more. He knew he should have taken it as something more, done something, when, on October thirteenth, Ron suddenly dropped dead in his office. The mortician said that he had died of a Muggle disease, a heart attack, but Harry knew better. He had seen his son flipping through a potions text the day before the party.

Ginny was beside herself at her brother's death. Ron was the only brother she truly had - Bill and Charlie both lived abroad and rarely visited, Fred was dead and Percy could have well been for how much he interacted with his family, and George had killed himself after Fred's death, unable to survive without his twin. As befitting a child of Molly Weasley, she tried to use food as a cure-all for her grief, and became an obese version of her former flabby self. Ironically, she died of a real heart attack four months later, and Harry was left at home alone. James had convinced Percy, who was now the male head of the Weasley family, that it was better for all parties if no Potter or Weasley children returned home for the funerals, saying it would distract them for their schoolwork. Harry snorted. Ah, yes, he was sure that was the reason that James wanted Albus, Lily, Rose, and Hugo to stay at school. Of course, this little rule didn't prevent James from getting permission to visit his dear Aunt Hermione every week, as Percy said that the boy, being seventeen and thus of age in the Wizarding World, could go wherever he pleased, and, besides, the poor boy - really, Harry, a son to be proud of - seemed to be comforted by his visits to his aunt. Yes, Harry thought, the poor boy. The poor boy that increasingly seemed to be the cause of the downfall of the poor fragments that had composed his dream of a perfect family.

But the worst part of Ginny and Ron's deaths were that he now had no distraction to not think of Hermione. He knew he could not visit her - he would start attacking James, she would think he was going mad from grief, and then his true feelings would surface - so he sat in the house, having received a six month leave from coaching Quidditch, desperately trying to think of something else, anything else, than her. He could not distract himself with another woman - no, the press, which was currently portraying him as a grieving widower, would have a field day - so it was only inevitable that he turned to, er, other methods of release. He had secretly taken pictures (while under his Invisibility Cloak, of course) of her before, during, and after she was taking a shower while she, Ginny, Ron, and him had rented a flat together, and then hidden them away in a fit of guilt. But now he was too weak to resist the temptation, unearthing them from the attic and wanking to them nearly every day, like some kind of pathetic pervert, in the dark, cold house that seemed to mock him with its emptiness.

It was during one these moments - it was towards the end of the school year, maybe late April or early May - that James came to, supposedly, visit. The tell-tale "pop" of his Apparition sounded in the kitchen as Harry climaxed, but he was too distracted to notice that his son was standing in the living room, tapping his foot as he looked at Harry mockingly.

"Well, what a surprise to see you engaging in such activities, Father," he drawled. Really, the old man was even farther gone than he had anticipated.

"You!" Harry managed to rasp, as he quickly Scourgified himself and buttoned up his trousers.

"In the flesh," James replied. "And what a surprise to see you wanking to her."

"I-I," Harry stuttered.

"Don't try to hide it, Father. I've known about it since I was 7. I mean, you'd have to be blind, or Uncle Ron, to not see how you transform into a horny schoolboy whenever you see her."

"And you?" Harry angrily replied, regaining his bearings. "You, who spirits her away for cozy little chats every time she comes over? You, who gets hard every time she hugs you or even bloody touches your shoulder? Don't dare talk to me about her."

"Yes, well, unlike you, I get what I want. See, father, you made a grave error - you chose my harridan of a mother when she was in your grasp. Really, though, I should thank you for that little bit of foolishness, as it allowed me to take what I want while being able to watch you struggle with your Gryffindor ideals every day of your life. Ah, yes, Harry Potter, Savior of the World, lusting over his best friend's wife. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"So that's what you've been using your little visits for, eh? Seducing the widow of a man you poisoned? The friend of your mother, your mother who died because you murdered her brother? Well, I guess I was right about you, you Slytherin slime. You will do anything to get what you want."

"You're right, father. I will do anything to get what I want. And since you're the only obstacle left...After all, you can't be hanging around when I marry the lovely widow, trying to tell her about what a wicked man I am, can you?" And, with that, James took out his wand before Harry even had time to react, and shouted "Imperio!"

Harry was suddenly filled with a feeling of placid happiness. Why should he resist? He looked to a future of seeing a Hermione that should have been his become that of the man he hated most - his son. What was left for him?

James grinned as his father unblinkingly walked across the floor and swallowed the poison. It was fast-acting and did not leave any visible marks - the Ministry investigators would think that he had killed himself, most likely using the Killing Curse. As his father slumped over in his chair, James tidied up the house. After all, he didn't want the Ministry officials to think that the Potters couldn't clean up after themselves.

Fifth year Gryffindor Prefect Albus Potter stared at a copy of the Daily Prophet. He had dropped it and spit out his breakfast when he first saw it, but he knew that it was true. It was so unbelievably wrong, but there it was, in glaring capital letters: POTTER HEIR AND ORPHAN JAMES POTTER TO WED WAR HEROINE HERMIONE GRANGER.